Prancer. His last hurrah, or his new and improved way of doing business. It couldn’t be easy—not someone we were already gunning for. It only reaffirmed my conviction here.

“Yeah,” I said, setting my jaw, glancing at my two teammates. “A lot of people. The villains might not want to stick by the rules of the cops and robbers game, but I want to keep the penalties.”

Beacon 8.6

“I have a random thought,” I said.

Sveta and Capricorn were with me. Heroes were arriving—some in cars. They were the ones I’d labeled in green. The friends, the acquaintances, the ones where I figured there was enough trust that we could promise a favor in exchange for their help and they’d listen. Our vantage point on the roof of a garage put us above them all.

“Do share,” Sveta said.

“When the team was first getting together, I was trying to wrap my head around it. In thinking about names and thinking about themes, whatever I thought about, I felt like there was always at least one odd man out.”

“I know what you mean,” Capricorn said. “Branding, theme, style. If the team goes rugged then you, me, Ashley and Lookout are tough to fit in, while Chris and Rain are happy as clams. Sveta can adapt to that. If we go polished, preppy, hair done up… opposite.”

“Applies to other things too,” I said.

“And I don’t think I could adapt to polished,” Sveta said, cutting in before I could return to my thought.

Capricorn shrugged. “You’ve got the creative, artistic touch and a pretty face. You could change how you do your arms. I really think you could pull it off.”

“Except I don’t want to, and I’m uncomfortable,” she said. “Sorry, can we change the subject?”

“Sure,” Capricorn said. “But before we drop it—”

“Capricorn,” I interrupted, my voice a warning.

“What?”

“Boundaries,” I said.

“Really. It’s twice now in recent memory you’ve wanted to change the topic. This is just me adding to the discomfort for five seconds so I can avoid all of it in the future. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sveta replied, sighing like it was an extension of the word.

“Why uncomfortable?”

“Um. Saying I have a pretty face is a very nice thing to say—”

“No hetero,” he interrupted.

“—er, yes,” she said. She smiled despite herself. “But it reminds me that I’m just a face, pretty much. Sorry, I’ve been thinking a lot about… um, bodies, and my lack of one, because of stuff I brought up with you both.”

“Got it,” Tristan said. “Chat me up if you want to pick my brain again. Until then, no talk of bodies or boning.”

“Thank you,” she said the two words with finality. She looked at me, “There was always one person who didn’t fit in, when you tried to create a cohesive identity? Except maybe for the, uh, group.”