And then there was Wynn. Citrine. Her clothes were nicer than Kurt’s. The kind that wasn’t available on Gimel, unless people were willing to pay a premium for otherwise premium clothes from elsewhere. There were different tiers of ‘premium’, too. Stuff like a rash guard or nice pair of pants were expensive enough that they needed three to five days of construction work to pay for them. For a nice sheer top with a pattern on it in what looked like gold leaf? Admitting that he knew next to nothing about women’s clothing, he felt like it was a special case where barter was necessary, because Earth Gimel’s currency was still in uncertain territories.

Tristan tried to remain still and calm as he recalled all of the little details. Tattletale had dished on these guys, and so had Barcode. Victoria had talked about Citrine before, and the Number Man… well, he was a myth.

“That is one way to tie up a loose end,” Citrine noted, her attention on the body that had yet to be touched.

“Tying up this loose end may have created a hundred more,” Tristan said.

“As is always the case,” Citrine said. She extended a hand. “You would be Capricorn?”

He pulled off his gauntlet and shook her hand firmly. “Yes. Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m Mayor Jeanne Wynn. Good solid handshake there, Capricorn.”

“Ah, you too.”

“Thank you. I was raised by someone who would break a bone in my hand if my handshake was anything except perfect.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“He was the best thing for me at the time,” she said. “Sometimes we need a bit of decisive, pointed violence.”

Her hand indicated Goddess’s corpse. A pair of black birds flew down to feast, maybe ravens—they were large enough. An officer waved it off.

The awkward share had been a lead-in to bringing up that topic. There was something callous about that. Jesus. She wasn’t even pretending not to be a villain.

“Antares,” Citrine said, greeting the group. “Rain o’ Fire, Swansong, Ashley Stillons, Lookout. Natalie Matteson. And, of course, Tress. Sveta Karelia.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” the Number Man said. “I took the liberty of looking up your information. I remember the fact we didn’t know it was a point of contention last time.”

“It wasn’t a question of courtesy,” Sveta said. “I didn’t want you to look it up. I wanted you to know it.”

“Then I’m sorry,” he said.

“I don’t think you’re capable of feeling anything, let alone remorse. You don’t do what you’ve done if you have any remorse.”

“Not often,” the Number Man said. “Remorse is a funny thing. The mark it promises to leave can so easily be drowned out by the need we feel in the moment.”