Chapter 1 - Felix (Patreon)

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Felix Cortez

“I didn’t do that shit!”

“The evidence, unfortunately, suggests otherwise, Mr. Sanderson,” I said, flipping through my client’s file.

“What?” he spat.

He looked exactly like the kind of criminal a B-movie would cast without irony: shaved head, tattoos, thick neck, broad shoulders.

We sat across from each other in a sterile detention room where lawyers met with clients. Fluorescent light hummed overhead, needling my eyes.

“You took a breathalyzer,” I said. “It came back at 0.18. The legal limit in this state is 0.08. There’s paperwork showing the device was properly calibrated and maintained. The evidence against you is strong.”

“But I—”

“The arresting officer states that you became belligerent and shoved him before complying. The body-cam footage confirms it.”

“Dammit, so what? Are you telling me to plead guilty or something? It’s your job to get me out of this shit, so do it!”

I resisted the urge to sigh.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of jail, but taking this to trial will only delay the outcome. You are not going to win.”

He recoiled. “Should you even be saying that? Why would you tell me that even if it’s true?”

I leaned forward, smiling. A few loose strands slipped from the bun atop my head and caught in my beard.

“This is your first offense, so the real issue is the altercation with the officer. Normally, they’d press charges for that. Fortunately, the prosecution is willing to cut you some slack. If you apologize formally and pay a four-hundred-dollar fine, you’ll only get points on your license.”

“Four hundred?!”

“Or you can go to prison.” I spread a hand. “I get a lot of repeat offenders. Since most of them keep coming back after a few months in the free world, prison can’t be too bad.”

“What kind of lawyer are you?”

“A realistic one.”

He stared at me in disgust.

I clasped my hands once, sharply.

“Your options are simple. Take the plea deal, apologize, and pay the fine. Or drag this into a trial, you’ll lose and go to jail for assaulting an officer. Maybe only a few months. Maybe a year. You seem tough. You might even like it.” I smiled. “The court system is overloaded, and you are nowhere near the top of anyone’s priority list. Take the hint.”

He looked like a vegan being force-fed steak. Jaw tight, eyes burning, he turned away.

That was enough pressure. Time to ease off.

“Do you know why I do this job?” I asked.

His eyes flicked back to me.

My voice softened. “I’m thirty-four. I make about $115,000 a year here in the great city of New York, which means I make just enough to get by, but not enough to be happy. I work twelve to fifteen-hour days almost every day of the week. I’m lucky if I get a day off.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “I’ve had offers from bigger firms with better pay and better hours. Do you know why I turned them down?”

He said nothing.

“Because I like to help people. I need it. I grew up poor. No parents. No safety net. In and out of foster care. Bad relationships. Terrible friends. But through it all, I worked hard to get here, and this is how I give back. It’s my duty. It’s why I’m alive,” I stressed. “I can only help you if I’m honest with you. I would not be pushing this deal if it were not the best outcome available.”

We held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Then he looked down.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered.

“Excellent.” I rose and set one of my cards in front of him. “I’ll call the relevant parties and let them know you’ve accepted. It’ll take a bit to process, but don’t panic. You’ll hear from me again before this is over. And after that, if you ever get into trouble again, call me. That’s what I’m here for.”

With that, my workday was done.

I stepped out of the room and nodded to the officer stationed outside. He nodded back before going in.

Cold New York air hit me the moment I left the building.

“Doooone.” I stretched my arms behind my back.

For a few seconds, I let myself imagine the rest of the evening: eat, exercise, shower, sleep six hours, then do it all again.

Then the feeling vanished.

“Shit, I want to die. Screw this job,” I muttered, loud enough to earn worried glances from two people walking past. “But it’s fine. I do good things. That has to count for something.”

My phone had been vibrating through the entire meeting. My thigh felt half numb from it. Groaning, I pulled it from my pocket and unlocked it.

A crowd of email notifications hung over the app icon. I ignored them.

Two texts mattered.

