“Why would anyone vandalize that bridge?” Lia asked. There were too many nosy neighbors for vandalism to turn out well. “Why would you?”

“I think they thought I was trying to set a trap for Assassins.” Abby leaned back and prodded the brace on her wrist. “My mom told them that bridge had messed me up, so the city could expect a letter about medical bills.”

“You’re too kindhearted for traps,” Lia said, and swung her backpack around. The mesh was terrible for keeping secrets, and Abby laughed before Lia had even finished pulling the water gun free. “Since you’re still alive, I thought you could use this.”

Lia had modded the barrel to be more accurate—hopefully—over long distances, and the tank held just enough for five shots so that it wasn’t too heavy to lift quickly. Her dad had complained about the melted plastic smell that hung around the backyard as Lia worked on it, but the outcome was worth it.

Abby took it with the reverence she usually reserved for dogs and books. “Did you make this?” she asked, and when Lia nodded, she grinned. “It’s such cheap plastic. How did you not just break it?”

“Oh, no, I broke a few before this one worked out.” Lia tapped the neon-blue tip. “It’s way more accurate than normal, and light enough for you to use with only one arm.”

Abby laughed and tucked it into her bag as her teacher walked in. “I wasn’t expecting this. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Lia said. She needed to keep Abby happy for now.

Lia had heard three different accounts of how Abby had hurt her arm before lunch, and all of them featured the game. More than a few students whispered furiously about how breaking the bridge could mess it up for all of them. Lia sank down into her seat at the lunch table.

“How can you be so good at poker and have such a bad poker face?” Gem pulled out their lunch. “What’s your plan?”

“Let’s wait for Devon,” Lia said, pointing toward his lithe frame dodging the elbows and yellow lunch trays of the crowd outside the cafeteria.

“I heard about Abby’s fight with a vandalizing freshman,” he said instead of greeting them.

Lia yanked open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “I thought she assassinated the Council.”

“Obviously not,” Gem said, “because we all know the truth—Omelet’s a werewolf.”

“Okay, I hadn’t heard that one.” Devon sat down next to Lia, his leg a mere few inches from hers, and pulled out a squat thermos filled with soup. Steam fogged up his glasses when he unscrewed the top. “Regardless, people are a bit nervous about the Council canceling the game.”

“They wouldn’t cancel,” Lia said quickly.

“They would if the cops got involved,” Gem said. “One year canceled is better than all future years banned.”

“Abby seems happy to play along so far,” Lia said. Her Cheeto-dusted fingers left orange prints on the table as she fidgeted. “I can’t believe her arm was fractured. The fall tore out some of her nails, you know.”