Love Lost typed at the air. Sidepiece couldn’t look at her phone, as she was busy taking off her winter clothes.

Love Lost (is the muthafuckin baws):
WHAT ARE THE UNDERSIDERS GOING TO SAY TO ME?

“Nothing useful, since we know what they’re doing and who they’re working with,” Sidepiece quipped.

Love Lost shrugged slightly, her head moving in acknowledgement of that simple truth. Even distant friends of the Fallen kid were off limits for alliances.

“They’re supposed to tell you that Cradle is dangerous, he wants to kill you and take your power, and—”

Love Lost moved her hand.

“I know. They said it before. They’ll be more insistent, try deals. They said the worst-case scenario is that Cradle allies with March and then takes you out of commission. Second worst-case scenario is you ally with March, Tattletale seemed pretty sure you wouldn’t go after Cradle.”

Love Lost stepped into the living room, claws clicking against the floor—three at the toes, one stabbing down from the heel, her feet encased in thermal stockings that extended up her legs. The moisture didn’t seem to stick to any of it, wicking off immediately.

Colt was lying on the couch, and sprung to her feet as Love Lost entered. Love Lost gently pushed her back into her seat.

A knife-finger pointed at Colt, a warning.

“Sorry,” Colt said. “I tried.”

Disjoint continued, “There was other stuff, Cheit’s mercenaries and some follow-up to the portal or something that they’re planning, but they didn’t talk much about that. Mostly their focus was on teaming up and trading enemies. Making sure March doesn’t get in contact with any member of your cluster, and making sure Cradle—”

“—Doesn’t steal the powers of another member of the cluster,” was the response.

Cradle stepped out of the kitchen.

Sidepiece met Disjoint’s eyes. Her hand moved closer to her midsection. Shit. Shitty shit shit shit.

“They don’t understand the most basic and fundamental truth when it comes to the Mall Stampede Cluster,” Cradle said.

Love Lost visibly winced at the mention of the mall.

“Sorry, L.L. But the fact is, if we were going to kill any member of the cluster, it’s going to be the kid,” Cradle said. “You don’t need to worry.”

Love Lost nodded.

Cradle, tousle-haired, wearing tinted goggles and a mask, looked as much like a kid as anyone, Sidepiece observed.

But as irreverent as she tried to be in the face of an unjust, grisly world, she could read the tension in the air. She could shut up when absolutely necessary.

Her stomach was doing flip-flops. Her pancreas was at that stage in its growth where each tiny growth made it twitch and flip up, then flop down, slapping lightly against the raw meat around it.

“I’m ninety percent done our second version,” Cradle told Love Lost. “I got peckish, I decided to use the kitchen. I told your henchman there to sit on the couch and let me tinker together some snacks. So take that claw away from her throat.”