92  

SAGE

I was stretched to the ends of the planet—no, to the ends of the universe.

The pain subsided, leaving me behind in its wake.

I panted on the bed.

All that was left of me was an aching lump of tissue.

But …

I could think. I wasn’t brain dead. I knew who I was. I could process that.

Sage Sallisaw.

And … I knew what had happened to me. The serum. Dr. Adamson. Dr. Stanstopolis.

And I knew where I was. The hotel room.

My eyes shot open.

I could see, like normal. I could hear my own body breathing.

I rolled from the bed, ignoring the outcry from all four of my limbs.

I’m me, still me!

I knocked into the bedside lamp, and it crashed to the ground as I staggered toward the bathroom mirror. Oops.

Silverware clattered to the hardwood when my arm swiped the service tray on the breakfast table as I stumbled by. I felt clumsy, but my body had just fought off something so intense, so unbelievable, that I couldn’t be anything but grateful.

I shuffled awkwardly toward the bathroom, the room feeling small, my body feeling heavy, not myself. My steps, this walking, they did not feel normal—not like I remembered.

I pushed through the narrow bathroom doorway and caught the edge of the countertop to keep myself from teetering over.

I rested my hands on either side of the sink and looked into the mirror.

I screamed at what I saw.