So we had our plan to escape from the Sweepers: go through them.

Picture what happened next from their perspective. I usually do. I think it’s important to reflect on the pain you’ve caused others— no matter how much of it you deliver or how well deserved it is. Of course, for me, I couldn’t help but feel their fear, their panic, firsthand.

You’re marching down an overgrown street with your comrades in arms, your friends, your family. Together you pick your way over the ruined cars and rubble and felled vines. It has slowed you down, but not enough to save your prey: the interlopers and trespassers who dared to flee from you, dared to kill people you know, perhaps people you loved. And no one does that. Not to you, not to a Sweeper. In the food chain of the city, you are the apex predator.

And you have Metalhead behind you: invincible god of steel and death.

You don’t quite trust those gold draped men, but you believed them when they said they could track the quarry down, you believe your prey is cornered, ripe wheat ready for a scythe of hot lead. Perhaps you look aside to a friend, give a reassuring nod or whooping cheer or fire of a few bullets into the sky.

Is it you that stumbled into the almost-invisible trip wire? Or the person in front of you? Or someone far ahead? Whoever you are: someone screams, someone curses. Purple fog billows out from either side of the street.

You skid to a halt. What is it? What does it do?

Moments later you find out, when you suck in a breath and receive nothing but stale, already breathed, air. You slap your hand to your mask’s filter, and it comes away sticky. You claw at your mask more, and there’s a hiss as a little air creeps in, but soon the hole is filled again.

Panic hits you. The cold, empty dread of true helplessness. You’re going to die.

If you had time to think, if you had time to mentally brace yourself for this, you might realize you had a little more time before you were really in trouble. But you do not and did not.

And so you turn and run, away from this witchcraft that threatens to choke the life from you, tearing at your filters. Your comrades all do the same, smashing into you, falling over each other. One of the bike’s drivers revs the engine to max to escape the cloud, and there is a metallic squeal as he drives it blindly into the hull of a car.

“Idiots!” Metalhead screams. “Cowards!” He’s standing in your path. He mighty gun screams death as the barrels spin in warning.

You almost turn back, but then more streaks of purple smoke fly overhead. The gas surrounds you now. The truck is enveloped. Even your bullet-god is stricken, his hacks and coughs amplified by the speakers in his armor. It’s everywhere. There’s no escape. You fall to your knees, sobbing in panic like a distraught child, ripping at your mask.

You want more than anything in the world to take it off, to breath, but then the magic will get into your lungs, and you’ve lived your whole life avoiding that.

Perhaps you notice the clap of hooves as the horse charges past you, the smoke swirling in its wake. Perhaps you are too focused on your own life for such things.

Either way, your prey escapes.

* * *

We tore out of the smoke and into clean air.

Thunder’s breathing had already grown ragged. From the magic or the gas or both, I couldn’t be sure. Four whole people and their kit were too heavy for him, the weight straining his spine.

{Just a bit longer. We’re almost there.}

I was choking on dead air, my eyes bulging, my lungs spasming. I ripped the tape from one filter and sucked in a painful breath.

“Stop the horse,” Kross rasped from behind me, between gasps. I didn’t really register her words at first, which earned me a punch in the side. “Stop the horse, dammit.”

{Slow down boy, just for a moment,} I sent to Thunder, then half-turned to face the sniper. “What? Why?”

“Metalhead was in the gas. It got him good. Now’s the time.”

Over her glaring face I saw him. That hulking figure was bent double, as helpless as the rest of them, one huge metal fist grasping the side of the truck for support. No one was shooting at us, the Sweepers had barely seemed to have noticed us, but already the gas was beginning to thin.

“You owe me,” Kross said. “Remember?”

She was right. We had a chance we probably wouldn’t get again. And besides, our horse was dying.

“Woah boy,” I said, pulling the horse to a halt.

Kross and I dismounted, but the first thing I did was toss Thunder’s mask to Bobby. “Get this on him, please.”

They nodded, carefully laying Mari down on the Saddle. The girl’s mask was already clear.

Kross held out her hand, shaking with excitement. “Give it. Come on.”