The first was from Scott, my closest friend at work.

“There’s no chance in hell I’m going out for drinks tonight,” I muttered after reading it. “He and the wife must be fighting.” I let out a slow breath. “Never met a happy married person in my life.” I looked up, eyes half-closed and empty. “Better to just die alone.”

I sent him a lazy response and opened the second message.

Clarice. Another attorney in the office, same level as me. Short message. Call her back ASAP.

“Probably wants to dump work on me,” I said. “Not today, bitch.”

I locked the phone, yawned, and started toward the subway. “Shit, fine, I’ll help her tomorrow if she asks again. It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

The words sounded hollow even to me.

I looked up at the sky.

“I’m such a pushover,” I muttered, and felt a faint pulse of energy at the honesty of it. “Annoying.”

•

Headphones in, I let the rocking subway car carry me home.

The train was unusually sparse for that hour: two women, an older man, three younger guys, and me. Good. After a day like that, fewer people felt like mercy.

“Maybe I can go in a little later tomorrow,” I murmured while skimming emails. “Eight, maybe.” I shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Or maybe this train derails. It’d solve my scheduling problems.”

I clasped my hands in mock prayer.

“God, if you’re out there, you know what to do.”

I laughed once at myself and looked up through the grimy window.

“There’s nothing out there.”

I took out a cigarette, slid it between my lips, and flicked my lighter until a flame caught.

I had just exhaled the first drag when the older man spoke.

“You can’t do that in here.”

“How about you eat a dick, all right?” I said, blowing smoke.

I was over six feet tall, Colombian, broad-shouldered, bearded, with long dark hair tied into a bun and enough muscle to make most strangers think twice. Permanent shadows sat under my eyes.

Big. Tired. Smoking on a subway.

The old man grumbled and looked away. Everyone else glanced at me, then decided silence was the smarter option.

I pressed a button on my headphones and restarted the music. Soft jazz faded in.

What was next?

Go home.

Hit the punching bag.

Eat.

Shower.

Sleep.

Start over.

And tomorrow?

Wake up.

Exercise.

Go to work.

Help as many people as I could.

Go home.

Hit the bag.

Eat.

Shower.

Sleep.

And after that?

The same thing, with cosmetic variations.

I reached automatically for my tie, then remembered I had stuffed it into my bag hours ago.

“Heh.” A thin laugh slipped out. “Still feels like it’s choking me.”

Twenty minutes left until home.

Noise rose elsewhere in the car, loud enough to cut through the music. Annoyed, I turned the volume up until jazz filled my skull and nothing else existed.

Then the playlist switched.

The saxophones vanished. Guitars crashed in, followed by drums like falling concrete.

I smiled.

Someone bumped me.

I ignored it.

Then they hit me again.

I opened my eyes.

A man in black stood over me. Hood up. Medical mask on. Around my age.

He had a gun pointed at my face.

“Ah, shit,” I said. “A prospective client.”

He jabbed the barrel closer.

I raised one hand and slipped off my headphones with the other.

“Give me your bag,” he snapped. “Put the headphones in it. Move.”

I glanced around the car. Pale faces. Rigid bodies. No one moved. He had either already gone through them or scared them into stillness.

“You’re going to get caught,” I said.

“What?”

“Your face is covered, but there are cameras everywhere. The police will trace where you got on, where you get off, and where you go after that. You’ll make a mistake. They’ll catch you.”

“How about you shut the fuck up and hand over your bag?”

The gun was inches from my forehead.

“I’m trying to help you.”

Because someone in here could die. Because he could ruin his life in the next minute. Because after this, he’d be branded, processed, recycled, turned into exactly the kind of criminal the system knew how to create.

“I’m a public defender. I defend people like you for a living,” I said. “I know resources that can help if you’re desperate or broke or—”

“I’m going to shoot you in your fucking face if you don’t stop talking and give me your shit.”

Something in me finally gave way.

The compassion I had spent years building melted like wax.

