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He sat.

I turned his face toward me before he had put down his milk.

The swelling ran from the side of his cheekbone toward his jaw. His lighter blond hair fell forward when he bent his head, and I pushed it back so I could see.

His eye was clear.

I checked it twice anyway.

“What the hell did you do?” I asked.

He gave me a patient look. “Had a rough evening.”

“Have you seen your face?”

“Just the right half,” Ruckus said. “That one’s doing great.”

I let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

He looked encouraged.

I pointed at the swelling.

“This isn’t funny.”

“No,” he agreed, with very little conviction. “I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

“Mom. Dad. A mirror.”

Sadie snorted into her drink.

I sat down beside him, still holding his chin.

He let me finish looking, then carefully took my hand away.

“I can eat, I can talk, and I can see. Dad checked all the important parts. Let me have my lunch before you find something wrong with an elbow.”

I had been about to ask about his hands.

He knew it.

That was why he held them up for me.

There were scrapes. I hated those too.

Rook sat across from us, his jaw looking even darker under the cafeteria lights. Clayton came in behind him, carrying another cold pack.

I pointed at his eye.

He sighed and put it back where it belonged.

Then Micah arrived.

For one wonderful second, I thought somebody had escaped intact.

He looked like himself. Pretty face, clear skin, blond hair falling over his forehead. Nothing swollen. Nothing bruised.