Natalia did not repeat herself. She never has to. She said sit down and my body was already moving toward the basement stairs before my brain filed the objection, which tells you everything about the last four months of my life.
"I'm fine."
"You are radiating," she said behind me. "Your resting temperature is two degrees over baseline and you smell like the air before lightning. Emi's aura misfired at five thirty-one. Braxton's whiskey sweated through a wall. Skylar woke up. Raphael has been punching a bag for ninety minutes because his skin itches and he doesn't know why." Her hand landed flat between my shoulder blades and it was cold enough that my shirt fogged. "You are not fine. You are a broadcast. Move."
