Los Angeles Hospital is full of casualties, and by some miracle I'm not one of them.

It was a race to get here after the Second was run over, after her rebels were overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the palace's forces, and eventually police. There was only so much an on-site medic could do for the injured, so we quickly tied Max, Bellona and Felice in the backseat of the 4x4 that Zelda and the Elite stole and peeled down to the hospital, filtered by the mood of early morning.

The medic managed to staunch the worst of Max's wounds before allowing us to leave with him, and he breathed a gentle song of near-death the entire drive down. I held his hand tightly, refusing to let go. It felt like if I did, he would slip away into the next world. When the doctors took him, Bellona and Felice, they barred us from staying by their bedsides as they worked to stabilise the worst of the damage and clean what they could.

Bellona, I know, will be okay. Max and Felice, however, are courting death. No telling whether they'll pull back, or fall too hard for its charms.

So now I'm sitting here, crammed in a waiting room meant for ten but bursting to full with almost twenty of us. It's a strange sight. I know they've met before, the Elite and the All-Stars, but the circumstances were so different I can't compare them. The atmosphere is sombre, but Kingsley's buoyant tones dance across the room as he spins a distracting tale about his swimming career to Beverly, Janet and Willow, the three of them enraptured. Ben is making meme jokes with Zelda and Jocelyn, Kajika is exchanging polite whispers with Madison, and Wendy is trying to poke Soren into speaking more than a few words at a time. Rose is half-asleep on Aderyn's shoulder, Aderyn wringing her torn dress hem like she wants to pull it apart, seam by seam, and the others are just as wordless, quiet, soaking in worry they can't control. My eyes meet Sheng's before he glances away, and our last argument laps back into my brain.

I stare down at my lap. Things seem so different now. I'm so different even from the Gail of two days ago. But I don't feel as lost as I did. Watching these two parts of my life intersect, interact so smoothly… it eases some part of me that I didn't know was restless.

The doors clatter open. In strides Rudy and Captain Durante. They immediately hone in on Zelda like flies to UV, and she's barely on her feet before they've wrapped their arms around her.

"I thought— we told you to stay—" Durante's whole frame shudders. "Why did you leave—?"

"I had to do something, Jo—" Zelda starts.

"You're grounded even after I'm dead," Rudy sobs. "My ghost will haunt you into being less reckless—"

"I know, Rudy."

They cry together.

Suddenly everyone in the room stands, facing the door. I see why when Roy, Cami and Omma wait at the threshold, in casual clothes, Roy's fist tightly wound over his cane head. There's a wave of bows and "Your Majesties" chorused, but they don't care. The three of them look at me. I rise from my chair, back stiff.

"I… I'm sorry—"

But I'm enveloped in a hug before I can even finish my sentence. No one says anything. No one needs to. My eyes prickle and tears fall before Roy, Cami and Omma pull back, before stale air rushes between us. Omma's face is stricken with tears and fatigue, and she takes me into a hug again, holding me gently.

"We came as soon as we could," she mumbles into my hair. "Why do you have to make me worry, peanut?"

"I don't do it deliberately. I swear."

Omma stands back and thumbs the tears away. "No, of course you don't. Stubbornly righteous, just like your father."

"We were— we were so terrified when we saw you on that broadcast—" Cami rasps, but she seems to catch herself. "But I'm glad you're okay. You're not hurt."

"Besides the broken arm?" I shrug my shoulder, and the sling jangles. I'm on so much pain medication I can't feel it at all.

"Besides the broken arm," she says softly, then shakes her head. "It could've—it could've been so much worse—"

A soft hand against her arm stops her. Roy takes a deep breath.

"We need to talk, Gail—"

But Dr Maria Lamb's arrival cuts him short. Everyone goes quiet, drawn to her taut features like magnets. I don't know her very well, but the last times I did meet Maria, she was jovial, bright, just like Rose in her vivaciousness. Now her face reflects the mood. She came out of hiding to help, and everything hinges on what she'll say next. Bellona. Felice. Max. All the other casualties of the fight. She bows uncomfortably to us before addressing the whole room.

"Miss Strike will make a full recovery. She is conscious and in good spirits." The excited wave that rolls over the All-Stars is immediately curbed by Maria's concerned frown. "Miss Torres suffered a head wound in the crash. As such, we have medically induced a coma to reduce the potential for any ill effects to her limbs and brain. We are confident that she will recover swiftly."

Not the worst news. I think of Felice, trying to stop the rebels at the rink, fighting back against my captors no matter the potential cost to her life, her broken body at the wheel of the bus. My heart clenches. I'll never be able to forgive myself if she doesn't recover.

"Mr Wellington," Maria begins again, and this time my whole body shakes, "underwent shock and suffered severe haemorrhaging, and we are undergoing an emergency blood transfusion for him now. At the moment it's… unclear that he will survive. However, we are cautiously optimistic he will recover. I'm sorry it isn't better news."

"Can I visit him?" I blurt into the silence that follows.

Maria regards me with pity. "Not at the moment, sweetheart. But Miss Strike is accepting visitors now," she says, changing tact, "so anyone who wants to visit her now is invited to do so, provided they keep their voices down. It's still five in the morning."

