This wasn’t as simple as a hard shove in the direction of a second trigger. I was pretty sure I didn’t qualify. Second generation capes triggered ‘easier’, but there had never been a second generation cape who’d second triggered. Whatever resources the power devoted to passing itself on seemed to rule it out, and I doubted the universe would be so kind as to let me be the first. It would be too easy.

Multi-triggers were in the same boat. Which might have been the universe being kind, given how many were lined up against us right now.

Lord of Loss was prowling below, changing himself in little ways. He chuckled, a low sound that reached me up in the air. Right. I couldn’t retreat into cape geekery as the normal defense mechanism.

No, the only way to deal with this was to fucking deal.

I kept the hook spinning around me in loose circles, experimenting with passing it from hand to hand, with trying to find the balance between using my strength to keep it moving and maintain my grip and not having the Wretch in a position where it was hurting more than helping. Here and there, the cable slipped against my hand, metal edges cutting at the fabric. Tough fabric, but it was a lot of wear and tear. Past a certain point and it would be cutting my hand.

This was a losing battle. Every pounce and lunge he made was stronger than the last. Because of his physical configuration, and because the power source he was drawing on as part of his breaker form was aligning to fire all engines in the right directions and ways.

For now, we were at an impasse. If given the chance, I could go after Nursery. If given the chance, he could go after the others. With the way he grew, he would soon reach the point that he could catch up to them in one or two lunges, then be back here in a third in time to keep me from taking Nursery hostage.

They just weren’t making enough progress. I wasn’t doing enough damage. This whole fucking thing wasn’t enough.

The cable slipped in my hand. It caught on the bandage at my burned hand, which pulled at yet-unhealed flesh. Pain lunged up my arm, and I almost dropped the apparatus.

Layered injuries and stupid moments of failure. I felt like I was under the watchful eyes of my mother, being treated with kid gloves by Uncle Neil, and having my moods tolerated by Dean at the same time I knew that mood was unreasonable, all at once.

I felt shitty.

You’re better than this, I told myself, and the voice in my head was my mom’s, my uncle’s, an Dean’s, all at their most critical and condescending.