I expect small talk. Sports talk. Something. But Jackson goes in a different direction. He turns his head toward Carly and says, “If the world ended right now, name one thing you’d be proud of and one thing you’d regret.”

“What?” She looks as startled as I feel.

“Seriously,” he says. “Name one of each. Fast. Before you have too much time to think about it.”

“I don’t know.” She cuts me a glance, clearly confused. “Someone else go first.”

Jackson says, “Luka?”

“I’d regret betrayal and be proud of friendship,” he says, not losing a beat. “And having some sort of ethics. I’d be proud of that.”

“Carly?” Jackson says.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. I’d regret not having legs like Stephanie Ling. You know who I mean. She sits in front of you in Spanish. The one who always wears the really short skirts? Which she should, with legs like that.”

“Never noticed,” Jackson says with a small smile. Chivalry at its best. He’s noticed, all right.

“That’s the best you can come up with?” Luka asks Carly, and reaches over to tug gently at the pink streak in her hair.

She presses her lips together and ducks her head so she’s looking at him through her lashes.

“Seriously, Carly?” Luka laughs.

“Carly has tons to be proud of,” I jump in. “Loyalty. Brains.”

“Beauty,” she interjects.

“Miki?” Jackson says. “Your turn.”

Carly smiles at me, bigger and brighter than she’s smiled at me in a while.

I try to smile back. I mean to smile back. But suddenly, the smells of melting cheese and tomato sauce and grease wash over me, not appetizing . . . nauseating. The room spins. My focus fades, then snaps back, too sharp.

Luka’s talking, then Jackson, but I can’t make out the words. I think they’re asking questions. Asking me? Asking Carly? I don’t know.

I press the tip of my tongue against the backs of my top teeth, breathing through my mouth, trying to ignore the smells. I can’t. My stomach churns. My chest rises and falls, too fast. My head spins. There’s something wrong. Really wrong.

The world feels too slow. Sounds are too loud, smells too strong, colors too bright.

Then I recognize the sensation and fear uncurls inside me. We’re being pulled. I turn my head, expecting Luka’s eyes to be blue. He’s looking at me questioningly, his brow furrowed. But his eyes are brown.

Not blue.

It takes me a second to process that because my brain feels like its gears are grinding and going nowhere.

If we’re not getting pulled, then what’s wrong with me?

My breathing speeds up even more, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it slow down. Terror sinks rows of jagged teeth into me.

Feeling dizzy and sick, weak, trembling, I push to my feet. Anxiety surges and swells. I’ve had panic attacks before, just after Mom died. There’s an edge of panic to whatever’s going on here, but that’s not it. This is something more. I can’t stay here. I have to get away. The yellow walls are too bright, burning my eyes. My jaw aches, my eyes burn, even my skin hurts.

“I have to—” I stumble forward. I need to get out of here.

I hear Carly behind me, her voice coming at me from very far away. “Jackson, move! Miki’s sick.”

She must be telling Jackson to let her out of the booth. I try to turn my head, to tell her to stay put. Whatever’s wrong with me, I don’t want it to touch her. But I can’t speak, can’t move. I’m frozen in place halfway to the door, the fresh air and sunshine just beyond the wide front window. Just beyond my grasp.

I have to get out. I have to get out.

Anxiety flips into full-on panic.

I’m not going to make it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MY LIMBS PRICKLE WITH THE UNCOMFORTABLE NUMBNESS OF too little blood circulating through them. Terror is a lead ball in my chest, cutting off my airway.

“Deep breath, Miki.”

“Jackson?” My fear scales down a notch.

“Deep breath,” he says again. He sounds tense. Angry.

I do as he says and take a deep breath, but my chest won’t expand all the way. That’s when I realize that I’m bent forward at the waist, my back to his front, his arm around me. The backs of my thighs rest against the fronts of his, and I’m sort of sitting on him even though we’re both standing.

It’s actually not the ideal position for deep breathing, but with my legs numb, it isn’t like I have a ton of options. I don’t think they’d hold my weight if I tried to pull away. I flex and release my fingers, and do the same with my toes, drawing blood back into them with a painful surge. Leaning back against him, I let Jackson take most of my weight as I lift one foot to draw a figure eight with my ankle. I switch and do the same on the opposite side. My muscles come back to life with a bright agony that makes me gasp.

“Why is it so dark? Are we back in the cave?” That doesn’t make sense. We should have stopped in the lobby first to get scores and weapons. I hope the game isn’t changing on me right when I’m getting used to it.

“No.” Just that. No explanation of where we are. Typical Jackson. I can feel the leashed energy in his body, but his touch is gentle as he strokes the back of my head, my neck, down to my shoulder. He’s still holding me. I don’t want him to let me go. “You okay?” he asks.