“I don’t care about that,” I say, my voice cold and hard. “But keep that patch on him.”

Kit’s hand hovers over Doc’s wound, and she searches my eyes. Finally, she nods slowly, understanding my meaning. She cuts off Doc’s pant leg and bends to examine the wound—right where I aimed, just below his knee. Blood pulses from the bullet hole.

I rip open one of the yellow patches and rub it into Elder’s skin until I see him wince in pain. He blinks, his eyes clearer.

“Back again?” I whisper.

He nods, a grim expression filling his face. He eyes linger on Victria’s body, and I wonder how much he saw and understood while under the influence of the Phydus patch.

“You shot him,” he says, his eyes darting from Doc to me again.

I did. But if I hadn’t—maybe he wouldn’t have fired his gun either. Maybe Victria would still be alive.

“I had to shoot him,” I say, hoping to convince myself of the fact too.

He nods again. I can’t tell if he doubts me or not. Does he blame me for Victria’s death?

“How bad is it?” he finally asks, jerking his head toward my arm.

“Are you hurt too?” Kit says, looking up from Doc as she sprays foam on his wound. The foam bubbles up and turns pink as it disinfects the wound. Kit starts to wrap Doc’s leg in a large bandage.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“She’s shot,” Elder says. “In the arm.”

He takes the other yellow patch from me and moves over to Bartie. Bartie’s eyes are glued on Victria’s body the whole time as he shifts from drugged to aware, and once the Phydus has truly left his system, he tries to say something but chokes on the words. He lunges toward Victria, but Elder catches him, and the two stand there, their arms wrapped around each other, all rivalry forgotten in the death of one of their last childhood friends.

“Here,” Kit says.

I jump, surprised—I hadn’t noticed that she’d finished with Doc. Kit cuts away the sleeve of my tunic and cleans the wound with the disinfecting foam.

“Is it bad?” Elder asks as he and Bartie break away.

Kit rips open a pale purple patch.

“No,” I say immediately.

“It’s for pain.”

“No patches.”

She shrugs and starts to wrap my arm. The bleeding hasn’t quite stopped, but it’s slower—I probably won’t even need stitches. It’s Victria who got the full force of the bullet.

“Come on,” Elder says to Bartie.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“We’re sending Victria to the stars,” Bartie says.

“Let me help.” Kit tugs the bandage around my arm, tight, and I hiss in pain.