Free Arclight by Josin L. McQuein

to explain my nightmares and endure whatever reactions he has to them. I anticipate a lot of needles.
    “Yes?” He inclines his head, not looking at me while he sterilizes the scraper with an open flame.
    My hesitation costs me the chance to answer.
    The door on the far side of the room slams open. Lt. Sykes and another guard hurry in, shuffling to manage a third person between them—Anne-Marie’s brother, Trey.
    Burned and bloodied.

CHAPTER 8
    T REY holds his arm against his chest. His jacket and shirt are burned through, the skin beneath them melted, as though someone roasted it over an open flame. It’s going to take more than a dab of cold blue gel to fix that.
    “What happened?” Dr. Wolff asks.
    “Briar bush at the burn site,” the man I don’t know says.
    “It had gone black,” Lt. Sykes adds.
    Lt. Sykes is young, barely older than Trey, and strangely pretty for a guy. There’s something off about him, like he’s always marching a half-step out of time with everyone else. And he certainly doesn’t act like someone who’s only recently aged out. He isn’t treated like it either.
    “She burned me.” Trey gags on his own words, shaking as the others hold him up. Dr. Wolff extends Trey’s arm farther, and Trey vomits onto the floor.
    I step toward him automatically, but Mr. Pace seizes my injured wrist, only loosening his grip when I yelp. He doesn’t even apologize.
    “Don’t touch him.”
    “But . . .”
    This is Anne-Marie’s brother. How can I not help?
    “Get to the Common Hall.” Mr. Pace tows me toward the exit, still by the wrist.
    “Was he attacked?” I ask.
    It’s barely dark. If Trey was attacked, that means the Fade have moved faster than they did last night, or that they were closer. Either way, we’re in trouble. We should be at Red-Wall.
    “Is he okay?” I try to get a clear view of Trey, but Mr. Pace keeps his body in the way.
    “Go!” He dismisses me, then doubles back.
    I position myself in the hall outside the door where I can watch from the side. If I tell Anne-Marie I saw Trey delivered to the hospital, she’ll drive everyone crazy until she gets details. Staying to eavesdrop is a mission of mercy, really. It’s not just to satisfy my own curiosity, at all. . . .
    “What were you thinking, taking him out there?” Mr. Pace snarls at Lt. Sykes—actually snarls. His face twists into something grotesque. “He hasn’t even aged out.”
    “He showed up on his own, same as last night.”
    “What happened to his gloves?”
    “He said they made it too hard to work.”
    “You let him take them off?”
    “He’s about as reasonable as his old man.”
    I’ve never heard Lt. Sykes speak back at Mr. Pace before.
    “Stop!” Dr. Wolff splits them apart when it seems Mr. Pace is going to do more than yell. “Elias, you can exact your pound of flesh once I’m sure I won’t have to do the same with our young patient. I need details. Are you sure the bush was infested?”
    “The kid tore it up before we could warn him not to,” the man I don’t know says. “Confirmed punctures. His skin started to halo around the wounds.”
    “How long?’
    Lt. Sykes checks his alarm for the time. “Less than three minutes.”
    “What’d she use, a blowtorch?” Mr. Pace touches Trey’s abused arm with the tips of his fingers, and Trey winces.
    “There was no time for neat,” Lt. Sykes says. “Honoria held his arm over the flame until it flaked.”
    Honoria?
    She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t harm one of the Arclight’s own—not on purpose.
    “Get him downstairs,” Dr. Wolff orders. “We need him contained so I can do a proper assessment.”
    But Trey goes berserk before they can go anywhere.
    “Make them stop,” he cries, trying to raise his hands to cover his ears. “They won’t shut up. Make them stop.”
    Trey claws at his wounded arm, jerking against the men holding him.
    “Get them off! They’re everywhere! I can feel them!”
    “We’re losing