Chapter 17 · His Hand Made the Jump

Marcus woke up holding somebody else's hand.

Not attached to a body. Just the hand. Pale. Cold. Cassian's rings still on two fingers.

He was in water up to his knees, black water that didn't reflect anything, and the sky above him was the color of old smoke. No horizon. Just water and sky and the taste of copper in his mouth like he'd bitten his tongue on the way through.

He looked down at the hand. It was severed clean at the wrist. No blood. The skin had that waxy look things got when they'd been dead a while, but the fingers were still loose, not stiff. He could bend them if he wanted.

He didn't want to.

"What the hell," Marcus said. His voice came out flat. The air ate the sound before it could travel.

He tried to drop the hand. His fingers wouldn't open. They were locked around Cassian's wrist like he'd been holding on when the jump happened, like his body couldn't tell the difference between a living rival and a piece of one.

He shook his arm. The hand flopped. The rings clinked together.

"Come on.