Frankly, most of the time I can't feel anything, because I start to pass out as Jackson moves, somehow miraculously balancing me the whole time. The only times I come to are when Jackson passes more magic, his palm pressed against my back or my side. These come more and more frequently as he feels me fade, as he feels me start to drift away from him.

When my eyes do open, the world is increasingly black, and at first I think it's because...because I'm dying. But then I realize that it's just nighttime.

Jackson starts to talk to me then, keeping up a steady string of words, most of them curses and narration of what he’s doing, every step he's taking, how close we are to the end. But some of them, blissfully, are the sweetest things I've ever heard.

I just catch snatches of Jackson's words, really — of him telling me of how long he thought about me, about what I'd look like. His surprise that I'm a blonde. How much he wants to tell me, and parts of the world he wants to show me.

If I had tears, they'd drip down my face, but I don't. So instead I just hang limply over my mate's shoulder, mourning the loss of this incredible bond when I just got hold of it, even as I determine to stay as long as I can — even as I will myself to live, even for his sake, if not my own.

Because Jackson — he deserves a break in life, doesn’t he?

And I laugh, a little, at the irony of that thought — that Jackson needs a break, even when I'm the one dying over his shoulder, being hauled up a mountain. But Jackson laughs too, hearing or feeling my sentiments, and then he passes me more magic, and I clench my fist, determined to live.

I focus on my breathing, when I'm awake — focus on dragging in the next breath as Jackson pulls me higher, and higher.

Until, suddenly, I hear him groan, and then feel him stumble, and then suddenly stand and pause on his two feet.

“We did it, Ari,” he murmurs, panting. He passes me more magic and my eyes flutter, confused. I turn my head, tying to comprehend the weird upside-down world.

“What?” I murmur, still hanging, my fingers now as numb as my legs. Somewhere below my cap fell off, and my hair is streaming down around me. There are people all over, cadets and professors that I recognize — and...other stuff? I try to peer through the curtain of my hair, try to understand but...

Well. It's kind of useless, so I just sigh and give up. “Okay,” I mutter, giving a little shrug. “Put me down, Jacks.”

But he doesn't listen to me, instead striding forward, shouting at the top of his lungs that we need a fucking medic, right the fuck now.

Suddenly I jump a little, going rigid, because —

Was...was that my name?

There's a rush of noise and then a smell hits my nose — a familiar scent I've smelled, I think, every day of my life, and I immediately start crying as I hear my name again, and this time I recognize the voice.

“Rafe,” I moan, reaching for him, even though I can't see.

“She needs a medic!” Jackson snaps, turning sharply away from my brother.

“I'm right here!” There's another familiar scent and I start to cry in earnest this time, trying to push away from Jackson, desperate to get to it — to that familiar scent of lilies, and rose, and fresh water, and rain. Jackson snarls, stepping back, even as I try to turn to push myself up. “I'm a healer,” the woman's voice says, gentle and stern. “Please, please — I can help, okay!?"

“Let her go, Jacks,” Rafe says, his voice even and persuasive. “Please — you've done everything you can, just...give her to me.”

Jackson hesitates for a second before I feel myself moving, and I groan in agony as my mate tips me off his shoulder, and catches me in his arms and then...then passes me to my brother.

“Hey, trouble,” Rafe murmurs, smirking down at me — I think for my sake, because I can see the worry in every line of his face, even if he's pretending he doesn't feel it.

“What!?” the woman breathes, and then she steps forward, reaching for me as she gasps, and I turn my face to look up into what could be a mirror image. A thrill of deep love passes through me even despite the pain.

“Hey, mom,” I murmur, trying to smile, reaching for her with a bloody hand —

But before I can brush her cheek, as I so desperately want to...I pass out.

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