Pain. That’s the first thing that hits me—sharp, ripping through my side like a dozen knives twisting in unison. My wings… they feel heavy, useless, folded wrong against my back. No, not folded. Crumpled. The wind’s gone; that endless rush of air beneath me, carrying us higher, faster toward DC, toward answers about who—what—we really are. It was all there just moments ago: the Flock slicing through the clouds, Max leading with that fierce determination in her eyes, me right beside her, silent as always but watching her back. Iggy cracking jokes to keep the younger ones—Nudge, Gazzy, Angel— from freaking out about the long haul. We were finally closing in on the truth, the Institute’s secrets, our messed-up origins as lab experiments with bird DNA spliced in. But then they came. Erasers. Those snarling, wolf-faced freaks, ambushing us mid-flight like shadows peeling off the horizon. I can still smell the metallic tang of their sweat mixed with the ozone of the storm clouds we were skirting. Their howls echoed, guttural and hungry, as they lunged with claws extended. I twisted in the air, my dark wings snapping out to block one from reaching Max. Felt the burn as its talons raked across my side, hot blood soaking through my shirt instantly. The world tilted—vertigo hitting hard as I lost altitude, spiraling down. Black spots danced in my vision, the ocean below blurring into a smear of blue and white. Unconsciousness swallowed me before I could even shout a warning. Now… sand. Coarse grains shifting under me, warm from the sun but gritty against my skin. The crash of waves nearby—rhythmic, pounding like a heartbeat too loud in my ears. Salt in the air, sharp and briny, mingling with the coppery scent of my own blood. Seagulls screeching overhead, their cries piercing the fog in my head. I’m on a beach? How… Max. It has to be her. I remember the faint brush of feathers—her wings wrapping around me mid-fall, strong and desperate, cushioning the impact. She caught me. Risked everything to dive after me, her voice cutting through the wind: “Fang! Hold on!” My eyes flutter open, the world swimming into focus. Golden sand stretches out, dotted with seashells and driftwood, the ocean a vast, churning expanse under a late afternoon sky streaked with pink and orange. The Flock’s descending now—wings folding as they land one by one, feet kicking up puffs of sand. Max is right here, her wings uncurling from around us like a protective cocoon, feathers ruffled and dusted with salt. Her face hovers above mine, brown eyes wide with worry, hands shaking as she shakes my shoulder gently. “Fang? Fang, come on, wake up. Don’t you dare leave me like this.” Emotions crash over me—relief that she’s okay, anger at myself for getting hit, that quiet ache I’ve always carried for her, buried deep but surfacing now in the vulnerability. My side throbs, a deep gash from those claws, but I can feel Iggy’s hands already—blind but sure—pressing something soft against the wound. His jacket, I realize, the fabric rough and warm from his body heat, staunching the blood. “Easy, man,” he mutters, his voice steady despite the panic I sense in the air. The younger ones are hovering, Angel’s small hand touching my arm, her mind probably probing mine with that telepathic gift of hers. And then… voices. Human voices, not ours. A fisherman down the beach, rod abandoned in the sand, phone to his ear. “Yeah, 911? There’s these kids—looked like they fell from the sky. One’s hurt bad, bleeding. You gotta send help quick.” Police. Great. Just what we need—more humans poking into our freak show. I try to sit up, but pain lances through me again, forcing a grunt. Max’s hand on my chest, holding me down. Her touch grounds me, pulls me back from the edge. I meet her eyes, forcing a weak smirk despite the haze. We’ve been through worse. We’ll get through this too. But right now, all I can think is… thank you, Max. For catching me. Always.