“I should have gone back for the soul extractor,” Flinpen lamented morosely. “We were so close, and it was right there.” She dropped her head forward, sending her loose hair swinging. “It’s my fault for being overconfident.”

“Halve was the logical strategy,” Imbertri reassured her distractedly. The Tri hadn't taken her eyes off the landscape since we'd arrived. “It’s not our fault the mission was unfair.”

I sat with my back to a low boulder cross-legged while Flinpen picked at the grass. I’d taken us back to the Vein, the only safe place to prepare. The reverse prison break had taken place in a universe named ‘Revay’, which Garrison records had helpfully labelled home to ‘trigger-happy magic racists’ in another descriptive special by Allie Wei. I wanted to meet this person.

The Garrison hadn’t come looking for me… yet. But our distraction had a limited lifespan.

“He was much stronger than before,” Flinpen noted, still with her head down. “He was tough the first time, granted, but didn’t regenerate. He didn’t pick up magic so quickly, either, at least not that he used against us. And he no longer needs a versal network to piggyback off. It’s like he’s entered his growth phase outside the usual dying and universal confines. But even if that were the case, he’s progressing much too fast even for a Rein. It’s only been a few days.”

“He’s not a Rein,” said Imbertri, making us both glance her way. “He looks like one and he has their name, but he isn’t one of them.”

“Then what is he?” I asked.

“Unique.”

Flinpen raised her head and eyed her. “That’s the most Reinish trait you could possibly have mentioned.”

A pale note of irritation crept into the Tri’s voice. “The problem with unique situations,” she drawled, “is that no prior examples exist to compare them to. He’s closer to… what a Rein could be, maybe, if you removed all the limitations.”

“Reins don’t have limitations,” Flinpen countered.

“Clearly they do,” the younger assassin argued. “Like having to die once. Time. Inability to use versal magic. Adherence to universal boundaries. There might not be many limitations, but they’re there. I exaggerate, of course, because Jadal Cai also has his limits, or we wouldn’t be here. But I’d wager they’re disappearing fast.”

“Please don’t wager on that,” I said faintly. “Even as a joke.”

“Pfft. Some of us can control our abilities. The point is, we’ve been applying the incorrect assumptions. Now we stop.”

“He has at least a second-tier’s body,” Flinpen said slowly, pulling a blade of grass to slow shreds with her nails. “But he's not physically immortal. Yet. He can cross universes like us, and possesses a broader range of abilities. He is like us in many ways. But instead of augments, he consumes other Reins. Sorry – consumes Reins. And where we have a fixed limit, he doesn’t appear to have any.”

“I found him in the old Empire,” I thought aloud, mind jumping between points of connection. “The Garrison’s progenitor. The Garrison believes Function is the foundation of versal magic, and they say –” It had only been Er Jid, but I was reaching, “– it could theoretically do anything in high enough quantities. We’re pledged to Fate, and Reins have never made sense to us. What if that’s because they’re aligned with Function? A whole other power sitting alongside us the whole time; close, but not quite compatible. If the Garrison is making them, seeding them, could they not be designed to embody that power?”

“Then why would it need our augments?”

“I don’t think they can get back to their Empire,” I said, slapping a palm gently on the grass beside me. “I’m not convinced they even know where it is. Maybe Jadal Cai was the only person to figure something out because he found something they left behind.”

Imbertri rose to her feet, turning her back on our circle and striding to the edge of the hanging strip of land. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“Nothing adds up,” said Flinpen. She flicked the shredded grass from her fingers. “We’re speculating, and need to focus on what’s real. Practically-speaking, we need the soul extractor and we need to enlist third-tiers, quarantine be damned. I’ll work on both. And we can’t waste any more time. It needs to be now. Lamutri, can you replicate what you did to find him?”

“Probably.”

“Then tail him, don’t die, and send me a summons every time you land in a new universe. Imbertri is right: this quarantine’s stupid. I’ll catch up eventually and bring heavy hitters with me. Save the local Reins if you can. Imbertri, help him.”

The first-tier turned back from the edge. “Aye.”

“We have a plan. I’ll head back the normal way, regardless of the risk. This place makes no sense to me.”

With a wave, she stepped through the nearest gate.

I looked at Imbertri. “Time to choose another universe,” I said with a shrug, and lifted an arm to point one out. “I suppose this cluster is on a roll.”

My colleague caught my arm. “First, I want to talk. Between the three of us.”

Not entirely surprised, I lowered the appendage. “You know Near Miss can’t talk back. The furthest I’ve gotten is yes or no responses, and even those can be ambiguous.”

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“Fair. But you need to know you’re part of this conversation.” Her yellow eyes bored into mine as she said it, and I knew she wasn’t talking to me.

Somehow, the mist in place of my heart ached terribly.

Imbertri hadn’t let go of my arm. “You and Flinpen are looking in the wrong place,” she said, this time to me. “None of this started because of Jadal Cai or the Garrison. It was Near Miss trying to tell you something.”

“We’re getting better at that. It helps that I’ve hit second-tier.”

“That’s what I want to raise. I think I can guess why it didn’t want you to advance. Or at least one of the reasons.”

“A Lucky Guess?” I asked wryly. “Alusept told me just before his ascent. Advancement at second-tier is addictive, and something… happens… at third.”

“That’s not it. Although that is interesting. Rather, it’s because you’re blurring. So far, only a little around the edges. But it’s definitely there. Consider that Near Miss has only been able to do what it has because it retains its own initiative. If that disappears?” She shrugged. “You’ll have a powerful Arch, and that’s all.”

