The explosions weren’t true heat, fire, shockwave-that-liquefies-organs kind of detonation. They got sloppier toward the end, as more people fell free and some landed far enough away that their own detonations affected only them, making them flop once or twice like fish on dry land.

The metaphorical dust settled.

“Patrol block is on its way,” Byron said. “Called them pretty early on.”

“Thanks, Capricorn,” I said. That would complicate things with Goddess, but—I kept my mouth shut.

“I didn’t do that right,” Finale said. “I took too long to set up and I didn’t finish it right.”

“You did good,” I said.

“I practiced on balls and sandbags, but humans fall in weird ways.”

“They absolutely do,” I said. “You did good.”

She didn’t respond, to either agree or deny. Her teeth simply chattered. That would be adrenaline as much as the cold.

“They got away?” Byron asked.

I nodded. “The one did.”

“Shit,” Withdrawal said.

On the ground, one of the people in white smiled.

I bent down over them, my eyes searching for anyone who was up to more fighting or attempted running. There were too many here.

“Care to share with the class?” I asked him.

The thrall shook his head.

“Not worth it,” Byron told me.

“I know,” I said. “Brainwashed.”

“These guys are scary,” Withdrawal said. He was more unsteady on his stilt-like limbs than before. One of his shoulders was venting a thin, steady stream of smoke.

“Teacher’s. He’s a major player. The fact we made it through this unscathed is… it’s going to have to be good enough.”

“I’m going to call the team,” Byron said. “Is there anything I need to tell them?”

“We’ll have to figure out where the woman with the pills went. Maybe if we get the destroyed tech to Lookout?”

“The woman from the house? Our target?” Caryatid asked. She was still gripping her arm with one hand. Her skin looked red, even in the meager light. “That’s what she had in the bag?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Can you remember who she was? We gave you a list, and she was number—”

“Number two,” Caryatid said.

My brain was so tired. I shook my head a bit. “Can you remember her job?”

“The prison pharmacist,” Caryatid said. “High risk because of her access and criminal history.”

The serious look that Byron and I shared communicated a hell of a lot, but for the benefit of our novice Malfunctions, it needed to be said.

“What if she wasn’t taking those drugs out of the prison?” I asked. “It’s their overwhelming focus.”

“I’ll call,” Byron said, all seriousness.

Poisoned supply? Something more sinister or obscure? Whatever it was, it was serious enough that Teacher had been willing to sacrifice…