I gasped, sucking in air that tasted of sulfur and ozone. I sat up, my hands scrabbling against the cold stone floor of the ruined cathedral.
"Guilermo!"
I spun around.
He was lying right where I had left him. On the pile of blankets, his chest bare, his skin pale.
But he was breathing.
It was shallow. Ragged. But it was there. The golden chain that had erupted from our chests was gone, faded back into the metaphysical realm. But the connection in my head was screamingly loud.
It felt... heavy.
It felt like an anchor dragging us both down.
I crawled over to him. I placed my ear against his chest.
Slow. But steady.
"Oh, thank god," I sobbed, collapsing across his legs. "Thank god."
"Not God," a voice said. "Just bad engineering."
I froze.
I lifted my head.
She was still there.
