She shivered, and it wasn’t because it was cold. Over the two, three seconds of her mind racing, recalibrating, trying to see the way forward, her thoughts were noise.

“Be aware, I will not be giving up Deathchester so easily,” Damsel announced.

“Are you legitimately insane?” Blasto asked.

“She’s referring to Dorchester,” Accord said.

“We know the slang names,” Morning Glory’s leader said.

“I prefer to use proper names wherever possible,” Accord said. “Slang is crass.”

“We’re well aware of how peculiar you are, little man,” the tattooed man from Morning Glory said.

“Damsel,” Rotten Apple said. “I don’t like you, but I don’t want to see you do this. Your buddies behind you look like they just shit buckets.”

“I claimed Deathchester. I drove out the groups there. We’ve been doing business there uncontested for a week, even with the city being a contested location. I have forty-seven employees under me, and I have connections to other groups.”

“You have forty-one employees,” Accord said. “You exist because of luck, and because you are so insignificant that nobody will be bothered to chase you down.”

“Rationalize your fear however you like,” Damsel said.

“You have no power,” Accord said. “No political connections, no meaningful income, no headquarters, and no information to broker. You’ve not only evidenced no education, little girl, but you’ve made several irritating word substitutions in the past week that lead me to believe that you haven’t attended high school or even read a book in recent memory.”

“I have power,” she said. Her chin raised. She moved her hand and her power crackled. The words sounded hollow, when her chest felt like claws had dug into her heart and her lungs and clawed them down and out of her chest. “If you disregard something like this or someone like me, then you don’t deserve to call yourself a mastermind.”

“No,” Accord said. “No. You are trivial. The only impact you have made is that you’ve wasted far more time than you’re worth, tonight.”

“You’re making dangerous enemies, Accord,” she said.

“I move to remove her from the meeting.”

“Yes,” Detente said. “I would have been kinder about this, but—yes.”

No. She tried to think of something that would wound him. “You’ve lied to others, setting up deals you betrayed, and now you’re trying to set these people up too. You’ve been dealing with the local PRT, handing them others on a silver platter.”

“Jesus,” Rotten Apple said. “Stop.”

The light of the fire danced around everyone present, making shadows shift and masked faces become even more macabre than they were.

“You’re pathetic, Clockwork Dogs! You cling to order and being proper because you’re scared, deep down inside. Like a furtive little pair of rodents, you make deals and you betray and you narc to the heroes, and all you do is spin in place.”