himself again, as if he hadn’t just thrown them all out of the infirmary and performed a miracle on a dying person.

“Patch up her head. She’s still losing blood,” Doc said. He stood over Pain’s gurney, munching on a chocolate bar with disturbing appetite.

“Exactly what I’m doing,” Tiffany muttered.

Dave was starting to feel lightheaded, and he couldn’t help but wonder how quickly his body would deal with something like this; whether he would pass out and miss whatever happened next.

But then he heard a familiar voice filter all the way from the waiting room, and wished he would pass out—and stay out for days.

Peter had found out, at last.

*  *  *

“I’m waiting.” Peter’s voice rolled through the room like thunder rumbling before the storm.

Everyone had gone silent the second he stepped into the waiting room. Patrick and Tyler had joined them a couple of minutes earlier, and now went still, as if trying to disappear into the walls. Peter hadn’t said a word until now—just stood there and looked each of them in the eye in turn. Waiting for someone to explain everything that had gone wrong in the past hour.

His eyes settled on Jane, but only for a second. He looked away the moment he saw her smudged face and red eyes. His face, however… Even back in the summer, when Eugene had attacked headquarters, Peter didn’t look so shaken. Jane could only shrink back into the chair, away from the cold rage filling his eyes.

Ryan cleared his throat at her side, but Skull stepped forward, drawing Peter’s attention. “The Commandos shot Pain. She and Marco were following one of the jeeps.”

“How?” Peter forced this one word out with obvious effort.

“They suspected that the jeep might be in one of the warehouses,” Skull said. “So they left Dave and Chad in the van to watch it and kept searching. The van was parked out of sight. They would’ve been fine, if the driver hadn’t run out.”

“What driver?”

“The van driver. They’d found the van at the airport lot. He was gagged and tied up in the van.”

Peter’s icy glare turned on Jane and Chad. “You took a civilian with you for a ride?”

“He was knocked out,” Skull interfered again, before Jane could come up with anything. “They couldn’t leave him like that in the cold. I think the Commandos were going to hide until Marco and Pain left but then got spooked and bolted, guns a-blazing.”

Jane could see Peter struggle with his anger as Skull stopped speaking. She knew all the things he was thinking about, everything they’d done wrong, everything that could’ve been done to avoid this. He nodded to himself, the muscles in his jaw twitching. She guessed he was too out of it to yell or argue at the moment.

Instead, he strode right to the infirmary door.

She shot up to her feet, grabbing Chad’s arm when she saw he was still staring off into space, oblivious of everything around him. Her eyes searched for her sister as she stepped into the infirmary. Peter halted, Jane nearly bumping into him, and a second later she saw why.

Even knowing that Pain was still alive, that there was hope, the amount of blood everywhere… Jane swallowed down the acid in her throat. She shouldn’t feel like this; she was used to blood, to bloodbath, but this was her sister’s. If Jane’s stomach wasn’t empty, she would’ve spilled its contents right onto the floor.

At her side, Chad drew a thin breath.

She turned around, white noise filling her ears. She needed a moment, just a second to breathe, some distraction. Her palms were sticky with sweat and blood, and she headed to the sink in the corner, pulling Chad along.

“How’s she doing?” she heard Peter ask in a strangled voice.

“Critical but stable,” Doc replied. “Gotta do some tests before I can tell you more.”

“What happened to your hair?”

Jane blocked out their voices, running the tap. The cold water sent a rush through her veins, unpleasant but sobering. She pumped some soap into her palm and turned to Chad. “Hey, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes glued to Pain even if it meant turning his head like an owl.

Jane clasped one of his hands with her cold fingers. He didn’t even flinch.

She didn’t know how to snap him out of his shock, and if it mattered at the moment. It took her a minute to get all of the dried blood—Pain’s blood—off his hands, but the mundane task helped her clear her head and look at the scene without the emotions clouding her mind.

Handing a paper towel to Chad, she dried off her hands and turned to look at Pain once more.

The tubes that had connected her to Marco and Dave were gone, only one still coming out of her chest, sucking out the extra air and blood. But they hadn’t even taken off her gear.

“You didn’t operate?” Jane blurted. “How is this possible?”

“Was the damage bad?” Peter asked almost at the same time. “Her lungs?”

“Don’t know yet,” Doc said. “But she’s healing.”

“What?” Peter looked dazed.

Doc drew a deep breath. “I’ll explain later,” he said to Peter, before turning to Jane. “And you—you can ask him.” He jutted his chin at Chad. Doc’s head tilted to the side, his eyes studying Chad’s glassy gaze. “Whenever he snaps out of whatever this is, anyway.” He returned to Pain and the wet cloth that Tiffany handed him.

Jane could only stare, thinking she must look exactly like Chad at the moment, while Doc and Tiffany cleaned Pain of blood and prepared a bed for her.

“Her head?” Jane asked, noticing a white bandage on Pain’s temple.

“Just a scratch,” Doc said with a wave of his hand. “One of the bullets must’ve grazed

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