The Harbingers—slumped over dirt mounds. Drenched but they would be fine if they got warm.

Not for the first or second time, I took the time to glance back. The truck had stopped a distance away from where our group had settled. New blue markings in the air blocked the roadway. People had climbed out of the vehicle. Prancer and Moose.

That—it would have to wait. The others were vulnerable, but as shitty as Prancer was, I was pretty sure he wasn’t about to take helpless people hostage. Those ‘helpless people’ were probably able to use powers, too. Too dangerous for him to crack.

He might have been calling friends.

Didn’t matter.

Each time I’d checked back over my shoulder, I’d been looking. This time, with water settling, swirling, and frothing or carrying loose debris, I could make out particulars in the darkness.

A swirl where water at the edge was settling.

I flew to it, reaching it just in time. A cylindrical hole in the ground, three or four inches across, and deep. As I got to it, the red light of the trap that had been embedded into the ground illuminated. It had been triggered by a disturbance from the sudden rush of water.

I grabbed it and I hurled it, grenade-style. The Wretch provided the strength for extra distance.

Etna’s attention was on her phone. When Paris got out of there, Etna didn’t.

The device activated. A crackle of red energy that swept over Etna. I saw her drop, limp, spasming, and she landed face down in the water.

Paris started forward, and Swansong used her power. A warning shot, fired off to her side. Paris stopped.

Etna remained where she was, periodically pushing herself partway up, then splashing back down.

Paris waited, chin high, hands clasped behind his back. Swansong stood, hair damp, head bent, glaring up and across at Paris. Four good paces separated them.

Etna, unable to move on her own, floundered in the water.

“Is her phone there?” I asked.

Swansong started forward. Paris threw darts, planting them in the dirt between Swansong and Etna.

With a blast of her power, followed by a short stumble and recovery, Swansong destroyed the swathe of dirt and the geysers.

I had blood running down the finger of my glove. The ring squelched as I adjusted its position, the blood on the inner circumference squeezing out.

Etna continued to flounder.

“Do you think we care?” Contender asked. “She was two-bit. Vulturehawk and Thud aren’t even from around here. They don’t give a shit about her or me or Paris over there. I’ve got a job. Cushy gig in another universe, gets me out of this sad echo of the world we lost.”

“Joining the fourth sect,” I murmured.

“Yeah,” Contender said. “And Paris? Paris has his own thing going on.”

“You don’t need to talk about me,” Paris said, creepy-quiet.

“If you’re trying to scare us, it won’t work,” Contender said, one hand at his neck. “You can’t use her for leverage if none of us give a shit.”