“What do you think?” she says over my shoulder. “Fit all right? Not too warm?”

I blink at myself in surprise. I like the black bloc anarchist look. It’s soothing to smother everything that could clock me as a girl under black cloth. I’m formless, able to blend in with the rest of the Watch like we’re all shades of the same person.

“No,” I say. “It’s good.” I adjust the gloves and try pulling up the hood. “Do you do this for everyone?”

“I insist on it,” she says. “I need a little bit of control over something.”

After Aisha can’t justify fussing over my outfit anymore, we go downstairs. Everybody is waiting for us, and like the white cheeks and too-long teeth, that makes it real. Erin twists the ends of her hair while Salvador opens and closes the blade of xyr knife over and over: click, tp, click, tp. Nick hands a rifle to Cormac, reciting the plan as he goes. It’s the closest thing I’ve heard to a prayer in days. Beside them, Faith checks her own gun, movements fluid and perfect the way the coast guard would have taught her.

“Morning,” Aisha says, taking a firearm for herself. Nick nods. There are notches on the grip, etched with a knife. I don’t count them. The city has been devouring Angels lately. An ear every now and then isn’t enough for the Vanguard.

Nick hands me a small pistol, still warm from his body heat. He asks, quietly, “Ready?”

It’s okay to be scared, he said.

“Ready.”

Behind us, Alex stands by the radio, staring as if they might find Trevor hiding between us. When I make eye contact, they huddle deeper into their patchwork coat and avert their gaze.

Only one person comes up to wish us good luck. It’s Sadaf, who plants a gentle through-the-mask kiss on Aisha’s cheek before slipping away again. Aisha puts a hand where her lips had been, the cracks in her expression etching deeper.

The rest of us just get curious eyes from the gym. Girls, boys, people who are both or neither, they all stare, wanting the details but knowing not to ask. I picture Cormac indulging an innocent question with a vicious smile, gory details making his victim turn green.

“Let’s not waste the morning,” Nick says. He looks better than he did yesterday, like everything has finally settled into place, like he’s right where he’s meant to be while swaddled in black cloth and carrying a gun. “Come on.”

“Be careful out there,” Erin whispers. “Please.”

This is happening.

I’m part of the Watch.