She was still stabbing at the button to open the elevator door when Max caught up to her. "Maggie? What's wrong?"

She ignored him, keeping her face averted so he wouldn't see that she was fighting back tears. Get your emotions under control, she told herself. Sweet marvels. You're a villain. Pull yourself together.

The door opened and she rushed inside. Max followed her.

"Maggie?" There was concern in his voice.

She stood in the corner, wishing he would go away. Hoping he wouldn't go away. Wishing her mind would shut off and stop replaying Callum's murder over and over and over.

Her fault. It was all her fault.

The doors closed, but because she hadn't selected what floor she wanted to be taken to, the elevator remained in place.

She should select a floor. She should choose the lobby, and as soon as the doors opened to let her out, she should run as fast as she could out of HQ and not look back. She didn't deserve to be shown kindness by someone like Max. Someone sweet and good, someone who would never, ever do terrible things like what she had done.

Max placed a hand on her shoulder. It was warm and somehow comforting despite her desire to be away from him.

Maybe she didn't actually want to be away from him at all.

"Maggie… please talk to me," Max urged gently. "What's going on? What happened?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, the scene in the arena continuing to play across her eyelids. She opened her eyes and looked at Max. His face was etched with concern, his brow furrowed, his eyes pools of worry.

Worry for her.

"It's my fault he's dead," she whispered. "I did it. I killed him."

Max's bushy eyebrows came together in a frown. "Who?"

" Him." Maggie gestured with her elbow to the closed elevator doors, indicating the lobby beyond. She made herself choke out the name. "Callum."

"Maggie…" Max's grip on her shoulder tightened. "You didn't kill him. Phobia did. Everyone saw it happen. That had nothing to do with you."

"Yes it did." She looked down, not wanting to see his expression change when she told him the truth. "I gave Callum the helmet. I knew what it did—I knew it could amplify people's powers. And I knew what he could do, because there was this one time when he took me into the warehouse and was showing me things and making me—making me think more positively than usual, or whatever. Showing me the wonder in everything." She said the word sarcastically, even though, if she was really honest with herself, being able to see the world as Callum saw it for a few seconds had actually been a little bit nice. "Anyway, I saw the helmet in Nova's backpack. And everyone was fighting, and people were getting killed, and I had this stupid idea that I could make all the fighting stop if I just gave Callum the helmet and let him use his powers on everyone. Because if everyone just took a moment to think about all the good things in the world, and all the things they were grateful for—well, then why would they want to keep killing each other?"

She looked back up at Max. He was nodding. "That makes perfect sense," he said. "I probably would've thought that too, if I'd been there."

"Yeah, well," Maggie said bitterly. "I threw the helmet to him and told him to put it on, and he did, and it worked. For like ten seconds, all the fighting stopped and everyone was putting their weapons down and I really started thinking I'd done it. I'd saved everyone." She remembered the feeling of awe that had come over her as the fighting had stilled, the hope that had rooted in her heart. For a short while, she'd started imagining the praise she would receive, how when Callum was interviewed later, he'd give her credit for the idea and for getting the helmet to him, and she'd become famous as the girl who'd helped Wonder save Gatlon City, and people from all over would hear about her, including her big sister…

"I was such an idiot," she said forcefully, her voice charged with vitriol.

"No you weren't." The elevator lurched downward, and Maggie looked up to see that it was being called to the lobby. Max reached his hand out and pressed the number 7, then resumed talking. "You were trying to do a good thing. How would you have known Callum's powers wouldn't work on Phobia?"

"But I wasn't doing it for the right reasons." The words tumbled out of her mouth, the part she hadn't meant to admit to him. The part that really and truly, forever and always, cemented her as a villain. "I was doing it for myself. So I could be recognized as one of the heroes who stopped the fighting. So… so people would like me." She whispered the last part, once more looking down at her feet in shame.

The elevator came to a stop right as Max whispered something in response. The sound of the doors opening obscured whatever it was, which was probably just as well. It was probably something about how pathetic she was, trading someone's life for the prospect of popularity.

