But we’re moving toward the edge of the building, the ecto-mist creating a cryogenic chamber in my rib cage as I coordinate River’s movements with mine. Her entire posture is different—her shoulders are more hunched, and her feet fall heavier. I adjust myself, shrinking my neck and refusing the use of my arms.

A stroke of lightning tears through the atmosphere outside, striking a tree, which tips like a falling titan. A whole grid of houses is being crushed by falling trees and telephone poles, and on the road, a bus is tipping over. It landslides over the sidewalk and hits a telephone pole.

At the end of the hallway I fall to my knees, cupping my fingers over the tile and concrete at the building’s edge. My body below is like a distant speck on the sidewalk lining Heritage’s wall. Sawyer—the real one, it seems, judging from his stillness—is standing over my body. His eyes are lifeless, his arms out like a scarecrow’s. And I’m mirroring him, stretched across the wall like Jesus on the cross, a black vortex traveling from the gape of my mouth and into his as he drains me of life.

River and I break from the floor and end up floating in the middle of the air, the ecto-mist tearing through the dark clouds above us and casting its wind in a vortex that pulls us down to meet my physical self.

The mist rushes through me, like it’s part of me, sinking in through the pores of my skin as I draw closer to myself and find my feet on the ground.

I pull a brick from the building and imagine it thicker until it densifies in my hand.

Throw it. It’s a whisper, not from River’s mind or my own, but from the mist itself.

I throw the brick, and it breaks across his head in a storm of dizzy ash.

He turns to face me, slowly, calmly. “You found me.” It’s like he was expecting me. His energy surrounds him in swaddles of red and black.

“Did you expect me not to?” My voice is layered—two voices at once.

His eyes are suspicious of something. “You’re getting better at using this stuff.”

“And you’re uglier than you’ve ever been.” River. That was definitely River’s voice.

Sawyer lifts a whip and snaps it against the air. Mist flares down my arms like fire, forming a sword of blue energy. Sawyer thrashes the whip. I swing up and slice it, a spray of dusty light breaking both weapons.