Someone slapped me. I opened my eyes and wanted to howl in pain when thousands of tiny madmen armed with hammers began beating their way out of my skull. My eyes watered with the agony and I pressed clutched fists to them. There was a roar inside my head, like the insistent buzz of angry wasps. My stomach churned and roiled, protesting with every shallow breath I took.
Relax, I told myself. Get a grip. Long breaths, slow exhalations.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A few moments later my stomach began to settle, and the madmen began to quiet.
The roar though, took longer.
I lowered my fists, and to my surprise, it was Logan"s—not Remo"s—face I saw above mine. His eyes were dark with anger and worry.
“Can you hear me?” he shouted.
I winced and croaked, “Don"t.”
He nodded, shouted again, “Wha