"I don't follow."

"Keep advancing, and you're on track to take over. I can see it. You'll finally have full control." Her tone wasn't the encouraging one my self of several weeks ago would have expected.

“I’d sooner pull out an eye than enslave it further,” I said vehemently, causing Imbertri to drop the arm. “It knows that.”

I hadn’t had much time to think about the roach copters on Revay, but the incident had shaken me. I’d triggered Near Miss and felt it take on command. Whether that had been us working together or coerced obedience, I couldn’t say. It had been satisfying – but that was on my end.

“Sorry,” I said a beat later. I sat back on top of the boulder, feeling inexplicably drained. “We’re both trying.”

With a small hop, Imbertri wriggled onto the rock beside me. “I’m honestly just surprised you’re this self-aware. That wasn’t the impression you originally gave me.”

“Well, I don’t have magic eyesight powers to help me,” I said, staring out at the looping pathways.

“Yes, you do,” countered Imbertri.

“Oh. True. They don’t help me with Near Miss, though.”

“That’s the other thing,” she said. “You’ve been severely messing around with Fate, intentionally or otherwise. This is big now. If it turns out you have to choose between the Chapel and Near Miss, who will it be?”

“You’re not including the Garrison in that hypothetical?”

She turned up her nose at me. “Please.”

Her closeness made me hyper-aware of the locus of versal magic she carried inside her. I wondered if it would spill out in augment-shaped chunks if she died.

“One’s my family, and the other’s literally part of me,” I replied. “I’d rather not make that choice.”

“But if you have to.”

“I’d choose Near Miss, obviously.”

She nodded. “Me too. So there’s that.”

I looked across at her. Imbertri wasn’t watching me or my core, but gazing off into the infinite distance. “Why?”

“Because – as a betting woman – if it came down to it, I think it might win.” She grinned at me, breaking the illusion.

Aside from Jadal Cai and the preventable decline of specific universes, we weren’t fighting any battles. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling she was right.

For now, we had a job to do.

We World Slid into the next universe over, and I felt Near Miss take. The universe was grey, dusty and smelt of the mix of hopelessness and despair I associated with my original home.

I didn’t like it.

My body creaked like dry, unbending timber. I didn’t like that, either. Shifting into vehicle mode made it little better and only more depressing – a kind of vertical tower made for the battlefield and bristling with poor man’s weapons. A few small rollers were all I had to move on, with spikes covering every surface and rotating crossbows positioned next to cupholders and a thin slot to view by. There was space for one person inside, but Imbertri took one look and decided to follow behind.

I fired off a summons for Flinpen and scanned the deserted road. Dingy houses bordered it on either narrow side, part of a town or village.

Jadal Cai was right up ahead, converging on the local Rein. Focused entirely on his target and physically at ease, he clearly hadn’t expected immediate pursuit.

Even from the rear, his appearance had changed again. Very much the tidy, groomed body of a bureaucrat whose only workout was with the code he wrote with his fingers. His crisp, polished shoes were already becoming stained. He wore it badly, looking hilariously out of place on both the soul and the grime; almost as bad as Imbertri in her light high-tech armour. I watched as he peeled off a pair of spectacles and crunched them to shards in the dust. Apparently he thought the same.

The local Rein was crossing the street ahead of him with a small sack of vegetables. If I’d been a truck, I could have run both of them over in one sweep. Missed opportunity.

I settled for shooting Jadal Cai in the neck with a crossbow.

Without his armour, he toppled straight over and fell with a thud onto his stomach. I was honestly a little surprised.

The local Rein stared at us for a blindsided second, frozen in horror, then bolted around the corner amid a scatter of contents from his sack.

Imbertri darted out, retrieving the gun from her hip, as Jadal Cai stirred. She shot the wrist reaching for the back of his skull, then the other in quick succession, while I bolted his ankles in place. When he stirred a moment later, quicker than before, she did it again.

Rotating in place, I expended my last loaded bolts and shifted back to my stiff human legs. We just had to buy time. As much as we could.

Imbertri reloaded, crouched, and dispensed another round into the back of his neck. “I’d wager we’ve got you pinned,” she breathed into his ear, tone cocksure.

Whether he didn’t deign to answer or had simply been shot into paralysed unresponsiveness like anyone else in his sort of position, he didn’t take the bait. Pity. It was how Imbertri usually defeated her targets. No one accused Reins of humility.

His soul hadn’t departed, at least. I wasn’t sure what to do with him; keeping people alive wasn’t a typical problem I had to deal with. A poison or drug might do it, but I hadn’t kept any notes about stockpiles and wouldn’t have known which ones to use in any case.

The altercation had garnered attention from others in the village. Wary faces peered out from stained, chipped windows, cowering back when I met their eyes.

I kept my voice low, slipping the Garrison-assigned shield from my hand to Imbertri’s. “We won’t have forever.” Even in a place like this, a large enough crowd could undo us.

We also had to deal with the Rein. My senses told me he had fled for some distance, paused, and was now working his way back in a predictable display of ill-advised heroics. Almost certainly a pre-death. Killing him pre-emptively was probably the best way to keep him safe. The problem was that I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to ask Imbertri in front of Jadal Cai. The less information he had about us and our motives, the better.

Getting it wrong meant dooming a universe.

Maybe.

The Chapel didn’t expect us to take things on faith. I’d seen the befores and afters – the universes where Reins were needed and the ones where they’d won the day. The trails of destruction they left behind were ugly but necessary, a response to violence and decay.

And yet I wondered.