Flamethrower ran. He bolted so quickly that Maggie barely had time to process what was going on. Where is he going? What just happened? Who shot? Who were they shooting at? Max… MAX!

Max was on the ground by her feet, and her legs gave out beneath her when she saw him lying there. No… please, not Max. Please! PLEASE!

Max moved. His entire body rolled to one side, then to the other, before he repeated the motion, and then repeated it once more. Relief washed through her. He wasn't dead. He hadn't been shot—she didn't think so, at least. He was rolling, just like she'd told him to, to smother whatever flames had attached to his clothing.

That didn't do anything to quell the flames around them, though. Once again, the two of them were trapped in a ring of fire—a larger one this time, but still one that provided no easy exit. Maggie coughed, crawling on her hands and knees to get closer to Max. Maybe she should just lie down next to him and go to sleep. She'd tried her best. She'd been as heroic as she could possibly be. And it still had done no good. They were still trapped in the flames, Max appeared to be barely conscious, and her body all the sudden was feeling so very, very heavy…

Her blurry gaze fell on something a few feet away, something small and silver. Her bullet. The sight of it was enough to spark new life into her thoughts. She wasn't just going to lie down and give up. She was a survivor. They both were. She and Max had both survived horrible things happening to them when they were just babies. Surely they could survive this happening to them now.

She pulled the bullet toward herself, straining more than she usually had to, but still managing to wrap her fingers around it and tuck it safely into her pocket. "Max?" she asked, her voice scratchy.

The sound of running feet startled her. A second later, something appeared next to her, quenching a small section of the wall of fire, which seemed to be dying down anyway as a result of the still-pouring water. A hand appeared in front of her face. "Maggie, it's okay. Get up."

Blearily, Maggie looked up to see a figure clad in jeans and a long blouse, wavy black hair and a concerned expression.

"Zoridel?"

"Please, Maggie, come on. Let's get you away from the fire. And then we'll help your friend too."

Maggie allowed Zoridel to pull her to her feet, and then she watched, dumbfounded, as the older girl stepped through the gap she'd made in the flames—Maggie could see now that what looked like a wet jacket was lying there, quenching the fire in that particular spot—and hauled Max up under his armpits. Max coughed weakly and leaned heavily against Zoridel as she escorted him across the jacket bridge and away from the fire.

"This way." Zoridel continued supporting Max, heading toward the stairwell. Maggie followed unsteadily, coughing with every inhale, blinking rapidly in an attempt to get her eyes to stop stinging.

"We need to get you guys down these stairs," Zoridel said, as calmly as if she were talking to a child in a preschool class. "Maggie, can you walk down on your own?"

"I—think so," Maggie wheezed, her breaths coming a bit more easily now that she was out of the smoky room. "Zoridel, how—" Her question was interrupted by a fit of coughing from Max, and she broke off, watching worriedly as he slumped against the railing.

"I'll explain once we're outside," Zoridel replied, once again hoisting Max up and giving him support as they walked down the stairs. Maggie followed closely, not taking her eyes off of her coughing friend. He was going to be okay, right? She'd heard of people dying from smoke inhalation, but that was only if they stayed in the smoke, right? You couldn't die of smoke inhalation after the fact… right?

It was only when they stepped out into the sunlight that she caught sight of the ugly red patches climbing up and down Max's arms, from the ruby bracelet that was somehow still clinging to his wrist all the way up to his smoldering T-shirt sleeve. Her heart caught in her throat and she suddenly felt like she wanted to vomit. Burn marks. He'd received actual burns to his skin from being in the fire for so long.

It could be worse, she reminded herself, clenching her jaw. He could have died in there. He could've been burned beyond recognition, like Flamethrower's previous victims allegedly were. He's alive, and that's what matters.

Still, the burns had to be excruciatingly painful.

Her ears were assaulted by hysterical shouts. "What happened?" "Is this another Flamethrower attack?" "Are those the victims?" "Are you guys all right?" Maggie reached up and did her best to wipe her still-smarting eyes with her wet, sooty sleeve. Her eyes still stung, but her vision came into focus to reveal a crowd of maybe twenty people, all of them looking ready to jump into action. "Where is he?" shouted a burly man with horns coming out of his head. "Where's Flamethrower? I'm ready for 'im." He pounded a fist menacingly into his cupped hand.

"Flamethrower fled the scene," Zoridel explained authoritatively. "These two need medical attention. Are there any Healers here?"

An older woman wearing a purple shawl hurried forward. "Burns aren't my area of specialty, but I'll see what I can do," she said, placing her shawl down on the sidewalk and gesturing for Maggie and Max to sit down on it. Zoridel helped Max ease into a sitting position, and Maggie collapsed next to him, wanting to hold onto him to reassure herself that he was really still there, but maintaining enough common sense not to do anything that could aggravate the burns.

