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Max’s face went white. “Maya?”

“You take that one,” Darien said to Max, pointing south. “I’ll take the other.” He spun around, his eyes finding Loren’s. “Loren—with me. Roman, Tanner—you too. Let’s go.”

They split up, Darien taking his car. Loren squeezed into the back seat with Tanner, ignoring Roman about how she should take the front.

And then they were off.

When they got to the burning building—another hotel with a conference room on the ground floor—Darien and Roman split up while Tanner stayed in the car with Loren. Darien planned on meeting Roman from opposite ends of the corridor where the attack happened, hopefully cornering any of the imperator’s men—or Elementals—who might still be in the area.

Darien sprinted up the stairwell now, through the thick smoke choking the interior, eyes black with the Sight.

He had almost reached the thirty-eighth floor when a blur ran right into him, crashing into him so hard he was knocked off balance.

A shout of surprise—female—echoed in the stairwell.

Gravity sucked him into his grip, too quickly for him to stop it, to reach out and grab the railing.

He fell backward down the stairs, the female falling with him—

They smashed into the landing a floor down, the girl on top of him.

Darien looked up through the smoke to see a young woman with red hair pushing up off his chest.

She pulled a knife on him.

He grabbed her wrist, twisting it.

A cry of pain shot through the stairwell. The knife clattered to the carpet.

Through the swirling smoke, he saw eyes light up like embers. Saw the red hair that tumbled over the girl’s shoulders start to glow—

And then her whole body transformed into flame. Literal flame, no flesh, her form glowing so brightly she was almost blinding.

“Maya?”

She froze. The flames cooled. And through the smoke, he recognized her—the girl who used to play catch with him when they were kids. The girl who got bubblegum stuck in her hair one summer, and Darien had to cut it out.

“Maya?” he said again, his question a whisper now instead of a shout. “It’s me. It’s—”

“Darien?” The inquiry was a choked sob.

A door banged open several flights below.

Maya got up and bolted—throwing herself through the narrow window on the landing, glass smashing.

Darien shot to his feet and ran to that window, catching himself against the frame as he stared out at the rain-drenched street far below.

There was no sign of her.

Detectives and cops were coming up the stairs. The same goof who’d arrested Darien caught sight of him.

“What’s he doing here?” the detective thundered. “He’s hindering the investigation!” he shouted at no one. He whirled on Darien. Pulled a gun on him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Darien jumped through the window. Wind whipped past him, catching in his open jacket like a sail.

He landed on his feet with jarring force, knees bending to absorb the impact. He straightened. Looked both ways, searching for Maya.

No fucking trace of her.