“Don’t pop your stitches again,” I warned him.

Tristan shook his head, then winced, reaching up to touch the bandage at the side of his neck. “Let me think on this. Bring me out when you have food and things have settled.”

“You’re not going to immediately unsettle things, are you?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said.

He switched, blurring with his eyes flashing. The blue of the eyes faded, and Tristan became Byron.

Byron’s eyes turned down, looking at the ground as he walked.

“Is he dangerous?” Natalie asked.

“Can’t say anything for sure,” I told her. “But he disemboweled a tyrant and as far as we can tell, he’s taking over a portion of her world. If we go by past history, and if we assume nothing’s changed, he’s dangerous.”

“Everyone’s supposed to get a second chance,” Ashley said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But if it was offered and he didn’t take it, if he decided to hide and operate in secret, does he really get that benefit?”

“I’d say it depends,” Byron said, barely audible.

“Yeah,” I said.

The last letter in ‘S.P.I.N.E.’ was E. Empathize. Leave room for others to feel, to process.

We weren’t far from the dingy little restaurant, which had a rotund Japanese-style ogre at the side of the sign, a cow tucked under one arm, beside the stylized letters stating simply, ‘BEEF BOWL’.

Nobody went in, not right away. I’d taken two days to wrap my head around it, to equip myself with information, and decide on how to go about approaching the others. I could stand in the cold for five, ten, or twenty minutes while they digested the facts. I was prepared to answer their questions, if they had any.

“This isn’t easy,” I said, to give them an excuse to express any feelings they were holding back.

They didn’t have questions, and they didn’t want to express whatever it was they were so clearly feeling. Ashley had gone cold, distant. Natalie was thinking. There was only a single quiet comment from Byron.

“This is going to do a number on the others.”

He wasn’t wrong. Uncle Neil had taught me about the S.P.I.N.E. acronym because as heroes, we were often on the front line for tragedy. It was a tool for delivering the worst kind of news, and for preparing people to grieve.

The Chris we knew was gone.

⊙

The chatter as we got back to the hideout was happy. I put the paper bag down on the table by the door.