Whatever it all means, I know Nine wouldn’t actually kill me. Each member of the Garde is too important, Pittacus or not. More than anything, coming together and fighting as one, as the Garde we were born to be, is more important than any fight he and I might have. That’s small comfort, given the fact that my body is still swinging when I feel the wind change slightly. The hand around my neck opens and my stomach drops as I start to fall. Could I have been wrong? Instead I feel my feet touch down in less than a second. I open my eyes and find myself back on the roof. Nine walks away, his head down. He snaps his wrist and the long red staff shrinks into a piece of silver. Over his shoulder, he yells, ‘Next time, I drop you!’

19.

19.

I’m facedown in scorching hot sand. It’s in my mouth, up my nose, I can barely breathe. I know I should get up, try to roll over, but my bones ache too much. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block the pain all over my body. I finally muster the strength to rise, but when I place my hands down to push myself up, the sand burns them. I let myself fall back.

‘Marina?’ I groan.

She doesn’t respond. I still can’t open my eyes, but I listen carefully for any signs of life. All I hear is the wind and sand whipping against my body.

I try to speak again, but can only muster a whisper. ‘Marina? Somebody, help me. Eight? Ella? Anyone?’ I’m so confused I even call out for Crayton. As I wait and hope for a response, I’m hit with the memory of Crayton’s dead body. I see it all happening again. Ella’s tears. The Mog attack. Hooking my hand inside Marina’s elbow and Eight saying, ‘Here we go.’

The sun is so hot above me my hair feels like a blanket of fire on my neck and shoulders. Finally, I manage to roll onto my back, and to lift my arm and shield my eyes from the blinding light. Slowly, blinking, I open them a bit at a time. I don’t see anyone. Just sand. I struggle to my feet and hear Eight’s voice echoing in my head: ‘I really hope this works. I’ve never tried to bring anyone else.’