At one time, these thoughts would have terrified him.

Now, they reassured him.

The ground gave a small tremor, waiting for his order.

And then, for the first time, Michael felt malice through the earth. Footsteps. Someone moving toward them.

He told the trees to wait. “He’s on the ground,” he said to Tyler, his voice very soft.

Tyler’s voice was steady, focused. “Where?”

“There.” Michael nodded east. Another icy blast of wind tore through the trees, slicing through the undergrowth to find them. This time it stung his cheeks so violently that Michael could swear the air drew blood. He choked and tried to breathe, but the air hurt his lungs.

“Just one?” said Tyler.

“I don’t know.” The air felt thinner, and Michael gasped for a breath. His leafy barrier thickened, responding to his panic, creating an impenetrable wall.

“Could one Guide be this powerful?” choked Tyler. He wheezed a long breath. The edge of his lips had turned blue.

“I don’t know.” The last Guide to come to town hadn’t been alone. Michael spun in a circle, trying to determine the best direction to go. Power had his chest in a vise grip now, and lack of oxygen was making it tough to think.

Then his natural barrier began to wilt. Leaves and branches dried up and died, crumbling away from the stems. At first, Michael wanted to blame the cold air, but it happened so quickly that he knew they’d been found.

In a heartbeat, all of the undergrowth had wilted down to nothing, giving him a clear view of his surroundings. Michael couldn’t have felt more exposed if his clothes had melted away.

But he didn’t see anyone.

Then he saw the laserbeam again, and the tiny red light hit Tyler’s forehead.

Michael shoved him again. Hard.

Tyler cried out anyway. Blood found the earth.

“Shit,” said Michael. He gasped the word. Lack of oxygen wouldn’t let his thoughts organize. He grabbed Tyler’s arm and pulled. “Run,” he said. He had no idea where Tyler had been hit, but he found his feet. “Run! If you fall, you’re dead.”

Tyler took a few stumbling steps. He was wheezing, too, his face ghost white. Michael half dragged him toward the house, clambering over the trees that had fallen.

And then, suddenly, the leaves underfoot were on fire. Smoke surged from below, surrounding them with heat and darkness.

Michael swore again, looking for new escape.

“It’s me,” Tyler gasped. “My fire. I’ll hide myself.” He stumbled against Michael. His leg must have given out. “Let me go.”

“That’s not how I work, Tyler.” Michael tried to shift Tyler’s weight so he could support more of it, but Tyler went down on one knee. He put a hand against a tree.

The smoke had thickened into a black cloud behind them, but it didn’t offer Michael any confidence—especially when that icy wind sent the smoke scattering.

He felt more of Tyler’s blood hit the earth. Too much, too fast. That didn’t inspire confidence either.

“Where are you hit?” said Michael—but then he saw the wound, a long slice along the outside of Tyler’s thigh.

“I need five minutes,” Tyler said. “The fire will help—”

“If you think we have five minutes, you are out of your head.”

Tyler winced. The fire spread. “Just run, Merrick. I’ll be okay.”

“Would you shut up and try?” Michael got Tyler’s arm across his shoulder, and fought to drag him to his feet. “We need to run. Now.”

Cold steel touched the back of his neck. “No, you need to freeze. Right there.”

Shit. Michael froze. The voice sounded familiar, but—

“Hands on your head. Turn and face me.”

Michael let go of Tyler, who collapsed against a tree, though he managed to get his hands up.

Michael turned, his heart in his throat, certain he was living his last moments right here and now.

But he turned around and found himself face to face with Jack Faulkner. Hannah’s father.

“Are you not speaking to me now?” asked Irish.

Hannah glanced across the short space between them. Outside the fire truck, trees raced by and the sirens screamed the path to their next destination, but in here, it had been dead quiet until he’d spoken.

She hadn’t realized Irish had been reading the silence as tension.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Not speaking to you?”

He looked at her like he wasn’t sure if she was yanking his chain. “Yeah. Because I stopped you from working the building collapse.”

So much had happened since the restaurant bombing that until now, she hadn’t even thought about how he’d told the chief to make her stay in the truck.

She probably owed him a thank-you, considering that she never would have seen Michael’s texts if she’d been actively working the scene.

“I’m just tired,” she said.

“Just tired? I’m pretty sure that’s the girl equivalent of ‘still pissed.’ ”

She smiled. “I am tired.” The smile fell off her face. “It’s been a long weekend.”

He studied her. “Thinking heavy thoughts?”

“Something like that.”

But it was exactly like that. She’d been thinking about her dad’s words all afternoon. She’d been full of vitriol and judgment when he’d started playing the overprotective parent, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe he had been obligated to report Michael and his brothers. He wasn’t wrong—the Merricks were in trouble. A lot of trouble. She had no idea how deeply Michael was buried in debt or work or anything. If she lost her job or her car or ran into financial difficulty, she knew her parents would provide a safety net. Michael didn’t have that luxury.