Before she could do anything, people were getting in her way. Damsel was one, and Damsel was complicated, and that complication made her hesitate.

Damsel used her power. Nailbiter swiped into the air at the same moment, predicting Damsel’s trajectory. Her power made an explosion that looked like all of the light and all of the dark that Colt had noticed after taking the pill were being twisted together until they snapped, and it sent her flying into the air, toward the extended fingers.

She didn’t stop using her power, though. Rather than end it abruptly, Damsel let it trail off, bringing her hands under her. Her feet went up, and she stepped on the underside of the fingers, before bringing her hand up—

The fingers retreated.

Hookline had the little girl who wasn’t Lookout. Hookline’s power was a chain and hook that couldn’t be destroyed, that he could telekinetically manipulate, and he’d encircled the girl with it, the hook secured on the chain that he was now hauling in with both hands and power.

The girl reached for Kitchen Sink as she passed him, and Hookline whipped the chain a bit, casting her a few feet to one side in the other direction. Out of reach.

She screeched, like only a young girl could. Colt was put in mind of Reese. Her sister. It jarred. She hadn’t thought of Reese in a while. She hadn’t gotten along with Reese in… ever. But she still missed her.

Weird to think about in the now.

Damsel, landing, immediately sprung forward, toward Hookline. Nailbiter produced a cage of interlocked fingers, barring the way, and Damsel avoided the cage, another burst of power to vault to one side, yet another to slide through the space between elongated wrist and ground.

“Fuck!” Hookline shouted. “Fuck me!”

Nailbiter followed up. Fingers drew in, a cage that now closed in around Damsel, and her teeth extended, a scattershot volley that aimed to fill the space.

Damsel used her power twice in quick succession before the kicked-up snow and dirt and the seemingly countless narrow spikes that filled the area caught up to her.

Two shots. One to punch a hole into the ground, the other to reverse course and hurl herself into that hole. The nails had passed overhead.

Colt saw movement. She aimed, sighted her target, and recognized it as the blond boy.

“Samuel!” a girl shouted, not that far away—between Love Lost and Colt.

Reflexively, Colt pulled the trigger. It felt like it had seemed to work with the black-haired boy’s power. His power had been rage, both inflicted and felt. This was a horrible, jarring kick, and corresponding to that kick, the boy kicked back and flumped to the ground in a horrible, jarring way.

“You bitch!”

Colt turned toward the sound, then felt bewildered at the lack of a source.