Chapter 21 · Flatline in the Rubble

The ringing in my ears was loud enough to kill. Like someone jammed a live wire straight into my skull.

Dust packed my mouth. I spat grit and got concrete back. Wet heat dripped down my cheek—mine or his, I couldn't tell. Didn't have time to check.

The entire second floor had caved in on us.

And Julian was flat against my back, pinning me to the floorboards. His arm was locked over the back of my skull, elbow braced hard against a cracked slab of blast glass that should've shattered into powder. He'd thrown himself over me the second the ceiling gave. No order. No hesitation.

Six years of despising him, and my body still mapped every pound of his weight.

"Julian." My voice sounded shredded, raw on the plaster. "Get off me."

Nothing. Just his breath against the shell of my ear—way too fast, burning hot, rattling.

"Julian."

I shoved both palms flat against the rubble beneath me. My left shoulder flared white. The slab above us shifted an inch, dumping a fresh mouthful of dirt down my collar. I stopped. I wasn't dying in a crawlspace under my own drywall.

Triage. Run the triage.

Legs—