And the relief of it was immediate.

There was no point trying to save everyone.

Not this one.

Maybe not anyone.

“Fine,” I said. “Let me put this out first.”

I took the cigarette from my mouth.

Then flicked it into his eyes.

He flinched.

My left hand knocked the gun hand aside. My right caught his wrist and twisted inward.

He shouted.

The gun slipped free.

I caught it.

The train erupted in screams.

I kicked him in the groin.

He folded.

I grabbed the back of his head and smashed his forehead into the steel seat beside me.

The impact jolted my arms.

It felt amazing.

He hit the floor groaning, one hand between his legs, the other over his bleeding face.

I flicked on the safety and set the gun beside my bag.

My heart pounded. My skin buzzed. A laugh built in my throat.

My old Muay Thai and Jiu-Jitsu coaches would have loved that. I had trained from fourteen until law school, fought competitively, kept a heavy bag in my apartment, and watched MMA like religion.

But this was different.

This wasn’t training.

It felt better.

The robber looked up at me through blood.

“Fuck you!” he screamed.

I loomed over him while the last of my restraint drained away. “Relax. Stay down. There’ll be cops waiting at the next stop.” I raised my voice for the rest of the car. “Someone better call them.” Then I looked back down at him. “You still have choices. Fight me if you want. Try to take the gun back. Come on. What have you got to lose?”

He lunged.

A thrill ran through me.

I caught his wrist.

“That’s dangerous.”

“Eat shit!”

I drove my knee into his face.

All the fight left his body at once.

“Relax,” I said, smiling down at him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

I threw my head back and laughed.

Every passenger in the car stared at me in horror.

•

“You didn’t have to come,” I told Scott as we walked out of the police station.

“Yeah, you called me saying the police were questioning you because you beat up a gunman on a train. Trust me, bro, I’m showing up,” Scott said. His sandy hair sat in its usual controlled mess. “That seems like baseline friendship.”

“A sane person wouldn’t have done what I did,” I said with a bark of dark laughter. “Just give up the bag and go. That dude almost shot me.”

“Well, you are a public defender. As long as you’ve done it, we know you aren’t right in the head,” he said, nudging me playfully. Scott then ordered a car on his phone. While we waited, he glanced over. “You taking tomorrow off?”

“What for?”

“You were held at gunpoint, dude.”

I thought about it. 

“Most people would probably want a break after something like that,” he said. “You know, to process it.”

“Would they?” I frowned. “I guess they would. It wasn’t that bad, though. Besides, I need to work. If I’m not there, there’s a gap. People need help.”

“Right.” Scott gave me a dry look. “You’re an empathetic psycho.”

“It’s honestly possible,” I said in a non-joking tone.

Scott’s face settled. He looked up from his phone. All humor left him. “Seriously?”

I considered the question more carefully than I expected to. “I wasn’t scared,” I said. “Not even for a second. The whole thing made me feel…” I hesitated. “Good. Better than I’ve felt in a while.”

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t tell you why.”

“You need a girl. Gives life meaning,” Scott said. “Or a… guy?”

“I don’t really like anybody. You know that.” I pulled out a cigarette from my suit pocket, put it to my lips, lit it, and took a drag. “Not my place to love someone when I don’t like myself that much.”

“You need to stop saying shit like that.” His face scrunched with concern. “It’s not good for you.”

“A lot of shit’s happened to me.” I took another drag and tossed the cigarette into the street, half-finished. I peered at him. “You know that.”

Scott looked away, not saying another word. He just nodded.

Eventually, the car he ordered arrived. It dropped me off first. I waved to Scott and took the stairs to my apartment. Eight flights, mostly out of habit.

The moment I stepped inside, the energy vanished.

The excitement was already gone. I was back in my apartment, back in my life, back inside the same walls that had been waiting for me all along.

I should shower.

No. Eat first.

Then shower.

Then bed.

Then tomorrow: wake up, exercise, work, come home, hit the bag, eat, shower, sleep.

