Tessa took one end of the stretcher and Catarina the other, and they moved Jem down the hallway. There was another explosion, closer. The building pulsed from the impact. The lights swung and went out for a moment, causing cries of alarm and confusion. Tessa froze in place, assuring herself that the ceiling wasn’t about to come down and bury them all. After a moment, the lights came back on, and movement continued.

“Come on,” Tessa said.

There was a small room at the end of the hall that was used for the nurses’ tea breaks and naps, or when they could not return home because of bombings. They set Jem’s stretcher gently on the empty cot on the side of the room. Jem was lying quietly, his features still, his breathing jagged. The color was draining from his skin.

“Hold the light,” Catarina said. “I need to examine this.”

Tessa pulled a witchlight from her pocket. It was safer and more reliable than the electric lights, but she could only use it in private. Catarina grabbed a pair of shears and cut away the cloth around the tunic to expose the wound. The veins on Jem’s chest and his arm had turned black.

“What is that?” Tessa said, her voice shaking. “It looks very bad.”

“I haven’t seen this in a long time,” Catarina said. “I think it’s a cataplasm.”

“What is that?”

“Nothing good,” Catarina said. “Be patient.”

She must be mad, Tessa thought. Be patient? How could she be patient? This was Jem, not some nameless patient under a gray blanket.

But every nameless patient was precious to someone. She forced herself to breathe more deeply.

“Take his hand,” Catarina said. “It will work better if you do it. Think of him, who he is to you. Give him your strength.”

Tessa had practiced a small amount of warlock magic before, though she was not advanced. As Catarina watched, Tessa took Jem’s slender hand in her own. She curled her fingers around his, his violinist’s fingers, remembering the care with which he had played. The time he had composed for her. His voice echoed in her heart.

People still use the expression “zhi yin” to mean “close friends” or “soul mates,” but what it really means is “understanding music.” When I played, you saw what I saw. You understand my music.

Tessa smelled burned sugar. She felt Jem’s lips hot against hers, the carpet underneath them, his arms holding her against his heart. Oh, my Jem.

His body surged against the stretcher, his back arching. He gasped, and the sound sent a shock through Tessa. Jem had been silent so long.

“Can you hear us?” Catarina asked.

I—can, came the halting reply in Tessa’s mind.

“You need the Silent Brothers,” Catarina said.

I cannot go to my Brothers with this.

“If you do not go to them, you will die,” Catarina said.