Shadowed

XV. Your Sister is Dead

My heart plummets to the floor.

"What?" I breathe.

"They're gone," he answers, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "I went to meet with Wiley, and he brought me back to where they'd been hiding. They weren't there."

He grabs my wrist with his two-fingered hand and wraps the other arm around Maya's shoulder to support her.

She looks at me uncertainly. I draw in a trembling breath. Should I go? I'm supposed to hide, and wait this out.

"Come on," he says, his voice shaky under the weight of dread, as he fixes me with desperate, terrified eyes. 

In that split second, my mind is made up, and we hurtle through the streets. Frigid air whistles past us and chills us to the bones. 

I'm following Drew blindly, drunk on my fear. It quickens my heartbeat, turns my stomach, and consumes every corner of my mind until I can't think straight.

It's Abby and Angella. They were taken.

That was all he said, nothing more, but it's enough to fill my head with hundreds of scenarios. 

Abby and Angella are curled up on the floor somewhere, deep into a dream. Hunters approach them from all sides. They jerk them awake and clap hands over their mouths so no one can scream. 

Abby and Angella are tucked away in some hidden corner of the city, chatting quietly. A lone Hunter stares at them from far away, contemplating how best to proceed. She throws a knife, catching Abby in the side, and as blood spills out of her and her eyes go glassy, the Hunter drags Angella away.

Abby and Angella are huddled together in silence, their backs pressed against a crumbling brick wall. They hear a rustle, cutting through the calm. Suddenly, Hunters are upon them. Angella quickly draws a knife and Abby readies her tight fists, but they're outskilled and outnumbered.

Please, don't let us be too late. 

Drew leads us through alleys strewn with garbage and reeking of smoke. A shattered beer bottle lies on the ground in front of us, and he tries to skirt around it. Maya stumbles.

She gasps, staggering, as her weight falls onto her bad leg.

Drew skids to a stop and lets go of my wrist, turning to face her. 

"Are you good?"

She wrenches her body out of his grip, looking away so we can't see her clenched jaw, the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "I'm fine."

She's not fine, and Drew can see as much. 

Her breaths come heavy and ragged, and she's turned away from us, her black waves hiding her face. Drew quickly kneels on the ground, examining the soiled bandage that wraps around her leg.

"Don't touch me," she snaps suddenly, and Drew shrinks back, shocked.

"Maya, if you're in pain, you need to rest," he says quietly. There's real worry in his eyes.

She hesitates. The silence swells dangerously around us.

"Stop talking me in your goddamn preachy doctor voice. Do you think I can't fucking handle myself? I'm not delicate." She hurls the word out of her mouth like it tastes terrible, like it's the worst possible insult anyone could ever say.

He stands, and meets her bitter gaze. "I'm not preaching. I want to help you."

Her eyes darken, and when she speaks again, her voice is iron.