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Roark locked eyes with her as the tinted glass rose, but he didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard the farewell.

She watched him disappear as Darien drove out of the lot under the direction of Fleet soldiers, and when she twisted around in her seat to stare out the back, she saw Dallas doing the same in the truck bed. The witch sat with Max and Lace, guns across their laps.

“Drink, please,” Darien said, offering her the soda she hadn’t had the chance to open yet.

She took it from him and twisted the cap off, bubbles fizzing. She drank half, the carbonation burning her chest and wellingher eyes with moisture. Her heart was racing so fast she felt sick, but at least it was beating. She put the cap back on and laid the bottle down on the seat between her and Roman. She was so close to Darien, she might as well be sitting in his lap, her thigh pressing against his.

Sitting in the middle seat put her right in front of the rear-view mirror, and when she saw her reflection in the glass she cringed. Gods, she looked like a total mess. Blood, dirt, tangled hair, and eyes that desperately needed rest.

“Is that my blood on your face?” she asked Darien, peeking at the fresh streaks on his cheeks and nose. Hardly an inch of his skin was clean. They all needed to have a shower.

He wiped at his face, and then looked at his open hand. Then in the rear-view. “We’ll clean up when we get to Roman’s.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced down at her. “For what?”

“For getting blood on you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, please.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I can’t wait to eat something,” Jack groaned as they maneuvered the streets, tires thumping on concrete that had buckled from seismic waves. “My stomach’s devouring itself.”

Loren leaned forward, the sudden movement causing Darien to stiffen and reach toward her, and grabbed the panini off the dash. “You can have some of my sandwich, if you want.” She twisted in her seat?—

“No, he can’t,” Darien said firmly. “You’re eating that whole thing. Every last bite. And you’re doing it now.”

“I don’t need the whole thing, though. Jack’s hungry.”

“He’ll be fine,” Roman muttered. His elbow was propped against his door, head resting against his knuckles. “He can handle it. He doesn’t have a blood sugar problem like you do.”

“Here.” Darien tossed his own panini over his shoulder, hitting Jack in the knee with it. “You can have mine.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jack asked him as he picked it up off the floor.

“I’ll be fine till we get to Roman’s.”

“Darien, you need to eat, too,” Ivy scolded.

“I will. But your husband has a fucked-up head, so he should be the one eating right now.”

“His head’s always fucked up,” Roman mumbled, still staring blankly out his window.

Jack laughed around a mouthful of bread and turkey. “He isn’t wrong. Maybe this concussion will tighten a few screws.”

Loren opened her sandwich, plastic wrap crinkling, and took a bite. After how long she’d gone without eating, this dry sandwich tasted like a gourmet meal.

“Do you want a bite?” She offered the sandwich to Darien.

“I want you to eat all of that.”

“You’re being self-destructive,” she chided gently.

“You’rebeing self-destructive,” he countered.

“No, I’m sharing. Sharing is caring.”

He smirked, but took a bite.