Me and my mom? Not so much.

Well, I had something closer to my cousins than anything, now. It had changed. I couldn’t quite allow myself to think it counted.

Scaffold had been in a bad place and wanted to protect someone from the place or situation. Probably. He’d dedicated his life to going up against gangs and criminal organizations, though he’d been alone in the group in being as vocal as he’d been about corrupt governments, police departments, hero groups, and school administrations. He’d been the original reason the Guild had reached out; they liked causes.

Laserdream had Cuff’s piece of metal set in a bowl of forcefield, and was firing a laser at it. The metal glowed white hot, and she had her hands cupped around it with the one middle finger pointed more in than the others, to supply the laser.

“The cuts,” Laserdream said. “Those are claw marks.”

I flew closer to see, while she floated above, warming her hands with a grim look on her face.

“I know your eyes aren’t as good as my one eye, but I see footprints, Victoria.”

“Point?”

She provided a thin beam, laser pointer style, to indicate.

These footprints weren’t human. Long and two-toed, pressing deep into the frozen ground like the source was heavy.

“Minion?” I asked.

“Could be. Could be, um, do you remember mentioning that Prancer was bringing in some Case Fifty-Threes to screw with Sveta?”

“It’s possible. A bit of a reach—they didn’t come to the Fallen raid and I think they left.”

The shovel. One had had a shovel. Sveta had mentioned her, but hadn’t mentioned if she’d lived.

I winced. Cross that bridge when we came to it.

Scaffold had been lifted up, and thrown down onto his namesake construction. Had he been clawed before or after? If it was before, then this had been for the drama of it, to create a show. If it was after, it suggested something personal, retaliating or expressing anger in a futile way.

One claw swipe had practically severed head from upper body.

Finished off? Given a merciful death?

I saw how red the blood of the wound was.

I looked at the cops, many hunkering inside their cars or by the doors, trying to stay warm. At Crystal, who was holding her hands above the heated metal.

“How long has the scene been like this?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard by the woman in charge.

“We arrived half an hour ago.”

The blood was too red. It hadn’t frozen. Snow had collected on it, but it hadn’t frozen.

“Shit,” I said, with enough vehemence that just about everyone stopped in their tracks.

I flew straight to Scaffold. I put my hand over his mouth.

No breath, but I could feel the warmth.

At the wound in the neck—there, I could feel the breath.