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Max was vaguely aware of Travis and Jack drifting down the hallway, heading toward the flatscreen television mounted on a wall by the desk, the news channel drawing them over.

It was Angelthene’s news channel, the television broadcasting the ruination of the city.

“We’ve got it, Darien,” Max offered. “We’ll look after her for however long you need.”

Tanner opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, at a loss for words. His eyes were still red from crying in the tunnels.

The room fell into silence as they all stood there, not knowing what to say, desperate to fix this but not knowing how.

And then Travis came back. His eyes were wild with fear as he pushed past Max and entered the room, cheeks marked with inky streaks from all the Venom he’d used. “Blackbird is on fire.”

Ivy went pale. The silence in the room thickened as everyone stopped breathing.

Max glanced at Darien just in time to see the muscles in his back and shoulders bunch up with tension.

“It’s all over the news,” Travis breathed. “Cops are on the scene, firefighters—”

“Trav,” Max warned.

Travis’s throat bobbed. Understanding entered in his eyes as he looked Darien’s way.

That understanding was replaced with regret.

Darien was still as a statue. Although his back was tensed up, his hands gently cupped Loren’s, his fingers never tightening.

Ivy’s face had transformed into a cold mask of pain. She marched up to her cousin, every movement stiff, her body visibly trembling.

She shoved Travis in the chest. “Why would you say that?” she wailed, the tears in her eyes glimmering like gemstones under the fluorescent lights. “Why would you say that, Trav?” She shoved him again. “Why?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Look at him!” Her voice was raw, and it broke in several places.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!”

But Darien was already moving. He was up out of the chair, walking quickly across the room.

Max stepped out of the way. As Darien passed by, Max could feel his aura. It was an awful blend of rage, sorrow, guilt, and heartbreak—heartbreak the likes of which he’d never felt, not in all his life. It nearly winded him, nearly buckled his knees. If he was feeling this horrible simply by catching a hint of Darien’s aura, he loathed to consider what was going on in his friend’s mind. His heart.

Utterly helpless, Max watched Ivy hurry after her brother. Hospital staff kept out of Darien’s way, a few of them casting furtive glances at that shredded bodysuit. That Venom- and tear-streaked face.

Darien didn’t spare them a glance. And he didn’t turn, not even with Ivy calling his name—not until he got to the elevator.

Just as the doors were sliding open, Darien looked over Ivy’s head, his eyes—black as a moonless night—locking with Max’s. “Don’t let Loren out of your sight.”

And then he stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut.

Ivy stood near those elevators for a long time, her shoulders heaving with labored breaths.

“Babe.” Jack spoke softly, every word chosen carefully. “Let him go.”

Ivy whispered, “I’m going after him.”

Lace straightened from the wall. “Ivy,” she croaked.

But Ivy was already gone, disappearing into the first elevator whose doors slid open.

When Max looked over his shoulder, at the girl lying on the bed, her face smooth and peaceful in a way he found almost eerie, he feared not just for her life, but also for Darien’s.