Page 38 of Ghosts of the Dead

The light blinds me for a second after the dimness of the tunnel, but I welcome it. By the time we stumble to a stop behind the station, I double over with my hands on my knees and my lungs dragging in the air like it’s my first real breath in hours. Autumn leans against the wall beside me. Her face is streaked with sweat, grime, and a few drops of blood from the man we watched die. At least the blood isn’t hers.

I turn and look back at the station, expecting more flames, more smoke, and more death, but only a small section burns. It’s contained and controlled by her precise destruction. There’s no spreading inferno. I stare anyway, waiting for flames that never come.

Autumn steps close and lays a hand on my arm. “What happened back there?”

My throat struggles to work, and it takes a few seconds to find the words. “There was going to be a fire. It was all lined up. It should have caught everything.”

I can’t explain the relief that it didn’t, but that’s overshadowed by my confusion.

The fire. The smoke. It was there. I saw it…didn’t I?

She glances at the building, then back at me. She steps closer, so her beautiful face blocks the station from view, mere inches from mine. Wind shifts and catches a strand of her purple hair, sweeping it across her cheek. She reaches for me with both hands, coming up to cup my face. Her fingers are warm and her thumbs rest along my jaw. She doesn’t speak at first.

Her eyes widen and lock on mine, and I study each detail of her hazel eyes. They’re bright with an emotion I can’t name. How have I never noticed how bright her eyes are?

The wind tugs another strand of hair, and it catches on her bottom lip. Her voice softens when she speaks. “Are you okay?”

The simplest question, yet the hardest to answer.

I reach up and touch her face. My thumb skims the curve of her jaw before setting the strand of hair free from her lip. “I’ll never let the fire touch you.” My eyes close at the memory that haunts my every waking moment. “Flames will never burn your flesh. Not while I’m still breathing.”

Her brows crease in worry and confusion. She has such pretty brows. They’ll never be marred by flames. Not like mine.

“Jace…”

“I mean it.” I rest my forehead against hers. Her breath is warm. Her lips are so close I could tilt an inch and—“I’ll protect you from all of it. From the people hunting you. From the rotters. From the world. Even from myself.”

Her breath hitches. “Jace…”

I pull back and press my lips to the soft skin of her forearm, right above the bandage. “I’ll protect you even if I can never have you. That’s a promise.”

14

AUTUMN

Mars greets us when Jace and I return to the campsite.

“How’d it go?” He turns around to look at us, and his leg knocks another plastic water bottle over and it rolls into the flames. “Oh, shit. We really need to find some fireproof water bottles, or we won’t have any left.”

“Or you can stop knocking them into the fire every other day,” I say with a teasing smile.

Caspian looks up from where he’s feeding wood into the fire. “The checkpoint was a bust. Nothing but old bones and rats.”

“Same,” I say, settling down beside the fire and pulling Mars’s flannel tight around me.

The walk back was long and quiet, with Jace lost in whatever thoughts he keeps locked away, and me not wanting to push after everything that happened.

The firelight flickers against our shelter’s broken walls. The scent of smoke and ash mixes with the faint tang of melted plastic from the bottle Mars knocked in.

Caspian doesn’t stop watching me, but his attention feels different tonight. It’s less haunted. More grounded. His gaze actually meets mine now.

He curls up near the fire with his hoodie pulled up halfway and his sleeves pushed to the elbow while he methodically feeds twigs and logs to keep the flames strong. His hair hangs down past his jaw and his pale blue eyes still track me when I move, but there’s a warmth there now that wasn’t there yesterday. The sun’s almost gone, but this time, the dark doesn’t seem to bother him as much.

Jace sits a little farther away, leaning against a far wall with his arms folded and distant. Shadows flicker across the scar that slices through his brow, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“You okay?” Caspian asks, looking at me.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

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