“I will,” I said. I floated a little higher, so I could see over just a few more heads in the crowd.

Crystalclear jogged off, costume boots tromping in the mud and the puddles that had formed on frozen dirt.

“I miss my gear already,” Lookout said. “I feel blind. I can’t believe I didn’t get any readings from him.”

Blind was right. It was still dark, even with the light of powers and the lanterns and freestanding lights that had been brought over from the prison. The storm above didn’t make it any better, diffusing the glow of all of the electric lighting.

“What’s broken?” Rain asked.

“Everything’s a little broken, or it’s moist. Half of it won’t work at all, diagnostics and reboots aren’t helping, and the other half doesn’t work well anymore. Water between lenses, balances and tolerances are off, uuugh. My phone doesn’t work, my flash gun is a fifty-fifty about if it’s gonna work, and my other stuff is on the blink, cutting out.”

“I know the feeling. I miss my body,” Sveta said.

“Oh, gosh, sorry! Here I am complaining, and—”

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” Sveta said. There was a smile on her face, and her voice was light. “Complain all you want.”

“You’ll fix it,” Swansong said. “You’ll both be fine.”

I turned to face the group and observe, glad to have my back to the stage. Freezing rain pattered on my hood.

Lookout shook her head. “I’ll fix some of it! Some. Some is broken forever. The broken-forever stuff is like my easier, cheaper work, like my mask, and less cheap stuff like my projector disc, but still, that’s a lot of work, and I don’t have my regular workshop anymore, so it’s harder to find the time and get stuff done.”

“You might have a workshop where we end up,” Rain said. “We don’t know where we’re going from here. Maybe we all end up with a small country to run.”

“That caught your attention, huh?” I asked.

“I—” he started. “I’ve kind of always fantasized about having a place of my own. Even my fantasies don’t ever get nearly that big, but it’s easier to imagine because I’ve imagined smaller scale versions of it. Give me a cabin or a quaint house with a good size backyard and I’ll be content.”

“Standards, Rain,” Swansong said. “Think mansion or tower. You need room for servants.”

“Uh,” Rain said.

“Cute young men in elegant black uniforms who run to obey when you snap your fingers,” Damsel said. Two claws clacked together.

“And young women,” Swansong said.

Damsel arched an eyebrow, “You think so? Are you more worldly now, or is this a strategy? Distracting male visitors?”

Swansong shook her head. “We’re talking about Rain. Rain would want women, I imagine.”