I had promised. And a Good person should keep their promises. I unslung the Lawbringer and handed it over.

She looked down, frowning at the arcane device. “How the hell do I use this?”

“I have no clue.”

“Didn’t you ask?”

“Bobby just said I’d know how to use it when the time was right.”

I realized my mistake as soon as the words were out. I’d given away someone’s real name. I suspected Kross had already known, but still, that’s not something you should do.

The sniper turned her ice-blue glare on the witch, who was currently struggling to fit the mask over the horse’s head. Her mind was sharp with desperation: she was so close to her revenge, and it had been snatched away from her at the moment of triumph. “You too got real chummy real fast. What’s this shit?”

Bobby’s exasperated words came between grunts of exertion and the horse’s annoyed huffs. “I don’t know. It’s what my master told me.”

“Fucking hell.” Kross spat.

The smoke had faded to a few purple wisps now, the Sweepers were mostly prone and clawing still, but a few were staggering to their feet. Thunder’s mind was angry and panicked, fighting to keep the mask from his face. And there was something else there too, motes of golden light blooming in the cloud of his mind. Magic. Seeping in, doing its corruptive work. It might already be too late.

“We don’t… have time for this,” I said, stumbling over my words as I spent half my attention on sending soothing thoughts to Thunder. “We need to go.”

Kross cursed something unintelligible, then thrust the Lawbringer into my arms. “Fine.”

I caught the weapon, letting out an ‘oof’ as its bulk knocked some of the wind from me, and as I did something clicked. The pain made me angry for half a second, more at the injustice of Kross’s lashing out than the physical pain itself. And what do you do when you’re hurt suddenly? unfairly? You lash out.

I didn’t strike Kross down with a mental slam, but I did get halfway to preparing one. The way you might half-raise a fist after a stranger stomped on your foot. Something surged through my body, and like the lights around Peter’s neck, or the flashlight in my tent the night before, a light flickered to life on the weapon. I knew that I could fire it now. I just knew.

Perhaps that’s what fulfilling your fate feels like. Just knowing things.

Kross had already turned away. I could call out to her, hand her reward. Or I could take the shot myself.

I looked at Metalhead. He was standing straighter now, almost upright. His armor was so thick, did the weapon have any chance of doing him real harm? And if I took the shot, which I felt like I should now, would I even hit him? I was far more likely to miss or blow up something else instead.

Another click. A mental one this time. I knew why I had this weapon, and what I could achieve with it. In that one moment the future fell into place.

My body still numb with exhaustion, I took a knee, raising the Lawbringer to my shoulder, putting my eye to the sight. My hand found the handle on the side with the thumb trigger as if I’d performed the motion a hundred times. I placed the crosshair over the target, drew in a deep breath, then squeezed.

Rockets are quicker than you imagine them to be. The delay between the Lawbringer rocking my shoulder and my target bursting apart in a cloud of smoke and flame was infinitesimal.

I stood, grinning within my mask, and let the smoking Lawbringer fall at my feet— it’s one shot well spent.

“You idiot!” Kross screamed in my ear. “You fucking idiot! You missed!” She punched me in the chest with a small fist. It hurt, but I knew I’d done what needed to be done.

“I didn’t miss,” I said.

“That won’t have killed him. You just knocked him over.”

It was true. I hadn’t killed Metalhead. I didn’t even hit him.

But I hadn’t been aiming at him.

The truck was a flaming wreck: smoldering bits of metal scattered across the street.

My triumph was short lived. Metalhead was already stirring, and the blast of the rocket seemed to have burnt off what remained of the gas. The shooting would start as soon as the Sweepers recovered from their shock.

Kross was still livid, her pale skin turning crimson beneath her visor. She was shouting, but I had stopped listening.

{We don’t have time for this.} I pressed the thought into her raging mind, and she stopped still, her eyes going wide. {We need to get to cover.} I thrust a finger toward the nearest side alley. My vision blurred, and I had to blink to prevent my lids from closing. Even that small expenditure of mental energy had almost knocked me out. It was easier talking to Mari.

