“Coming in!” I hollered the words. The dog responded to the holler with more struggling, which seemed to shake it more.

The jail cells were a dozen individual cages, each cage with a cot in the center and a cot against the wall, more bars and not walls separating one cell from the next. Most were so full that people were sitting on the ground, even in a time of crisis. Some hadn’t risen to their feet, reacting only as I came into view.

“We’re still moving people!”

“There’s a nearly empty cell at the back!” I retorted.

“They’re capes.”

“Get them out! Get the way clear now!”

They obeyed. The proximity of the snarling, struggling dog was a good motivator. People who had been moving between cells with armed people directing them were now backing into one cell or the other. I had a glimpse of the two capes. B-listers. Etna and Crested, moving into a cell with others. Both of them had shackles that encased their hands entirely. Crested’s connected to his belt.

Doors were shut with bangs.

The length of the dog was an issue, because the door was too small for it, and as strong as I was, I didn’t have the leverage when it was this lively. I felt the Wretch’s grip slip, saw how the head moved. I knew if the forcefield broke that I wouldn’t get a good chance to use it again—the situation would be too chaotic.

The Wretch wasn’t helping, either. Hands and feet gripped and banged against bars and the floor.

No, if I was going to lose control, I’d do it on my terms. I shucked off the Wretch, and pulled my arm free in the moment before the jaws shut.

Feet on the ground. I struck out, activating the Wretch in time to land hits, trying to pummel and push to work it into the doorway.

“Behind!”

Tristan. He came up behind me, gripping one of the dog’s legs, and threw his weight against it.

Sveta went over our heads, into the cell. She had an attachment on her suit, an arm with long slender fingers and a face shield. It made her lopsided, and the landing was harder than it might otherwise be, but it did give her leverage, as the hand gripped bars, tendrils gripped the cot, and the rest of her grabbed onto the dog, pulling it in while Tristan and I pushed.

We got the dog into the cell. Sveta got out before the dog could recover, with me catching her and helping her to maintain balance as she landed. The door banged shut.

The dog threw itself against the bars. I didn’t see any bending or distortion in the bars.

“Everyone okay?” I asked.

“Are you asking your team or—”

“You,” I said. “Prisoners, Patrol.”