Then repeat.

A heaviness settled over me so suddenly it was almost physical.

The train was already turning into memory.

A bottle of wine sat on top of my fridge. I uncorked it and carried it upstairs to the roof.

The night air met me with the city’s familiar chorus of engines, sirens, and distant voices.

“Take a breath,” I told myself. “Stay up a little longer. Leave work early tomorrow. Rearrange things. It’ll be fine.” My expression hardened. “You can’t skip. People need you. You have to go.”

I climbed onto the ledge and sat with my feet hanging over the side. Two dozen stories below, the city glittered, unperturbed and unaware of my existence.

I drank.

Then smoked.

Then drank again.

“You too, huh?” a voice called from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Miya crossed the roof in her nurse’s scrubs under a coat, shoes in hand, face worn out in a way I knew too well. She lived two floors down from me. Over the years, she and Scott had become the only two people I could call friends, if that.

“Depends,” I said. “What happened to you?”

“You want to compete over who had the worst day?” She sat beside me and let her feet dangle over the edge. “I’m in.”

“I actually had a great day,” I said. “It’s life in general that’s bothering me. Kind of always has.”

“That’s less fun.” She leaned back on her hands. “What happened?”

“Somebody pulled a gun on me.”

She stared into the city for half a second. My words didn’t register with her at all. Then, she flinched and jerked her head toward me. “What?”

“Attempted robbery. I disarmed him, put him down, answered police questions, came home.”

“And that made your day good?!”

“Weird, right?”

“That is very sad, Felix.”

“I’m aware.”

I offered her a cigarette. She took it. I lit it for her and shoved my lighter back into my pocket.

“Your turn,” I said. “Why was your day bad?”

“We lost a kid in surgery.” She said it flatly, like any change in tone would break something. “High risk. Didn’t matter. Still hurt.”

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then she said, “When did everything get so dark?”

“It was always dark,” I said. “We just chose jobs that force us to look at it every day. Everyone else gets distance.”

“When you put it like that, we sound monstrous.”

“At least you’re a nurse. You save people. I’m just a bloodsucking lawyer.”

“True.”

I looked at her. “Hey now.”

“You said it.”

“Didn’t mean you had to agree.”

Miya smiled around the cigarette.

I leaned back and looked at the washed-out sky above us.

“So,” she said, “why is your life depressing you all of a sudden? You’ve seemed off for weeks. More than usual.”

I exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” I took the bottle back from her. “I’ve worked really hard to get where I am. I’ve enjoyed my job for years. As much as I could. But… I don’t know. Every day is the same. Not much changes. I don’t know how much good I’m doing.” I stared ahead, suddenly feeling a euphoric chill run down my spine. “But what happened on the train, that felt so goddamn good. Best I’ve felt in years.”

“You did something intense, and now the rest of your life looks dull by comparison,” summarized Miya. 

“Probably.” I took a drink. “For the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right. What am I supposed to do with that knowledge?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “You’re supposed to figure that out yourself.”

“That’s useless advice.”

“It’s honest advice. If I tell you my answer, it’ll be wrong and won’t mean anything. I’m not you. I don’t know how you think.” She looked at me for a long moment. Then, she sighed and adjusted her posture, becoming much more authoritative. “You spend your life carrying everyone else,” she said. “Have you ever stopped and thought about yourself?”

“That sounded like an answer.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

I snorted.

“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes,” she went on. “Not selfish in the rotten sense. Just… willing to want things. Willing to admit you have needs.”

“I help people. That’s a good thing. Why would I stop?”

“Because you let people use you,” she said. “Helping someone who truly needs it is one thing. Helping everyone, every time, no matter the cost. That doesn’t make you noble. It makes you easy to exploit.” She cocked her head to the side. “It leaves no time for you to care about you.”

I said nothing.

“You slouch,” she said. “You speak too softly. You make yourself smaller than you are. You’re a good, handsome, intelligent man, yet you have no confidence in yourself.”