“Don’t do that shit,” she said, but her tone had lost most of its venom. More cold resentment than hot fury.

I grabbed Thunder’s reins—Bobby had still not managed to get his mask on—and led the group to the alley.

{Easy boy.} I tried to calm him. {We need to put your mask back on. You understand?}

{No mask. Air.} The motes of golden light in Thunder’s mind were brighter now, swirling like fireflies. He reared away from me, and Mari’s limp body began to slide from the saddle.

Bobby caught her, falling to one knee as they absorbed the impact.

{You’re hurting the girl. Let me put your mask on. You’ll die.} I tried to conjure a vision of that scenario, but my mind was hazy and thin with fatigue.

Whatever I sent to Thunder, he interpreted as a threat. Those golden lights bloomed brightly as animal rage flared within him, the same rage he showed to hounds. He kicked out, and I only narrowly avoided having my visor shattered by a hoof. The massive beast charged past me, almost knocking me over, and tore out of the alleyway.

{Wait! Thunder! Come back!} But my thoughts bounced off his magic-mad mind.

“Fuck!” Kross grabbed me by the arm. “They’ll be on us any moment. Leave the horse.”

Thunder’s mind seemed to shrink as he galloped further and further away. Away from us and away from the Sweepers, back toward the giant flower.

{Come back!} I tried one last time, but it would have been impossible for him to have heard me.

The horse was gone. I really had sacrificed him.

Kross tugged my arm more firmly, and this time I let myself be pulled along. We broke into a run, heading down the alley, further away from the Sweepers. After three blocks we had to stop, collapsing in the crevice between the husk of an overgrown building and its crumbling neighbor.

My entire body was burning, and my head was weightless and hollow. I just wanted to fall over and close my eyes.

“What’d you mean you didn’t miss?” Kross wheezed, the strands of her camouflage bush-suit shaking with her exhausted breaths.

“Can we do this later?” Bobby asked. They gave a soft grunt of exertion as they knelt to deposit Mari’s still-limp body, then pressed three fingers to the girl’s throat.

There was a sudden lump in my throat, despite my exhaustion. “Is she still okay?”

“She’s coming back around soon, I think.”

Relief flooded me, but when I turned, I found myself confronted with Kross’s angry stare. She wasn’t going to let it go.

“All right,” I said, throwing up exasperated palms. “Let’s get it over with: I was aiming for the truck.”

“Why?”

I pushed a few more leaden breaths through my mask before I answered. “Because they can’t keep up with us now. Don’t you see? They have to walk now. Most of them, at least.”

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She folded her arms. “Same as us, then.”

I winced. “I had planned on still having a horse. But still, we should be able to stay ahead of them. And where do you think they were storing their supplies for this expedition? The food and the fuel for the trucks?”

Something shifted in Kross’ eyes, her bristling anger subsiding, her mind softening. Perhaps if I could see her mouth, I’d have seen the first hint of a smile. “Oh. Oh I see.” She let out a chuckle. “You’ve really fucked them good, actually. They’ll have to waste time scavenging each day, and a group that size…”

She must have seen the briefest hint of a smile in my eyes, because her glare returned as soon as she met my gaze. “You still should’ve shot Metalhead. That bastard will never stop now. And he might just leave his crew behind and come kill us.”

“If he can find us,” I said.

“You forgetting the dogs? The ones we failed to get rid of?”

“Well, at least they’ll really have to strike out ahead of the rest of the Sweepers to catch us. That’s a fight we have a chance of winning.”

“Not if Metalhead is there.”

“He might not be. What if we have another Lawbringer? or more gas? He doesn’t know that for sure. You know him. Is he reckless enough to take that gamble?”

Kross didn’t respond for a while, so I pressed: “He goes everywhere in a suit of giant armor. And he seems to send his minions out in front.”

“No,” she said. “No, he isn’t reckless. He’s a hateful bastard, but a bit wet deep down. My bet is on him sticking with his crew.”

I nodded. “The hounds might follow the wrong trail anyway. Thunder is out there somewhere, running about.”

