Page 160 of The Devil May Care

I shove the blanket off. Stand. The rocking chair slams into the wall behind it.

Why is comfort always for other people?

I don’t know if I say it out loud or scream it in my head, but suddenly the room is too tight. The windows pulse. The walls breathe. And that sharp, crawling ache of unfairness rises like bile in my throat.

It’s not fair.

It’s never been fair.

And maybe I don’t want to be gracious about it anymore.

I stagger away from the couch. The air turns wet and cloying. Something behind me whispers soothing lies in my mother’s voice.

“You’re stronger for it, sweetheart. That’s why you were chosen.”

Chosen? No. NO.

I slap my hands over my ears. My teeth bare in a snarl.

“Shut up,” I whisper.

I’ve always been the resilient one.

“I said shut up!”

The world doesn’t listen. The cushions stretch into vines. The floor warps like rippling water. My name echoes in sweet, pitying tones.

“SHUT UP!”

I scream. So hard my throat burns. I scream because I want to break something. Because maybe if I do, I can stop feeling like I’m one step away from being erased. I scream because none of this is fair, and no one will admit it, and I’m sick of carrying it like I’m supposed to be proud of how fucking heavy it is. I scream because I agree with every damn thing this realm made me think, and I still know I don’t get to choose rest.

Something snaps.

The walls crack. The forest pours in through my peripheral vision. Green clogs my nostrils, shoves into my open mouth. It’s devouring me whole. This is it. The moment I go. And then—behind me—a sharp, frantic voice:

“Kay?”

I spin.

He’s here. Caz. Breathing hard like he’s been running. His shirt’s damp with sweat and sap, and his eyes are wild. “Jesus Christ, Kay.”

He’s here.

Caziel—dirt-streaked, wild-eyed, breathing like he ran straight through a forest fire—is here.

“How—”

He rushes toward me, his hand half-lifted like he doesn’t know whether to touch me or shield me.

“Kay,” he says my name again, breathless.

I blink, chest still heaving.

The room behind me is gone. The couch, the tea, the blanket, all of it swallowed up by the whispering dark. Now there’s pine underfoot, and red-gold light filtering through a canopy that didn’t exist before. The trial and the arena must still be out there, but it feels impossibly far away.

“How did you—” I start, then stop. My throat is raw.

Caziel takes another step closer. “You screamed, Kay. I heard you—we all heard you—even in the arena.” His expression softens when he sees my face. “You’re trembling.”