Even after he yanked his hand back—assuming he actually did that.

He couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t feel his body anymore.

All he could feel was fear and fury and panic and pain and hate and horror and sadness and regret and things he didn’t have words for—pounding and stretching and twisting and tearing and shredding.

His lungs screamed for air, and his brain screamed for help, and the rest of him just screamed the only word—the only thought—left in his exploding head.

The plea was fire and ice on his tongue, searing hot and cold as he ordered his senses to do the only thing that would save him.

“NUMB!”

And it worked.

The roaring faded.

The emotions vanished.

The nausea and headache eased.

And his starved lungs sucked in a trembling, grateful breath.

Then another.

And another.

His pulse followed the same steady rhythm, and his vision sharpened into focus, and he searched the room, realizing he was now surrounded by…

… blank stares.

Sophie.

Fitz.

Elwin.

Even Ro and Sandor.

They just stood there, slack-jawed and unblinking.

And he realized.

He wasn’t numb.

Everybody else was.

- THREE - Sophie

SOPHIE HAD BEEN DRUGGED BEFORE.

Lost days drifting in and out of a blurry haze.

But she’d never experienced anything like this.

There were no words to describe it.

No metaphors or comparisons.

Everything was just…

Blank.

She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears—see her chest rise and fall with each breath.

But she couldn’t feel it.

Nor could she register any trace of the panic her brain kept telling her she should be experiencing.

She was empty.

She was nothing.

Life had become a memory.

All that remained was existence.

She realized her arms were moving and glanced down, watching a pair of hands jostle her wrists. The jarring motion should’ve startled her, but she couldn’t feel that, either. She also couldn’t tell when she lost her balance. The only clue was the ground rushing toward her—and some tiny part of her wanted to scream. But she didn’t have the energy.

She couldn’t even brace for the crash.

But the hands holding her wrists pulled her back up and steadied her as a familiar voice echoed in her ears.

“Sophie.”

“Sophie!”

“SOPHIE!”

She didn’t know how to answer.

Even when the calls turned to pleas.

Then commands.

“WAKE UP!”

“RELAX!”

“UNDO!”

Nothing made any difference.

“Please,” the voice begged. “Please don’t be numb anymore.”

Still no change.

Time slowed to a crawl and Sophie tried to count her breaths. But she kept losing track after three or four.

She’d just started over again when the voice spoke, sounding sharper—darker—as it told her, “FEEL!”

Then it was like being dumped into a pool of hot and cold water.

Too many sensations.

Too many emotions.

All surging and swirling and churning—making her head spin and her heart race and her knees collapse again.

The hands holding on to her wrists came to her rescue once more as thumps and crashes thudded all around her. She tried to follow the sounds, but her brain and eyes weren’t ready to focus.

She needed to start smaller.

She concentrated on that small point of contact—the gentle pressure of fingers against her skin, sharing their strength while her own failed her.

She knew those hands.

And she knew the voice they belonged to.

“Keefe?” she whispered as her vision slowly sharpened.

Her eyes traced the line of his arms up past his shoulders, to his pale, terrified face, and he nodded and burst into tears—and seeing his raw, unrestrained emotion unlocked something deep inside Sophie, flooding her with a softer, gentler rush that made her feel like her again.

A sob crawled up her throat, and she didn’t try to swallow it down.

She’d never try to bury her emotions again.

They were far too precious.

“Keefe,” she repeated, scrambling to grab his hand when he tried to back away. “What happened?”

He shook his head again, pulling free from her grasp.

“Whatever that was, it wasn’t your fault,” she promised as he sank onto his cot and dragged the covers up over his head.

“Yes, it was,” a new voice declared—a voice Sophie didn’t hear very often. And when she did, it usually meant problems.

She spun toward the sound and there was Councillor Alina, standing in the doorway wearing a ridiculously fancy purple gown, staring with narrowed eyes at the Keefe lump hiding under his blanket.

Sophie was more interested in the frilly pink figure beside her.

“You told the Council that Keefe was awake?” she asked Oralie, not bothering to hide her irritation.

She hadn’t trusted Oralie much, but she’d thought after Oralie’s we have to start working together speech, it was at least safe to explain why she had to rush back to the Healing Center.

Apparently not.

“Of course she told us,” Alina said, adjusting her peridot circlet. “I realize this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but we’re your leaders. We expect to be apprised of all significant developments. And it’s a good thing Oralie hailed me, because this is an even bigger disaster than I feared.”

Oralie sighed. “There’s no need to be so dramatic, Alina.”

“Oh, really?” Alina pointed at something behind Sophie. “Then why do I see four unconscious bodies on the floor?”

“Bodies?” Sophie repeated, wheeling around and gasping. “Fitz!”

He was a tangle of arms and legs.

So was Elwin.

And Ro.

And Sandor—though he was flat on his stomach, as if he’d leaped to get to her and ended up face-planting instead.

“We’re not unconscious,” Elwin mumbled, his voice groggy and his glasses askew as he carefully sat up. “We’re just moving a little slow, from… everything. Plus, this floor is definitely not as soft as I wanted it to be.”

“No, it’s not,” Fitz agreed, wincing as he rose to his knees. He reached up to rub his left shoulder, but Sophie didn’t see any other injuries.

Sandor seemed okay too, looking more dazed than hurt as he shakily rose to his feet.

Sophie wanted to kick herself for forgetting about them as she watched Elwin hand Fitz a vial of something that was probably a painkiller—and she felt even worse when she realized that Keefe had saved her from falling, but hadn’t been able to help anyone else.

“Normally I’d give you some ‘smooth points’ for taking care of your pretty little Blondie and leaving Captain Perfectpants to fend for himself,” Ro told Keefe as she stood and stretched. “But next time, how about a little help for the person who knows a hundred different ways to kill you?”

The Keefe lump under the blanket didn’t respond.

“Shouldn’t there be another bodyguard here?” Alina asked. “The female assigned to Fitz?”