"No one's coming."
Instinct had Jim reach out for the wizard, hauling him close, trying to shelter him under his own larger, sturdier body, as the world came crumbling down.
It was so loud, impact after impact striking, painful but survivable.
And then something immense fell on him, knocking Jim to the ground.
Knocking the shard in his chest against the ground.
In a flash of all-encompassing pain, the world went black.
He came to some time later, chest throbbing as he sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, trying to shake his head but mostly failing. Something had his horns caught. And the weight on his back was so heavy. Had he fallen asleep under Claire's weighted blanket again?
Jim tried to blink his eyes open, but it didn't seem to make a difference. It was just as dark whether they were open or closed.
He sneezed again, and that's when he realized there was something warm under his hand. Warm and soft.
Blackness or not, his eyes widened as memory rose up in a flash. The wizard. Their escape attempt. The walls crumbling down.
Jim growled, and winced as it vibrated the shard where it scraped against the ground. "Dou-" he tried to say, but devolved into a coughing fit.
What was in the air, anyway?
Probably asbestos, Jim thought grimly, given the building had looked like it was originally built to be a blimp hangar. Which probably meant something like World War 2 construction. Or older.
He hoped asbestos wasn't as bad for trolls as it was for humans.
He hoped it wasn't as bad for wizards, either. Or vampires, since Douxie was both.
Jim listened intently now, trying to figure out what was going on. Was Douxie breathing? He could feel the rise and fall, however minute, of the wizard's chest. But he was also clearly out cold. Great.
On the other hand, Jim couldn't hear Kubritz or her minions either. Couldn't smell them, beyond the dust and debris.
What he could smell, he realized with sudden panic, was blood. Hot. Sticky. And beneath his fingers.
Jim's eyes widened in the dark. "Douxie," he managed, jostling the wizard with what little leverage he had. "Douxie!"
He got no response, the wizard's body limp as a rag doll.
Jim strained against the weight pinning him down, but apparently the mass of a building was too much for him to throw off. He tightened a hand, dug his toes against the concrete under them, but he'd never been taught troll tunneling techniques. He didn't know if they'd even work for him. Here. Now.
His thoughts shattered. Dimly, he realized he was breathing fast. Panicking. Panic attack.
He couldn't get them out. Douxie was maybe dead. Claire couldn't get to him. No one was coming.
And he didn't, Jim realized as the world narrowed in on him and he began to feel light-headed, want to die.
"Too bad, Young Atlas," he remembered Strickler telling him once, a malicious glint in the changeling's eyes. "We don't always get what we want."