All the All-Stars rise from their seats to follow the doctor immediately. I send a later? look to Roy and trail behind, suddenly terrified of what I'll see. In recent days hospitals don't exactly have a great track record. Sheng's grandmother, Mariam, now this…

Mariam. No one's told me what happened to her yet. Nor what happened to Alaric and Caspian Washington and their people. Right now my body's at full capacity with things to care about, but it's around, lingering at the back of my mind, tickling my thoughts with its ominous need to be acknowledged, to be dealt with soon.

Bellona's private recovery room is plain beige, decorated with clean white linen curtains and crocheted doilies in photo frames. Bellona is propped up in bed, surrounded by four pillows. By the time I enter the room and shut the door, there's not much space to stand with all the other All-Stars.

"How do you feel, Miss Strike?"

"Does it hurt?"

"Did they stitch it?"

Bellona ignores all their questions. "Come forward, Schreave."

The informal use of my surname on her lips startles me, but I step in front of the other girls. Bellona does look awful – dirt-streaked face, matted hair, cuts and scrapes all over, never mind the giant patch of gauze that covers the wound in her shoulder. She regards me thoughtfully, and I wilt under her gaze as easily as I did when I was Susanetta Vivas, her pupil.

"Well," she begins, her voice gruff and rusty. "I think I'm not the only one who can say I was surprised when your wig came off."

The other girls nod sagely, their expressions unreadable. Shame washes over me.

"I-I'm—"

"Save it. I know exactly why you did it. Why you kept it a secret so long." Bellona's head rests against her pillow, pushing up the hairline of her stringy brown locks. "It was never about withholding it from us, was it? It was about wanting to play. It was about the team, the experience, the sport."

I nod, slightly stunned that Bellona, of all people, can so easily look into my soul and see what rests within.

"I take it," she begins again coolly, "it was the same for you?"

She directs the question at Zelda, who also pinks in the cheeks. "Yes, ma'am."

"I've seen you on TV before, next to the princess. What's your name?"

"Zelda Vivas Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek."

"Well, Schreave and Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek, you both had me fooled from beginning to end. I must commend you on your disguises, though I'd expect no less than your best from an All-Star."

Zelda's lips form a thin line. I reel back. Not like I've been slapped, more like I've been offered a bajillion dollars.

"Something wrong?" asks Bellona.

"You called us…" I tense. "You called us All-Stars?"

"Of course I did."

"But… we lied. We lied to all of you." I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn't go away. "And I lied even more than Zelda did about who I am. Why would you…?"

"A steady foundation of trust cannot be built on the stilts of deceit. It can, however, be built on honesty and being true to yourself. You might have used false names and false faces, but when you were playing, you were yourselves, correct? You were just… Gail Schreave and Zelda Bezuidenhout-Leeuwenhoek."

Zelda's lips part. I, too, can't form a response.

"What I said to you after the Hesparian Hares game is still true, Schreave. I underestimated you, as a player and a person. That was my mistake to make, yet you nonetheless sought to prove yourself to me anyway. It will take time to separate what is true and what is fabrication, but it's obvious that you had no bad intentions pretending to be someone else. What matters most to me is the game, and the spirit of my players. No matter what face you wear, ladies, you are Angeles All-Stars, through and through. Unless," she smiles wryly, "anyone has any objections?"

The All-Stars cheer. Beverly and Rose squeeze us in hugs. Madison and Willow burst out crying with happy tears. Jocelyn claps, Wendy chants.

"If I don't object, can I get a personal invite to the palace?"

Then Beverly nudges Janet hard in the ribs.

"So much hate, that was a joke!"

"And I am more than sure," Bellona says, quietening us, "that Felice will feel the same way. She will tell you herself, when she recovers."

Beverly smiles reassuringly, an echo of Bellona's words. I don't know what to say to it. I don't know how to express my gratitude. This feeling, this listlessness inside me finally feels like it's been quenched, like it's been fed to satisfaction.

"Thank you," I choke out. "Thank you. That… means a lot to me."

"None of that messiness, Schreave. There's only the question, now, of whether you want if you want to stay on the team?"

"Hell yeah!" Zelda cheers, and everyone whoops.

They all turn to me. I drag my sleeve over my face and grin. "Absolutely. But— what about the game with the Scorpions?"

Bellona frowns. "Ah, well. I think we'll have to take the loss on that one."

"No!" Zelda cries.

"Can't we rematch them?" asks Rose. "I mean, they'll have to understand the circumstances…"

"Our team was inadvertently responsible for the interruption, so no, I don't think they'll condone a rematch."

"Aw," Janet moans. "But we were so close to that trophy!"

"And you all did admirably," says Bellona. "Second place is excellent standing. For what it's worth, I am proud of you all. Proud to call each and every one of you an Angeles All-Star, off the rink as well as on. Wear your stars with pride today, ladies." She grins and looks at me. "You deserve them."

