Max didn’t even remember flying home. She felt heartbroken and numb, and when they walked into the kitchen, the first thing she saw was Angel’s breakfast plate on the table. Iggy howled and swept his hand across the kitchen counter, catapulting a mug through the air. It hit Fang in the side of the head.

“Watch it, idiot!” he yelled at Iggy furiously. Then he realized what he’d said, clenched his teeth, and rolled his eyes at Max in frustration.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, their salt stinging where the Eraser had raked her with his claws. Moving automatically, Max got the first aid kit and started cleaning the Gasman’s scrapes and cuts. She looked around. Nudge’s cheek was bleeding; some shrapnel had burned her as it flew past. For once, she wasn’t talking—she was curled on the couch, crying.

“You watch it!” Iggy shouted at Fang. “What happened? I mean, you guys can see, can’t you? Why couldn’t you get Angel?”

“They had a chopper!” the Gasman yelled, squirming out of Max’s reach. “And guns! We’re not bulletproof!”

“Guys! Guys!” Max yelled. “We’re all upset. But we’re not the enemy! They’re the enemy.” She stuck the last Band-Aid on the Gasman and started pacing.

“Just—be quiet for a minute so I can think,” she added more calmly.

It wasn’t their fault their rescue mission had been such a total ditcher. It wasn’t their fault Angel was gone. It was their fault that the kitchen looked like it belonged to a family of hygiene-challenged jackals, but she would deal with that later. Whenever that kind of thing became important again. If ever.

Iggy moved to the couch and almost sat on Nudge. She scooted to one side, and when he sat down, she put her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair.