“I understand. I really do. Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. Sorry.”

“It is better you do not know.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Shamrock said.

“This way,” Faultline said.

The street had a corner, and past a lip of concrete preventing any errant cars from going down, there was a set of stairs leading down to a street further down the way.

We took those stairs, circled around one building, and then headed down another set of stairs to what looked like a basement area.

A headquarters. The stairs went down a long way, enough to leave the space expansive enough for ceilings at twice the usual height.

We were led down to the base of the stairs, before Faultline instructed us, “Wait.”

We did, settling in to lean against walls. Sveta was talking to Shamrock and Gregor. Shamrock was saying something about places she’d visited or seen—possibly related to Sveta talking about her summer with Weld.

Whippersnap had wandered off, except wandered was the wrong word, because it implied meandering. Saying he’d run off was wrong too, because it implied running away.

Well, maybe that was right. It just didn’t seem quite appropriate.

Rain and Byron were talking, and Rain used all four arms as he gestured unconsciously—no, he was gesturing to illustrate what he was saying about weapons, and what he’d need to do to use them well.

“Lookout,” I said, lowering my voice.

“Yes?”

“How is that camera of yours in the sky doing?”

“It’s fine,” she said. She pulled out her phone, and she showed both Swansong and me, then Rain, who was leaning over. “Looking down. Nothing strange.”

An overhead view of the area.

“Anyone that could be following?”

“None. If they followed, it was with a power.”

“If they followed,” the woman with the bangs said, “they won’t give you a chance. March will shoot, she will maim you if she wants to maim you, and she will kill you if she wants to kill.”

“What dialed March up to eleven?” Rain asked.

“A combination of things. She’s excitable, and someone excited her.”

Faultline returned, alone. There were two more mercenaries with her. “Situation blue.”

“Medical emergency?” I asked. “The hospital code?”

“What? No,” she told me. Then, not to me, she said, “I’ll leave it to you to interpret.”

“Good,” the woman with the severe bangs said. “Excuse me.”

She walked away from the group and across the room. As she did, her body started to come apart in ribbons. As the ribbons came away, they revealed someone beneath.

The ribbons came together, forming a complete, different person, and then opened up once more. Another person beneath.

So it went. Each layer was something of a close relation with the one before it. By the time she was on her fourth layer down, the first woman had recovered enough to get up and walk away.