She couldn’t breathe.
Her ears were ringing and full, and she couldn’t seem to move right yet.
Where was the man?
He’d shot Nick. She’d seen the flash, had seen Nick jerk and fall.
She had to run.
She had to get to her phone.
Her brain was racing, but everything else seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Move!
She still couldn’t breathe. The pressure was intense, as if an elephant had set up shop right on top of her chest. Her vision was turning spotty.
Had she been shot? She felt like she’d been dropped into liquid amber, and her world was slowly coming to a crystalline stop.
What was happening?
And then, without warning, reality snapped back into place. Wind rushed into the studio, chilling her face and making the glass tinkle and drag across the wood.
She could move. She could breathe. She could crawl.
But no. When she rolled over, trying to get to her hands and knees, her body shook and protested the motion. Every joint hurt. Her head swam. Her skin pricked like she’d been sliced open by a hundred tiny knives.
Oh, look. Her arms were bleeding.
The lightbulbs. Glass under her palms.
Nick.
Nick was crumpled on the floor. Not moving.
His eyes were closed. Blood had pooled on the hardwood floor, glistening where glass had collected in it.
She realized she was screaming his name. Glass sliced into her hands and knees as she scrambled toward him.
Then she caught movement from the corner of her eye and flinched, remembering the man.
Hide. Hide, Quinn.
Her brain wasn’t working. Hide where? In the open?
But no. It wasn’t the man. She didn’t see Gareth anywhere.
It was Adam. He was making the same slow crawl across the glass-strewn floor that she was. Blood streaked his forearms. His head was bleeding from the temple—what had happened?
His face was wet. He was crying.
She was yelling. She couldn’t move fast enough.
Nick.
Nick.
Nick.
He didn’t move at all.
No. No no no no no no.
Adam got to him first. Rolled him onto his back. Nick’s arm cracked onto the hardwood floor, lifeless.
Adam was crying his name, too. He was pressing his fingers to Nick’s neck, struggling to find a pulse. Adam’s words came to her in slow motion, and her brain didn’t want to process them.
He doesn’t have a pulse.
He’s not breathing.
Damn it, Nick.
The side of Nick’s face was soaked in blood. It was already caking in his hair.
Oh, Nick. Quinn choked on her sobs.
Adam breathed into Nick’s mouth.
And again.
Nothing happened.
Nick’s voice was echoing in her head, from the night he’d told her their secrets.
A gun to the head is a surefire way to kill us.
God, now it sounded like a premonition.
She’d done this. She should have fought Gareth in the parking lot. She should have screamed a warning. She should have begged Tyler to stay she should have should have should have—
“Damn it, Quinn!” shouted Adam. “Snap out of it! Can you get to your phone? He’s got a pulse. We need an ambulance.”
Nick had a headache.
He couldn’t open his eyes. He kept flashing on waking up in the woods, Gabriel leaning over him.
Come on, Nicky, you’re scaring me.
Air swirled around him, fluttering at his skin, full of pride, seeking his attention.
Yes, yes, he thought. I’m alive. Good job. This just really fucking hurts.
He knew he’d been shot in the head, but only kind of distantly. Like maybe one day he’d be able to look back on this and say, “Well, the one time I took a bullet to the cerebral cortex . . .”
No. That was stupid. If the bullet had gone into his brain, he wouldn’t be lying here thinking about it, would he?
He felt drunk. He wished he could open his eyes.
He wished he could move.
He smelled oranges and cloves.
Adam.
Oh, and Adam was kissing him. This was nice. Breath rushed across his tongue and filled his lungs. Power flared in his chest, finding his blood and sparking through his body.
Another breath and he could move.
Another breath and he could hear. Quinn’s voice. “Come on, Nick. Come on. Please, Nick.”
She sounded so worried. Didn’t she remember their whole conversation about air pressure?
Another breath. Wait, this kissing was all wrong. Nick brought his hands up and captured Adam’s cheeks.
Adam jerked back and swore.
Nick opened his eyes and found wide, panicked brown ones gazing down at him.
“ ’Sup?” said Nick.
“Holy shit,” Adam whispered.
“Holy shit,” Quinn echoed. Her bright blue eyes appeared next to Adam’s.
“It’s . . . it’s impossible,” said Adam.
“Nuh-uh,” said Nick. He shook his head and the ceiling tilted and spun. “It’s physics.”
“He still needs an ambulance.” Adam turned his head to look at Quinn. “Try your phone again. Can you get a signal yet?”
“I can’t even get the stupid thing to turn on.”
Nick sucked in a deep breath, buying himself further clarity. It wasn’t working. His brain couldn’t seem to organize.
Adam was still staring down at him. “He shot you. I saw—I saw—there’s blood—”
“Nothing works,” said Quinn. “Whatever that guy did, there’s no cell signal, no electricity, no cars on the road—”
“Me,” said Nick. He winced as reality started to reform, bringing more pain with it. “I did it.”
“What?” said Adam.
“The end of Twilight would have been so much cooler if this had happened in the dance studio, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you seriously joking right now?”
Nick struggled to shift so he could sit up, and his arms found shards of glass. The pain helped his thoughts focus.
God, his head hurt.
“Easy,” said Adam. His voice was still full of mixed emotion, as if panic and wonder battled for space. “Just lie still. Wait for help.”
“I can’t wait,” said Nick, more sure now. “I need to tell—need to warn—”
“We can’t warn anyone. Nothing works,” said Quinn. “It’s like a bomb went off or something.”
“A bomb did go off,” said Nick. “But without the explosion part. Help me up.”
He took Adam’s outstretched hand and pulled himself to sit up.
It wasn’t the best idea. He had to grip hard just to stay upright. His stomach rolled and he worried he’d throw up all over the floor.
He had no idea how much damage his pressure wave had caused, or at what distance. Had he knocked out power to more than this building? What had Quinn said? No cars on the road?
God, he needed his brain to work.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, blinking at Adam.
“Most of it’s yours.”
Nick reached toward his temple. “No, there.”
“Whatever happened knocked me into the wall.” Adam glanced left. “Quinn hit the risers.” He paused. “You were . . . you were out for a long time.”
“It didn’t hurt that asshole,” she said. “He was gone when I woke up.”
Of course. “Does he know I’m still alive?” said Nick.
“We didn’t know you were still alive until about two seconds ago,” said Quinn. “You had no pulse, Nick. You were . . .”