But his chest rose and fell. He was still alive.

The light died, and Michael’s phone chimed a warning at him.

Low battery. 5% remaining.

Almost immediately, another text appeared from Hannah. When he opened it to try to reply, the phone died altogether.

Damn it! In the darkness, he patted the pockets of the next body he came to and found a phone. It was the older flip kind that probably wouldn’t take a picture. He moved on to the next body. An iPhone! Yes!

Passcode protected.

“Christ,” he muttered. Next body. An iPhone, though an older model. No passcode. A picture of a young girl and a boy as the background.

Kids.

Michael’s breathing shook as he felt his way up the body to find a pulse.

He almost cried when he found one.

He opened the texts and started a new one. He typed in Hannah’s number.

Phone died. Found a new one. Missed last message.–M

Asked if any burn victims?

This phone didn’t have a flashlight app, but Michael had seen enough to know that he hadn’t seen any burns.

No. Why?

Bomb squad investigating. Found fragments. Burn damage to building. Propane tanks intact. Still waiting on clearance to enter.

So a bomb had gone off. But no one was burned. And the propane tanks were intact? Had his ravine somehow insulated them from damage? Or had—

Then Michael realized.

Tyler. He was a Fire Elemental. Had his powers weakened the bomb, the way Michael’s powers had offered a way out of the blast path?

More dirt rained down the walls. Splintered planks of wood fell from above. Michael shoved his back against the ravine wall and sent power into the earth again.

“Steady,” he whispered. “Steady.” He could feel vehicles moving now, where they’d been still for the longest time.

He texted quickly.

Don’t move vehicles. Ground unstable.

It took a minute, but the motion stopped. Michael choked on his breath.

Hannah sent another text.

Are you in a basement? Can you send me pics of layout?

Michael aimed the phone up and started snapping pictures, trying to get the angles right. More debris fell from above and stung where it struck his face and forearms.

Then the flash lit up a face looking down at him from above.

“Hey!” Michael called into the darkness. He sent the photos to Hannah while he was peering up. “Hey! The edges aren’t stable! Be careful!”

No response. Michael snapped another pic, hoping to get another image of the person. Was this a bomb squad technician? Or another survivor?

The flash went off. A gun fired.

Michael felt the bullet hit his shoulder. Goddamn, it hurt. It knocked him into the wall, and he lost the phone. More dirt poured down around him. The ground rumbled.

Another gunshot. He had no idea where it hit, but pain blossomed through his chest.

That wasn’t good, right? He wished he still had the phone so he could ask Hannah. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t move.

Another gunshot.

Shouting erupted overhead. More gunfire.

Then nothing but darkness.

CHAPTER 14

Michael could move before he could see. Intermittent beeping filled his ears. His chest felt tight and painful, like someone had parked a car on his midsection. He shifted and felt soft cotton against his skin.

His eyes cracked open and found a blurred ceiling, edged by beige walls with a bland flowered border. Metal poles towered over him, complete with dripping bags. A small monitor showed jagged lines and beeped at regular intervals.

A hospital. He was in a hospital.

His brain didn’t want to work. How—when—?

He lifted a hand to rub his eyes—but his arm hit resistance.

He tried again, and this time he heard the rattle of metal against plastic. He jerked hard and blinked his eyes before he figured out what was going on.

Handcuffs chained his right hand to the bed rail.

His heart rate tripled, making the beeping behind him accelerate. Every muscle in his upper body protested, but he forced himself upright. His chest felt as if it might cave in. More metal clinked and rattled.

His ankles were chained.

Now he was fully awake. He jerked at the handcuffs again, as if maybe he’d been wrong, and this time there’d be nothing there. His head pounded, keeping pace with his pulse. Breath rattled in his chest, every inhale like a stab through the heart.

If he was here, where were his brothers? Who had chained him to the bed? He didn’t even know which hospital this was. The décor revealed nothing more than careful neutral blends of beige and pink.

The door stood partly ajar, and aside from a few people dressed in white passing by outside, he couldn’t see anyone. A good thing or a bad thing? He didn’t like this. He needed to be out of here.

“Hey,” he called out. Speech forced a cough from his throat, and he almost doubled over from the sudden pain. He gasped and tried again. “Hey!”

The door swung open, and a policeman peered into the room.

Michael blinked in surprise. He’d expected a nurse or an orderly.

Then his brain caught up. Nurses didn’t use handcuffs.

The man didn’t seem much older than Michael himself—but he looked fierce and determined, like he enjoyed his job a little too much. His hand actually rested on the butt of his gun.

“You’re awake,” he said. “I’ll let them know.” Then he pulled the door almost all the way closed. Michael could hear him murmuring to someone—or maybe into a radio.