“Jack?” Chill asks, a rising tension in his voice. “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“I can’t . . .” I pant, the words caught in my raw throat. “I can’t run anymore.”

There’s a shuffle in my ear. The tense cadence of familiar voices. I bow my head, my chest heaving, my hands braced on the tracks. Rain streams over my neck and off the edge of my nose.

“Get up,” a voice says.

I lift my head, scanning the blackness in front of me, but the voice I heard wasn’t out there. It was inside me. In my ear. “Fleur?”

“If you love me, you will get up and get across that bridge. Now, Jack!”

I scramble to my feet, negotiating the tracks with careful heavy steps.

“You can do this,” she says. “Just focus on what’s ahead of you, and don’t look back.”

I anchor myself to the sound of her voice as I stumble over the ties. I want to tell her I love her. That if I don’t make it, I died trying. But I can’t catch enough air to utter the words. Every breath burns.

Rain slashes sideways across my face. Behind me, fire hisses through the air. A gale throws me off-balance, and I hold out my arms to steady myself.

I look down. “I’m on the bridge.”

“Don’t stop. No matter what happens, keep going.” Every word sounds tinged with worry.

“Sommers!” Doug’s voice booms behind me. I push myself faster, using my outstretched arms for balance to counter the wind. I hardly feel it where it cuts across my body. Rain forms a layer of ice on my skin. Maybe I’m too cold to feel anything. Maybe I’m already in shock. Doug won’t have a chance to kill me. Hypothermia will.

The track shakes. Despite Fleur’s warning, I look back. Doug. He’s on the bridge.

There are no trees to haul me over the creek. No fireballs to buy me time here.

“I’m not going to make it. Fleur, I—”

“Don’t you dare stop! Doug’s tired and he’s hurting. He’s using too much magic and he’s wearing himself down. Just get to the other side of the bridge. We’ll handle the rest.”

The wind stutters. I duck my head, pushing against it. My ice-crusted hair slaps against my cheek as the wind shifts, building momentum. The black surface of the water peels back from the side of the bridge, the wave receding to reveal the shadowy creek bottom underneath. A familiar howl reaches my ears . . . a funnel forming.

“Move your ass, Jack! Shit’s about to get ugly!” Julio. Behind me. Somewhere on shore.