She looked through the doors to see the seventh floor, which contained a library and several couches for sitting and reading. "Why are we here?" she asked, trying to dispel the emotions that Max's maybe-words had incited in her.

"So we can talk in a place that's more comfortable and less interruptable than an elevator," Max replied, leading the way to one of the couches. Maggie hesitated a moment, then followed him.

The library appeared to be entirely vacant except for the two of them, but it was still hard to resume the conversation now that they'd switched locations. Maggie's mind was still reeling with the fact that she'd told him all that. Told Max Everhart, of all people, about her involvement in Callum's death and her reasons for giving him the helmet.

Well, if he doesn't want anything to do with me now that he knows I'm nothing but a selfish villain, I guess that's for the best, she thought dejectedly.

Except—he was still sitting next to her, wanting to keep the conversation going. Why?

"That's all I have to say," she told him, a little more aggressively than she intended. "I didn't mean for him to die, but I'm still the one who caused it. I'm still the reason that girl in the museum no longer has a brother."

An unruly tear slipped out of her eye. Ugh. Why hadn't she just changed the topic of conversation to something else entirely?

Before she had a chance to wipe the tear away, Max reached up and did it for her, gently using the pad of his thumb. The gesture made her breath catch in her throat.

"I think you're putting too much blame on yourself," he said quietly. "The arena was a slaughterhouse that day. Callum could've ended up dead anyway just by getting in the way of the wrong person. Or, who knows. If those few seconds with him wearing the helmet had never happened, maybe twenty additional people would've been killed during that time. It's a tragedy that he ended up dying like that, but it wasn't your fault, no matter what your reasons were. The guilt falls on Phobia and Phobia alone."

She sniffled. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of the guilt that had been weighing her down for almost four years. But no matter what he said, it didn't change the fact that her actions had led to Callum being killed.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Max spoke up again. "I know how you're feeling," he said, fidgeting with his fingers. "Because I'm indirectly responsible for a lot of the deaths that day too. Sometimes I think about it and it just makes me feel so—so sick inside. But I can't live the rest of my life feeling guilty over something that really wasn't in my control."

Maggie looked at him curiously. "How were you responsible for people's deaths that day?" she asked. "You weren't even there."

"Agent N," he said simply. "It was my blood that was used to make it. And a ton of people got neutralized that day—people whose powers might have been able to save them otherwise."

Maggie frowned. She could see where he was coming from, but it was a stretch. "You didn't even know that that's what they were doing with your blood," she reminded him. "Did you?"

He shook his head. "No, so like I said, it really wasn't in my control. But I still feel guilty about it sometimes."

She wanted to comfort him, to assure him that those people's deaths hadn't been his fault. But all she could think of to say was, "Guilt sucks."

"Tell me about it." Max nodded. "And we have it easy compared to some people. You know Adrian's who drew Phobia, right?"

She startled. "What?"

"Yeah. It's not really public knowledge, and Adrian himself didn't even know until a few years ago, but apparently when he was little, he used to have these nightmares about a dark, scary creature with a scythe, and… sort of accidentally drew him into existence? You know, how some of his drawings come to life?"

Maggie's heart raced as she processed this information. Sketch was the reason Phobia had existed in the first place. Sketch was just as much to blame for Callum's death as she was.

She wasn't sure why this information helped her feel better, but it did.

"Sometimes I wonder how Adrian deals with all that, knowing that something he drew is responsible for so many deaths… including the death of his own mother." Max shuddered.

"His own mother?"

"Yeah. Lady Indomitable. She was on patrol duty, and Phobia showed up and killed her. The same night…" Max liked his lips, suddenly looking nervous. "Um, Nova lives with a lot of guilt too. For—not doing more to try to save her baby sister. The night her parents were murdered. When she was six."

