Page 25 of Storm of Stars (Pride of Praxis #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Thorne

The moment the plane jolted to a stop, I was out of it, my boots hitting the tarmac before the engine fully powered down.

My legs were heavy, stiff from yesterday’s grueling task of rebuilding the watch tower and this morning’s battle against the flames.

Every muscle ached. My lungs still held the smoke.

My arms trembled, more from adrenaline and desperation than fatigue.

The trial had been brutal. Not just physically, but emotionally. And I was filled with unrelenting fear and worry, not for myself, but for the people I loved. I needed to see them. Now .

I whipped my head toward the runway, scanning frantically as the other planes touched down in staggered intervals. I counted them. One. Two. Three. Four…

Where were they?

Then I spotted her.

Briar.

Relief cracked through the tension in my chest like sunlight through storm clouds. My shoulders sagged, my breath catching, and then I was running, full tilt, legs burning, dust kicking up behind me.

“Briar!” I shouted.

She turned just in time for me to crash into her, wrapping her in a desperate, aching hug. She melted into me with that same breathless relief, her arms tightening around my back. We stood like that, holding each other upright with nothing but the knowledge that we’d both made it.

“You’re okay,” I whispered into her hair, still disbelieving.

“I’m okay,” she murmured, her voice rasped and hoarse. “Just a few burns. Nothing I can’t handle.”

My hand slid down her arm, checking for injuries. Bruises. Burned fabric. It was all there. She was wounded, but standing. Alive.

“Have you found Bex? Or Ezra?” she asked.

I shook my head, already scanning the horizon again. My fingers caught hers, and we took off in sync, two shadows streaking across the landing strip.

The air still smelled like scorched wood and metal. I spotted Lark and Devrin stumbling off their planes, both of them coated in soot. Their clothes were torn, melted in places, skin blistered and blackened. But they were walking. Conscious. They’d survived.

I sprinted past them, and that’s when my eyes landed on Bex.

She was climbing down from her plane slowly, each movement deliberate.

She cradled her right arm against her chest, her steps uneven.

No shirt, just the soot-smeared skin of her torso beneath her black bra and a thick burn running the entire length of her arm.

Blood streamed down her leg in dried rivulets.

Her lips were pale. She looked like a ghost.

But she was here.

My lungs caught. My heart roared in my ears. I was running again, reaching her just as she reached the bottom step.

Without thinking, I tore off my shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders, shielding her from the staring eyes of whoever was watching us now. Her skin was hot beneath my hands. Too hot.

I didn’t hug her. I wanted to. I needed to. But I didn’t dare risk causing her more pain. Instead, I hovered my hands just above her, my fingers trembling in the space between us. Our eyes locked.

And for a moment, the world dropped away.

I had no idea how it had happened, how this woman had become my everything. But she had. Like my heart had stepped out of my chest and started walking around on two battered legs.

“I’m okay,” she said. But it didn’t sound like the truth. “I’ve got a pretty bad burn on my arm,” she added, her voice quiet, “and I lost a lot of blood from my leg, but the bleeding’s stopped now. At least, I think it has.”

Her skin was too pale. Her lips had no color. She needed help. Soon.

Briar leaned in and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to her cheek. A silent thank-you for surviving.

“Ezra?” she asked.

I turned, eyes scanning wildly. Eight Challengers had made their way to the islands.

Only six planes had landed.

Six.

My stomach turned to ice.

Lark. Devrin. That was two.

My plane. Three.

Briar’s. Four.

Bex. Five.

One more.

One left.

And no one had disembarked.

A cold sweat broke out across my back. I saw the same fear flicker across Bex’s face. The blood drained from her cheeks as she looked toward the final plane.

Then she was moving, running, limping, pushing her body past its limit.

“Ezra!” I called. My voice cracked in the cold air. “Ezra, come on, answer me!”

The world narrowed to that last plane. No movement. No sound.

Bex cried out his name again, her voice raw.

Please let it be him. Let him be okay.

Let him be on that plane.

Let him be alive.

We stormed the plane the second we could, and for one brief moment, I felt a wave of relief crash over me at the sight of Ezra lying there on the floor. But it shattered just as quickly.

He wasn’t moving.

His entire left side was blackened, raw, the skin blistered and peeling. Smoke and blood clung to him. His face was ghost-pale, and his chest wasn’t rising.

I froze.

“Ezra!” Bex screamed, dropping to her knees beside him in the plane. Her hands trembled midair, hovering above him unwilling to cause more pain. “Ezra, please! Wake up. It’s me. We’re here,” she sobbed, her voice already fraying.

