Her answer to Natalie’s question hadn’t been a no.

“If you’re done interrogating me, tell me about the prison.”

“I lensed the energy the gates put out to throw Teacher’s attempts to get in or out out of whack. Teacher’s pawns are stupid—”

“They lack volition,” I said.

“And they’re gullible, which means they’re stupid. We tricked them into talking to each other and we have most of them identified.”

“Including the people in charge that Teacher got to,” Tristan said.

He didn’t look any calmer. It was an uncharacteristically cold kind of anger, though, one that left his voice level even as it stood out across his face, neck, and arms.

I could sympathize, on a level, but my anger wasn’t hot or cold. It just felt sick. It carried forward from the sick feeling that had come from being at odds with Sveta. I was thankful that she was defending me and that she wasn’t causing issues, because I wasn’t sure if I could have managed if she didn’t have my back right now.

“We control the access for now,” Kenzie said. “He’s trying to figure it out, but… I’m looking at data, and it looks like he keeps trying to open the portals a hundred feet below the prison. The energy diffuses out into the ground. He did four tries almost right away, and… it’s been a little while since then. He made one try, still down there. I think he might be out of energy.”

“Good,” Goddess said. She smiled. “Good work.”

Kenzie’s legs kicked, as she wiggled.

“Get ready. We’ll go now,” Goddess said.

“We have one more play that’s in the works,” I said. “An ally is going to make a move, and we should watch what happens so we know where people are.”

“Get ready in the meantime, then.”

I met Tristan’s eyes briefly as he turned toward the corner where he’d left his armor. Still angry, in an inexplicable way.

There was too much to keep a handle on, and telling myself master–stranger protocols felt like it was about as substantial as shouting ‘Santa is real!’ when I knew he wasn’t—and Byron had been compromised.

My option now was Natalie, who I could maybe trust but couldn’t rely on, because so much of this cape stuff went over her head.

Or… or Amy. Who maybe knew the cape stuff, but who I couldn’t ever trust.

Natalie. I couldn’t reach out to her now.

And the others… compromised, by the rules and guidelines stipulated in black and white, outlined in tests that tens of thousands of PRT employees had to take and perfect, even the desk jockeys.