{Where’s Thunder?} Mari’s mind was flailing, a drowning person grasping for a familiar rock to cling to, finding only more ice-cold black waves. {Where’s Thunder?}

My gut wrenched as her dread washed over me. It was like the feeling of taking a step forward and finding only empty air where you’d expected a floor. That feeling, but continuous.

I knelt by her side, taking her shoulder in my hand, before she’d made a physical noise. When the screams came, they were loud, anguished, animalistic.

{Where is he?} Her mind lashed mine like a whip, sending me reeling. {What have done with him?}

She had read the guilt in my mind. It would have been hard to miss.

{I’m so sorry, Mari. Thunder ran away. It was my fault.}

Her response wasn’t cohesive enough to translate. As her body screamed, so did her mind. I think even Kross and Bobby felt the pressure. Her pain and rage flooded the void, crushing my mind, like deep water crushes lungs.

I grit my teeth. {You saved us from the Gold Robe, but we need to run through the Sweepers, through the gas. We had to take his mask off. The magic got in and—}

{He went insane? You let my horse go insane? You killed him!}

Her mind smashed against mine. My head snapped back, my vision darkened, and I fell on to my rear.

I didn’t need to respond. My guilt was plain. Her accusations irrefutable. I could tell myself my choice had been the least Bad option from a selection that contained no Good, but when forced to feel the anguish I’d caused firsthand, that felt like a lie. Perhaps trading lives like currency is always Bad.

She absorbed all of those thoughts of mine, her mind shrinking as it burnt the knowledge like fuel, becoming hotter, more dangerous.

{Mari. Careful…} I tried to prompt gently.

That one nudge was enough to set the bomb off. Mari’s consciousness exploded like anew born star. The shockwave ripped at my mind, tearing it to ribbons.

I screamed. White pain flashed as the flames bit into my soul, and I fell, kept falling, into nothingness, out of the flames and into cool, infinite, black.

* * *

That last description might have sounded like death, but I won’t waste your time by leaving that ambiguous. You already know I didn’t die, because if I died, how would I be able to tell this story?

My consciousness was… not in my body for a while though. It wasn’t the same as the oblivion of deep sleep or the hazy rambling world of dream. Something else. I’d been here before, once, when Mari had knocked all those hounds unconscious back in the park.

I floated in that darkness without even the rhythm of my own heart to mark the passage of time. My feelings and thoughts muted, muffled. For seconds, or an eternity, or both, or neither, there was nothing. I think I enjoyed the nothing. The peace that comes with true solitude.

But we know what happens whenever I’m alone, don’t we?

I sensed her presence before she said anything. There was no shoulder for her to lurk behind. There was no concept of ‘behind,’ in general. But I knew she was there, drifting in the lightless void beside me. It didn’t occur to me until much later, perhaps she was always here? Perhaps this was where she went when she wasn’t with me? I don’t think I’ll ever really know for sure.

“Hello Mother,” I said, somehow. Speaking without a mouth wasn’t as alien to me as it might have been for someone else.

“Hello Alan.”

Our voices were loud. They were the only noises in the universe.

“What’s… what’s going on?”

“You tired yourself out, you poor thing. You were running on fumes, and then when little Mari lashed out: poof!”

“Am I… dead?”

“Oh Alan, I hope not. I don’t think so. If you were dead, I don’t think we’d be able to talk.”

“But…” If I could have drawn in a deep breath, I would have. “But you are dead, Mother. You seem to manage just fine.”

“Perhaps… there’s logic to that. You might also just be insane. Your lonely, traumatized, mind might have resurrected your mother as a sort-of imaginary friend so that you had someone to talk to.”

“I think about that possibility a lot.”

“I try not to. I know I’m your mother, and that my son still needs me, and that I can watch him, and he can hear me. That’s enough for me.”

“I could be making you say those things. You could just be me.”

“You could. And there could be an omnipotent, omniscient, god controlling your actions. It’s not productive for the puppet in that relationship to ponder such things.”

I digested that one for a while (who knows how long?) and decided she was right. At least in the short term, I didn’t want to think about it.

