“You good?” Aisha demands. She doesn’t move from where she’s keeping a steady stream of fire raining down on the lawn of New Nazareth. She’s not allowed to be distracted, no matter how much she’s shaking, no matter that she saw a bullet hit Faith in the head and now Faith is down and screaming. Her voice cracks when she says, “Nick, is she good?”

“She’s fine.” He holds Faith by the shoulders, by the jaw, trying to get her back to her senses. “Stop moving.”

He’s keeping it together. He saw Brother Clairborne down on the lawn, those blue eyes and terrifyingly handsome face, and he’s keeping it together, so why can’t they? She’s supposed to be a goddamn soldier.

Nick bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds, and he drags Faith’s arm across his shoulders. She’s still making terrible noises. He draws down a shutter across the part of his mind that registers it as heartbreaking. Just because he can shut himself down—just because he can cram all the terror into a bottle, postpone the meltdown until he can explode without anyone getting hurt—doesn’t mean others should be forced to do the same.

“All right,” Nick whispers, pulling Faith close to him. The sweat, the skin on skin, the gunpowder, the ringing in his ears, and the weight of his rifle slamming against his back with every step, it will destroy him as soon as it is over, but right now he is holding it together. His job is to hold it together. “Up you go. Come on.”

He pulls her down the stairs. The bottom, at the gate, is a terrifying opening—just a cramped space between the gate itself and the bloodbath—and Nick pauses there, waiting, until a Grace barrels past. Then he’s pulling her through the gap, and she’s crying into Nick’s shoulder because the pain has hit, and it’s clicked that she just got shot in the head. She collapses.

Sadaf catches her before she hits the ground. Sadaf’s pink hijab is a mess of stains. Blood, sweat, dirt, God knows what else.

“It’s shallow,” he explains. Faith squeezes her eyes shut. Shiny bits of muscle stick out from her face. “Just a graze. Keep an eye on her arm.” Sadaf nods and pulls Faith away from the slaughter.

The ALC set up base along the empty road, right across from the gate, as soon as the little creature brought him the bead lizard. Nick had known what it was immediately: a message. That Benji was still alive, that he was waiting for them. Across the street from this awful place, the place Nick had brought them back to, Erin yanks open the door of an abandoned florist shop to let in Sadaf.

Faith is okay. Erin is okay. That’s his job.