My mild amusement at imagining her reaction was dampened badly by the very vivid recollection of actually pulling the thread of Nursery’s powerstuff out of my throat. I kept my breaths very shallow.

“I once got hit by something that made hear hear voices,” Vista said, through the phone. “For me, the voices belonged to people who died and people I’d killed. Took three months before it was at the point that I could ignore it, and for two of those months I thought it would be permanent.”

Couldn’t avoid it any more than you can get out of the way of someone’s flashlight beam, and then you’re permanently changed? It was only three months, but I feel changed a year later.”

“No shit?” I asked. I had to clear my throat again.

“Yeah shit. How bad was your thing? Sounds painful.”

“Not my best day. Not my worst, but the night’s not over. As nice as it would be to chat, I should ask why you’re calling.”

“I’ve been trying every few minutes for a while. Did you have to turn off your phone for a bit for opsec?”

“Nursery’s power. Jams signals.”

“Did you hear about the Undersiders who got shot?”

“I got a voice message, but we only had one dot of network connectivity so I couldn’t call for details or talk to them. One Undersider and two Heartbroken. Unless there’s more?”

“Not that I’ve heard. The villains want to get in touch to negotiate.”

“Hostage exchange, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.”

“They haven’t given us a deadline and from the message I got, we don’t even know how the surgery or medical care is going.”

“Seems like the optimal time,” Rain said, from the back.

“What was that?” Vista asked.

“Question of timing. They could try to negotiate now before things get complicated—”

“Before one of my siblings or cousins bites it,” Aroa muttered.

I gestured for them to pipe down. “—I think the people who have the final say in negotiations are preoccupied. They aren’t pushing a deadline on us, so for right this second, our read on it is that’s a wait-and-see thing.”

“Okay. Wait and see. I wanted to let you know in case you weren’t aware they’d been shot. That was one reason I called. There’s another. Another two.”

“Hit me.”

“Do you need help? I didn’t plan on asking, but you have a throat baby now—”

“Throat abortion, technically.”

“Good excuse for me to ask now, then. Do you want me to send you people?”

“How’s your end of things? Tell me that first.”

“Wardens and your other teams are tackling the time bubble issue. Things are ugly in New Brockton with the Undersiders no longer in charge.”

I winced.

“If you really needed it, we could send some people.”