“You didn’t get a chance to tell your friends your plan?”

“I’m not sure they’re my friends. At least…” At least not after I cost Mari her only true remaining friend. Or reneged on my deal with Kross and stole her chance at revenge. Though Kross and I hadn’t even been approaching friendship in the first place.

“You were doing what you thought was best. And you did save them all.”

“I think that’s a bit much. Bobby and Kross came up with the escape plan.”

“Yes, but they were split on what to do. About whether to sacrifice Thunder. Which made it your decision. And you chose correctly.”

“There really wasn’t much choice.”

“And then with the Lawbringer. Kross would have squandered that rocket on petty revenge. You can rest easy in this… wherever because you know the horde of angry Sweepers won’t be able to overtake them.”

“I suppose.” She’d convinced me. Or perhaps I’d convinced myself.

“Anyway, your plan. The one that came to you back then, with the rocket. When you get back, share it. It’s a good one.”

“It might get them all killed.”

“It might be the only chance to save them. Save everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Save the world. Bring law, like the witch prophesied.”

“That’s just an old drawing.”

“And the Lawbringer didn’t make itself usable until the time was right.”

“That could have been a coincidence.”

“Do you really believe that. Search yourself. What does your gut say?”

I chose to let silence answer for me.

“I’ve always believed you were destined for great things” she said.

I laughed, and if that place had eyebrows I imagined hers might be furrowed.

“If you’re just my subconsciousness puppeteering a ghost, then I might be a megalomaniac.”

“No.” A pause that should have held a smile. “You were raised too well for that.”

I would have smiled back if I could.

There was a speck of something in the nothing. A tiny prick of white light in the center of my vision.

“Looks like its time go,” Mother said, resigned. “It will be a while before you can see me again. Be careful but be brave. I believe in you.”

The white dot expanded. No. I was being drawn closer. Soon it filled my vision. Soon it ripped me out of the dark and into the bright, sharp, real, world. Feeling flushed back into my limbs all at once, and my organs jolted, like when you wake up because you tripped in a dream.

{Alan. Alan wake up.}

It was Mari.

The half-dead meat of my body was as heavy as lead, and my vision spun. A single sickly light lit the world. The tent. It must have been night.

Three figures stood over me.

“Woah there,” Kross spoke first. “Huh, guess that worked.”

Mari gabbled something in her language. Her mind was in tatters, like a ball of fraying copper wire. {I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.}

“It’s fine,” I said, doing my best to send her reassurance. “I’m fine. I think. Just tired.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bobby said. They nudged the other two aside and brought up a flashlight. Soon white light was filling my vision again. They leaned in close to inspect me. Very close. Their face was naked and so was mine.

They were just inspecting me, nothing else meant by it, but I remember staring into those dark eyes in something close to panic, by breathing ragged, the spicy incense scent of their hair tickling my nose, their steady breathing brushing the hairs on my face. I tell myself no one noticed, but in my addled state I probably didn’t do much to mask my reaction.

Perhaps you’re wondering what my… deal is? And by extension, wondering what Bobby’s deal is? Are they a feminine person with a masculine body? Or a masculine person with a feminine body? Or are they truly so androgynous it’s impossible to tell? Are they actually a little bit of both? or nothing of either?

I know the answers to these questions, but I will not share them with you.

The most I will say is that I was drawn to the shine of their dark hair, the smoothness of their angular jaw, the depth of their dark eyes.

I began to mumble, choked around nothing, cleared my throat, tried again. “How long was I out?”

“Longer than is healthy,” Bobby said. They reached out to pry open my right eye. “About six hours. I think you were in some sort of mini coma. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted. Worse than before I got knocked out.”

{Are you sure?} Mari’s mind queried, still full of apology.

{Yes. Fine. I’m… good, actually.}

“Did you dream, or anything?” Bobby asked, peering into my other eye.

“Um, sort of.” I hesitated, then decided to change the subject. “What happened? Are you all okay?”

Kross was the one that spoke up. “We dragged your butt away from the Sweepers, then it got dark and we made camp.”