“Brutal.”

“But true.” She took the cigarette from my mouth, stole a puff, and put it back. “You should listen to me more.”

“Nah. That’s a wife’s responsibility.”

She stared. Then laughed and stood, heading for the exit door. Halfway inside, she glanced back with a sharp grin. “Later.”

The rooftop door shut behind her.

I looked out over the city and took another drag. “Annoying,” I muttered.

•

“Hey Felix, could you take a look at this?”

“Felix, can you cover a client meeting for me on Friday? My kid has a recital.”

“Felix, I need a hand with a burglary file.”

“Felix, mind helping with the interns in two weeks?”

“Felix—”

“Felix—”

“Felix, sir—”

Goddammit.

A few days passed after the train incident.

The shape of my life did not change.

I woke up, worked out, went to work, came home, worked out again, ate, showered, and slept. Even my weekends barely deviated.

People asked whether I was okay the first morning back. Word had spread, probably because of Scott. I got concerned looks, a few supportive remarks, and then, by lunch, the office had moved on.

Whatever heroics I had managed were old news in hours.

It didn’t matter.

I was a public defender. I helped people. I helped my coworkers. I was a good person. This was a good life.

Wasn’t it?

The memory of the robbery flashed through my mind again, sharp and bright.

Everything else felt exhausted, thin, unreal.

Like I was trapped in a cage and only just now noticing the bars.

•

Three weeks later, nothing had improved.

“Hey, Felix.” Oscar, one of the senior attorneys, stepped in front of me as I headed for the door. “Mind helping me out for a bit?”

I smiled. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a meeting with potential donors for my City Council run. Last minute. But I really need to go through this case law and draft some briefs first.” He lifted the stack of files in his hand. “You mind taking care of it?”

“Already got him on something else,” Scott said, appearing out of nowhere. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “Clarice looks free. Ask her.”

Oscar blinked. “Oh. Sure.”

Scott kept dragging me until we reached the elevators. The doors opened, and we stepped inside.

Only then did I realize how badly I had needed the interruption. Relief loosened something in my chest.

Scott looked at me. “Really?”

“Really, what?”

“You’re better than that.” He smacked my chest lightly. “Oscar is not your boss. Stop letting him dump work on you.”

“You sound like Miya.”

“Great. Then the only two friends you have agree.”

I stared at the floor. “What’s the point in saying no? If I can be useful, I should be useful.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear myself just fine.”

Scott’s face went hard. “You know how I keep telling you to quit?” he asked.

“On and off since the robbery.”

“Clearly that hasn’t gotten through, so hear this instead.” He leaned closer. “It’s hard to feel sorry for you when you refuse to do anything to make your life better.”

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t.” He scoffed. “If you want to be miserable, be miserable.”

I looked at him. “Then why pull me away from Oscar?”

Scott frowned. “Because you looked like you were about to hit him.”

“What? I wasn’t going to hit him.”

He pointed at my hand.

I looked down. Blood dripped from my palm. I had clenched my fist so hard my nails broke the skin.

I slowly opened my hand.

Scott’s expression softened. “How about you take some time off?” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“...yeah,” I said. The answer came too easily.

•

That night, I sat on the roof with an acoustic guitar across my lap, letting a few minor chords drift into the dark.

“You are a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Miya said as she stepped onto the roof. Short day?”

“I’m on vacation for the week.”

“And you’re still here?” She stopped in front of me. “In New York? At home?”

“Don’t shame me. I made the decision yesterday.”

“And today is day one?”

“Exactly.” I turned toward her and pointed the guitar neck in her direction. “Got a request?”

“Sure. Why are you taking a vacation?”

I frowned. “I meant a song request.”

“For a lawyer, you are distressingly imprecise.”

“Bite me.”

She folded her arms. “Well? What’s up?”

I set the guitar aside. “I almost punched someone at work.”

Miya blinked. “That’s actually an excellent reason.”

