He howls, the sort of sound I’m sure I’ll hear when I’m falling asleep at night, but I only grab harder and use his distraction to ram my elbow into his throat.

Arlie’s stopped fighting us, and I wonder if we’ve smothered her, but I’m all out of fucks to give at this point. My pulse rate is going so fast I’ve got tunnel vision, and all I know, all I can focus on is Luther.

Carson Alexander.

And ending this for good.

By any means possible.

“Perry!”

At first, my name means nothing, but then the trickling awareness of familiarity seeps in over the sound of Luther’s choking.

I swing toward the voice, and my heart drops.

St. Clare. Panting hard, hair in disarray, cheeks so red they looked slapped.

“Get out!” I scream at him, but the idiot runs toward me instead.

My distraction costs me.

Luther throws me off, and as I go flying, two things hit me at once.

First, Arlie has her gun, and it’s pointed at me.

Second, Danvers has mine and …

It’s pointed at St. Clare.

My whole world fucking stops.

The only thought in my mind is not him! as I jump up and shove St. Clare out of the line of fire. He flings backward as a gunshot goes off, so loud I think it might have deafened me, and so suddenly it makes my whole body seize up. Two more quickly follow, but those sound far away. Muffled.

My heartbeat is in my ears.

I’m breathing so hard it feels useless. Like all the air is going to my head and not my lungs.

“Fuck! Perry!”

St. Clare’s voice is coming from somewhere, but through the fog, something else is registering. Something burning hot and immediate.

I glance down, blinking hard, as my feet threaten to go out from under me, and the more I blink, the more I can’t figure out what I’m seeing.

Since when is the T-shirt Lars bought me red?

Someone grabs me, and my legs buckle. Confusion clouds any rational thought that I had as I fling my gaze around wildly, trying to find Luther, Danvers, Arlie … Are we even safe here? Are we about to be killed?

Danvers’s face swims into view, blank, staring eyes, blood pooling from his neck, and when I twist to where Luther last was, I’m not sure if I’m imagining the hole in his head or not.

St. Clare is saying something, and those shots must have been really loud because I can’t make out the words. Just the tears rolling over his face.

I flinch as Arlie joins him and try to get away.

“B-bad.”

Shit. I’m burning up and freezing at the same time. Where’s the climate control in here?