“And you leave yourself open. If a villain or a no-neck twit hero gets their hands on you like this, what do you even do?”

No neck twit hero?

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll fuck ’em up.”

“You don’t hesitate then.”

“Of course not.”

Rachel let Candy drop. Candy spent a second smoothing her coat and skirt before fixing her hair with her fingers.

Aroa tried to back away. Rachel caught up with her—

I wanted to wince, because Aroa was the thirteen-year-old Heartbroken who apparently liked hurting people, and got a power that lashed out with pain and made people like the pain.

“No hugs,” Aroa said. “Never hugs.”

Rachel stopped short of a hug. A hand touched the side of Aroa’s face, two fingers above the ear, two below. She moved the hand, Aroa’s head rocking.

“Don’t get into trouble,” Rachel said.

Head still moving side to side, Aroa rolled her eyes. “Or you’ll make me pitchfork shit?”

“Next time, I’ll make you express anal glands,” Rachel said.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Aroa said.

“Popping out the pooper juice,” Candy said. “After I embarrassed Darlene in front of Chicken Little, I got sent to Rachel and apparently I qualified as breaking the ‘don’t hurt the Chicken’ rule, so I got the bad punishments. I had to do it four times.”

Aroa smirked. Candy smirked back, less natural, more mocking of Aroa’s expression.

“It’s your job next time,” Rachel said. Her hand stopped moving but it didn’t pull away.

Aroa glared up at Rachel. “I don’t think you realize how fine a line you walk with us, abusing us like you do.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rachel said. “Show up. Come anytime. Good clean food, playing with the other kids, swimming, riding the horses or dogs. If you aren’t bratty and you don’t scare or hurt anyone, you get a pass. No anal glands and no cleanup the next time you get in trouble after that.”

“I don’t plan on getting caught.”

Rachel put another hand on the other side of Aroa’s face, bending down, and putting her face the crown of her head. She murmured something I didn’t hear. Aroa nodded. As Rachel took her hand away, she gave Aroa’s head a push. Aroa rolled her eyes.

Last of that side of the group, Foil greeted Rachel. A hand clasp, not a hug.

I glanced down at the mercenary, who still had a paw pinning him to the ground, his head lifted off the ground by the teeth that had slid between head and pavement, mouth not fully closed. He barely moved.

“Precipice and Antares,” Foil said. “Bitch.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said.

I put out a hand. She hesitated, then took it.