“How’d you manage to carry me?”

Bobby clicked off the flashlight and sat back on their knees. “I did that. We had to leave some things behind though. Too much weight. And anything attached to Thunder is long gone too, obviously.”

Now that my vision had recovered from the searing of the flashlight and adjusted to the gloom, I could see that this wasn’t my tent. My tent and my pack had been tied to Thunder’s saddle.

Kross read the worry in my face and answered the silent question. “We ditched a lot of our food, some ammo too, we had more than we could reasonably use in three gunfights, and a lot of Bobby’s heavy stuff.”

“That must be irreplaceable,” I said, “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Bobby gave a sad smile. “We cached it. We can come back for it when things are less crazy.”

“The Gold Robes?” I asked. “The dogs?”

“Not seen any sign of them,” Kross said with a shrug. “Either they stuck with the Sweepers or maybe they’re chasing the horse. Perhaps it’s a good thing he ran off.”

The pulse of anger and grief from Mari told me she’d understood most of that.

{I really am sorry about Thunder,} I sent to her. {If I could have thought of another way…}

If minds could sigh, hers would have. {I understand why you did it. I’ve had all day to be angry about it, but mostly I’m just angry at myself for what I did to you.}

{I told you I’m fine. No need to apologize.}

Her mind curled in on itself, and in the material realm she hugged her knees. {I thought I’d killed you.}

That sent a cold chill down my spine, and I tried to suppress my response. A hazy mess of fear, apology, anger, and reassurance drifted back to Mari, and she shrank back in on herself, curling up, her one guilt glowing, but not entirely masking her residual anger.

It felt like I should know how to fix the tangle we’d created for ourselves, but I couldn’t see how, and our conversation was happening silently, and Bobby and Kross were starting to frown.

“Um, do either you have a plan for what to do next?” After a moment neither of them had replied, so I pressed on. “Because I have something, I think.”

The lines on Kross’s forehead deepened as she raised her brows, the crosshair tattoo twisting.

I met her stare, steadying myself, and cleared my throat once more. “Kross, where do the sweepers get their guns?”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, and her lip twisted. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

I looked around for my machine gun and found it propped in the corner. I retrieved it, laying it flat on the ground in front of the group. The plain, almost new, metal, the hand painted markings.

“This,” I said, “does not look like it came from the Bad Times, and it doesn’t look like those lunatics bolted it together. So where did they get it?”

“I’ve been wondering that too,” said Bobby. “The vehicles as well. And the fuel to run them.”

Kross’s eyes flicked between me and Bobby. This was a secret, one she that must have been her closest guarded back in her days of rule. Old instincts fought to keep her from spouting them.

Her struggle could be measured in seconds, but not minutes. Eventually, she shrugged. “They make them. Sort of. There’s a… factory on their island. From the Good Times, I think. Still works.”

I grinned. “I knew it. So all their resources stem from their base?”

“You could say that.”

My speech sped up. My pace quickening. “You said it was almost the whole Tribe chasing us? Are you sure about that?”

“Preeety sure,” she said slowly. “It’s been a while since my day, but I know how many there were and how quickly they could have grown, and I’ve kept a bit of an eye on them.”

I took a breath, knowing there might be no way back once I asked my next question.

Kross didn’t miss my hesitation, and she guessed what I was about to propose before I had a chance. Her eyes flashed like sapphire lightning in the gloom, and her teeth bared in a grin.

“I’m in,” she announced, skipping several steps ahead in the conversation.

Bobby’s eyes did not flash. They looked between me and Kross in confusion. “In? In what?”

“We’re going after the Sweeper’s nest,” Kross said. “That’s what Red here was about to suggest. Am I right?”

Bobby’s mind pulsed with worry as they stared at me. Worry is tepid and quavering, unlike the cold edge of true fear.

I shifted my weight from side to side. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing I would suggest. And yet I had been forming the words.

{What’s happening?} Mari prodded, sensing the charge the atmosphere had gained.

“Kross is right,” I said, sending my words to Mari at the same time. “I want to take the Sweeper’s base from them.”