We don't stay at the hospital much after that. The All-Stars have homes to go back to, families to cherish and appreciate, and the police to give answers on the happenings. There was no change to Max and Felice's conditions, so we had Max transferred to the infirmary wing at the palace, to keep a more private eye on him. I only get a glimpse of his cold body, draped in sheets and attached to wires filled with red liquid, when I exit the convoy. There seems to be no life to him, and a pang of fear hits me cold.

"He'll be okay," Aderyn reassures me, over and over, as she draws shampoo through my hair and scrubs the dirt from my skin. "He'll make it."

I hope so.

Omma brings Tay to visit shortly afterwards. Once again, no one has told him a single thing about what happened, but he's smart enough to infer something is wrong, and he hugs me tightly around the legs.

"Why is your arm broken?"

"Erm," I wince, thinking about how is actually happened, "I got attacked by a bad wizard."

Omma makes a face, but Tay asks, "June?"

"Huh?" But then I remember they have this whole make-believe world where June is an evil sorcerer. "Oh. No. Not June. You wouldn't have met this one."

"Did you win?"

I don't know. Did I win? Even if the Second was locked up, the victory feels… hollow.

A faint knock at the door saves me from having to answer. "Who is it?" calls Tay.

There's no response. I frown, but when I open the door, Lilly is standing there, hands wound tightly together. She gasps when she sees me.

"Your arm is broken." Her signs punctuate with surprise. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

I shake my head. Signing with one arm is hard. "I've been better, but I'll heal."

She gives me a quick side-hug. Tay tugs on her dress hem.

"Easton?" he signs. It's jerky but understandable, probably the only sign language Tay knows right now.

Lilly inhales shakily. "Yes, he's here. JJ has been released."

"Oh?" I say, then quickly translate for Tay and Omma.

"Can I see him?" asks Tay.

Lilly doesn't need me to translate when she signs, "I'll take you to him."

We all go. Tay, eager to see his friend. Lilly, nervous about her love. Me, apprehensive that JJ has been released. I don't think he's been forgiven for his crimes, but that he's been allowed back into the palace is a good sign that someone – Roy – has shown him mercy.

We find him and Easton cuddling and laughing together in one of the conference rooms, surrounded by a wealth of Durante's guards. Neither of them seem to mind, JJ too ecstatic to be reunited with his son once more. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is long, straggly, in desperate need of maintenance, but he lifts Easton and makes plane noises with his bottom lip all the same.

"Your Highness!" JJ places Easton down and dips into a bow.

"Your Highness!" bellows Easton, pointing at Tay. Tay grins; suddenly they're chasing each other around the table, squealing.

JJ approaches Lilly and I with a stiff, awkward bow. I notice how he doesn't look Lilly in the eye when he speaks, but he does sign to keep her in the conversation.

"Your Highness… I… I'm so sorry."

"You revealed Max."

He nods. "Yes. I-I had to. My family…"

"It's okay. I… understand why you did it." I wince. "It did, erm, kind of set this all off though."

"I know. And I'm so sorry. I told them everything I could, about the Resurgence's call signs, their methods of communication, anything I thought might help. I just…" He glances back, watching Easton try to dodge around a chair to grab Tay. "He's all I have…"

"Not all you have," Lilly signs.

JJ finally makes eye contact. The tension sizzles so strongly between them I feel like I'm intruding on an intimate moment.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he signs. "I knew what the rebels had done to you in the past and I didn't want to represent that…"

"We've all had to do things we didn't like doing for the rebels. I'd know that better than anyone else here."

He swallows loudly. "I know, and that's why I thought… you would never want to be with me… the choices I made…"

"I would've made the same choices to protect my loved ones."

"I wanted to protect you."

"And you did."

He chokes. "Lilly—"

She takes his hands. They stare at each other, as if each word can be said through gaze alone. She softens. He softens. He leans down, their foreheads touching, their smiles radiant. This time I do take a step back, if only to afford them some privacy, but I can't help but internally squee when they share a brief kiss, chock full of affection.

"Ewww!" cries Easton from the other side of the room. "Daddy, stop!"

JJ pulls back as Lilly giggles. "What? Your old man can't kiss?"

"You're going to give Auntie Lilly cooties!"

Tay laughs hysterically.

I leave them to it. I'm sure they have lots to catch up on. Realising how famished I am, I make a pit stop at the kitchens – with everything going on, 'breakfast' has been cancelled – to shovel in some toast and blueberry jam and stay awake. I can almost forget how many times I was on the bad end of a gun as I savour the familiar taste. I can almost forget how many people have almost died for me.

Almost forget everything that happened.

My feet take me to the barracks next. It's chaos as the guards debrief and do damage control, but ironically they're all too busy to pay me much attention. Durante's door is propped open, and he's signing multiple documents at the same time as he's on the phone and typing an email. He brightens when he sees that it's me approaching.

"Call me back with a report." He puts the phone down. "I was just going to send for you, Your Highness."

"Is it about Mariam?"

He nods. I shut the door, careful to move the ugly patchwork dog doorstop out of the way. "Is she here? Is she okay? What about the Second?"

