She closed the distance between us with a half-stagger, half-run kind of movement. I caught a glimpse of her tearing up before she threw her arms around me, colliding with me. I caught my bearings and hugged her back.

“You’re okay,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I’m—” I started, lost for words. I looked at Weld, who stood in the doorway, smiling as wide as I’d ever seen him smile.

My arms still around her, I reached out with one hand, groping in Weld’s general direction, as if I could get the words that way.

“Fantastic,” Weld said. “This is perfect.”

He looked a little less neat than he’d been when I’d known him in Brockton Bay, but not as wild or ‘monstrous’ as I’d seen in the pictures online, back when he’d been a member of the Irregulars. His skin was dark iron, his eyes silver, veins of more silver tracing from the corners of the eyes. His hair was wire, made to look more free and unruly. He was wearing a henley shirt, khaki shorts and sandals that looked like they were made of metal and what might’ve been tire rubber. I couldn’t imagine any other material that would hold up when bearing the weight of someone that was heavy metal from head to toe.

Beside him was a guy, brown-skinned, with the sides and back of his hair cut short. The hair on top had to have been painted rather than dyed, because it was magenta, and I couldn’t imagine getting black hair dyed magenta without bleaching it to the point of destroying it, and the rolling curls retained their shape despite the droplets of rain that clung to it. He was smiling, but more because he looked like the type that very much enjoyed others being happy. The magenta-haired guy’s shirt was form-fitting to his upper body, showing off lean muscle, and looked like a surfer’s rash guard. He wore black shorts and sandals.

I turned my attention to the girl of the trio. I couldn’t believe it was Sveta.

Who was practically sobbing now, apparently.

Emotion was welling in my own chest. I put my hand on the back of her head, and I felt the hair stir, the tissues beneath the wig moving.

“Well, I think this has made my everything,” Weld said.

“Your everything?” the magenta-haired guy asked.

“Saying it made my day, my week, or even my month wouldn’t be enough,” Weld said, still smiling. “You’re okay, Victoria?”

“Two arms, two legs,” I said.

“That’s great,” he said. “Sveta was so attached to you, she hated leaving you behind.”

Sveta nodded, head rubbing against my shoulder.

“And we’d thought you’d died,” Weld said. “When G.M. happened. Hearing you were alive was amazing on its own, but you’re… you’re back. Fantastic.”