The blood was a good reminder that we were in enemy territory now. The settlement that extended from this station was a place where villains rented out places. From our past visit, I knew that there were distant cabins that were intentionally out of the way and hard to find. Without cooperating authority, finding the right place would be hard or impossible.

This was Lord of Loss’s turf. We’d arrested the authority. On principle, I was fairly sure, he wouldn’t tell us what he knew or guide us in the right direction.

“Scrambler,” Swansong said, holding up a device. It looked like a taser, but meaner. “And our key out of here.”

“Do we?” Byron asked.

The station on this side was empty. No people, no staff. Computers were on, as were the monitors for tracking the state of the portal. Unmonitored monitors.

I walked around the desk. Camera footage showed that the place was empty except for one girl in a staff uniform out back, smoking.

“Don’t hit that button just yet,” I said. “Could this be a trap?”

“I can scan,” Rain said. “Not well, but I can scan the area.”

“Be ready to run,” my mother said to my father. To all of us. The two of them were standing close together, his hand on the small of her back. Because they were dorks.

While Rain waved his thingy around, and the rest of the group settled so they could watch out windows and peek at the settlement beyond, I stayed by the computer. Periodically I hit the spacebar, to cycle through the surveillance images.

On a second go, I realized there was also television. Fed through from Earth Bet.

A distant, shaky camera shot of Brockton Bay. Mechanical suits were flying around, unleashing barrages.

And slowly, glacially slowly, the city unfolded, returning to its old, shaky, ruined configuration.

I shivered, seeing it. I saw Byron clench his fist, heard a ‘no’.

Rachel, supposedly Vista’s friend, only glowered.

I got my phone out. I flew to the portal. “Don’t seal it!”

Ashley raised her intact hand, thumb clearly nowhere near the button.

Through the portal. Back to a roomful of people who were still recovering from a soak and concussive shocks to the sensory faculties. My aura kept all but ten or so from getting back up, as they slumped over defeated or frustrated.

My phone call went through.

“What the hell just happened in Brockton Bay?” I asked.

The explanation took a minute to get through.

By the time it was done, my fingers were knotted around the headphone cord, which was so tight it threatened to cut off circulation.

“They want Foil. But even if they get her, they aren’t saying for sure they’re willing or guaranteeing they’re able to walk it back.”

And these guys want Rain, I thought.

Worse than we’d anticipated, in a lot of ways.