Those deep dark eyes of Bobby’s went wide with worry. “That’s crazy. The pair of you are crazy.”

“You don’t have to come,” I said, “I wouldn’t ask that of anyone.” Then to Mari: {That goes for you too.}

{No,} she replied immediately. {No I want this.}

Her eagerness unsettled me, but I let it be for now. Who was I to deny her retribution? And we really would need her.

“Why do you want to do that, Red?” Bobby asked plainly.

The answer to that was simple, and I didn’t have to flounder for words, but I did avert my gaze, embarrassed. “It seems like a Good thing to do. The Sweepers cause a lot of misery with their toys, so they should be taken away. Plus I’m tired of being chased.” Anger rose in me from somewhere, I found myself sitting straighter, raising my voice a little. “Tired of creeping around and hiding. Tired of eking out a living on scraps. All because I’m not a thief or a bandit.”

“Not to talk you out of it, kid,” Kross said. “But that’s life.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. It wasn’t before, back in the Good Times. And…” I realized how ridiculous I was starting to sound. “Look, I know it’s never really going to be like that again, but we can try to make things a little less terrible and taking down the Sweepers would be a pretty big step in the right direction.”

I risked a brief glance up at Bobby and found they had begun to smile. They worry was still there, but they were trying not to show it. “All right,” they said. “I’m in too.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes.” The corner of their mouth quirked up, and for a moment no one said anything. Then they broke the brief silence. “They can’t have left the place completely undefended though, right?”

“No,” I said, “of course not. But there must be only…” I looked to Kross. “What? Half a dozen?”

“I reckon about that,” the sniper said.

“That’s still more than us,” Bobby pointed out.

“Yes, but we have…” I gestured at Kross, for a moment failing to find a less offensive description than, ‘serial murderer.’

“A one-woman army,” Kross finished for me, smug.

“That,” I said, “and you know their fortress. It must have changed over the years, but you know what to expect.”

“That I do, kid. Yes… this could work.”

Bobby shifted their gaze to the youngest member of our group. “Mari? Do you understand what we’re talking about?”

Mari gave a single slow nod. “Eik comea too.”

Bobby frowned. “Are you sure? It would be okay to stay somewhere safe.”

“Nay,” was the response.

Kross’s suit rustled as she shrugged. “Glad to have you, dear.”

“I’m not sure we should bring a child,” Bobby said. “Not into something this dangerous.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. “But I don’t think we can stop her. I’d rather her be part of the plan from the start instead of having her follow us from wherever we try to hide her.” And perhaps, if I was honest with myself, part of me wanted to see her earn her revenge, wanted to see if it made things better for her— the way stories always say revenge does not.

“Girl’s what? Twelve-ish?” Kross asked. “Hardly a child. Used to be the age we gave our young-uns guns. And besides…” She fixed her blue gaze on me then, her mind growing prickly. “…she’s not just any kid. She’s a witch.”

I winced. In everything that had happened, the fact that they knew about Mari gift now had slipped my mind. Presumably they had questioned her while I was floating in the void. “You know why I kept that quiet, right?”

“Of course we do,” Bobby said. “The Sweepers and the Gold Robes are after people with gifts. If we got cornered, perhaps we would have traded her for mercy.” They shifted uncomfortably. “You know, if we were assholes.”

Kross just gave her usual response: a shrug. “Yeah makes sense. Woulda’ done the same. Any more secrets you want to spill right now, get them out of the way?”

“Um, not particularly.”

“Fine. But if they bite us in the ass, I’ll kill you.” She said it casually, as if she didn’t mean it, but I knew if she did. “Anyway, the girl will come in handy. Managed to knock you out cold, didn’t she?”

A flash of hot guilt from Mari.

Bobby still looked supremely uncomfortable with the idea, but they puffed out their cheeks in resignation. “All right. So do we have more of plan than: storm the sweepers fortress and hope for the best?”

“We come up with that now,” I said, then drew in a long breath. “Kross, where should we start?”

The sniper grinned a grin that reminded me of the Golden Robes’ hounds.