Enough of the weight’s been taken off that I can speak again. I ignore the burning agony in my muscles, the heaviness sinking into my shoulders. Sam and Daniela are holding, waiting for my instructions.

“Walk . . . walk backwards,” I manage to grunt. “Let it go . . . slowly.”

Shoulder to shoulder, the three of us march slowly backwards down the tunnel. We keep the telekinetic pressure on directly above us, gradually letting go of the sections of ceiling that we’ve safely passed under. It rumbles and collapses in our wake. At one point, I see a couple of cars fall into the tunnel, quickly swallowed by more debris. The street above is collapsing, but the three of us manage to hold it at bay.

“How long?” Sam asks through gritted teeth.

“Don’t know,” I reply. “Keep going.”

“Shit,” Daniela repeats over and over, her voice a hoarse whisper. I can see her arms shaking. Both she and Sam are raw, not used to telekinesis. I’ve never supported this much weight before, and I certainly didn’t come close to it on my first day with Legacies. I can feel their strength waning, beginning to slip.

They just need to hold on a little bit longer. If they don’t, we’re dead.

“We’re going to make it,” I growl. “Keep going!”

I can feel the subway tunnel gradually sloping downwards under my feet. The deeper we get, the sturdier the ceiling is above us. Step by step, the telekinetic counterpressure we need to exert lessens, until finally we reach a section of tunnel where the ceiling is stable.

“Let go,” I groan. “It’s okay, let go.”

As one, we release our hold on the ceiling. Ten yards away, the last bit of ceiling we’d been supporting crashes into the tunnel, blocking off the way we came. Above us, the tunnel creaks and holds. All three of us collapse into the filthy water that fills the bottom of the tunnel. I feel as if an actual weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I hear a retching noise next to me and realize that Daniela’s throwing up. I try to stand up to help her, but my body doesn’t cooperate. I fall face-first into the water.

A second later, Sam’s hands are under my arms, lifting me up. His face is pale and strained, like he doesn’t have much left to give.

“Oh man, is he dying?” Daniela asks Sam.

“However much ceiling we were holding, he was probably carrying four times as much,” Sam replies. “Help me with him.”

Daniela slides underneath my other arm. She and Sam lift me up, dragging me down the tunnel.

“He just saved my life,” Daniela says, still breathless.