I don’t have a lot of room to fight, and I don’t want to use the thread on Thane. Still, I give it my best and fling my left arm out, toward his face. It’s more of a distraction than anything. My right goes for his stomach. The blow lands, and he grunts, but it doesn’t keep him from wrapping an arm around my neck and crushing me against him. His hand claps over my mouth and nose, and the only thing I become aware of is the pressure around my neck, the raw pain of having my body starved of oxygen. My vision blurs with hot tears, and saliva seeps into my throat and out of my mouth.

The sensation builds until it feels like his bones are cutting into mine, slicing through the arteries, detaching my head from my body.

And then there’s nothing.

Chapter Forty-One

Shy and the Abomination

I know the moment Anora steps on the field because the thread connecting us makes my chest ache. I have to clench my fists just to have something else to focus on. I could solve this easily if I’d just go stand by her, but I’m still angry about earlier—even angrier when I glance in her direction and see she’s standing with Thane. Why does she keep hanging out with him? He gave her answers, but I did too, and without putting her in danger.

She trusts him more than me.

If Chase were still alive, I might kill him myself for making the Eurydice afraid of the only people who can protect her.

But it’s not just Chase. It’s Lennon too.

She’d given Anora that story about her mom being killed by the Order. I still can’t find any evidence that it’s true, though I’m more willing to believe something like that considering Lennon’s an abomination and I’m not ignorant. I know the Order does some shady stuff. They’re a government.

But Anora blamed me.

She called me a murderer.

And after all the ways I’ve tried to protect her, that sucked. Bad.

Something’s wrong.

The feeling slices through me, clean and sharp like a new blade. My gaze snaps to the space where Anora stood a few moments ago, but she’s not there, and neither is Thane. I start to cut through the crowd looking for her, unable to ignore the urgency of this pull.

“Shy?” Natalie calls, but the longer I go without seeing Anora, the more frantic I become. People step in front of me and attempt to offer their condolences. I interact with the first few, but then there are too many, and I push through them. I’m at the edge of the field when Natalie catches up to me.

“Shy!”

I twist toward her. “Where’s Anora?”

Then I notice the set of her jaw, the burn of her eyes.