“I like it! Don’t get me wrong. Not the messed up stuff—”

“You’re losing me. You like it but you don’t like it?”

“I like you,” he said, before his eyes registered the words, and he gave a fraction-of-a-second-late, “—guys.”

“Deft.”

He spoke with more energy and verve, as if he could stampede all over that exchange, leaving it behind him. “I did this whole Patrol thing because powers kick ass and I thought if I didn’t have powers, I could still be the guy in uniform that the big goddamn hero turns to and says, ‘Hey, guy with the cool callsign, are you going to have our backs?’ and I could say yes.”

“Cool callsign, huh? That’s an integral part of this fantasy?”

“It’s not a fantasy. It’s a mission. I’m going to become an instructor and team leader one day, and it’ll be mandatory. No gun until you have a decent nick. Exceptions if you have a badass last name and you go by that name.”

“I feel sorry for your students.”

“Quiet, you,” he said.

Another Patrol bus drove up. Jester raised his hand, and behind the glare of the headlights and the windshield with ice at the edges, the driver raised a hand in response.

I punched Jester in the arm. “Thanks. For backing us up. You were there at the Fallen thing, you were there for Swansong.”

“You’re welcome,” Jester said. “It’s nothing big. Trying to help out when I can, help the people who are doing the big stuff… like tearing through seventy-five jerks with tinker guns.”

He indicated the neighborhood street. The road was low quality beneath puddles and ice, already cracking less than a year after it had been laid down, and the wet surface reflected the flashing blue and red light of emergency vehicles.

“Fifty at most,” I said.

“How’s Swansong?” he asked.

I raised my eyebrows.

“I guarded her, kept watch, like you said. Spent enough time doing it I’m invested, and she’s cool.”

I had no idea how she was. The question was enough to get me to check my phone for any status updates.

“I’m going to see her shortly,” I spoke slowly as I scrolled. “Last I heard, yeah, she was okay. But with everything going on—”

I stopped myself.

“She’s in prison, though. How would she be involved?”

Damn it, Jester, why did you catch on to that?

“Nah. She feels like her hands are tied,” I covered. “And that’s hard.”

Jester nodded.

Byron was at the periphery. A cop had stopped him, but a moment later, was calling out to someone else. Getting backup, since it was no doubt intimidating to have a guy in armor show up at the edge of the battlefield.

“I should go,” I said. “Good luck with dealing with that patch of reality being on fire.”