Zack left the hospital in a hurry; he could have teleported away but something just didn’t feel right about powering up. He tried to carefully replay everything that had happened the previous night but in his heart he already knew. He was just trying to find ways to deny it—ways to prove himself wrong.

The hospital wasn’t so far away from where he’d been last night, and the brisk pace he’d kept meant he arrived in little more than half an hour.

The area seemed so much different in the daytime; the warehouses weren’t just looming shadows and the dark alleyways looked so much less nefarious. He craned his neck, looking for signs.

16th street. Just on the outskirts, near a parking lot and near a warehouse with some less than flattering graffiti.

17th street. Deeper in, but mostly unfamiliar to him. His heart was accelerating when things started to look more familiar.

18th street. The largest pathway in the area, in the center of the whole district.

Zack recognized it.

He knew he would, he just hoped that he didn’t.

There were no police here, but he could see where they would be. His eyes scanned the area quickly and with grief and anxiousness, flashes of last night came back to him. There was a dent in the building not so far away, and broken crates. He could trace where the battle had gone, right until the end.

A distinct brown puddle, dried and unmistakable. He could see where the Senshi had gone done, once. Where he’d dragged himself. Where he’d lay, for who knows how long.

He didn’t know the Senshi’s name, but he knew who he was, anyway. Zack raised a hand to cup his chin as he glowered at the dried bloodstains, like it was their fault.

A year ago, Zack had ******** up. He’d youmafied Evan in a botched attempt to bring him into the Negaverse. The intent had been to keep him safe—to keep Cavansite away from his starseed.

It had taken nearly a year to fix Evan; even now they were only a few days shy of the would-be anniversary. Not that there was anything to celebrate, but he remembered anyway.

Apparently he was going to make March a bad month.

Last year, Evan. This year, Malcolm.

Zack was more emotionally invested in Evan’s well-being; he had chosen to keep him in his life. Malcolm, he was stuck with. He didn’t usually get along with his brother—his own fault, not Malcolm’s. He had a bad habit of picking on the young man out of misplaced anger and jealousy. Malcolm was an easy target back then.

And now, still, apparently.

He swore under his breath, eyes glued to the ground.

He had wanted to blow off some steam. He hadn’t intended for it to go so far, but it had felt so good.

It was the first time he hadn’t hurt since losing Evan.

Evan, who was home alone.

Evan, who he had to go speak to, who he had no idea what to expect.

Zack swallowed and had to force himself to turn away.

He had his answer. He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, but he tried to push the thought as far as he could, to the back of his mind.

He was disgusted with himself, repulsed with what he’d done. The night before barely felt like it was even him. He felt like a puppet, like someone else was pulling the strings. It was his body, he remembered doing it. He’d been happy to do it.

But he didn’t feel like it had been him.

Zack had been in a hundred fights before, but he’d never been so driven to kill.

And he could have. Last night, he could have killed the Senshi—Malcolm.

For whatever reason, he hadn’t. He’d come close, but he hadn’t.

But he’d still ******** him up pretty bad.

He’d turned away and started walking as quickly as he could without being suspicious about any of it. He couldn’t deal with Malcolm right now, but he could deal with Evan.