27

LAILA

Laila could not feel anything.

Not even horror.

She remembered running across the bridge of bone, toward the illuminated far wall … but now that lightness had vanished. And with it, her feeling of sensations. She could not feel the hard, wet pebbles that should have been biting into her legs. The blankness had stolen through her the moment they’d crossed the bridge of bone. Her vision kept flickering to black. Her lungs should have ached. Her nose should have filled with the stale scent of the lake. Séverin turned and spat out water, gasping for air.

Moments later, Hypnos, Enrique, and Zofia fell onto the shore alongside them. Laila could hear them coughing and spitting. She could hear Séverin speaking in hushed, worried tones.

But it was as if she were listening to them from under water.

She should have been ecstatic. She should have been weeping that they had made it to the other side. But the blankness that snuck through her was a subtle devourer. It sipped on her joy, nibbled on her panic, and left her with nothing but a crust of herself.

Laila told herself this was normal. She had felt this before, and sensation always came back. But another part of her hissed and whispered: It is taking longer and longer to feel human isn’t it, little broken doll?

Laila forced her attention away, turning instead to the others. When she focused on them, their voices seemed louder. Clearer. Moments passed, and their faces and expressions gained clarity. But beyond them, the cave was a blur of shadows and emptiness.

Hypnos rolled over onto his side, heaving. Enrique lay on his back, his chest moving up and down. Beside him, Zofia drew herself up, clutching her knees to her chest and shaking.

“Enrique?” said Séverin, shaking him. “Are you hurt? What’s happened? Say something, please, I beg you.”

Enrique opened his mouth, whispering something.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Hypnos, his voice prickling. “Is he all right?”

“I—” rasped Enrique. He raised his hand, brushing something at his temples. “Told—you—so.”

And then he flung the beeswax at Séverin’s forehead. Séverin looked unfazed.

“Do you feel better now?”

Enrique snuck a glance at Zofia and then Hypnos. “A little.”

“Do you wish to get off the ground? Or is the weight of sanctimony too great?”

Enrique grinned. He held out his hand, Séverin took it and hoisted the both of them to their feet.

More than anything, Laila wanted to smile. But her face felt frozen.

“Laila?” asked Zofia, looking up at her. “Are you injured?”

Maybe, thought Laila. But she couldn’t feel, so she didn’t know. At first, the words glommed in her throat.

“I’m not in pain,” she said slowly.

She could hear the dull, flatness of her words. Séverin turned toward her. Once, she would have been able to feel the force of that gaze. Now, it did not signify. She forced herself to stand. Every movement was like the indifferent jerk of a puppet string.