Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(56)

The last time I was here, my friends were running out the door with their bags half-packed because the monsters had been set loose. The last time I was here, I thought the end had come. The last time I was here, Jarrett and I were just kids. Now one of us is dead.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

He glanced around, surveying the empty lobby, trying to keep his thoughts or Water from getting the upper hand.

“If you want to rest for the night, we can stay here.”

Dreya nodded. Neither she nor Devon moved. He didn’t want to take command, but it was becoming clear they expected as much. At least in here.

A part of him wanted to take them to the opposite wing, to some random stranger’s room so he wouldn’t have to feel like he was stepping into his old life, but there was another part, a masochistic part, that wanted to see his old bed. He’d dreamed of this place more often than he could count. He wanted to lay those nightmares to rest, one way or another.

Besides, Jarrett had lived in the opposite hall. He wasn’t as masochistic as that.

So he led them upstairs and down the hall, toward a room near the fire escape in case they needed a quick getaway. All the doors along the hall were closed but unlocked, their faux wood surfaces glinting in Devon’s light. A few still had the construction paper signs the RA had made before they arrived. The rest of the signs littered the floor like faded leaves. It felt like being in a crypt, like every one of those closed doors and fallen signs was a testament to a life unlived. He pushed open a door—the one across from his own—and held it for them.

“This work?”

He knew he shouldn’t be short with them, but he couldn’t find room for eloquence.

Dreya peered inside. Thin light filtered through the curtains, but Devon opened to Fire and sent more lights through. When he stepped inside, Dreya shrugged again.

“It will do.”

But she didn’t head inside. She stood there in the entry and stared at Tenn.

“You should eat something,” she said finally. “You will need your strength.”

She had a bag slung on her back she’d pulled out of the SUV. Apparently, they hadn’t been lying about planning ahead. It made Tenn feel even worse. His stomach rumbled with the thought of food: even the small amounts of Earth he’d been using had drained him.

“Maybe later. I...I think I need to sleep.”

Clearly, Dreya knew he was lying. He’d never been good at that. But she didn’t question. She probably figured he’d already been through enough.

Tenn glanced over her shoulder to Devon, who sat on the bed and stared out the window.

“Why?” Tenn asked.

“Why?” she repeated.

He looked to her. It was so hard to keep his voice from shaking, to keep himself standing.

“Why did you come after me? The three of you. Why?”

“The Prophets,” she said.

He shook his head in agitation. The urgings of the Prophets had saved more than one outpost Tenn had been stationed in. But that didn’t mean he trusted them. Anyone who used Maya was a wild card. It was the one element you couldn’t just attune to, the only one that was supposed to be mildly sentient.

Maya was the godsphere, the power of spirit. It chose you.

“But why you three?” he asked. “Anyone could have come. Why did it have to be you?”

He wanted to say him. He could tell from the look in her eyes that Dreya knew it, too.

“We were chosen by name,” Dreya said. Her words were small. Clearly, she didn’t like being singled out by the Prophets, either. “We had no choice. ‘Find the boy that Water weeps for. His words will shape the world.’”

Cold settled in Tenn’s chest.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We have no way of asking them. And I hear the Prophets don’t interpret, only relay what Maya whispers.” She looked back to her brother. There was no way he wasn’t hearing this, but he ignored them entirely. “We can only hope that the Witches will know something of this.”

“And if they don’t?”

She hesitated.

“Then we find someone who does.”

He nodded. He knew it was a lie—if the Witches didn’t know, who would? It’s not like they had any hope of finding the Prophets.

“Tomorrow, then,” he whispered.

She reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Tomorrow.”

The moment their door was closed, he felt the emptiness around and within him contract. He pressed his forehead to his old door, squeezed his eyes tight. He felt the dorm breathe around him, felt the throb of blood in his ears as Water roiled with memory—his classmates, dragging a mattress into the hall and jumping around after sign-in; him, carrying his first care package from his parents back to his room, opening it while listening to music and dreaming of family; the day of the Resurrection, when they were dragged from their rooms and told they would need to return to their homes and defend their loved ones.

And Jarrett. The night they’d studied together, when Jarrett led him back to his room.

Tenn had wanted so badly to invite Jarrett over to watch a movie. He’d planned on it.

He’d never gotten the nerve, and never got the chance. How different would his life have been if he’d made a move back then? If they’d fallen for each other? If they’d spent this whole time fighting at each other’s side?