Max's face was screwed up in pain, and for the first time, she noticed tears rolling down his soot-stained cheeks. Without thinking, she reached up and wiped one of the tears away, leaving a smear of soot on his face. "Max, you're going to be okay," she whispered. "This lady here, this Healer—she's going to help you."

The Healer sat down next to Max and pressed a hand over his right arm. He winced and let out a cry of pain. Maggie gingerly placed a hand on his left shoulder, which looked untouched by the fire. "It's okay."

Seconds passed, and as Maggie watched, the blotchy, vividly-colored burns on Max's right arm began to fade away into a paler pink, leaving a few small scars, but nothing more. The woman moved on to his other arm, and then to each of his legs in turn, where sporadic holes were singed into his blackened jeans. Once she was done performing whatever healing magic she was doing, Max finally opened his eyes. His expression was still one of mild discomfort, but not the tortured agony of before.

"I'm afraid that's all I can do," the Healer told him apologetically. "I can't get rid of them entirely, but I've accelerated the healing process by a few weeks, at least. Some of the worst spots might still be painful for a couple days, but there shouldn't be any long-term damage."

"Thank you," Max said weakly.

The Healer turned her attention to Maggie, but Maggie shook her head. "I'm fine. I didn't get any burns."

"None?" the Healer's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

Maggie nodded, not completely certain, but at least sure that if she'd gotten any burns, they hadn't been bad like Max's. She shifted her focus back to him. "Max, I'm sorry." It was surprising how easily the words flowed off her tongue, words she'd used honestly maybe twice before in her life. "I'm so sorry. I—"

Max's hand was reaching toward her face. "You're bleeding."

"I am?"

Max wiped something from her cheek, and her pulse, which had finally started slowing down after the intensity of the last several minutes, picked up again. He pulled his hand away and showed her that his fingers were now streaked not just with soot, but with blood. "It looks like you have glass in your hair too," he commented. "Were you near that window when it shattered?"

She nodded, the memory coming back to her, although it had been almost buried by the trauma of everything that had happened afterwards. "I'm so sorry. I almost got you killed."

His face twisted in confusion. "No you didn't. You saved me."

"But it was my fault we were there in the first place, because I came and got you, and if it wasn't for me you'd still be at Headquarters right now, and…"

"Maggie." Max gripped her hand. "It's not your fault. Didn't you hear him? Flamethrower was looking for me. If anything, it's my fault you had to be part of this. He was going to let you go. But you chose to stay and help me instead. You saved my life."

She shook her head and pulled her hand away, hating the way his eyes were shining with admiration and gratefulness as he looked at her, because she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of it. She'd failed to save his life. They both would have died if Zoridel hadn't come to the rescue.

Zoridel. In all of her worrying about Max, she'd almost forgotten about Zoridel. Maggie glanced to her left and saw that she was still there, her eyebrows knit together in concern.

She looked back at Max. "I didn't save you," she admitted, quickly averting her gaze again so she wouldn't have to watch the admiration drop from his eyes. "Zoridel did. She saved both of us. Zoridel, how? How did you know we were there?"

"I didn't," Zoridel confessed, moving closer to Maggie and Max. "I was walking by when I heard the gunshot. I looked up just in time to see a man jump out that broken window, followed a few seconds later by a woman with a gun. That's when I noticed the smoke coming out from the window. I ran up to see if anyone was inside and… found you."

"Gunshot?" Max repeated. "I thought I heard a gunshot, but then I thought maybe I'd imagined it."

"There was definitely a gunshot," Zoridel confirmed. "And I saw the shooter, though I didn't get a good look at her. But she was aiming at the man—that was Flamethrower, right?"

Maggie nodded, then gasped, remembering what she'd realized seconds before everything had turned to chaos. "Max! Flamethrower used to be a Renegade!"

"What?" Max's expression was one of pure shock. "What do you—what makes you say that?"

"Because I recognized him. I saw him around headquarters a few times, back when I was a Renegade."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I never knew his name, but I know I recognized him."

Max was quiet for a moment, mulling over this new development. "But I did a search for Flamethrower… I'd think a Gatlon City Renegade would've been one of the top results… unless he changed his alias…" His expression morphed into one of worry. "He didn't recognize you, right? If he'd recognized you, he probably wouldn't have been willing to let you go, for fear that you'd tell everyone his identity… right?"

Maggie didn't get a chance to answer, because at that moment, she spotted the glint of silver armor soaring in their direction from several blocks away. She knew instantly what it was—the Sentinel, also known as Max's older brother.