“I didn’t even realize I was going to do it. Scott stopped me.” I held up my hand. “I was making a fist so hard I cut myself.”

“That’s not great.”

“No, it’s probably not.”

“Why?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, then tried again. “Because I’m tired.”

I didn’t have any precise words to say. I couldn’t even explain it myself. Tired was the only word I had to explain it all. My childhood was shit. I had no solid friends. I’d been cheated on. I’d moved so much, I barely had a place to call home. The only thing I had was work, and as it lost its meaning… what did I have?

Miya stayed quiet.

“I… I feel empty,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Suddenly, Miya’s hand gently touched my cheek.

My spine went rigid.

“Let me help you,” she said, cheeks reddening. “Please. I want to.”

“I—”

She kissed me. 

It wasn’t surprising. I knew she liked me for a long time. But I didn’t feel anything for her. Or really anyone.

She separated, looking away, embarrassed. “I love you. I would do anything for you, if you’d let me.”

My mouth opened, searching for words. What I wanted. What I didn’t. What I should say.

Nothing came.

Instead, I felt myself lean forward. Yielding. Letting it happen. So that she wouldn’t be hurt. So that I could be something for her, even though my heart would never be able to reciprocate.

She wanted to save me. It’d hurt her if I denied her. It took courage for her to get to this point, and even if I didn’t feel the same way, what right did I have to act otherwise?

Our lips met, as I gave in.

Somewhere beneath the warmth of her lips, a colder thought slid through me.

What is wrong with me?

•

I couldn’t sleep.

Beside me, Miya drew the sheet tighter around her bare body. Heat radiated from her side of the bed.

Did she take advantage of me in a weak moment?

Or had I given in because it was easier than refusing?

I stared into the dark.

Nothing had changed.

I slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and went back up to the roof.

Wind met me there, colder than before.

Without thinking, I climbed onto the ledge.

My arms lifted toward the sky as if prayer were a reflex my body remembered even after my mind had abandoned it.

“What am I supposed to do?!” I shouted into the night. “Why am I not satisfied?! Why do I feel empty?!”

The city gave me nothing back.

“I put everyone else first! Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?! Isn’t sacrifice supposed to mean something?! If it’s virtuous, then why does it make me miserable?!”

Silence.

My throat tightened. “What do I want?” I whispered.

The question felt alien.

Had I ever really asked it?

What did I desire?

My hand rose automatically to loosen the tie that wasn’t there.

Did I deserve to?

I flinched.

“I want to be… selfish, to be…” I swallowed. “...free.”

The admission struck like blasphemy. A burst of fear hit so suddenly it hollowed out my legs.

But what if—

My weight shifted.

“Huh?”

Then I was falling.

“AHHHHH—STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP—”

The ground rushed upward. My limbs flailed uselessly, spreading wide as if instinct might invent physics on the spot and save me.

It didn’t.

The world flashed white.

Black tore through it in streaks.

Then everything lurched.

And vanished.

•

When my vision returned, I was staring at a ceiling made of bars.

I lay there for a moment, panting.

Sweat clung to my skin. My legs shook when I forced myself upright.

The memory of the fall still lived in my body.

“What just happened?” I whispered. “Am I dead?”

I looked around.

Sky.

Nothing but sky.

An endless blue expanse stretched in every direction, thick with drifting clouds that moved like shoals of fish and slow, pale whales. There was no ground below the cage. No sun. No horizon. No earth. Just an infinite sky and the small enclosure suspended inside it.

I stepped toward the bars.

Down was sky.

Up was sky.

Every direction mirrored every other.

No life. No sound. No motion except the clouds.

The sight gnawed at my sanity.

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood. But I didn’t. I was still there, conscious, floating above the clouds. This was my reality. 

“I must be dead,” I said. “I have to be.”

I examined myself for damage, and was suddenly shocked.

I wasn’t wearing a suit or any clothes. I didn’t even have skin. Or, not the skin I expected.

