Five feet, ten—she hit the ground hard enough to feel it, even through the shock and the haze.

The floor must have finally given way beneath her. She threw her arms up, bracing for the rubble to fall, but nothing happened, and when Rios looked up, the ceiling overhead was solid. Then how was she here?

Where was here? Rios twisted around, and realized she was in the basement.

“Get up,” she told herself.

She did, nearly toppled in pain, but she was on her feet now, she wasn’t going back down. Rios forced herself to the wooden stairs at the edge of the room, dragged herself up to the door at the top, and pushed.

It moved an inch and then jammed, pinned shut by debris.

Rios snarled and threw herself against the door. Or at least she meant to. But instead of her wounded body hitting wood, she stumbled, ended up on her hands and knees in a shallow pile of rubble. At her back, the door stood, still jammed shut.

“What the fu—”

Shouts went up, and Rios straightened, hoping to see Jackson or Mendez or Fallon, but the voices were coming from beyond the building. She shouted back, her voice hoarse, her lungs aching with the effort.

It took them two days to clear the rubble. Jackson and Mendez were dead. Fallon was alive but still unconscious. And Rios—Rios walked away. Battered, broken, but alive.

The problem was, she didn’t know how.

* * *

WELL, she didn’t exactly walk away.

Rios had a concussion. Five broken ribs. Seven stress fractures. It

hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to think too hard, so she did her best to avoid all three. Which was probably why it took her a few days to realize something was wrong. Not with herself—that much she’d figured out pretty quickly—but with the hospital.

She’d been airlifted to an army hospital—at least she’d assumed that’s what it was. But as the strongest of the painkillers wore off, and her senses returned, she realized this place was obviously private. Too many doctors, too few patients.

I should have lied, she thought.

“You were on the first floor,” her sergeant had said. “How did you get out?”

Rios had been delirious with pain and numb with shock, and despite it all, she’d considered lying, knew how crazy it would sound. But she’d always been a shit liar, and it didn’t matter if they believed her—she could show them.

That was the idea, anyway.

She didn’t actually know if it would work again, whatever it was, didn’t know how to turn it on and off, how to tell it when to make a surface solid and when to let her through—but in the end, she didn’t need to. Whatever it was—it just kind of knew.