Dreams of Fire

[Thalia]

He stepped forward but stopped suddenly, as though something prevented him coming closer. Thalia's eyes were unblinking, wary; she leaned back further in her seat, though she was already crushed right back. Then the train lurched, and Katya tipped forward. Her hand slipped right out from Thalia's grasp; she didn't hold on, just let go of it naturally, staring as the girl landed lifeless. Was she-? The chaos washed over her; everyone was shoving themselves away, shouting, screaming. Her heart fluttered high and fast, but she didn't run with them. There were oranges skidding across the floor, and she didn't know why she noticed but she did, as she numbly tried to piece together how someone's life could snuff out as quickly as fingers pinching the flame from a candle.

The panic never touched her; at least, the panic rippling manically through fear of the Sickness. And she was more surprised than grieved at the sudden intrusion of death into ordinary life. She thought of Rune's ouroboros, the cyclic snake. Enevitability had never been bothersome to her, if the proximity of it now sent a disturbed shiver along her spine. What had killed her? The fever, or something else? The crowd's conclusion was clear and shrill, but Thalia wondered. The Light had burned so very strong in her chest, had in fact drifted out into the air as a beautiful weave of pattern, but she didn't know what it had done. Deep in a dusty recess of her mind, though, she knew what it could do.

The man called Jon fell.

Dane was there before she could much react (though all she had been doing was staring wide-eyed), and he bent deftly to check the man's pulse. Thalia didn't ask to hear what he discovered, but the question lingered in her mind. It never occurred to her to scrutinise Dane's sudden interest; he'd not been so attentive the first time Kat had collapsed, but the detail of her focus - and her fear - was still on Jon. His body was cast under Dane's shadow by the time the man stood, obscured from view. She tried not to look at it, but that face was carved in memory. She would not forget, no matter how many times she tried to blink away the features scorched on the back of her eyelids. She knew he existed now, but she couldn't bear to check if he lived or died. Even knowing his name was too much.

The need to escape swelled great and urgent, burning virulent in her mind. Though Kat was gone the urge to seek out her sister also remained strong, to confess the strangeness of the day and then banish it from memory. She was desperate to get off the train, had been since the moment she'd laid proper eyes on Jon, and it only keened itself to an edge now that they began decelerating to a halt. Her body was tensed with the need to bolt; her eyes flickered to the doors, but she couldn't find them beyond the jostling bodies. Instead she found Dane's offered palm, gloved in black.

His monstrous anger smoothed itself so that she almost forgot how furious he had been. Hurt me? Though the other passengers had run in fear away from where Thalia had been sitting, and though she had been huddled up right next to the girl who had died, she'd not registered the connection. The kindness made little difference; he misinterpreted the source of her fear and she was not afraid of whatever waited at the station, nor of catching the Sickness. The escape, though; the escape was so blessed. She took his hand without hesitation, the guileless trust and relief unfeigned, and pushed up off her seat, ready to follow.