“Don’t start, Gordan.” I pushed my hair back, ignoring the way it caught at my blood-tacky hands. I was filthy. For the moment, I really didn’t care. “It’s not his fault someone decided to pick us off.”

“So whose is it? Yours?”

Her words stung more than I wanted to let them. “No. It’s just the way it is.”

“Uh-huh. Let me tell you about ‘the way it is.’ ” Her finger stabbed toward Quentin’s chest. “You see how he’s breathing? He lost a lot of blood. I mean a lot of blood. I can’t do stitches, and I can’t do blood transfusions. You’re going to get that boy to a healer or a hospital, or he’s going to die. So pick one. Or is that too much like accepting responsibility?”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“Of course you’re not. I suppose you’re not going to listen when I tell you that you can’t take him to a hospital, either.” She started cramming bloodstained first aid supplies back into the box. “Get out of here, or he’s a casualty. That plain enough for you?”

“What the fuck do you want from me? Sylvester’s already on the way. I can’t get us out of here any faster without a flying carpet!”

“Sorry, I left mine at home,” Quentin said, his voice a faint croak.

“You’re awake,” I said, bending over him again. “Don’t try to move.”

“Wouldn’t,” he said, and smiled—very slightly. “See? I follow orders.”

Connor barked an unsteady laugh. Gordan snorted. I shot her a warning look, saying, “April’s getting Elliot, and we’re going to move you.”

“Can’t leave.”

“Quentin . . .”

“No.” He opened his eyes. They were pained but clear. “Let me wait until His Grace comes. We’ll never avenge them if you leave now.”

“I can’t keep you here.” I knew how ludicrous we looked—both of us covered in blood, arguing. Never let it be said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor.

“Can’t risk moving me, either.” He closed his eyes again. “Put me in a room with a lock. I’ll be fine.”

“Suicidal jerk,” Gordan said. I looked up. This time she met my eyes. “Are you going to let him decide whether or not he stays and dies?”

“Why not? I let the rest of you.” I stroked Quentin’s hair back with one hand, and looked to the door. There were footsteps coming down the hall. “Of course, unless that’s Elliot, it may be a moot point.” Connor’s hand found mine, and took it.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Still, Gordan turned to watch the door, shoulders tense, and didn’t relax until Elliot stepped inside, followed by Alex. April appeared in her usual burst of static, standing several feet away from the new arrivals.