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?