He absorbs all my questions easily. "I think Zelda might have told you that we managed to track your location through the shoddy trail left on the Internet? We only really knew where to look because of JJ. After his information we found your meeting location pretty quickly, but by the time we got there, you were gone. Noboru, however, was still there."

No. "Is she—?"

"We arrested her. She was pretty battered, so she was also sent to the hospital. She's just been transferred here for questioning." He tipped his head. "She's in the interrogation chambers below. Waiting."

My heart blunders in my chest. All this time, and she's been just under my feet. "She's going to jail." It comes out more a statement than a question.

"For life, yes," Durante replies. "As is the Second."

So she's alive too.

"Is she here?"

"No, her injuries were more severe. She's under heavy surveillance back at Los Angeles Hospital."

I didn't want to see her anyway. We have nothing more to say to each other, after all. My shoulders draw tightly. "And… and the Washingtons?"

Durante's face crumples, and he drums his hand against his desk. "Alaric Washington was dead on arrival. Caspian Washington… was not there."

He escaped. My stomach twists. I know Max grasped hope by the reins for his wayward little brother, but now I'm not so sure. If Caspian is out there, then the Washington name will live on. Alaric's empire will continue unravel over the shores of Illéa.

"What about the Resurgence? Are they still… rioting?"

"Yes," Durante says, hollowing me a little more, "but without their leaders it's… disorganised. Dissent isn't going to end overnight, but I think you've dealt a good blow to them. With Noboru's co-operation we'll be able to extract more intelligence to curb the threat."

That doesn't make me feel good at all, but I tuck this all in the back of my head for later. "Okay. Then I want to speak to Mariam."

Durante sighs. "I was afraid of that. I shouldn't let you. It's against protocol."

"For closure," I beg. "Please."

It doesn't take much to convince him, so apparently his mind was already made before I even walked in. He takes me below to the dark, ominous interrogation chambers, built after one of the old prisoner wings was converted into living quarters and suites. The ceiling is so low Durante has to duck, but he lets me into the squat room with the solitary table and two chairs. Mariam is chained to the surface, but makes no attempt to tug at her manacles.

"I'll be outside," Durante murmurs, eyeing Mariam sceptically as he shuts the door behind him.

I sit. Mariam doesn't say anything. She does look beaten and bruised – an ugly purple blotch blooms from her jaw where the Second kicked her, and there is gauze and bandages wrapped around her arms and legs. Each movement pains her, including raising her head to regard me.

"Is Rose all right?"

It doesn't surprise me that this is her first question. "Yes, she's fine."

"And my family?"

"Your mother is at the hospital helping to tend to the wounded. I think your step-father is there too. They all want to visit you soon."

"Workaholics," she chides, but with no venom. Only quiet resignation. "I take it you're the first of many visitors?"

"I am."

"Then I shall hope the day goes quickly, so I can settle into my new bed at the penitentiary."

I take a deep breath. "Mariam—"

"Don't tell me you pity me, Your Highness. I don't want nor need it."

"I don't pity you," I say carefully. "But I'm sad it had to come to this."

"I wanted to show you how poor the system is. I wanted to make you see how many people are suffering under a neglectful rule and ignorant government. I wanted something to be done about it. I wanted to open your eyes. I have done that." Mariam bears into me. "If the consequences weren't so severe, if there wasn't so much death and injury, if the Second hadn't corrupted my following and twisted it into an ugly coup for power… I'd do it all again."

My breaths waver. I don't know how to respond to that.

"There is good in you, Gail Schreave. Naïve as you may be, you see the world in a good light. You are determined that the positives of life outweigh the negatives. You are optimistic in the face of sadness. The world needs that hope from time to time. Do not extinguish it." She raises her head, even though it clearly pains her. "You are hopeful for this nation's future. That's why I go to jail with my head held high. If I have let one person see the truth, that is enough. It's all I've ever wanted."

"I'm not perfect, Mariam," I say. "I'm spiteful and I get jealous easily, and maybe my naivety was ultimately what cost me here, but… I'm going to do my best for Illéa. Even if it's not in the way you imagined it."

She raises an eyebrow. "Spiteful?"

"I started my Selection as a rebound relationship."

"Interesting." Mariam chuckles beneath her breath. "You never fail to surprise me, Your Highness. The rebound, and the rink. I really did underestimate the breadth of your character. I think— no, I know," and she pauses emphatically, "that you will be just fine in whatever you decide to do in the future."

I shut the door behind me with my head held high too. Mariam Noboru leaves behind a tainted legacy, a broken family and a torn nation. If I can pick up the tatters of what's left and weave something better, then all this pain and misery will not be for nothing.

I head upstairs to the infirmary, eager to see Max. Instead I walk into a wall of testosterone – Kingsley, Ben, Kajika, Soren and Sheng, having arm wrestling matches on the side table outside Max's ward. Kajika is smiling exasperatedly, barely sweating as Kingsley's arm shakes in his attempts to defeat him. His expression alone is hilarious.

"Are— you— cheating?" he grits out.

"No," says Kajika genially. "I'm barely trying."

"Why?" I ask into the pause.

