I flew down as rubble that was leaning against the wall shifted, threatening to fall on Byron’s group. It put me out of earshot of Tattletale. This was not a time for fucking metaphors.

Vista shrank the rubble. I flew down and caught the rubble before it could collapse on the group. It shrunk with every passing second.

“Thanks, big V.”

I huffed for breath. I met her eyes, and… I saw a deep sadness there. I met Byron’s, and I saw that he looked shaken.

I couldn’t imagine how I looked. I was pretty sure the cut on my head was bleeding again, and I couldn’t take the time to get the coagulant out. Or had I given that to Dinah?

I was losing my grip on reality. This entire battlefield had ceased to feel like a place where A flowed to B flowed to C. It was chaos and madness.

I took a breath, and my broken collarbone pulled apart, which came with a feeling like the attached bits of muscle that led from my neck down were tearing. I gasped.

“Vic?” Byron asked.

“Hey. You guys managing?” I asked, trying to not gasp and finding myself sounding too casual in the process. I could barely get my thoughts in order. “How’s Cryptid?”

“He’s doing the stuff. And no,” Byron said. He dropped his voice in volume, so he could be heard by Vista and me alone. “I might have a phobia about being crushed by giant rocks. After…”

After Tristan had ended his own life by way of giant rock.

“It’s fine if you need to go,” I told him.

“I couldn’t live with myself. Just… don’t blame me if I’m not at my peak.”

“That’s in the protocols,” I assured him. “Pamphlets, videos, and prep material they’d give us while getting our heads checked out to see if we were fit to fight the Simurgh.”

“Oh, I got those,” he said. “We got those. Tristan and me. I kind of didn’t pay attention. I thought this was the one Endbringer I’d never willingly fight.”

“Rule is, don’t blame yourself, don’t get down on yourself. Do what you can. If you have to run before you’re a danger to others, do that. We get through this, then we move on. If you let it weigh on you, it’ll destroy you.”

“Gotta love protocols,” he murmured, between breaths so heavy it was like he already had a lot weighing on him. “Nice and simple. Don’t ever have to think.”

He was breathing hard. He lifted his helmet to fix his hair where it had fallen across his face and been stuck there, and flinched as a small stone dinged off of the metal at the side of his head.

“Hey,” Vista said. “If you’re wanting to keep going—”

“I am,” Byron said, so fast it felt forced.