“Having a thinker hunting us down and forcing us to relocate regularly is what makes us sloppy, as it would for anyone. Now, you don’t want to be casualties of that sloppiness.”

“Work with us,” I said. “I don’t like you, you don’t like me—but I could help you figure something out.”

“You’re making too many enemies. Profitability—”

“Fuck profit,” I interrupted. “Fuck that.”

“And simple logic!” Tattletale raised her voice. She stabbed a pointed, painted fingernail in my direction. “If we spend too much time around you, your enemies become our enemies. If you have a lot of enemies, which you do, then that fucks us.”

“And if you refuse to cooperate with us and play ball, then we let your intel leak, including that information about sources, and your allies become your enemies.”

“You’re really willing to play hardball?” Tattletale asked.

“Give Kenzie her feathers back. Let the kids talk.”

“You realize what a monster she is, don’t you?”

I glanced back at Kenzie. “Nothing resembling a monster, and I’m an expert.”

“Because you spent two years as one. Of course.”

I looked back at Tristan, who held out my bag for me. I put it down, and as I reached for it, Snuff tensed. The Palanquin mercenary who looked like an ordinary person tensed as well.

“Files,” I said. I moved slowly as I drew the paperwork from the bag.

Tristan was the one who took the files and handed them out. Some for Parian, some for Foil, and some for Tattletale.

All of the information on the Order and the mercenaries I’d picked up. The PRT files.

“Your files are more up to date than mine,” Tattletale said, as she read. “You found a central network server?”

“I was led to one. Bargained.”

“The details on ‘Pug’?”

“Old collection of paper files. Which you guys doused in gasoline but didn’t set on fire.”

“Do you have more?”

“There’s a bit more in there. We’d have even more if we hadn’t been interrupted. Again, your teammate tried to set us on fire.”

“You’re building a narrative here,” Tattletale observed. “It all ties back to Teacher, I see.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “An awful lot of it. Fallen, the baiting of Goddess, the portal attacks.”

“I’ll provide you a tidbit of information then. If we’re going to deal—”

“If we’re going to deal, the feathers first. They’re important.”

“Fine. I’ll agree to that. But Chicken Little is still grounded. He can’t talk to his friends on the phone.”

“Some conversation.”

“I’ll cut twenty percent off his sentence of being grounded forever,” Tattletale said. She glanced back at Chicken Little, who ducked his head.

“Seriously,” I said. “At limited times per day. Or a limited number of messages,” I suggested.

I heard Kenzie groan behind me.

“That would be workable,” Chicken Little muttered, barely audible.