Warmth hits the fingertips on my right hand. The moment I notice the unexpected heat, it turns from warm to scalding hot, lifting my fingers right off Dad’s chest.
Now I know why he was freaking out.
My fingertips split open and I watch in open-mouthed horror as tiny slivers of silver escape from my fingers and suck into the machine. My fingernails—painted purple with silver sparkles—twist and deform until they lift right off their nail beds as my skin bursts open to free my power.
My left hand draws blood as it digs into Dad’s shoulder. My thoughts spin in a million horrific directions, none of them ending with me getting out of this. The panic under my skin hurts more than the flesh in my hand. Shock fills me and for a moment I feel no pain at all. Just disbelief—and then agony.
I am being depowered, I am being depowered, this can’t be happening this must be a dream, oh god please let it be a dream, I’m going insane I’m totally insane, it hurts so bad, why won’t it just stop hurting. I’d rather die, just let me die!
Guilt digs into me as I realize that how I felt when Dad was being depowered is nothing compared to how I feel now that I’m the one under the machine. My knees give out from struggling against the pain, and soon I am lying limp, half on the gurney with Dad and half sinking to the floor. Thrashing with pain as the machine moves up to my wrist, and then my forearm, and then my elbow.
This is it. I’m doomed. This is happening. This isn’t a nightmare or possibility; this is reality. My eyes squeeze shut as I try to block out the pain, or maybe I’ve blacked out. I have no idea what I’m doing with my body; all I know is that I hurt. I will not be the one who saves the day.
I will never be a Hero now.
Why is that the only coherent thought to enter my mind?
A scream pierces the air, but it isn’t mine. I haven’t screamed at all, because allowing myself to scream would mean I’d never stop. The intensity of that scream pulls me out of my pain coma just enough to remember that although my arm is ripping to shreds, my neck is still perfectly capable of looking around.
Aurora struggles against the wall, held in place by a hand wrapped around her neck. Nova’s hand. “You don’t want to do this,” Aurora says, cutoff halfway by Nova tightening her grip.
“My whole life was a lie,” Nova says. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”
“Because you are to kill her,” Aurora’s voice drips with disdain. “They won’t allow both of you to live. She must die.”
Nova flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “I don’t believe you.”
My teeth rip into my bottom lip, spilling blood in my mouth. The machine moves past my elbow and soon it’ll engulf my shoulder and then my face. The reality of the situation is right here smacking me in the face, and yet I still have this tiny flicker of hope buried somewhere deep in my subconscious that maybe I will be okay. That hope, that tiny flicker of possibility in the face of absolute hopelessness is the very reason I am not a Hero.
I won’t be okay. I am not okay.
Dad falls unconscious, either from the pain or blood loss. I’ll join him soon. Hell, I almost welcome it. Stars flicker across my vision as I try to focus in on what’s happening to Aurora. Two Retrievers approach her and Nova from each side, both looking to Max for direction. My brother motions to them and says something I can’t hear. Evan holds out a hand as if to stop them, shaking his head at whatever Max orders. Retrievers take no action against Nova, whose fingers are now drawing blood from Aurora’s neck.
Max shoves Evan out of the way. Evan shoves back.
Shouts come from both of them as other Heroes step in to mediate the argument. Crimson seems to side with Evan, which only pisses off Max even more. For one minuscule fraction of a second, I almost forget about the pain in my arm, until the machine rips a big ass vein straight from the inside of my elbow, hyperextending my arm in the process.
I cry out in pain as my legs give out underneath me.
Nova’s voice is the last thing I hear before everything goes black.
“I’m going to regret this.”
My tailbone sends shards of pain up my spine as I fall straight on my ass, rolling on my right side to compress my severed arm under my shirt. So much pain—white hot pain and icy wetness spilling against my chest. Just let me die, why can’t I die?
Evan drops to his knees beside me, yanking off his shirt in one quick motion. He pulls me over, exposing my arm to the air and my teeth grind until they crack in half, sending more pain into my supersaturated nerve endings.
I want to cry and scream but I don’t think I’m doing anything. Am I breathing? I can’t tell.
“It’s just your arm. You’re going to be okay.” His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, and in that tiny bit of time, I feel better. Then the agony slams into me full force again. “Try to hold still, I need to wrap it to stop the bleeding.” He rips his shirt and wraps it around my arm, starting at my armpit and spiraling down, pulling the shreds of flesh tightly back into place. The pain eases a miniscule bit, but I’ll take whatever I can get. My tongue scrapes across gritty sand—bits of my teeth chipping off.
Crimson orders Retrievers to bring medical help. Hours go by in a few seconds. Power buzzes through my chest in erratic spasms, unlimited sources of energy with nowhere to go. My thoughts are a scattered
deck of cards. Why isn’t my arm healing? I’ve never felt pain this long—it should heal. I regrew my own damn skull! Grow arm, grow!
Evan ties the shirt over my fingers, leaving my right arm as a blood-soaked mummy. His hand touches my cheek. “Stop hyperventilating. Breathe slowly. Your arm has been depowered, so it will heal the way humans heal.”
My eyes go wide. Large drops of saline that I refuse to call tears roll out of my eyes and down my cheeks as I take in the new information Evan dropped on me. My arm has been depowered. It will not heal instantly. Depowered.