Too much to hope for that it would hit this forcefield webbing and destroy it. Too much to hope for that it would destroy the door. It had staggered that group, and distracted a few by setting them on fire.

Two individuals were burning with purple fire and they didn’t move or react. Their stares were vacant.

Byron looked up at me.

“Drench them!” I hollered.

“You said—!”

I moved my arm. Another lasso was prompted to snap closed, seizing my arm in a position where it was over my head.

I hoped the gesture had worked. I drew in a breath to shout again, but he was already using his power.

Blue motes became the shape of the water and the lines became the courses that water was to travel. The water pressure was still lacking, but it was a lot of water, and the frozen ground didn’t want to absorb it. It sloshed over and through the fence, across ankles, feet, and into the work area where a doorway was being constructed. People were knocked over. The tinker work was left awry.

He looked up at me, and there was something in his body language. Defeat. There was something imploring.

I knew what he would’ve asked, if he could’ve done it safely, with the distance between us, or if that wasn’t a consideration, what he would’ve asked if he’d been able to summon up the courage.

Right now, if he used his other power, and gave control to Tristan, that water would become stone. It would impact the device and it would trap most of the people there, the woman with the purple fire included. He wanted my permission, which was the opposite of the way this was supposed to work.

And then? Tristan would help, we’d have the evidence, go back to Goddess, and work out a game plan that worked for both Gimel and Shin. We’d screw over Teacher and we would organize against him.

Yes, it would be a win.

Yes, it was workable long-term.

Yes, in service of the law, fighting the lawless, in what felt right, and in turning to someone else for help if we were struggling as we were, yes.

In service to that kernel of warmth in my heart when I thought about Dean and the classifications, when I thought about the black text printed on white paper, that detailed the rules to be followed, the chain of command in times of crisis?

I shook my head, dramatically enough he could see. No.

I was reeled in, ice sloughing off where it had formed on the beams. In the course of my forced trip back, as I used flight to try to resist or change my course, more of the webbing snapped closed around me. Byron peeked over fence at the collection of people around the door, then reversed direction, heading for the source of the beams that had me.