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Blood pulsed behind my ears while my eyes slid to the thick Ace bandages wrapped around the agent’s right hand.

Seeing Agent Truman’s lopsided wrap job made me feel a million times better. I hoped he ended up needing surgery that involved metal pins and rods and lots and lots of recovery time, the same way Carrie Dreyer had when that broken bone had come through her skin.

“Do as he says, and your dad here doesn’t have to get hurt,” Agent Truman snarled at me over my dad’s shoulder.

I looked down then and saw the gun in Agent Truman’s good hand—his unbandaged one. He held it awkwardly, his grip unnatural, pointing directly at my dad’s back.

My dad lifted his hands in the air, showing me he was the same as me—a pawn. “I’m sorry, Kyr,” he said hoarsely.

My gaze slid out of focus as tears welled fatter behind my eyelids. My dad hadn’t turned on me. He was still my number one fan.

Simon gave me a meaningful look, and we did as we were told, easing Tyler onto the dusty ground. I took extra care to make sure we weren’t laying him on any rocks, and then I turned to my dad.

I struggled to find the right words, but everything seemed wrong and not big enough, and definitely not sorry enough for the way I’d turned my back on him. “No . . . Dad . . .” I shook my head, wishing more than anything I could run to him so I could feel his bear-like arms around me. “I’m the one who’s sorry. For everything. For not believing you in the first place.” Then my gaze shifted to Agent Truman. “You can’t do this,” I told him. “It’s illegal. He hasn’t done anything.”

His mouth twisted into a snarl. “This isn’t about legal or not legal.” He lifted his bandaged hand. “You have no idea how special you are, and I’m not about to let you get away again.”

I’d been so focused on my dad that I’d nearly forgotten all about Simon.

“I don’t think you have much choice,” Simon stated. His voice was subdued when he spoke. “That,” he said, nodding at the poorly wrapped Ace bandage. “That’s nothing.” He clutched his knife in his fingers, clenching and unclenching his fist.

Agent Truman’s eyes narrowed as they fell on the knife, but he didn’t even flinch. “You wouldn’t. Not with Kyra’s old man here.” He lifted his gun then, holding it to the back of my father’s head, and my heart nearly exploded.

Simon’s eyes slipped to my dad and then to me. I could see the surrender in his eyes even before his chin dropped and he lifted his hands in the air. And then, as if all the will had been drained from him like a deflated balloon, he opened his fingers and let the knife slip to the ground.

But Agent Truman didn’t back down as easily. He shoved the nose of the gun hard against the back of my dad’s neck. There was something in the agent’s expression, the wild look in his eyes and the firm set of his jaw, that made him look determined. He settled his gaze on me. “The easier you make this, the less likely dear old daddy won’t end up at in the bottom of that pit over there.”

“Let him go.” I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the gun. I couldn’t let him do what he was threatening. I couldn’t go with him, and there was no way in hell I was letting him hurt my dad. “Drop the gun,” I warned, trying to sound reasonable. “I mean it.” I concentrated, my hands curling into fists so tight my fingertips ached. A throbbing started in the back of my head.

I thought about the way I’d felt when I was at that gas station, when I wanted—when I needed—those pain relievers for Tyler so he wouldn’t die from fever.

And now what I needed was for Agent Truman not to kill my dad.

I blinked slow and hard. I forced all my attention on the gun, on the barrel.

I clenched and unclenched my fingers, balled and unballed my fists. “No!” I screamed. “Let! Him! Goooo!

When the gun jerked from his grasp, it flew end over end so fast that I could barely track it. It was that fast. A blur.

But I did see it, and so did everyone else, watching as it hurtled like a rocket toward the crater.

We never heard it hit the bottom.

For a moment I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. I’d done it. I’d actually moved something with my mind . . . on purpose. And this time there were witnesses.

Simon didn’t take as long to react, and he turned to me in an instant, his copper eyes finding me as he demanded, “You . . . you did this.” It wasn’t a question because, of course, he’d seen the truth with his own two eyes.

He looked stunned, and maybe a little pissed that I hadn’t told him everything I was capable of, when we heard Tyler. He exhaled, releasing a gut-wrenching gurgle.

And like that, I was no longer concerned with Simon or Agent Truman or even my dad. I dropped besides Tyler as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. This was it, I thought, even as I was silently screaming not yet . . . not yet . . . not yet!

“Tyler,” I whispered, leaning as close to him as I could get so no one else could hear us. My windpipe felt crushed, and it was hard to swallow. My eyes ached.

He was burning up again, but I guess none of that mattered anymore. It would soon be over. He’d be at peace. “I’m here. I’m staying right here.” I reached for his hand, no longer worried about hurting him, and his eyelids fluttered open.

He tried to focus, but his sightless eyes made it impossible, and his gaze darted wildly about, making him look lost and confused. I finally gave myself permission to cry, because there was nothing left to do. I’d taken him to the wrong place.

Maybe, I thought desperately. Maybe if we all tried . . . maybe there is still time.

I petitioned Agent Truman, who was just standing there, gaping at his empty hand. “Please. If we can just get him up to that hill. If you help me, I promise I’ll go with you.” I pointed to the place where the fireflies had been just a few short minutes ago.

But the rocky peak was dark now. The fireflies were gone.

Beside me, Tyler sputtered, and I turned to see blood spewing from his mouth and trickling from his nose now too. When he gasped, he choked on it, and then choked some more.

He really was drowning, and soon it would be over.

“What the—”

I didn’t know what Agent Truman was trying to say, but Tyler’s hand suddenly went weaker in mine, his fingers going limp as his gasps grew frail and reedy.

“Kyra.” My dad said my name, but it barely registered. How could I care? How could anything else matter when Tyler was dying? When I was losing him?

And then a cloud of light passed over the top of me.

I wanted to ignore it, but it was far too radiant to be overlooked. Still holding Tyler’s hand, because I wasn’t ready to say good-bye, I glanced skyward; and when I did, my chest tingled and I felt light-headed.

They were amazing this close-up. The fireflies. They were so close I could single out individual clusters of the tiny, glowing insects. It wasn’t like before when they’d appeared to be one enormous knot. Rather, they were like a collection of several groups that had all come together. Like tribes working in unison.

And they were positively breathtaking.

Dropping Tyler’s hand at last, I stood up as I watched while this swarm—this giant, undulating cloud—began to break apart. Beyond me, at the crater, something was happening, and there was light pulsing up from below, from deep down inside Devil’s Hole.

Whatever was down there was alive. And it was coming closer. It was bright and fast, and loud, and it sounded vaguely like the fireflies above us—like the millions of wings that beat. Only louder. Angrier.