Panic gripped her. Of course Sketch was coming to check out what had just occurred—even if he didn't yet know that Max was involved, this was another Flamethrower attack. In a matter of minutes, everyone would be there. The Council. The media.

Maggie scrambled up, desperate to get away from the scene before they all started arriving. Max regarded her with concern. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"I—have to get home," she stammered. "My—" she forced out the word "—family—will be worried. If they hear about the attack. I need to let them know I'm okay."

"But—wait, are you—"

A news van screeched onto the scene, and Maggie cast a terrified look at it before locking eyes with Max again. "If you do any interviews or anything like that, don't mention me. Okay? I don't want anyone to hear about me and get curious about who I am and where I live or anything. Got it?"

Comprehension washed over Max's face, and he nodded. "Okay."

She hesitated before running off, wanting to say something more to him, something maybe about how she was glad he was okay, or again how sorry she was that she'd gotten him into the situation in the first place. But the squealing of another set of tires alerted her attention to the presence of a Renegade transport van, so with a quick awkward wave to Max, she turned and disappeared into the growing crowd.

"I thought you wanted to be famous." Maggie turned her head to see that Zoridel was walking with her, eyeing her curiously.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Zoridel shrugged. "Your big plan. Isn't it all leading up to you being one of the most famous and influential people in Gatlon City? Isn't that kind of your goal?"

It took a moment before Maggie realized Zoridel was referring to the plan plan, the one to sabotage the Hero Parade and for the gang to name themselves the Gatlon City Villains. It took her another moment to remember that Zoridel still didn't know the biggest part of the plan—the part that actually would make Maggie the most famous and influential person in Gatlon City.

Wait—ever since the gang's inception, Maggie had pitched the goal of the plan as a way to prevent Superpower Classism. How had Zoridel hit so close to Maggie's actual motives?

"What's your point?" she asked, instead of answering the question.

Zoridel waved a hand back toward the way they'd come, where crowds were still gathering, media vehicles still arriving on the scene. "Seemed like a pretty big opportunity there. You could've gotten on TV, been personally thanked by the Council, and become known as the hero who saved Max Everhart's life."

Maggie's stomach clenched. She wasn't a hero. She was a villain. She had almost killed the most valuable, brave, heroic person in the world—for the second time around. "But I didn't save his life. You did that."

"I don't think there would've been any of him left to save if you hadn't done whatever you were doing before I got there," Zoridel countered. "By the amount of water that had been discharged by those sprinklers, it looked like you guys had been in there for several minutes at least. That would've been plenty of time for Flamethrower to have killed the boy if there hadn't been any interference."

Maggie hunched her shoulders up to her ears. "It was my fault he was there in the first place. I went to find him today. To talk about—you know, the Renegades finding our theater. It was him and his team who found us. I wanted to talk to him to make sure he wasn't going to tell, and we went in that building so we wouldn't be overheard."

Zoridel raised her eyebrows. "And you think that makes it your fault that Flamethrower decided to attack you guys? Flamethrower's been attacking everyone. What are we supposed to do, cower in fear and go live in a bunker until someone vanquishes him?"

"He went after Max specifically," Maggie said miserably. "He said he'd been waiting for an opportunity when Max wasn't surrounded by other people."

"Okay." Zoridel nodded, eyebrows still high on her forehead. "So he could have attacked Max at a time when Max was all by himself, or maybe with someone who wouldn't have been as brave as you were and would have just run away. Maggie, this attack wasn't your fault. And I stand by what I said, Max would not still be alive if it weren't for you."

Maggie sighed, wishing she could believe Zoridel, wishing the guilt would stop clamoring around her mind. "What were you even doing in that area anyway?" she asked, changing the subject. "You were supposed to be hanging around at the theater, remember? To keep Gargoyle in check and be on the lookout for any Renegades who might decide to come crashing in?"

"Ah, yes!" Zoridel smiled. "I decided to take it a step further and implement that plan I told you about. The one to get the Renegades off Dagger's tail."

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "And that plan is…"

"Completed." Zoridel didn't volunteer any further information.

"But what was the plan? What did you do?"

Zoridel listed her head to the side, as if considering how to respond. Finally, she said, "I don't want to tell you yet. Not at this moment. You'll find out later."

Maggie opened her mouth, ready to growl at her for insubordination, to demand that as leader of the gang and unofficial owner of the theater, she had the right to know every little detail of whatever Zoridel had done that would supposedly keep the Renegades away from the theater. Then she remembered that Zoridel had just saved her life, and Max's.

She thought better of it.