My lungs constrict and shrink. They refuse to expand, to take in air. My legs buckle, forcing Lip Spikes to loosen his grip as my body goes limp, a dead weight in his arms. He struggles to hold me upright. I jerk my shoulders, a sad attempt to break free, but darkness encircles my vision as my body shuts down.

A thick, bulky shadow barrels into the alley—so fast, I’m sure it’s another hallucination. I hear a thud. A crack. Adam’s attacker is launched into the alley wall. His head smashes against the brick, and he collapses.

Lip Spikes tenses. His grip tightens around my waist.

I try to focus. Adam’s other attacker springs back to a defensive pose, lifting his fists to his chin.

I blink. Squint. I can barely make out silhouettes except for Adam, who lies on the ground, lifeless.

Adam’s attacker throws a punch into the night. A fist shoots out of nowhere and slams into his face. Two forms tangle with each other, wrestling in the alley. A resounding blow pierces the darkness. Another crack. Adam’s attacker rolls out of the shadows clutching his stomach.

I can’t make my legs work. Can’t figure out what’s happening. I inhale through my nose, try to pump my diaphragm, but it’s not enough. The air squeezing into my chest is too shallow. Too slow.

A hulking form emerges, stomping toward me. Tight fists ball at his sides.

Lip Spikes shuffles backward, dragging me with him, jerking me back and forth as I fight to steady myself.

Two gleaming gray eyes glare beneath a dark hood. Ryan. The look in his eyes is frightening. He wants to hurt Lip Spikes, who must see it too, because he shoves me.

I pitch forward, stumbling into Ryan’s chest. He grabs me, steadies me, his body rigid, pulse racing. Ryan motions to leave, to chase Lip Spikes down, but I cling to his shirt and gasp. Choking turns to coughing. I can’t control it. Can’t get relief. I ball his shirt in my fists. My legs buckle, and once again my entire body fails me.

Ryan snaps from the frenzy possessing him. He holds me up, while clawing at my purse slung around my body. My inhaler finds my lips. Mist shoots in, and I breathe. I gulp the oxygen, relieved to feel my chest expand. I inhale. Exhale. Over and over again, until my vision returns, and I’m able to lock my legs in place.

Ryan wraps his arms around me. He presses his lips to the top of my head. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Every muscle in my body burns. He searches my back, my head, my hair like he’s looking for bullet holes or knife wounds. “You’re okay,” he says again, and I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit or his.