“They love you,” Pisces said, as if this should be proof that what Caledonia interpreted as fear was in fact love and respect. “You’re a legend.”

Caledonia couldn’t speak immediately. The image of herself was stunning, but the other girls were what caught her attention. Tin and all four of her sisters held a flag between them, their grip firm as the wind rippled through the fabric. Amina stood on the rail with her long braids bending at her back like a sail, and she pointed north, toward the Hands of the River. At her side stood Hime, calm and poised; she wore a hood to symbolize her work as a healer. On either side of Caledonia were Nettle and Pisces. The smaller girl was tucked beneath Caledonia’s arm and unlike the others, she smiled broadly and boldly into the sky. Pisces was on Caledonia’s other side, her shoulders bare, her own family sigil drawn on her temple, and her fingers entwined with Caledonia’s, a bit of lace caught between them.

Behind them all, two figures stood in the background. Redtooth, tall and strong with the tips of her blonde braids coated in red clay. And Lace, a rolled map clutched in her hands.

When Caledonia found her voice again, she turned to Pisces and said, “We.”

“What?”

“We are a legend.” She corrected Pisces’s earlier statement.

Pisces smirked, but conceded the point.

Beyond the row of murals, the city coiled around a central square. When this had been the Holster, it had been a place for Aric’s terrible theater. Now it was transforming into a market that reminded Caledonia of Cloudbreak. She wove through dozens of stalls, all closing up shop for the evening, until she found herself on the other side, where the streets soon emptied and turned quiet.

The northeastern quarter was a place few people had reason to go. The vast majority of the quarter was devoted to helping former Bullets through their addiction. They stayed behind closed doors, venturing out only at specified times and only on specified routes through town. It was a massive undertaking, and one Cepheus had offered to take on. Ares was helping, and to everyone’s surprise Pine was not.

Guards stood at each door along the barracks, where windows glowed with warm light. It wasn’t a prison, but it was close. Anyone who had once called themselves a Bullet had a lot of work to do before they earned the city’s trust. But Caledonia had made it clear that violence toward former Bullets would not be tolerated in South Haven. It was hard enough containing their violence toward each other, and they’d lost hundreds of lives in the fight.