I flew up a bit, so the floor wasn’t in the way of the Wretch. My forcefield out, I let the Wretch grip it, my focus fixed on the cleaver, looking for a sudden jerky movement that might indicate the Wretch was flinging it at someone.

The narrowest edge cracked, then cracked more, but it took three or four seconds before it outright broke, a corner coming off. Once that happened, the entire thing broke into chunks, raining down to the floor. I let the Wretch go, and the stone dust that had built up in crevices fell down in narrow streams.

“During the Trial and Error fight, your creations weren’t this strong. They were practically chalk. Weak, no substance.”

“Yeah,” he said. “In flux. Sometimes it’s more stable. Lately? It’s very back and forth.”

“Powers do that,” I said. “Some more than others. Breakers especially, some trumps, and powers with a lot of random chance. They depend more on the alien intelligence to manage the power, or they’re closer to that intelligence, so those parahumans feel it more. Powers are more generous or leave you hanging.”

“You think the random chance side of things isn’t random?” Rain asked.

“I find myself wondering,” I said. “But I think if we’re dwelling on the sources of powers, it might be worth keeping in mind that it serves their purposes. They have wants, and it makes more sense that when they’re choosing something random or giving us more or less raw power, they’ll favor us if we’re meeting those wants.”

“After I killed Snag, I got an edge, power-wise.” Rain’s expression shifted at the admission, brows drawing together.

“I had good and bad days when it came to my misfires, before I had working hands,” Ashley added.

“Not technically you,” Chris pointed out.

“Me enough.”

Chris shrugged. “Meh. I don’t think this conversation is fair to some of us, for the record.”

“Making sure everyone knows what’s up with each other’s powers?” Tristan asked.

“Pressuring side members of the group to divulge by being all share-happy.”

“If you think there’s happy in this sharing, you’ve got it wrong,” Rain said.

“I think there are agendas,” Chris answered, his tone harsher, his eyes moving between people but fixing on me more than anyone. “Maybe not the first thing in anyone’s mind, but I think it’s a thing in people’s minds.”

“Chris,” Sveta said. “There’s no agenda. If you wanted to share, then we’d be happy to get more information, but for right now—”

“You don’t have to tell us anything, but if you wanted to tell us stuff we’d like it?” Chris’s tone was sarcastic, almost mocking.