Love Lost drew a trap from her belt, switched it on, and tapped it hard against her leg to activate it. As it went off, crackling with red lightning, she touched it to the lash, letting the energy conduct down to the girl.

Down and out.

Love Lost looked over the remainder. Unconscious, severe bleeding, severe bleeding, disabled, spasming, pinned…

Her eye settled on Colt last.

What a profound fucking loss that was. She’d hoped Colt would run or get away from all of this. Now…

“Should I call Cradle?” Nailbiter asked.

Love Lost nodded.

Colt dropped out of the ethereal form, falling the last two feet to the ground. Her eyes were wide, and there was a look on her face somewhere between horror and amazement.

“I have so many powers. Blades, flight, the burst that stops people in their tracks… I think I can build things. Studs, for my arms?”

At that, Love Lost realized what Colt meant. Her instinctive response, inexplicable, was that she wanted to kill Colt. To respond to this horror and alarm by eliminating the source of it.

But it was horror because she didn’t want this for Colt. Horror because she wanted to tie up loose ends, to end this. She was doing this for a reason, and Colt utterly defied that reason.

In the moment, she found herself hating the girl.

“Boss,” Nailbiter said.

Love Lost turned.

“He wants you to bring them to him. He wants to sever them.”

Love Lost looked over the enemy group. Swansong stared back, angry. In a start, she used her power, firing from one hand—

Colt used her power. A burst of emotion. Swansong landed hard. Love Lost bent down to put claws against the young woman’s throat.

Love Lost nodded.

“All of them,” Nailbiter said. “Kids included. If it’s just the older ones, he thinks they’ll be brave or willing to take risks.”

Love Lost stared at the youngest ones. Why was it so much harder to reach for that part of herself that felt anything but pain when thinking of Everly?

Pain, anger, frustration.

All more intense, seeing Colt throw herself headlong into this existence.

She undid the clasp on her mask. It was just her and Nailbiter. If she made any sounds or revealed any emotion in front of Nailbiter, she sensed it would be okay, somehow.

Her voice had a creak to it, from disuse. “Do you think one bad experience would scare them away from this life?”

Nailbiter looked down at the one with the pixie cut, who was twitching and kicking.

“No. It’s not likely.”

Love Lost reached for something, any shred of empathy. Anything that would let her relate them to Ever, as she might have done before.

All there was, was a rule she’d made when she had some warmth left in her.