“Where’s Willow?” Jett demanded to know from behind the wheel.

Natty and Thom turned to stare at me, and for the first time since I’d been returned, I wished I couldn’t see in the dark. I wanted their expressions to be as veiled from me as mine was from them.

Eighty-four minutes. That’s how long it had taken us to cause an explosion, break into a secret NSA lab . . . and to lose one of our own.

Had we really just abandoned Willow at the Daylight Division’s headquarters? Did Agent Truman really have her now? How did that make us any less monstrous than the men we’d just handed her off to? What kind of friends were we?

I pressed my forehead against the glass, watching the Tacoma facility recede out of the corner of my eye. Somehow, it looked so peaceful from here. “What are we going to do?” I asked, breaking the silence at last.

When we turned a corner, disappearing behind a row of darkened warehouses, Jett slammed on the brakes. “Someone tell me what happened back there. Where’s Willow?” he repeated, while he massaged that memory of a wound on his arm.

I turned to Natty, who was watching me. When she didn’t answer, I looked to Thom, but he just shook his head. Maybe Willow didn’t matter to him because she wasn’t one of his people.

It had only been seconds, but it felt like forever since anyone had spoken.

“Simon?” I reached in front of me to the passenger seat, settling my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, rolling his neck and shoulder, reminding me that Willow wasn’t the only one who’d been shot. He was healing—I was sure of it—but slower than I would have. “What are these things?” I dropped the pellet I’d picked up in the alley. It fell with a dull scrape on the center console.

Jett picked it up and rolled it between his fingers. “It’s a beanbag.” It was smaller than a golf ball and nearly as dense. “Damn,” he said, awed. “If this is what you were shot with, no wonder you’re hurting. Willow . . .” His voice drifted away. “If they got her with these . . . well, then she must be . . .” He didn’t finish. “Shot at a high velocity, this could be lethal to a regular person.” My gut recoiled over the way he said “regular person,” like I needed to be reminded we weren’t normal. “To us”—he looked at Simon sympathetically—“it must suck. Hurts like hell, I bet—maybe even incapacitates us temporarily—but probably won’t kill us. Looks like they’ve come up with the perfect weapon,” he added, tossing the thing in the air and catching it. “Because it also won’t make us bleed. It’s low risk for the No-Suchers.”

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.

Simon peeled away the collar of his shirt. Beneath it I could see the bruises—large and deep and dark purple, but they were already visibly retreating. It was fascinating to watch. “It’ll be fine.”

“Good,” I said, inhaling as I made a decision. “Because I can’t do this. I can’t abandon her.”

Simon’s brows met over the bridge of his nose. “Kyra, there’s nothing we can do for her now. This is no longer a sneak attack. Those guys know we’re here and they’ll be halfway expecting us to come back for her.”

I shook my head, refusing to accept his explanation. “She would try if it were one of us.” I didn’t know if that was true or not, but it sounded like the thing to say.

From the other side of Natty, Thom piped up. “Simon’s right. It’s too late for her. They’d be waiting for us if we tried to go back again. She knew the risks when we went in. We all did.”

I closed my eyes at the word “risks.” Nausea choked me, and throwing up became a very real possibility. I’d seen that lab and the equipment they had, and I knew the kind of person Agent Truman was.

Whatever happened to Willow in there was all my fault, because I’d been so desperate to find Tyler. Just like it had been my fault when Tyler got sick because I didn’t know my own blood was toxic.

I was a killer, whether I meant to be or not—the kind of person no one, not even other Returned, apparently, should get too close to.

I looked around at the others in the car with me—Thom, Natty, Jett, and Simon—and wondered which of them would be next if I didn’t put an end to this.

I had to do something.

“I don’t care what you say, or what any of you think might happen,” I said. Before Thom could stop me, I grabbed his gun and was out the door when I shouted back to them, “You can come with me or not, but I’m not leaving without Willow.”

Natty jumped out behind me, plucking the gun away before I realized what she was doing. “I’m with you. But here, if you’re gonna use that thing, let’s give you a crash course.”

She came up behind me and showed me how to wrap my fingers around the black grip of the gun. “Use both hands for maximum support. This,” she instructed, “is the safety. On this gun, you slide it like this . . .” She flicked a small black switch. “Since you haven’t done this before, get as close as you can and try to keep the gun in line with your elbow.” She moved through the brief lesson effortlessly. “For now,” she finished, “keep the safety on, and tuck it back here.” She slipped it in the back of my jeans, away from view but still within reach.

Simon was out of the SUV now too, and I knew he’d reluctantly joined our mission. “You sure you can shoot someone?”