I dragged my eyes away, blinking furiously, and found Briar. The terror in her expression mirrored my own.

Where the hell were the medics? The Architects? The film crew? The fucking audience that watched every second of our suffering. Why were we alone now, when it mattered most?

Then I spotted it. A bus, waiting on the far end of the tarmac. Lark and Devrin were already walking toward it.

“We need to get on that bus,” I muttered, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat.

Bex turned to me, eyes red. “He’s unconscious.”

“We’ll carry him.”

I stepped forward. My hands hovered uselessly.

Where could I touch him that wouldn’t hurt?

But the truth was, pain was inevitable. He needed help more than comfort.

I slid my arms beneath his torso, the searing scent of burnt flesh making my stomach turn.

Briar gently took his legs, and Bex supported his head with both hands, her jaw clenched to keep herself from breaking.

We moved together, quick but careful, toward the bus. I didn’t know what waited for us there, hope, maybe. Help, I prayed.

Inside, the driver sat behind a thick cage of plastic. When I asked where the medics were, he didn’t respond. Not a word. Not a glance.

We laid Ezra across one of the bus seats, his body so still it made me feel like screaming. I reached for his neck, fingers searching desperately.

“I can’t feel a pulse,” I whispered. My throat burned from the words.

The engine growled to life, and the bus lurched forward.

Only six of us remained.

Maybe.

I looked down at Ezra, my teammate, my friend. Then at Bex, pale and trembling, blood soaking her pant leg. She could barely stand on her own. How much longer could she hold on?

She leaned over Ezra, her fingers clutching his, her tears falling freely. “Please,” she whispered. “Breathe.”

She bent and kissed him, soft and desperate.

“You have to give him CPR,” Devrin said suddenly.

We all turned to him. The bus was eerily silent. He met Bex’s gaze, calm and steady. I hated it. Hated him for what he did to her in the canals. I nearly lost it when Bex let him win the trial he wanted, felt the rage boiling in my chest like acid.

But then I remembered the talent show. The way his music had echoed through the room as he played The Moth .

Like it or not, he had stepped up when it counted.

He was a part of the Runaways, tangled in it just like the rest of us.

And in this moment, when Ezra was slipping away, we needed every ally we had.

Even Devrin.

“What’s that?” Bex asked, panicked.

“It’s a way to keep his heart beating,” Devrin said. I’d heard of it before, in passing, but our Collective never placed high enough in medical trials for me to ever have learned it.

“Can you do it, Thorne?” she asked, eyes pleading with mine.

I froze. “I—I don’t know how. I’m sorry.”

Bex’s shoulders shook. She looked to Devrin. “Tell me. Please. Tell me how.”

He met her gaze and nodded slowly. Despite everything he’d done, everything I still held against him, in that moment, he was the only one who could help us.

“You have to pump his chest, and give him rescue breaths,” Devrin said, still seated, his voice eerily calm.

We all stared at him, wide-eyed. It didn’t make a lick of sense to me, and judging by Bex and Briar’s silence, it didn’t to them either.

“And you need to do it fast. If he’s out too long, he’ll lose oxygen to his brain. ”

That sent Bex into a full-blown panic. I grabbed her shoulders, trying to steady her, then turned to Devrin.

“Help us,” I begged. “Please.”

His eyes locked on mine, and for a long, breathless moment, he didn’t move. Silence swallowed the bus. Fear wrapped its fingers around my throat. Was he going to help or just sit there and let Ezra die?

My heart pounded. Every second felt like a scream.

“Please,” I said again, my voice cracking.

Still nothing.

Then finally, he moved. A small nod, almost imperceptible, and Devrin slid down onto his knees beside me. Relief slammed into my chest, but there was no time to feel it.

I had to drag Bex back, her hands clutching Ezra like she could anchor him to this world. She resisted, but I guided her just enough, giving Devrin the space he needed. She hovered close, trembling, watching every move like her own life depended on it.

Devrin knelt beside Ezra. I watched, helpless, as he began, his hands pressing into Ezra’s chest, each motion cracking through the silence.

Blood welled beneath his palms, the burns splitting further with every pump.

It was horrifying. But necessary. We’d focus on the burns when he was breathing. One horrible problem at a time.

He paused, then leaned in to breathe into Ezra’s mouth. His chest rose, just a little. Then again.

Then again.

And then?—

“There,” Devrin said, his fingers pressed to Ezra’s throat. “He’s got a pulse.”