Carlyle gazed into her milk. “The place wouldn’t explain J.E.D.D. Mason.…”

Stander-Y shook his head. “I think you should stay away from J.E.D.D. Mason. Mycroft said they’d die before they let you close to them, and Mycroft Canner is a man who’s thought a lot about their death and how best to use it.”

Carlyle’s frown deepened as she took a long breath, two. “I’ve been wondering, does Bridger…”

“Does Bridger what?”

The sensayer closed her eyes, as if afraid to face the question and the world at once. “Does Bridger have a belly button?”

“Good question, if a little out of nowhere.” The soldier smiled. “No, he doesn’t. First real belly button Bridger ever saw was Mycroft’s, and the kid thought it was another bullet scar.”

A cleansing tremor shook Carlyle’s frame: laughter. “That’s proof then.”

“That Bridger had no parents?”

“Yes,” Carlyle answered, though her eyes dodged the others’. “No parents.”

“Yep, the kid sprang from nowhere,” the soldier confirmed, “the belly button and the thumbs prove it.”

“Thumbs?”

“You didn’t notice?” Stander-Y fished through his pie for chicken bits among the vegetables. “Bridger has little red welts on his thumb tips, like scarred-over acne. Mycroft scanned them. When an infant sucks its thumb, wouldn’t you call it a substitute for a nipple? A toy nipple, in other words?”

“Then… Bridger nursed themself?”

The soldier nodded. “Take that, conservation of matter and energy.” He smiled again. “You must be feeling better, thinking about metaphysics again?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.” Carlyle gave panting Boo another scritch. “You rescued me.”

“You needed it.”

“Agreed,” Mommadoll announced. “And now, Carlyle, you are going home to get some rest. Everything will be better after a good night’s sleep.”

Carlyle breathed deep. “Thisbe’s not really watching constantly, are they? They were surprised when I said I’d talked to Dominic. They didn’t realize I was hiding in Mukta until Cato Weeksbooth noticed. Even the details… there are photos in my profile where I’m in a bedroom painted with birds, but that’s a bash’mate’s bedroom, not mine. It was a lie. Thisbe’s not watching. They want me to think they’re watching.”

The soldier nodded approval. “You’re quick.”

Carlyle sniffed. “Julia trained me well.” She closed her eyes for a pensive second. “You need to go. Both of you, Boo too. Now.”

“Why?”

“I’m finally strong enough to make an important call.”

Foster: “Hello? This is Special Informant Carlyle Foster, calling for the Commissioner General. It’s an emergency.”

Desk: “Patching you through.”

Papadelias: “Foster! You finally worked up the courage to testify against good old Julia Doria-Pompous-Head? Now’s a great time!”

Foster: “It’s not about Julia. It’s about the Saneer-Weeksbooth bash’.”

Papadelias: “Ooh… you have my full attention now. What’s up?”

Foster: “I think Thisbe Saneer just tried to kill me.”

Papadelias: “Great! How? When? Where? Why?”

Foster: “I don’t know, in the trench in their backyard, about… a little while ago. We were just talking, and Thisbe did something, and suddenly I tried to kill myself. It was so fast, I don’t know how it happened but I’m sure Thisbe did something, they said they did.”