Worlds Apart

Chapter 42

N O • L O N G E R • H O M E

Nov. 06 2020 13:05 YRT

Yurei Gate Monitoring Station, Province of Yurei

Gone.

Adalina was gone.

Neàl's chest was caving with guilt or nothingness or betrayal or—no one had told them numbness had an ache.

The trees blurred into an overflowing palette of greens and browns and puke yellow. How could he have ever suspected her? Gone. All he had wanted to do was ensure she stayed away from all this madness—he saw that clearly now. But it made no difference.

Adalina was gone.

That treacherous—traitor—Ikal—wouldn't respond anymore. He was cut off. No protection. Useless—powerless. Dimly, they realised that if they crossed the line now, they would be locked up right alongside—Adalina.

His fault—his fault—

A bright, misty blue entered his sight. Open sky and icy wind clawing his skin, making him bleed all over the pavement of the town square.

He had only wanted to check on her—and he had found...it was unstable, his dreamwalking. A passing thought of Riona and the vision had muddled...pulling and stretching at the edges. With what they saw unfold...no one could blame them, could they, for breaking into the Guardians' base?

The trees ahead thinned, the glacial sky stabbed his eyes, and the din of the ocean drowned out his thoughts. They stumbled over a protruding root, ducking under heavy boughs of camphor. Their clothes were plastered to their skin in the damp air but a raw salty breeze slapped him in the face as the base appeared and the Riko rainforest was left behind.

The Yurei Gate had always been one of his favourites since he first saw pictures of it in children's books—the wide, stumpy building that held a quiet grandeur as it blended into the forests, perched at the edge of the continent.

Neàl barely registered the lack of guards and the faint smell of smoke as he crashed through the glass doors. Funny, they should have been bulletproof, but here he was, lying on the cold stone floor, staring at the high ceiling which had scorch marks on it. Laser rounds—14mm. Glass pricked their palms as they heaved themselves off the floor and staggered into the silent darkness, the floating ghost of the Gate off the edge of the fjord disappearing with the roar of ocean waves.

The halls were desolate, shattered glass crunching under his feet, but there were no alarms. There should have been alarms.

Neàl followed the wreckage down the stairs and down and down again. There was sound now, like he'd unmuted the television after little Riona had stirred from her nap on the couch and wandered off to find their mother. Faint voices floated by—they sounded shocked. Angry. Hostile.

Louder, louder, and Neàl reached for the last door—a heavy slab of concrete. It slammed into his hands and a body was thrown into him. They landed hard on the floor across the hall and for a moment, the ceiling turned into the night sky.

The man atop him was adorned in full Guardian armour and unconscious. Not dead, he would've known immediately. He craned his neck and glimpsed familiar boots stop at his head. Neàl looked up.

Riona stared down at him in shock, knuckles split and lip bleeding. Her hair had come loose from its haphazard braid, a Las-14 with a neon green butterfly on the handle in one hand, and a barely-conscious Adalina in the other.

Neàl's breath stopped in his throat.

Her dark curly hair was matted with blood and cuts and bruises littered her skin. Her left ankle and elbow were at odd angles as if she'd fallen on her side and broken them both. He hoped she had fallen. Blood dripped from the tips of her limp, skeletal fingers, landing inches away from his nose.