Kingsley is so shocked that Kajika taps his arm down. In seconds he's on his feet, sweeping into a bow, the flush on his face dissipated.

"I was merely testing our carpenter's physical prowess. He passed."

"Are you all right, Gail?" asks Ben, standing up. "The whole thing this morning…"

"It's been a mess, but I'll be okay," I say, beaming at him. "How are you all?"

"No injuries here," Soren says. "We're waiting for news about Max."

"Have you heard anything?"

"There's been no change," says Kajika, frowning. "They're doing the blood transfusion. It will take a few hours."

I take a deep breath and peer down the hall. Doctors and nurses dither by the doorway with clipboards and blood bags. I don't want to think about how much pain Max is in right now. If he's even conscious to feel it. If he isn't…

I shoo the thought away. "Have you eaten?"

"The staff brought us pancakes," Kingsley muses. "Not exactly the healthiest breakfast, but I think we deserve it after that ordeal."

"You didn't have to do that, you know," I murmur. "You didn't have to come for me."

"Yes, we did," says Soren, and his lips quirk in a smile.

Ben nods. "Zelda, Aderyn and Rose were going to go on their own with or without us anyway, so it made sense to make sure Zelda didn't do anything reckless— er, life-endangering to anyone."

"She threatened me to keep watch over the passageway with Victor," says Kajika. "In case the rebels returned."

"Which of course they didn't, because they're all cowards." Kingsley puffs. "Plus I got to run over their leader!"

"I was driving," says Soren.

"With my directive!"

Soren rolls his eyes.

Before they can dissolve into bickering, I say, "Thank you. I… I appreciate that you came for me. Even after…" I force myself to look Sheng in the face. "Even after you found out the truth about the Selection."

"That it was a sham?" Ben asks, then baulks. "What? Silas' words."

"Yeah." I hate to admit it, but everything that Silas said was right. "It… it started out that way, but I promise I love and cherish—"

"I'm not going to begrudge you for it," Ben says at once, holding up his hand to stop me. "It's not the right way to start a relationship, that's for sure, but I'm not going to lord it over you forever. You made a mistake, and you recognise it. That's good enough for me."

"Shocked to say I'm in agreement with Santiago over here," Kingsley says wryly, and he winks. "But, well, you already know my thoughts, Your Highness."

"I was already eliminated," says Kajika gently. "But the others…"

He glances sidelong at Soren. Soren takes a deep breath, crosses his arms, looks away.

"It hurt." The admission breaks a piece of my heart. "It hurt to find out the truth."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"It's not me you should apologise to, really."

Sheng has been quiet the whole time. He refuses to meet my gaze, even when I offer it readily. Another piece of me breaks. Whatever love there is between us is tainted, spoilt by my stupid, cruel words.

"Can we talk, Sheng? Privately?"

He doesn't seem keen to, cornered like an untrained dancer under the spotlights of a stage, but he follows me anyway, boots a percussive stamping against the linoleum floor. Outside the ward in a long hallway decorated with noticeboards, there's more privacy. I lean against one wall, and he leans against the opposite.

"All right," he mumbles. "What do you want to say?"

Even the way he asks gashes. Like each word is a dagger, poised not to strike, but to defend. I've hurt him before, and he's protecting himself. Guarding whatever is left of him.

"I was horrible to you yesterday. No, I've been horrible to you since the very start of the Selection. The pact I made… to keep you in… it was wrong."

He shrugs, a gesture on Sheng that is forced. "I understand why you and my father did it."

My breath catches. I completely forgot how this would affect the relationship between him and his father. That must've been an awful conversation to have.

"I'm sorry. About everything." I shake my head. "And the last thing I wanted to do was cause a rift between you and Senior Mah—"

"We talked it out. I told him off. I forgave him. We moved on." His tone is stilted, awkward. "I want to do the same with you."

"Sheng…"

"I wanted to be part of the Selection to be worthy of you."

"You were always worthy—"

"I know," he cuts across. Then, softer, "I know." Finally I see his eyes, glazed with regret but comprehension. "You were right, what you said yesterday."

"No, I wasn't."

"Maybe not in how you said it, but all the words were true. I was… too wrapped up in my own problems that I took it out on you, took it out on our relationship. It's taken me… time, to see it. Too much time to salvage us." He laughs suddenly, and then there are tears running down his cheeks, and his hands are desperately raking through the crop of his hair in frenzy. "I think it's good that we broke up. I wasn't ready for a relationship. I don't think I am now. But this Selection… it's helped me realise my strengths… opened my eyes to so many new opportunities…"

I pull him into a hug, and he hesitates, vacillates between holding me and not, but then his head is on my shoulder, and tears dampen my sweater. His tremulous sobs threaten to unspool me like thread, but I clutch him, embrace him as I would a friend or family member. Sheng's had it so hard these last few days, from his grandmother's death to arguing with his father to the truth about the Selection and me. I want to be a rock for him. I want to be someone he can trust. I hold tight to my own emotions, as flimsy as a bird's warble, but as he cries so to do the tears fall down my own face.

