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I felt fear for the first time since I’d spotted Declan.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

Dad’s expression said it was not.

The medic checked my arms.

My legs. My hands.

Everywhere she touched hurt. I had scratches from wrists to shoulders. One knee was swollen. Both palms were torn. Blood had dried in streaks down my shins. My right ankle throbbed.

The medic eased one shoe off. My socks were damp and dark at the heels.

I hissed.

“Sorry,” she said.

She peeled one sock down carefully.

The skin along my heel had rubbed open. My sock stuck to it.

“That one’s bad,” Ruckus muttered.

Marion elbowed him without looking away from me.

“What?” he asked. “It is.”

“Helpful,” she told him.

His mouth shut.

The other shoe and sock came off. Not much better.

My feet looked like they belonged to someone who had been running from something.

The medic sat back on her heels and looked at Dad.

“She needs to go in.”

Dad nodded before I could argue.

“Dad.”

“No.” He crouched in front of me, his expression flat in the way it got when he was scared enough to turn practical. “You’ve been gone since this morning. You’ve been running for God knows how long, you’re dehydrated, you can barely stand, and this is less than forty-eight hours after Friday night. You’re going.”

I opened my mouth.

He held up one finger. “Don’t.”

I closed it again.

Ruckus made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh.

“Teach me, Buck,” Clayton muttered under his breath.

Dad looked between the two of them.