“We’ll talk things over in the car, Capricorn. I’ll walk you through everything. Everyone else, there are cars if you want a ride. It may be best, in case he comes back this way. All team activities, missions, and events are canceled until further notice. We’ll pull in the adult capes that we have on the roam and on commission.”

The effects kept on rippling out.

Tristan listened for a second more, realized he wasn’t really registering what was being said, and climbed into the car, closing the door behind him.

⊙

Present

The car door opened. Two people got out. Mayor Wynn and her assistant.

The rain still fell. Tristan wished he had Byron’s cold immunity, because he was starting to feel it. He had talked to the only person in charge of the prison who hadn’t been compromised, and he had talked to the hero groups.

Nothing set in stone. They were uncertain, and they wanted to talk among themselves. There was always a chance that things could go awry if the wrong voice was forceful enough at a time others were uncertain. Some would be waiting to see how this went.

“Jeanne Wynn. Citrine,” Victoria’s voice was quiet.

“And the Number Man,” Sveta added. “Cauldron.”

Tristan blinked. That was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’ve heard that name. The Number Man, I mean.”

“Supervillain banker,” Sveta murmured. “He bankrolled almost half of the villainous groups on Earth Bet, serving a secondary role as a broker, protector and distributor of funds, launderer. He was an assassin, acting as one arm of the ‘bogeyman of the cape world’ group. The Irregulars were keeping track of him for a while.”

Tristan looked at the assistant more closely. Not quite nerdy enough to be nerd chic, the man had a nice belt buckle, wore a peacoat and narrow slacks, with a muted plaid shirt beneath the coat. Strong chin with a cleft, boring hair.

No, not nerd chic, but he wore clothes that fit him damn near perfectly, helped by the athletic body beneath the clothes. When most guys didn’t wear clothes that fit them, even fairly nondescript clothes worn well could draw the eye. Tristan had always had a thing for dorky guys with shells that he could then crack open.