Stupid, she told herself. She knew the limits of the human body as well as anyone else. Her eyes wanted to fill, but she could hold it together for his little brother.

Nick put a hand on his brother’s neck. “Michael,” he said softly, his words somehow carrying over the wind. “Mike. Wake up.”

Irish looked at her over Nick’s head. He shook his head.

“Nick,” she said, putting a hand over his. “Nick, the smoke—it works fast. His lungs may be too badly damaged—”

Nick sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over his brother’s before she could even finish that thought.

Michael’s chest rose from the pressure and fell when Nick drew back.

And then rose again.

“He’s breathing!” Hannah grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Irish reached for his neck.

Michael’s eyes opened. He squeezed them shut and blinked a few times. His arm jerked out of her hand.

“Take it easy, man,” said Irish. “We’re just—”

Michael shoved him away and fought to get off the ground. Irish and Oscar tried to hold him there.

“Let me go. Let me go.” His voice was like crushed stone, rough and painful to her ears. He sounded disoriented and afraid. “Someone was in the house. My brothers—” His voice broke. “I need to get my brothers. I need to get them before they’re found.”

“Hey. Mike.” Nick put a hand on his shoulder and got in his brother’s face. “We’re okay. Look at me. We’re okay.”

Michael went still. The rumbling earth slowed and went still. “Nick. Hannah.”

“Yeah. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Gabriel?”

“Everyone is okay.”

For the longest instant, Michael just stared at them, the wind blowing fiercely between them. His eyes shifted past his brother, to the destruction of the houses on the court, to the fire hydrant spraying water high into the air. Fires still burned everywhere, and emergency lights flickered off everything.

He glanced at his own house, barely standing.

Then his face crumpled and he threw his arms around his little brother’s neck. “Not okay, Nick. It’s not okay.”

Nick let him hold on. “You’ll make it okay, Michael. Just breathe.”

And just then, thunder cracked overhead. The sky opened up, and rain poured down, putting out every last lick of flame.

Michael sat on a stretcher inside one of the ambulances, but he had no intention of letting them take him to the hospital. Thanks to the downpour, his clothes were soaking wet again and he was freezing. Someone had offered him a wool blanket, but he’d refused.

His brothers had taken them, though. They were sitting in the back of another ambulance, waiting.

He needed to get them and leave.

He had no idea where to go.

The rain had stopped the blazing fires around the court, but it still rattled against the roof of the ambulance. Michael could see cracked pavement from here, lines of fractured asphalt weaving between the rescue vehicles left on the court. Rain wouldn’t do much to repair this kind of damage. He’d caught a glimpse of one collapsed home and didn’t have the guts to look at the others.

His whole life, this was what his parents had been worried about. This was what the Guides were worried about.

He’d never caused this much destruction. He’d never lost control to this extent.

Then again, he’d never been so close to death, either. Looking at the damage, he didn’t want to consider how bad it must have been for his powers to take over without his knowledge.

He didn’t want to see the destruction. He might not have started the fires, but his earthquake had completed the disaster. He didn’t want to see them bagging bodies and towing disabled trucks. He didn’t want to hear crying from the few survivors, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see who’d survived—because it would make him think of those who hadn’t.

Maybe someone could close the back door of the ambulance.

Hannah sat on the little bench in front of him, trying to shine a light in his eyes.

He brushed her hand away. “Hannah. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, what do I sound like?”

“Like you have gravel instead of lungs. Look at me.”

He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to snap and tell her to get the hell away from him before he hurt her, too.

But then her hand caught his chin, and just like every other time she touched him, he couldn’t move. He’d gone so long without a gentle touch that even now, after six weeks, some small part of him still couldn’t believe that she wanted to touch him.

Her tiny flashlight clicked back on. “Let me check your eyes.”

Her voice was gentle, encouraging, but it carried a note of command. A mother’s voice.

He looked at her. Blue eyes, their brightness dimmed a bit from exhaustion. Blond hair cut just above her shoulders, gone flat and tucked behind her ears. She’d lost her coat somewhere along the line and sat there in a T-shirt, worn red suspenders, and reflective pants. Soot smudges were everywhere. He wanted to pull her into his lap and not let go, to reassure himself that there was something in his life that couldn’t disappear between one heartbeat and the next.

Then the light was in his eyes and he couldn’t see anything.

“You really need a trip to the hospital,” she said quietly.