Page 141 of Warrior

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Saint Hart.” She grips both my shoulders. “Did you know that?”

I pause.

Try to figure out why she’s asking me that.

“Artemis?”

“Y-yes,” I say.

He did it in a fit of anger a few months ago. Just one of those stupid slip-ups that required stitches, but I freaked out on him that no one had told me.

That was when I was still very much on Keep Saint Alive duty.

“Someone told them where to reach you.”

“Who?”

“The hospital,” she says slowly. “The hospital has been trying to reach you, through us, about Saint Hart.”

My lungs stop. “Is he okay?” I force out.

“He’s alive,” she assures me. “But that’s all they’d say. He’s at the Sterling Falls hospital. If you want to go, I can travel with you.”

“I—yes,” I blurt out. “Of course I need to go. Right now?”

She nods.

“Okay. Okay.” I slip out of her hold and rush back to my room. By the time she reaches me, I’ve got on my red coat and a black winter cap.

“Ready.”

She nods once, all business. There’s no sympathy there, and I’m okay with that. I’d crack with sympathy. She puts a hand on the small of my back, guiding me out to the waiting golf cart. The path is plowed, and wind whips at us on the way to the small dock.

A speedboat waits, one of the workers already aboard.

I scramble on and take the offered life jacket. It fits over my coat, and I stuff my hands between my legs to keep them warm. Worry bleeds through me, enough to make me forget the fact that I’m leaving the Isle of Paradise for the first time.

What the hell happened, Saint?

41ARTEMIS

Dr. Hawthorne stays with me.She seems to watch me closely, although I can’t tell if she’s wondering about my mental status or if I’m going to immediately run away to get drugs.

I feel… stable, actually. As much as I’m worried, the thought of how heroin might help is one of the quieter voices in my head. The ride across the ocean into Sterling Falls is relatively smooth, and she ushers me into a waiting car at the marina.

Everything is arranged, I suppose.

The driver takes us to the hospital. We get out at the front entrance, and I explain to the receptionist that I’m the emergency contact for Saint.

I can barely force out the words, and my hands tremble. I ball them into fists and stick them in my jacket, needing to hide my nerves.

Dr. Hawthorne steps up and guides me down the hall, following directions I missed.

“He’s okay?” I ask her.

“She didn’t say. We’ll talk to someone at the nurse’s station.”

“Okay.”

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