Soon his sobs turn into weeps, and his weeps turn into sniffles. He doesn't let me go completely, but leans back enough that I can see his lips move in my peripheral vision.

"I know I'm not the man for you, Gail," he breathes. "But I hope… I hope you can forgive me for how I ended things between us."

I hold him back by the shoulders, tracing the contours of his tear-stricken face, and the smile that used to light me up. I hope it makes him feel good to smile like it used to make me feel.

"Of course I forgive you," I say, my throat raw. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

He smiles. "Yes. Always." He peels a tissue from his pocket and dabs his eyes, then passes me a fresh one to do the same. "So… Max then? He's the winner?"

I gulp. "I want him to be."

"We figured. The other Elite, I mean. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you."

I'm not the same person as I was before, but neither is Sheng, and even though we grew in two different directions, on paths diverging, it's better for both of us this way. I clasp his hand, squeeze it in solidarity, and he squeezes back, a gentle smile capturing his lips.

"Let's go back. I don't think Kingsley's ego could handle losing another arm wrestling match."

He is still losing spectacularly to a completely unbothered Kajika when we return. With no word from the nurses about Max's condition, the boys and I keep each other entertained in one of the waiting areas, hailing pizza from the kitchens and electronics from the storerooms to watch old movies (not the MCU – Ben is determined to finish those when Max is awake) and chat about the future. Now that they know none of them have won, the truth comes out in full force.

"After I ride my renewed fame for being not only a popular Selection candidate, but also Her Highness' saviour, I think I'd like to go to university," Kingsley declares when Sixteen Candles hits a lull. "Take that swimming scholarship."

"What degree?" asks Ben.

"Not twenty-first century history, that's for sure," he snorts. "Actually, I was thinking business. I imagine I will be good at it."

"I think you'll be great in it," I cheer, even though I pity whoever ends up being at the opposite end of a Kingsley negotiation. "What about you, Soren?"

He shrugs. "Return home."

"Get with that clingy girl?" Kingsley snorts.

Soren winces and shakes his head. "No. I will put my foot down with Adler. I… don't know how, but…"

"Tell her she's awful," suggests Kingsley.

"End it over text?" asks Kajika.

"Reject her via meme?" offers Ben.

"These are all terrible," says Sheng.

Soren rolls his eyes for the second time today. "I regret asking." Funny, he used to struggle with his emotions. Now I think he's too good with them.

"Well, I'm going to go home too," says Ben. "My mom misses me. Plus I gotta' finish my degree."

"Dear god, not more memes," mutters Kingsley. Ben shoves him and Kingsley laughs.

"The university might grant you an honorary degree," I pipe. "You know, since you're famous now. You, too, Soren."

"I want to earn it," Ben says, then grins. "And I will."

Soren nods. "I will get my neurology degree I hope. Kajika?"

"Hmm," Kajika ponders. "I'd like to take up crochet."

Everyone stares at him. Kajika blinks.

"It's very soothing to do."

Oh, the irony that he likes Zelda.

"Did you ever tell her how you felt?"

The words are out before I realise, and I clap my hands over my mouth. Oh, Gail, you silly bagel! But the other boys cough beneath their breath as Kajika massages his temple.

"I did. Before everyone left to find you."

Oh. Oh.

"She… said she wasn't really looking for anything at the moment." He smiles, and it's so sweet and cute and not at all from someone hurting too badly from the rejection. "Which I understand."

"That's good of you, Kajika. I'm happy for you."

"It was a disgustingly mushy confession," Kingsley says, rolling his hand. "But I suppose I've seen worse."

"You wouldn't know a good confession if it sat on you, Kingsley," Kajika says, and I'm so shocked at his ability to sass back that I actually snort with laughter.

"And what about you, Sheng?" Kingsley says. "What will the heartbreaker do next?"

"Erm," Sheng mumbles. "Tend to the horses?"

"Boring but I expected no less."

"I like horses," Sheng protests. "Actually… I think my father might retire soon."

I gasp. "Wait. You're going to become the new stablemaster?"

"If the royal family will have me."

"Of course we will! Wow, that's so amazing! You're going to be so good at it!"

"I'll have you know, Your Highness," Kingsley says, wagging his finger, "that we had to steal the car keys to get to you, but genius stablemaster over here said if that failed we could ride the horses down to Los Angeles."

"Snitch," Sheng mutters.

My stomach hurts from laughing. I'm laughing so hard I almost miss the knock at the door. In enters Nurse Gummy, but her expression of contentment is all I need to stop, to stand.

"Is he—?"

"The transfusion was successful, and his wounds have been patched," she says. "He'll live."

I almost burst into tears in my relief.

"He's not awake," Gummy continues, "but he hopefully will be soon. He's open to visitors now if you want."

"Go, Gail," Sheng says, relaxing into the chair. "You should be there when he wakes."

I hurry behind the nurse. The tang of blood and cleaning equipment gets stronger and stronger, an unpleasant sting in my nose, but I clench my muscles until we approach the door to his private room. The curtains are drawn over the window.

"He… looks worse for wear," Gummy warns.

"I don't care," I say, and I open the door.

