Ever pulls me closer to Finn but seems to listen to what I say, because they check to see if Finn isn’t touching the door anymore. It has to be the door. Surely you can’t electrify a wall or the windows.
Once they’re sure, they drop to their knees and cradle Finn close. “Finn, relax. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
I reach for Finn’s arm, the one he used to touch the doorknob, and it’s still spasming slightly. A large fiery mark has appeared on his hand, like a burn mark. It’s like what happened to Carter with the knob on the cabinet, but a thousand times worse. I try to get a sense of the wound, but he jerks away when I reach for it, leaving my hands empty.
“Finn.” Ever’s voice is more insistent. “Focus on me. Listen to me. We’re going to help you. We’re going to take care of you. Grab my hand and hold on tight, we’re not going to let go of you.”
Finn’s frantic eyes focus on Ever, and with his good arm, he reaches for their hand. He squeezes so tight that it’s clear Ever’s uncomfortable, but it does calm him a little. “It hurts. Ever, what happened? It hurts. Oh gods, it hurts so much.”
His breathing is labored, and he tries to get up, but Ever pushes him down again.
“Shhh, give it a moment.”
Finn shakes his head and keeps shaking his head. “We were on our way out. We need to get out. We can’t stay here and you can’t stay here for me.”
Ever’s smile is as fake as the sword stopping the door. “We’re all together. It’s fine. We’ll have one another’s back and we’ll figure out a way out as soon as you’re on your feet.”
“That seems dangerous.” Finn apparently tries to smile, but it comes out crooked and almost like a frown. “This is not how you would build a dungeon, in any case.”
Ever visibly, physically winces at that. “I wouldn’t build a dungeon like this, ever.”
“I know.” Finn waves with his injured hand and bites back a string of curses. It’s nothing more than mumbling.
I reach for the hand regardless and try to still him. The red looks rawer now, as though it’s still burning.
“We have to find a way to cool him,” I whisper.
At that, Ever turns to me and their eyes flash. Everything in their body screams worry and anger, almost mirroring Finn’s own tension. I take a step back, because I don’t know how else to deal with it.
They hiss, “I know you’re trying to help, but it would be far more helpful if you could try some empathy and consideration. Finn is hurt, and not everything can be fixed.”
I don’t point out the obvious to them: that they suggested wanting to fix things not that long ago. That this is the smallest something that can be fixed, or at least made somewhat better. I don’t point out how unnecessary and hurtful that empathy comment is, and they should know better than that, even if they’re angry.
Ever sighs and rubs their hand over their face. It’s all twisted up in frustration. “I’m sorry, that was not cool. I didn’t mean—”
I push to my feet again. I wince at the pain. I keep my head down. I don’t look at either Ever or Finn—although Ever immediately calls out to me—just at my own feet. I walk to where I know the kitchen is, without too many mishaps. I walk into another chair and nearly collide with a table. Something scratches underneath my feet, and I rebalance myself at the very last instant, before I twist my ankle on broken pieces of Styrofoam.
I keep walking. Because we should all stay together, but we also need to find a way to cool that burn and calm down Finn. We need a wet cloth or gauze, or at this point, a good, large knife. And the last time I checked, I’m still the only one who knows this cabin like the back of her hand.
I’ll leave the door open between us.
It’s not splitting the party if we stay on the same floor.
Right?
Nineteen
Finn
I’m on fire.
The world twists and turns. It feels as though electricity is still coursing through me, like angry fireflies. I ache. Everything hurts. That’s what I’m most aware of. The pain spreads from my hand and my arm through my entire body. I don’t know how to move.
Living with an obnoxious, stubborn body means I learned how to fall. I learned how to break my fall. I learned how to fall and protect myself. I learned how to fall and keep breathing. I learned how to fall in such a way that I didn’t break further.
But getting back up again is never easy.
Ever’s hand is soft. It’s an artist’s hand.
I blink and try to pull the world into focus, to see them. My thoughts become clearer and clearer too.
“I’m going to try to help you up, okay?” Ever keeps their voice low, while they look at a point past me. “Maddy is grabbing something to cool your hand.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I whisper. It takes me two tries to get the words out right. I raise my voice. “Maddy?”
The answer comes from near the entrance to the kitchen, in another low whisper. “I’m here. I’m still here.”
Ever winces. “C’mon.” They get me into a half-sitting position. Three hells, the sudden movement hurts. Up is down and down is up, and I think I’m going to be sick.
I fall into them, and we both topple over. They hold me. Protect me. They help me to sit up, and there’s a gleam of moisture in their eyes when I look at them.
“Are you okay?” they ask.
“I don’t think so.” I push myself up and crane my neck to see where Maddy’s gone.
