“How did you know it was these?” I asked Lookout.

“Because I was keeping an eye out for trouble using the Center’s surveillance before it all went hinky. We saw the anti-parahuman dorks show up, except we didn’t know it was them then. These are their cars.”

“Tail ends are low to the ground,” Rain said. “Heavy weight in the rears. Did they bring the weapons with?”

“Fuck you,” the guy said.

“If you’re going to be mad, be mad at yourselves,” Swansong said. “Your laziness.”

“That’s a good eye, Precipice,” Byron said. “Can we check? Tear it open, Vic?”

“No, don’t break it. You could damage the contents,” Swansong said. “Sveta. Pick it.”

“I don’t know how to pick locks.”

“Do you know what raking is? You should be capable.”

Sveta frowned.

“Come. I’ll show you.”

In the distance, Love Lost only watched. I saw her clench her claw. Nailbiter had appeared, standing behind her, and I saw the electric flicker around the tinker, who was wholly human again. It was broken gear that was crackling.

They didn’t attack or approach.

“This is the cheap and dirty way of opening a lock,” Swansong said. “You want to jostle the pins. Go back and forth, as soon as you feel them, pop them up. Keep pressure so the lock is turning—”

“Already doing that,” Sveta said. Her hand was removed, and tendrils were groping at and around the lock. “I have to use my smallest tendrils, which are also the shortest, which is awkward—”

The trunk popped open. I saw the surprise on Sveta’s face.

Inside, packed in cases with foam inserts separating them, rows of weapons. Not Gimel or Bet weapons, at a glance, or at least, not from any country I was aware of. The script was blocky, and it looked like it had been stamped on.

“Taking photos,” Lookout said, tapping the side of her helmet.

“How did you know how to lockpick?” Byron asked, quiet. “You couldn’t when you were a villain.”

“I study,” Swansong said. “It’s the kind of thing I watch before bed.”

“It’s cool,” Sveta said, and her smile seemed genuine. “It’s neat to know I can do that. Thank you.”

“Mm hmm.”

The enmity, the frustration—it didn’t seem as bad now. It helped to have other focuses. Three nondescript cars with trunks packed with munitions, instead of jealous relationships.

I picked out some samples—things we could show others, as well as a slip of paper and a lid. I held all three.

I met Swansong’s eyes. I jerked my head a hair toward the trunk.

Everyone stepped back as she reached forward. Her power licked out, and it bucked and kicked, flaring to its full range as it twisted, tore, and annihilated everything in the car from back windshield to bumper, including some of the rear tires.