Eve
The agony in her scream ripped through my skull, piercing and endless.
My vision blurred, flames morphing, the crackle of fire merging with the roaring buzz in my head.
Smoke filled my lungs.
I could feel myself there, watching it all unfold.
My mouth went bitter.
My spine prickled.
I staggered back a step, whimpering.
"Rhea," I gasped in my mind. But even she was silent, trembling with me.
The memories didn't stop.
That same scream.
The smell of burning flesh.
A hand pressed against glass, bloodied and slipping.
"You don't have to do this," the same woman pleaded.
A sob broke from my throat, sharp and helpless.
No. No, not now. Please, not now.
My head spun.
The whir of helicopter blades cut through the chaos, loud, oppressive, like rotors slicing through bone.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
But then — rustling.
Not in my head.
Real.
Close.
My ears twitched.
I forced myself to focus, vision swimming, heart slamming into my ribs.
Rustling. To the left.
