“Yes,” Finale said, with more severity than necessary. “They usually come from bad days, and sometimes other people’s powers aren’t as good as they seem from…”

“From a distance,” he finished.

“Yes.”

“That’s a good thing to keep in mind,” I said, smiling. “In my case, though, it’s not a problem. I like flying.”

She smiled and gave me a thumbs up.

“How is the team network coming along?” Withdrawal asked. He swung the syringe-cylinder around, resting it on one shoulder, before setting his free hand on Finale’s shoulder.

“People are reporting their movements. Already had a couple of people ask where others were patrolling and adjust their routes. Someone called in to ask if we knew anything about a certain villain. I knew off the top of my head.”

“A bit of a band-aid, to make up for the Wardens being gone?” Caryatid asked.

“Maybe. That’s not the end goal, though,” I said. “The Wardens and Protectorate were sponges, trying to soak up everything they could. We want to empower.”

“A lot of people are feeling powerless right now,” Caryatid said, looking out in the direction of the nearest hole in reality.

“Can we help?” Withdrawal asked.

“How are you guys with stakeouts?”

“Never done one,” Withdrawal said. “But we haven’t done a lot that’s practical. Caryatid should be pretty good with that, though.”

“How so?” I asked.

“I switch modes,” Caryatid said. “My other form can only move with my power, and is indestructible with enhanced awareness while still.”

“A breaker form?” I asked.

“I don’t really keep track of the terms,” she said. “I looked online once and it seemed like everyone was a breaker.”

“Almost everyone is, if you want to be super technical,” I said. “But that’s power geek talk. If I’m thinking of the same sites you are, it’s because the template that was copied for individual cape bios had ‘breaker’ included in it by accident.”

Finale turned around, looking up at Withdrawal. He leaned down, murmuring, “I’ll explain after.”

“Can you show me?” I asked Caryatid.

She slid a couple of feet to one side, looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and then swept one arm in front of her, bowing slightly. The change was subtle—the lines of her dress became a flow, the parts that clung to her rotated, and the rolls of yellow fabric at the sleeve and around the feet began rising and falling, crashing out around her like waves. Her hair did much the same, rolling, flowing, taking on motion.

Her face was the biggest change—it looked like butterfly wings, endlessly unfolding, like a multifacted book with pages constantly turning, merging into hairline and the flow of rolls, locks, and loops of hair.