Looking back over my shoulder, the smoke pluming out of the top of the theater, the warehouse collapsed behind, I feel nothing but a cold, hollow sort of triumph. I want the place to burn to the fucking ground. I want it to have never existed in the first place.

"Don't be," I mutter to Tom, looking away. There's nothing to be sorry for. Not for that, anyway.

Mike's barely even looking at me, and there's something different in his eyes when he does. It's like having my heart ripped out of my chest. Everything was supposed to be okay now. Why does it still feel so wrong?