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Roman wore the expression of a rabid dog, but he reined in his temper with a deep, calming inhale. “Can you tell me if a hellseher named Shayla Cousens has been admitted today?”

“I’m not able to tell you anything about the other patients. Step aside, please. We’ll be with you shortly.”

Roman’s pupils flared as he fought the Sight. “Half of the city’s destroyed, everyone’s in hysterics trying to find the people we care about, and you won’t tell us jack shit?”

“Protocol,” she said simply, to which Roman ground his teeth. “A person’s information is private, and if given out can be detrimental in the wrong hands. I would expect someone like yourselves to already know that.” She gave a pointed look at the tattoo below Roman’s eye, the black skull of Obitus barely visible through the dirt and blood caked on his face. “We ask for your patience and understanding, or you will be forced to vacate the premises.”

Now, Darien was the one grinding his teeth. Livid, he shook his head, wishing he were well enough to punch something. The black-eyed glare he threw over his shoulder sent the closest people backing up, whispering in fear. Knowing it was pointless to make more of a scene, he pushed off the desk and took his leave.

“Next!” the woman squawked.

Darien cursed, shaking his head again as he and Roman claimed a spot by the wall, near a bulletin board littered with colorful flyers. “How often do you think she’s repeated that garbage tonight?”

“If she’s dead, it’s my fault,” Roman blurted. Flyers crinkled as he slumped against the board.

“If who’s dead?”

“Shay.” He toed at a scuff mark on the floor. “I could’ve told her what was going on with the Well, but I didn’t. Ichosenot to. I acted like an asshole and told her to go away. And when Arthur tried to give me that ring—the one he made for Shay…” He swallowed. “I was stupid, and I didn’t take it.” He shut hiseyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

No, he hadn’t taken the ring—Ivy had. But Darien didn’t bother reminding him; he knew exactly what Roman would say in response: what good had it done? And it was true—who the hell knew where Shay was when the replica exploded? She could be anywhere by now—could be buried under rubble or ripped into a million tiny pieces by the blast.

Darien leaned against the wall, hand above his heart, and scanned the room for a second time while Roman idly plucked the phone number tabs off a pest-and-monster-removal poster. The sliding doors were stuck open, so many people in need of medical attention that the line went all the way outside, lights flashing and sirens wailing without pause. By the looks of the feathered wings he glimpsed through the windows, there were Fleet soldiers in the area.

“You think if I ask her if Paxton’s been here, she’ll have to tell me because we’re family?” Roman’s lethal gaze was fixed on the triage desk.

“I think if you ask her about Paxton, she’ll tell you to go fuck yourself.”

Roman’s chuckle was unamused.

Darien locked eyes with a brunette Healer standing near the desk. The ER was too noisy to hear what she was saying to the receptionist, but it wasn’t long before both of the women were glancing his way.

The receptionist handed the Healer a clipboard, but hung onto her end for a moment, as if she couldn’t decide what to do, before finally letting go with a steely glance thrown at Darien.

The Healer walked over, scrubs swishing as she thumbed through the papers. “You punched someone, didn’t you?” She flattened the top paper back down and rested the clipboard against her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

Roman glanced between them. “You guys know each other?”

“She fixed my hand,” Darien said. “Can you help me out, or what?”

She sighed through her nose. “I’m breaking a lot of rules by letting you skip the line, but…” She glanced over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

They trailed her as she navigated the sea of people. Down a hallway, around a corner, all the way to an elevator near another waiting area—a human-only zone, the air tainted with the pungent smell of bleach and blood. The elevator doors opened with ading,and they got on. Taking the elevators was a huge risk when the city’s power was on the brink of collapse, but with the way Darien was feeling right now, there was nothing and no one that could stop him from getting to Loren. He’d tear the whole world and all its elevators apart to find her.

“I couldn’t help but notice your phones are working,” Darien said as the doors slid shut, the lift lurching upward. “Exactly how much of the city’s power is out?”

“Almost all. And it’s just the landlines that are working, so unless whoever you’re trying to reach is old-school, you’re not going to have any luck.” She glanced side-long at him. “Sorry.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“The lady at the desk said you aren’t allowed to tell us anything about the other patients,” Roman ventured.

“Right—protocol.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” he muttered.

“Who are you looking for?”