“What kind of rewards?” Sloan rubs her hands together, suddenly intrigued. “We talking jewels? Cash? Gold?”

The scent of heather drifts on the wind, and in unison Archer and I stiffen. Oh...zero! “I’m pushing the pause button on this conversation. We’ve got to go.”

“She’s right.” Archer disables the wall of jellyair.

We follow him back into the frigid cold. We run and run and run, sunlight glistening off the ice at our feet. My wheezing returns, only it’s a thousand times worse, the burn in my lungs soon competing with the one in my thighs.

“Changed my mind...need another break.”

A light erupts from Archer’s wrist. He doesn’t slow as his fingers dance through it, typing, typing. Up ahead, a blue beam shoots from the sky and slams into the ground, leaving something behind when it fades.

Archer grabs that something as he runs past it. “Here.” He tosses each of us a length of rope. “Knot them around your waist. You’re going to need them.”

I don’t ask questions. As I run, I do as commanded.

A new noise erupts behind us—a howl of rage. A war cry?

Something dark whizzes past me and slams into Archer. The Laborer is thrown into the side of the mountain with so much force there’s a vibration at my feet. When he lands in a tangle of punching fists and kicking feet, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and an arm sleeved with intricate tattoos.

Killian found us.

I slide to a stop, grabbing hold of Clay and Sloan as they do the same. Together we stand or together we fall.

“I’m going to kill you.” Killian delivers a viscous jab, jab to Archer’s nose. “You had no right—”

“I had every right!” Archer ducks, avoiding the next round of fury. He lands three punches to Killian’s side. “She doesn’t want you.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

She, meaning me. My stomach twists.

“I won’t let you hurt her the way you hurt Dior,” Archer says through gritted teeth.

Dior?

“By the time I finished with your darling,” Killian says, his tone nothing but silk and heat, and yet I pick up the underlying note of his rage, “she was begging me for more.”

That rage...over a girl... Killian is doing his best to hide his feelings, but he’s failing.

He loved Dior, didn’t he?

Mind scramble!

The vicious fight rages on, the boys hitting rocks and razor-sharp ice as well as each other. I cringe as flesh is torn from both Shells, every tattered piece shimmering with diamond dust. Lifeblood, Archer called it.

“Let’s not wait around to crown the winner.” Sloan pulls on my arm.

“I can’t leave. I have to help Archer.” Clay is already moving forward. “He’s family!”

I don’t understand the bond he feels so quickly. “Clay—”

Boom!

The explosion echoes from the sky, and again, it sounds as if fireworks have been unleashed. A battle is happening up there at the same time one is happening down here. Maybe... Archer’s friends are throwing down with Killian’s? Is that how it works?

“Wait.” I tighten my grip on Clay’s wrist to hold him in place. If we get in the middle of two savage animals intent on killing each other, we won’t be walking away—we’ll be crawling. And that’s if we’re lucky. And...and...

Are the vibrations at my feet getting stronger?

“How many times did we sit on the sidelines and do nothing when other inmates needed us?” Clay’s eyes beseech me. “I can’t sit on the sidelines anymore.” He pulls from my clasp as Sloan gives me another tug.

The counterforce sends me careening. I don’t mean to, but I take her to the ground with me. The impact is jarring, and even maybe knocks a little sense into me. Clay is right. No more sitting on the sidelines. If I can help Archer and Killian, I have to help them—before they send each other into Second-death.

As I stand, another loud boom echoes from above. I look up and realize this one didn’t come from the sky but the mountain, heralding the beginning of an avalanche. The sky is nothing but snow, ice and rock—and falling straight for us.

Chapter eleven

“Without an end, you cannot have a new beginning.”

—Myriad

Life is all about the numbers.

Today those numbers are the seconds we have to reach safety. The tons about to crash down upon us. The feet/yards/miles we’re about to fall, unable to stop ourselves.

“Come on.” I grab the end of Sloan’s rope and run as fast as I can. She isn’t prepared, and I have to drag her behind me. When I reach Clay, I grab his rope and drag him, too. We aren’t yet connected, but I try to remedy that as I run; I’m shaking too badly. “Archer! Killian! Come on!”

Numbers never lie, and the center of a mass like this is always heaviest, so that’s where the avalanche will move the fastest and hit the hardest. If we can get far enough to the side, we can maybe, hopefully, avoid being buried.

I glance up. Zero! We’re not going to get far enough to the side.

There are no trees nearby to act as an anchor for our ropes. Not that we’d have time to tie ourselves to the trunks. What should we do next? Brace?

The rumble of snow grows louder until I’d swear a freight train is hidden beneath the flakes. Yes. Brace. I recall a book I read and shout, “If you’re swept away, start swimming uphill as soon as you can.” The longer we’re buried, the harder movement will be. “Don’t stop until—”

Impact!

I’m thrown down, down, down by what seems to be ten thousand pounds of snow. I grip the ropes with all my strength as I tumble around like clothes in a dryer. Common sense tells me to keep a hand in front of my face—I might need to dig a tunnel to breathe—while keeping the other lifted above my head to help with disorientation. But I have a choice, always a choice. Help myself or help my friends by maintaining my grip on their ropes.

I maintain my grip.

When finally I stop, snow and debris are piled on top of me. I try to catch my breath but there’s not enough oxygen. Desperate, trying not to panic, I thrash with my legs, propelling up...up...

Am I going the right way?

Does it matter? If I’m buried under a foot or more, I won’t make it to the top on my own. That’s just fact.

What seems an eternity later—yes!—I break the surface and suck back as much air as my lungs can handle. I’m frantic as I scan the sea of white, seeing no sign of the others. “Clay! Sloan!” No response. “Archer! Killian!” Again, no response.

I tug one rope, then the other, and realize the two are on top of the snow, both facing the same direction. I use the lengths to fight my way through the rest of the deluge...

“Ten!” Clay calls, beyond frantic. “Help me. You have to help me.”

I lumber to my feet and follow the sound of his voice...skidding to a halt when I reach the edge of a cliff. Hanks of snow and rock fall over...and just keep falling.

“Ten!” He’s clinging to a tree that’s been knocked over the edge, the roots the only thing keeping it in place.

“I’ve got you.” I dig in my heels and try to pull him up with the rope. “Don’t worry.”