Vista was out of costume. She looked so different. Her hair wasn’t straight, she had eyeliner on, and she had a fair number of freckles—more than usual. No waterproof makeup covering it up and changing her complexion, nose, and brow shape either. There wasn’t a trace of the old green and blue of her costume in her outfit, either. She wore a black sweatshirt over maroon scrubs that might have been medical scrubs, and wore a jacket and scarf over that. Given her age, she would be pretending to be part of the medical block student group. Helping out with supplies and first-aid for special credit?

Whatever the excuse or story was, she looked just enough like someone with a job that it didn’t draw attention, and the job wasn’t one that got in the way of her personal identity.

It sucked to see that her dad was showing so very little joy at seeing her, though.

She looked our way and I gave her a little wave. I didn’t want to break her cover, but—

—But apparently that was excuse enough for her to break away from her dad. She hurried off, and not toward us. She nudged some other people, and they headed our way.

These people—not familiar to me. I was left trying to guess who they were. A guy and a girl.

Browbeat? Browbeat was dead. Couldn’t and wouldn’t be Chariot. Too young to be Trainwreck. He looked military-esque, but he was also… sturdy. Not so fat, tall, or muscular in a way that I could point to any one of the things being responsible for my estimation of him, but a fair bit of all of those things. His choice of clothes didn’t work against that, either. Beanie, a leather jacket that was less fashion and more the kind of thing a blue collar worker bought if he expected to work outside, jeans that weren’t slim-fit or even regular fit, and heavy boots.

And he looked wholly comfortable in all of it.

His lady friend was a stark contrast. She wore a white wrap coat with gray fur trim and a silver chain extending along the front like a piece of jewelry that had been built into the coat. There were other decorative elements at the wrists. Black jeans, and gray suede boots that I could hear as they tapped on the ice and road. Her hair was in a ponytail, but I could see wisps of black hair escaping. It was rare to see hair that fine and that black.

“Hi big V, hi Crystal,” Missy said, after she had dragged them along enough. She was still fairly petite, though far less than she once had been, obviously, but it stood out with the company she kept, especially the guy. It didn’t help that the two were so straight-backed, and Missy was hunched over against the cold.