Worse for wear is a generous statement. Emaciated is better. Max looks so thin and pale and blotchy beneath his mound of blankets, keeping his temperature warm. Machines blip from time to time, tracking his heartbeat from the wires and tubes attached to the wan parts of his bare arms. But his chest rises and falls. Breath whirls from his nose. Blood, a mixture of his own and not, pumps down his neck and wrists. My vision blurs so fast.

"I'm going to send word to the king," Gummy says. "Will you be all right on your own?"

I nod, barely registering how she shuts the door behind her. I take the chair and scoot it close to his bedside, then take his hand. They're… warmer than I expected. Certainly warmer than they were before in the minibus. I close it beneath my palms, willing him to wake, to be well. The road to his recovery is going to be long and hard, but I'm going to help him every step of the way.

"It's me," I mumble, my throat inflamed from tears. "Please take your time, okay? Whenever you want to wake up, I'll be right here when you do.

"Remember what we said about afterwards? It's here, and my mind hasn't changed. I want to spend it with you. Always you." I rub my thumb up and down his fingers, up and down, up and down. "We can work through everything together. We make a good team, you and I."

I must sit there for another ten minutes before the door swings open suddenly. Roy stands there, cane grasped tightly, flushed in the cheeks like he's been rushing.

"I came as soon as I could," he says breathlessly, stiffly, like we're acquaintances and not family. "How— how is he?"

"Doing okay," I say as I nod. "The nurse says he should wake up soon. The blood transfusion was successful."

"Right, yes, good."

Awkwardly I retract my hands to my side. The pause elongates.

"There's a lot of stuff that needs my attention," he blurts suddenly. "Media, the police. Prime Minister Charles has been calling me non-stop since this morning."

Right. Even being who I am, I forget that there's millions of other people who will want to know the sordid details about what had happened. I take a deep breath. "That's what you've been doing this morning?"

"Yes. But now that I have a break…" He fixes me an unreadable look. "We really do need to talk, Gail."

Roy offers his arm. I almost don't take it. There's too much friction between us right now for me to accept his metaphorical peace offering. At my hesitation, he lowers his arm, but quickly I stand and take it and tuck it through my own. I don't want to fight with Roy anymore, and somehow I think he's reached a nadir too. Without speaking we make our way upstairs to the roof of the palace. Morning sunrays splatter the flat surface, gleaming off the shiny pipes that course into the air conditioning units, or the industrial fans that spin undeterred. Time moves differently up here. Life is almost… still, even though I can see Los Angeles and the sea beyond, its harmony of tranquillity and toil, and the pinpricks that are people in the distance or the moving dots for cars.

Roy moves towards the parapet and leans against the stone, coddled by the breeze. I join him hesitantly, that feeling of tension between us rising unpleasantly along the skin of my arm, but in my peripheral I see his jowls sagging, his frown drooping.

"He's your winner, then?" No messing about. He asks it straight. "You've chosen Maximus Wellington as your winner?"

"You disapprove."

"I don't approve, no," he says carefully, "but I don't disapprove either. It simply… is." He does something strange – takes out his hair tie and let's his long, black locks tussle with the wind. Then he massages the back of his neck, eyes shut. "I remember what you said back in my office. He was manipulated?"

"Yes, by his family."

"The Washingtons," Roy supplies. "Yes, I looked into them, and he does fit what little intel we have. Now that Alaric Washington is dead we can actually do something about this little crime syndicate that's been festering on the east coast." He takes another breath. "I don't like it, Gail. It's a messy affair. Max isn't … what I had in mind, when I thought you would choose a winner."

I wrap my arms around myself. "It's my choice, Roy."

He takes the statement with a bow of his head. "You know, when I was at the end of my Selection," he begins again, voice small and fragile, "I was in a… brittle state of mind, with the rebels hanging over my head, but I was determined, and Omma and Appa were determined, that I should allow myself one happiness. There were two ways for me to help reach that: Lilly and Cami. In the end I decided on Cami, not only for what she brought out in me, but for what I brought out in her. Do you bring out the best in him? Really?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. "Yes," I repeat, stronger.

"There were… hurdles we had to overcome," he reminds softly. "Individually, as well as together. We both had the rebels, but whereas I had Appa's death and the death of so many people in this palace on my conscience, Cami had… struggling relationships and her own demons to wrestle with, not to mention her burden of becoming the new queen. We spent time away to build ourselves before we sought each other. I missed her dearly, but in the end it was for the best." He straightens and turns to me. "All I want to know is if you're prepared to do the same together. If you're prepared to fight for one another in the small ways as well as the big."

"Do you think we can't?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. It's easy to say yes to love, but it isn't as easy to mean it."

I rise up, if only to give myself confidence. "Then I mean it when I say he's my one, Roy. I know he's made mistakes, I know about his past, but I want to work through it with him. I will commit, if he'll commit to me."

I can't read his face. Normally he's so naked with his emotions, never one to shy from all but the press, but his cheeks are sucked in with thought and wonder. Wayward locks of hair cling to him, then juggle back, tossed away by wind.

