She pressed her hands flat against the concrete wall of the building, raised her eyes to the blue sky, and focused on a cloud—one, just one, shaped like the Hot Pockets she’d been reheating for weeks. Which made her think of Eric. Which called up his “Breaths raise you from the depths.” It began to loop in her mind, and she kept it going, silently repeating it with each prolonged inhale and each extended exhale. With Maddie at her side—the warmth of her hand penetrating the linen tank Delia had borrowed from Lucy—Delia’s vision began to clear. Her heartbeat began to regulate. Her muscles relaxed and her mind focused on regaining control, calming the anxiety that held her body hostage, commanding it at will.

“Dee?” Delia had never heard Maddie sound so afraid. “Are you okay?”

“Physically,” Delia said, though a throbbing still beat beneath her ribs. “I—I’m getting there. But that . . . Maddie, it’s over, everything, and it’s all my fault.”

Maddie shook her head. “We did this.”

“Didn’t you see that video? It was me. I gave her my laptop. It was my idea. It’s my fault.”

“No. No way, Delia.”

The voice came from behind. Delia spun around to see Lucy with Emma and Sadie.

“I texted them,” Maddie said.

“Then they know what I did.” Delia tried not to let the tears welling up spill. “Lucy, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Exhaustion weighed down Lucy’s eyes, but what Delia expected to see—anger, fear, sadness—none of that was written across Lucy’s face. What was there was what had been there since day one. Determination.

“You’re not taking credit for this,” Lucy said. “We took him on together.”

“But—”

“No,” Maddie and Lucy said at the same time. They looked at each other, Maddie giving a short laugh while Lucy grinned.

Something that would have never happened on day one.

Sadie cleared her throat and stepped forward. “And now . . . ? What?” She placed her hand flat against her jutted hip. “We just give up? Go for sushi?”

The panic attack had ebbed, but the feel of it remained in Delia’s mind. She didn’t want to invite another, and yet she also didn’t just want to go for sushi or pizza or frozen yogurt or anything else. She didn’t want to give up.

“I should have said something.” Delia spoke softly. “Told him we knew about the secret table—that we knew what he was doing.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Emma said. “He’d go for the jugular.”

“I almost forgot,” Maddie said. “What you wrote about Pulse not having a heart? He made you take it down?”