I tugged O’Brien to a stop at the edge of the clearing, keeping the shade this side of the trees. My fingers were clawed against his skin, a silent plea. There was just so many people out there, dancing and laughing and talking. They whirled past us, unaware of our presence, in a cloud of pale pinks and blues. Dresses and shirts that moved in a kaleidoscopic dance that left me dizzy and faint.
“I think I’m going to vomit.”
“No, you’re not,” O’Brien, a font of eternal patience, said that a little too confidently for someone who couldn’t feel the way my stomach writhed and squeezed. He patted my hand. “There’s nothing to worry about, Runner. You’ve got an incredible set of pipes.”
I wasn’t sure that was the problem. My hair swung back and forth as I shook my head, completely unable to