"I don't trust him." He holds up a hand to stop me from retorting. "But I trust you. So if you're certain…" He shrugs suddenly, and his wry smile appears. "Well, I suppose even if I banned you from seeing him you'd find a way to disobey that, too."

"I would. I'm very tenacious."

"You're a Schreave. It's in your blood."

"Yes, about that." My tone haunts, and Roy senses it immediately by the way his brow dips. "I think I need a… break, Roy."

"A break?"

"From all this." My head drops. I can't look at him. "I've seen what's out there, and it's a beautiful world. I want to see it all. I want to live it, out there, not in here."

"Gail…" He swallows. "I… I know I've been harsh— too harsh on you, enforcing house rules—"

"You were doing it to protect me, I know."

"In whatever way I could, but now I see… now I see it was a terrible mistake. I guess I thought…" He trails his fingers over the brick, feather-light in wistfulness. "Despite my position, there's very little I get to control. I figured if I kept a rigid hold on your life, I could keep you safe. Sheltered."

"But you know that's not what I need."

"I know it's not what you want." He clutches my shoulders, grip firm but gentle. "So… if you want to leave…"

"It's not forever." I clasp my hands together, remembering Mariam's advice, back at the safe house, in the interrogation chambers below. "I still like being a princess, and I'm good at it. But I can be a better out in the world. Not just to play hockey, but… help people. You said you spent time building yourself as an individual. This is the way I can do that too. I want to become Gail, the real me, without my title in the way."

If the Resurgence has taught me anything, it's that there are many people out there who need it. I can do that. If I can use my privilege, my power, to brighten the day of even one person, then my life will be richer for it. It's time to break the barriers between a princess and her people.

He smiles. "That's good. Great, even. I support you. Even…" he sighs, shaking his head as he steps back and laughs. "Even in this hockey thing."

I grin so hard it becomes contagious, and Roy is grinning, too, and then we're laughing and staring out into the sun-kissed horizon. With my brother's approval, I get to spend more time with Max. With his blessing, I get to play hockey. With his support, I get to be free.

And that is so much better than all the trophies in the world.

Roy tells me to give him news when Max wakes, so I head back downstairs to his bedside. It appears there's no changes, but his breathing seems shallower somehow, as if preparing to cross the veil to the living. I sit down, take his hand, rub up and down and up and down if only to remind him that I'm still here. I'll be here forever, if he wants me to.

"Roy is happy for us," I say to his quiet body. "Which is really, really good, and it makes me happy. I guess it's like his own royal decree, you know? I was thinking, now that I can do what I want, that maybe we get a house together or something! Ooooo, on the beach! I like the beach. As long as I'm close to the rink I'll be content. And we can find your moms and make sure they're safe…"

Tears prickle behind my eyes.

"Please wake up, Max. I miss you."

His finger twitches. I don't allow myself a breath, the pain of hopefulness, thinking it was the trick of my weary mind, but then his finger twitches again. My eyes pin on his face. His eyelids flutter. His breath quickens.

"Max?" I mumble.

Then his hand closes around mine, and he opens his eyes.

A/N: Hi everyone! It can finally be confirmed that Maximus Wellington is the winner of Gail's Selection, so biggest congratulations and thank yous to comosayllama for her wayward gangster son! Wow, can you imagine how different this fic would've been without him?!

I think a lesson can be learnt here, since you may not know that Max was actually submitted to me after my deadline. The only reason I accepted him, besides the fact that I found him fascinating, was because there happened to be a spot open. Llama also sent me the whole completed form, so I didn't have to do any chasing. Shoot your shot, peeps, because the worst that could happen is you get a no, and the best that could happen is… well, you know. ;)

Max is such an elusive character with a dark, and frankly traumatic, past. We already know Gail has a thing for 'Tall, Dark and Handsome' types, hence her and Sheng's relationship, but what those two lacked was a mutual understanding of each other's needs. Gail and Max worked for me because they both felt a deeper sense of discontent from not belonging, which they eventually found within themselves and within each other. Max was willing to support Gail in her endeavours to become a hockey player, and Gail was supportive of Max even after he opened up about his tragic backstory. They build each other up instead of trying to hide parts of them. Ultimately this is why I chose Maxail, and I hope you all see that too.

Also I loved the idea of aesthetic opposites, since Max is so broody and edgy, and Gail is so… well, pink.

I cannot praise the winner, however, without acknowledging the runners up. There's quite a few, so big thank you to the submitters of Kingsley Obasanjo, Benedict Santiago, and Soren Reinhart respectively, rysarium, Doctor Kay Strange and Wondy-SW. Kingsley's attitude was an absolute highlight of this fic for me, and Ben's clownery and adorableness was also so fun to write, whereas Soren, it must be said, was in VERY hot contention to win. Early in the fic I jumped between him and Max (and Silas too), but finalised my decision about halfway. Even though they didn't win, I hope I did them all justice and gave your sons a sprinkle of life that they deserve. Thank you again for them. They were a blast to write.

So much has happened in these past two chapters that I can barely remember it all. Now we're nearly at the end! But we do have the epilogue left! Stay tuned, and thanks for reading.

~ GWA