Early was dead, mangled. Gaymon was smeared against a pile of broken wood near where Rain had started out. Bastian lay face down, less obviously dead, but the lack of any movement whatsoever, even with the sounds of emotion-affecting growls and howls… it said a lot.

Three dead, at the very least, Rain likely, unless Love Lost could somehow win.

“Don’t go, you can only fight it one-on-one,” Kelly said. The guy hadn’t spoken up much. “If you try to fight side by side with someone, it just makes you fight each other.”

Gilpatrick felt a surge of emotion, and that surge came with its own alarm and delirious edge—because he didn’t trust his feelings, every inch of him had to be on guard against them.

But it was frustration, paralysis coinciding with a drive to go, because he hated being unable to do something. Especially when Lucky’s fate was so fresh in his mind. Now Rain?

Some small part of him had been able to convince his rage to drag Marcial, to delay, postpone.

No other way he would have made it here.

“If I do something, drag me back in,” he said.

“We should just go,” Cox said. The rookie who now appeared to be a child. No falsified nametag now. She wore an undershirt and tattered dress with blood at the hem. She pressed him, “We have the one kid from the cluster, we can manage her, get directions.”

“We have two people who are fighting for our sakes.”

“We have a mission,” Cox said, staring at him with a cold conviction a child couldn’t possess.

“We have a responsibility,” Gilpatrick retorted.

“To the people up there!” Cox raised her voice, pointing up.

“Technically, down there,” Valentin said, pointing down at the floor, with its crystalline sheen. “We’re on the other side of the mirror.”

“Either way,” Cox said, looking resentful.

“Drag me back in if it comes to it,” Gilpatrick said, to Valentin. “Or are you with her? Do you think we should leave all of this behind?”

“I’m…”

Valentin, skin alternating from dark brown to pink to near-white pale, hair in a mix of textures and shades, looked over toward the fighting. A lot of emotions passed through the two eyes with their different shades.

“Valentin,” Cox said, soft.

“We have thirty minutes. We can spare a few,” Valentin said.

“Thank you,” Gilpatrick said, as Cox made a face, looking away.

The others were divided. Diaz was helping Colt and Marcial. Kelly and Hanson were standing in the doorway, watching and simultaneously blocking the view.

Gilpatrick watched the scene unfolding, saw Love Lost fighting with her all, to fight a boy that was allegedly responsible for her daughter’s death. A death that was vivid and rich in Gilpatrick’s memory, sitting alongside the dream he’d just had, and the emotions and thoughts that had gripped him and taken over his body.