“Do you trust me?” he asked again. “Forgetting this specific situation, do you trust me?”

“It’s more nuanced than that.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Stop that. Don’t play your games with me, Capricorn.”

“Do you—”

“Yes!” she shouted. There was a pause as she gathered her composure.

In that pause, the jeering and shouts from prisoners was audible. Catcalling, threats. Offers to get us money if we let them out.

“Most of the time,” Sveta added, more subdued.

“Do you trust Antares?”

“Most of the time,” Sveta said. She looked at me. “Yes.”

“Do you trust Weld?”

“What does Weld have to do with this?”

“The protocols we’re talking about are Ward and Protectorate protocols. If Weld was here he would be following the rules too. Do you trust Weld? Do you believe in the Weld fan club?”

“That is the most manipulative shit, Capricorn.”

“If you don’t answer with a resounding yes, I think I win.”

“Fuck you, no you don’t, and yes, of course I believe in my boyfriend, but bringing him up is a stretch.”

“Sometimes our feelings get screwed up. I’ve had to deal with it before,” I said. “You know that.”

“Yes,” Sveta said.

“The rules for the protocols are simple. We listen to the people we can be sure aren’t affected.”

“And you aren’t affected?”

“We’re all affected,” Capricorn said. “Me, my brother, Antares, the kids.”

“Only Natalie?” Sveta asked. “She didn’t say anything.”

“I think she thinks that if she’s quiet she could get an opportunity to make a phone call or reach out,” Capricorn said. “And I don’t think Goddess is that stupid, to let her.”

“I don’t know,” Sveta said.

“Trust us, trust in the rules Weld would have followed. Because they’re the guidelines of effective heroes.”

“Do the guidelines say how we handle this situation?” Sveta asked. “Teacher’s attacking, he’s focusing his efforts on the front door. Goddess is… she wants to fight him here, and we’re supposed to help her. This is going to become a battlefield, and…”

“And a single mistake could mean our friends lose their lives, or dangerous prisoners get free,” I finished.

“Or Teacher wins,” Capricorn said. “If he forces us into a retreat or captures us—”

There was a sharp whistle nearby that stood out from the lecherous ones one guy in particular seemed to be doing. I turned my head, searching for the source.

A prisoner, standing at a balcony, where he had to look around the corner and along the length of a building to see us. He was a black guy, with tattoos outlined across his face and arms that looked like they had been put on his skin with white-out. He pointed down, and he held up his hand.

I couldn’t tell if his thumb was out, at that distance, but it sure looked like he had all four fingers up.