When Pollux reaches the rink exit where I’m standing, he’s helpless. Tense. The hand clutching the necklace Andromeda gave him shakes. Pain soaks through every inch of him as he whispers, “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.” I grip his sleeve. “Shh. It’s all right. Are you all right? Is everyone else all right?” Pollux’s mouth opens, but no words come.

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