oar spun, his eyes wide, sweeping. Arrows sliced past them, flying at the Croven. They ran, legs tearing into the slope. They didn’t stop until they’d crossed the gate into Marron’s courtyard.
People surrounded him, telling him to follow. Perry did what they asked. He could barely speak. He stumbled into the Box and through Marron’s halls, not thinking beyond moving his legs.
He was taken through a heavy steel door into a wide, empty hall with gleaming tile floors. Repellent smells surged into his nose. Alcohol. Plastic. Urine. Blood. Disease. The medical facility’s scents had reminded him of Mila last year. Now he thought of Talon, and his legs almost gave out beneath him.
He’d gotten here. Marron would fix the Smarteye and he’d find Talon.
A man in a doctor’s coat asked Perry something about his hand, jumbled words Perry couldn’t focus on. Perry looked at Roar, hoping he knew the answer, when shouts burst across the hall.
“Cinder,” Roar said, but Perry was already running, pushing past the knot of people clustered by a door. He scanned the room. Cloth partitions divided it into smaller areas with cots. Cinder slumped against the far left corner, a feral look in his black eyes. His noxious scent burst in the back of Perry’s nose, followed by the icy burn of his fear.
“Don’t come near me! Stay back!”
“He was unconscious,” said one of the doctors. “I was trying to give him an IV. ”
Cinder hurled curses at them.
“Easy,” Perry said. “Settle down, Cinder. ”
“We need to tranquilize him,” someone said.
Cinder’s eyes snapped over Perry’s shoulder and he yelled, “Get back or I’ll torch you!”
The sting in Perry’s nose surged as the lights flickered and then went out. Perry blinked hard, willing his eyes to adjust, but he was no good in pitch-black. “Get out,” Perry said, spreading his arms. He couldn’t let Cinder burn them, too. “Roar, get them out. ”
Fumbling, feeling through the dark, he and Roar herded everyone outside. Then Perry shut the door, leaning against it as he caught his breath. He couldn’t see anything. For long seconds, all he heard were the muffled voices in the hall. Then Cinder spoke.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me. Perry. ” Perry frowned. Had he even told Cinder his name until now?
A sliver of warm light peeked beneath the door. Candlelight out in the hall. Enough for the room to take shape before him.
“You like getting hurt?” Cinder asked. “You want me to burn your other hand?”
Perry didn’t have any fight left in him. He didn’t think Cinder did either. The kid was still shoved against the corner, barely keeping himself upright. Perry walked to the cot nearest to Cinder. It creaked as he sat down.
“What are you doing?” Cinder asked after a moment.
“Sitting. ”
“You should leave, Scire. ”
Perry didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure he could leave. The last bit of strength drained out of him, leaving his muscles twitching. The sweat that covered his shirt was cooling.
“Where am I?” Cinder asked.
“A friend’s. His name is Marron. ”
“Why are you here, Scire? You think you can help me? Is that it?” He waited for an answer. When Perry didn’t give him one, Cinder slid to the floor.
In the low light, Perry saw that Cinder had dropped his head into his hands. His temper sank, growing cool and dark, until it was a blackness so complete and cold that Perry’s heart began to pound. There was something familiar about it. About a temper like this.
“You should’ve just left me. Didn’t you see what I am?” The boy’s voice broke, and then Perry heard soft whimpering sounds.
Perry swallowed the tight feeling in his throat, keeping still and quiet on the cot as salt mixed with all the scents in the room. Slowly, he told himself. This boy had a rip in him. A wound that ran soul deep. Perry knew what that was like. This would take time.
“Can you . . . can you move your fingers?”