Video footage. People running from the cafeteria. One of them was the pharmacist, marked with an icon over her head, courtesy of Lookout’s tech.

Crystalclear had to have put a crystal in his shoe, because he’d sent something forward when he’d scuffed the dirt with his toe. The explosion was the usual Crystalclear sort, but as it hit the pharmacist, she flinched, reacting, and the explosion unfolded into something more dramatic, with rolling waves of purple flame.

The shoe-crystal would’ve been his plan for if they hadn’t had him put his head to the ground.

The smoke was clearing away. Our pharmacist was fine in the wake of it. Of fucking course.

“That’s our cue,” Tristan said. “We’ll have to trust they’ve got this figured out. Rain and Crystal know what the pharmacist can do.”

Goddess turned toward the door. With a power, she bid it to open. Wind and flecks of moisture came in, beading the first few feet of floorboards. As she approached, however, wind and rain stopped.

The group headed for the fire escape, Goddess lifting herself up to the railing, then floating down. Tristan was behind her.

My thoughts were on Crystalclear and Rain, on the pharmacist, and how we’d travel to get there. To my right, a supporting hand reached for my shoulder.

It was a colorful hand in my peripheral vision. My first thought was that it was Sveta. Then, after processing color, that Natalie had pulled on gloves.

A hand of mostly red, black secondary, with lines of gold running through it for highlights.

I hadn’t even fully processed the thought, or the warning shout of, “No!” before I was flying. Forcefield out—I swung to strike her preemptively, before she could make contact.

The swing came at a downward angle. Floorboards became splinters, and I could hear Lookout shriek off to the side. I saw Amy’s eyes wide, her stumbling steps back as the floor shifted subtly under her feet. Dot went from under her jacket to her shoulder, then bounded off.

Floating, I had no reason to move a hair. I’d spent so long trying to avoid thinking about her, trying to find my equilibrium, to deal. Even swallowing or breathing could be made hard. Wearing skin could be hard, when the idea of her was close.

But if I didn’t move a hair, if I was a statue, all bridled fury and potential energy, I could stare her down, and hope that there was something that I could convey here.

My aura was still active. I was probably disturbing the neighbors. Just like with the swallowing, I couldn’t bring myself to do more than hold it in uncomfortable, bad-for-me limbo.

“Victoria,” Sveta said.

“Sorry about the floorboards,” I said. I didn’t look, but it was hard to miss, even in peripheral vision. “That’s probably the security deposit and then some.”