He was looking at her oddly, with an expression Maggie couldn't quite read, but her mind was reeling so much that she didn't have time to interpret it. The guilt she felt over her accidental involvement in Callum's death must be so much worse for Sketch, whose actions had resulted in the death of his own mother.

And yet, Sketch didn't see himself as a villain. He saw himself as a hero—an incredibly insufferable one, for that matter—someone who was determined to do what was right no matter who stood against him.

Was that pride? Or was that something else—forgiveness, maybe? An acceptance that one couldn't change the past, but that they could do their part to make a better future?

"You could… maybe try talking with Nova sometime, about the guilt and… yeah. Stuff." Max's voice cut across her thoughts.

Maggie jerked backwards, shocked at the suggestion. " Nova? Why would I want to talk with her?"

Max's face fell, and she remembered a few seconds too late that he and Nova were friends. "I just mean, Nova and I have never exactly gotten along the greatest, so of all the people who I might want to have a conversation with, she's not top of my list," she clarified. "I'd much rather talk with someone—you know, who I like." She felt her face flush as the words escaped her lips.

His face colored slightly too, and they sat in silence for a moment, continuing to meet each other's gaze. Maggie was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting on the couch. How close Max had chosen to sit next to her, even after her confession about Callum.

"You—" Max began, then stopped. "I—" He broke off again. "I think… you should…"

Maggie waited for him to finish, but he didn't. "I should what?" she asked softly.

"You should… I forget what I was going to say." He gave a short nervous laugh.

You should move closer, Maggie thought. You should tilt your face closer to mine, close the gap between us. You should kiss me…

She jerked backward, her heart pounding, face flushing even more. What was she thinking? Max absolutely should not kiss her. He deserved better.

"Maggie?" Max eyed her with concern.

"Sorry." She stood up, wanting to put some distance between them before she started having those kinds of thoughts again. "Um… should we go somewhere? Should we do something?"

His face scrunched in confusion. "Like what?"

"Like…" Her mind raced. "I don't know. We could…"

She was saved from having to come up with a response by the beep of Max's communicator. He glanced down at his wrist and groaned. "Come on. Not already."

"What?" Maggie asked.

Max rolled his eyes. "Dad wants me to go home, because he's going home. He's making me travel back and forth with him until Flamethrower is caught."

Maggie felt her body give an involuntary shudder. As annoying as it must be for Max to have to travel to and from Headquarters with his dad all the time, she was kind of glad that was the case. If there was ever a prodigy who could hold his own against Flamethrower, it was Captain Chromium.

Except… "Wouldn't it just be safer for you to be here all the time? At HQ, surrounded by a ton of other prodigies?"

She winced, hoping her words hadn't sounded condescending, but Max just rolled his eyes again. "That's what I keep telling them. But you know how parents are. Or—" he faltered awkwardly. "I guess maybe you don't."

"Thank the powers," said Maggie emphatically, even as her heart clenched. It maybe wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to have someone who cared about whether she made it home alive every day.

Max studied her, and she gave him a big smile to prove that she was okay. "Well, have a good night," she told him. "I'll see you… whenever I see you."

Max opened his mouth hesitantly, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to invite her to come with him. But he must've thought better of it, because he just said, "Yeah. I'll see you around."

She worked hard to fight off the stupid, irrational disappointment as he turned in the direction of the elevator. It would've been a bad idea to go back over to his house anyway. Nova would probably be there, and it would probably just turn into a big ugly repeat of the other night.

Before he had even taken a step, though, Max turned back around. "Maggie?"

She swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Um, I guess I just want you to know… that I'm here for you. And if you ever want to talk any more about—about what we talked about today, or anything else, just… I'll be ready to listen. Okay?"

No. Not okay. She didn't deserve his kindness. She didn't deserve anything from him.

She nodded.

Max stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before leaning over and giving her a brief, one-armed side hug. She barely had time to process what had just happened before he was moving purposefully toward the elevator, the tips of his hears glowing pink beneath his bushy hair, her shoulders still tingling from the sensation of his touch.