Page 57 of Summertime Hexy

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Something’s wrong.

More wrong than before.

The tear doesn’t just pulse this time—itshudders, convulses like it’s breathing and choking at the same time. The air around it goes thick, syrupy. Each breath feels like pulling steam into my lungs.

I smell sulfur.

Feel static raising goosebumps across my arms.

The grove tilts. Shadows stretch in unnatural directions. Even the trees seem to recoil, their leaves hissing in a language only the veil understands.

Hazel is still beside me, chest heaving, wand clenched in her hand like she’s trying to will the magic back into it. But I know the truth.

It’s notthereyet.

She doesn’t say it, but I see it in the tightness of her mouth, the wild flicker in her eyes.

She’s still empty.

And the tear knows.

Itlunges.

A ripple of energy bursts from its jagged edge like a spear—pure void magic, fast, lethal, and aimedright at her.

“HAZEL—!”

She turns just in time to see it.

Too late to move.

So I move for her.

I throw myself into the blast path, body twisting mid-air.

It hits me center-mass.

And everything goes white.

I don’t feel the pain right away. Just heat. Pressure.

And then it hits—like a thousand volts of lightning erupting beneath my skin. I’m not thrown. I’mlaunched, flung backward like a ragdoll, smashing through the underbrush, hitting the ground hard enough to crack bone.

The impact rattles through me.

Dirt in my mouth. Metal in my lungs. Darkness at the edge of my vision.

Something’s broken. Several somethings, probably.

And then I hear her.

Hazel.

Her boots thudding across the forest floor. Her voice—shaky, loud, barely holding it together.

“DEREK!”

I try to respond.

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