I scream, my voice raw with terror as the door beside me is wrenched open. Before I even look, I throw a punch in their direction.
But it's not one of the armed assailants—it's Phoenix.
My brother's face is set in grim lines, his mouth a tight slash of determination. My fist is held by his hand as though I'm a child throwing a tantrum—with the ease of someone far more powerful than me.
He lets go and cuts my seatbelt with a knife before grabbing me in an almost painful grip.
Ivy is still slumped in the backseat beside me, a trickle of blood oozing from the gash on her forehead. She's completely still, her head lolling at an unnatural angle.
My stomach roils violently, and I have to swallow back a surge of nausea. Is she...?
"She's alive," Phoenix says gruffly, as if reading my mind. "For now."
"Come on, we have to move," he growls, already tugging me out of the wrecked sedan.
