Malachi closed his eyes. The sorrow inside of me expanded, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for him. I knew we’d have to deal with this, have to talk about what he had done, have to make sure it didn’t ever happen again. But Malachi was obviously devastated, and seeing him this way hurt me almost as much as Nick’s death. My fingers skimmed along his brow, an offer of warmth, of myself. Not as his Captain, but as his girlfriend.

Henry pulled into the driveway of the Guard house. “Do you need a minute before I leave?” he asked, watching in the rearview mirror as I waited for Malachi to lean into me like he sometimes did, to seek more from me like I knew he needed.

“Yes,” I said at the same time that Malachi said, “No,” and then flung open the car door and bolted. My hand was still hovering where his head had been when he disappeared into the house.

I swallowed, my throat aching. “Henry, do you have what you need? You understand what I want you to do?”

He nodded, regarding me in the mirror.

“All right. See you later, then. Be careful.”

I got out of the car and trudged into the Guard house. It was slowgoing because every step sent crunching, vicious pain from my ankle to my knee. Clinging to the railing, I climbed the stairs to the second floor and heard the shower already running. By the time I got to the top, steam was billowing out from under the door of the bathroom. I rested my head against the wall and stared at the swirling cloud. Malachi was trying to wash himself clean. I’d done that a few times before. Maybe more than a few times. I knew how it felt to sit under scalding water and wish it were enough.

Knowing I needed to give him time, I carefully descended the steps.

And found Jim sitting in the parlor. Like he was waiting for me to find him there. His shirt was ripped, and his blond hair was a mess, but he looked sober enough as he watched me sink into the nearest chair.

I rested my elbows on my knees and let my head hang. Every part of me hurt. “So. You decided to come back.”

“Raphael found me and brought me in a little while ago. He said I needed to decide what I was going to do and to let you know.”

“And what are you deciding?”

“Whether I’m going to stay.”

I raised my head. “And?”

Jim’s face twisted with pain. “I’m not … I’m not a very good Guard.”

No kidding. “Then why did you get assigned to this field unit?” I asked, working hard to keep my voice gentle rather than accusatory. “Did you mess up or something? Is this, like, a second chance?”