My body was like translucent glass with electricity running through it. Bright white and wispy, yet solid. It moved how I expected, but it was off-putting and familiar. 

“Am I a spirit or something?” I said, confused. My gaze sharpened as my brain registered a new outlier. “These aren’t my hands.”

They were feminine and strange. My entire body was. I’d been tall and muscular my whole life, yet I was suddenly female. Nothing looked the same. I should have been freaking out, but an odd sense of familiarity flushed through me. My white, energy-like body pulses for a moment.

I flinched as my brain started to tingle. Like there were memories behind a wall, struggling to break free. 

Suddenly, like a glitch in reality, a woman stood before me. 

I recoiled back a step.

“You’ve returned,” she said to me upon seeing my face. Her expression was soft and reverent. “I’m so sorry.”

She was breathtaking, almost doll-like, as if she were designed in a lab. Her entire body was too perfect to be real. She had flowing white hair that seemed to float, as if suspended in water. She wore a simple white dress that hugged her figure. Her eyes, however, offset her. They were all-white eyes, void of any iris. 

It felt like I was staring at a God.

My brain hemorrhaged. Indescribable pain wrecked my heart and throat. My legs lost their power, and I was suddenly kneeling, digging my fingers into my heart to try and stop the pain. 

Arms wrapped around my neck from behind and pulled me into a warm body. In the middle of the agony, that was the only clear sensation left.

The world bled into black and white.

Then into nothing.

•

Consciousness slammed back into me.

Light.

Blurred faces.

A room rendered in murky shades of gray, as if I were seeing the world through static.

“Her crying stopped. Is she supposed to stop crying?” a terrified voice asked above me.

I blinked rapidly until shapes sharpened.

A giant woman loomed over me. Hair stuck to her face due to sweat. Her eyes were wide with fear and exhaustion.

I froze.

“She appears fine,” said another voice nearby.

A man came into focus. Young. Late twenties, maybe. His clothes and forearms were smeared with blood.

Behind him stood another man. He was tall, broad, with long black hair falling past his face, and a trimmed beard. His eyes fixed on me with controlled panic.

“I cannot lose another child,” he said.

Fire rolled into existence around one of his hands. It gathered in his palm, crackling, flickering up his arm before he forced it back down with visible effort.

“Please,” he said.

What the hell is going on?

Someone leaned over me. A doctor, presumably. A young woman stood nearby as well, blonde hair pinned into a tight bun.

I tried to raise my hands.

Tiny hands lifted into view. Slim, weak, pinkish-gray little things.

My mind went blank.

The doctor took hold of one of my feet. Then he pressed his ear against my chest. My entire chest. Then, he pulled back.

“Heart sounds normal. Breathing is normal. She is healthy,” he said.

“The child simply isn’t crying.”

“Is that normal?” the black-haired man asked.

“It is not a sign of distress,” the doctor said. “Every child is different.”

Relief passed visibly through the room.

I flexed my fingers. They answered slowly, clumsily, like they belonged to someone else.

This was not a dream.

I had fallen.

I had died.

And now I was here.

Reincarnated.

A baby.

A useless, wrinkled little thing.

“If you’d like,” the doctor said, “you may name her now. Names are good luck. They bind a family.”

The dark-haired man looked at the woman holding me.

“I’ve already given her one name,” he said. “The other is yours.”

The woman shook with emotion. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she looked down at me.

Her smile was soft. Loving.

I had never seen a smile like that directed at me before.

“Scarlet,” she said with a breathless laugh. “Red like my hair. And as fiery as her father.”

“A good name,” the man said.

Scarlet? Her? What?

Using everything I had, I forced my neck down and looked at my body.

Small. Frail. Wet. And missing one very familiar feature.

A stunned, almost hysterical amusement rose through the shock. My brain flashed back to the endless sky and what I’d looked like the cage. 

I let my head fall back against my mother’s chest as exhaustion swallowed me whole.

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