I glanced at Swansong.

“We don’t need your help,” Paris said. A voice at normal volume, steady, condemning.

“Help would be nice, to get out of the cold,” Contender said.

Paris gave Contender a look.

As much emotion as we’d seen from him yet.

“I don’t care enough about this to help or not help, or to care that you hate me for no damn reason,” Prancer said.

“I’d care, but I get the impression this is complicated,” Moose said.

“It’s really not, Moose. They cut up kids,” I said. “Carved off pieces. Left ’em crying. For a good few of them, they were crying over what happened to their friends, not themselves.”

“Took my leg,” Swansong said.

“You think I’m nicer than I am,” Moose said, his voice low.

“I think you’re a cape who flew under the radar for a long time—”

“Your polite way of saying I’m B-list.”

“—You lived in the woods of British Columbia and you oversaw drug grows. Kept ’em safe, scared off trespassers, dealt with police. As villains go that’s pretty harmless. You didn’t sign on for this bloody, killing stuff.”

“Nope,” he said. “But I didn’t sign on to stop it, either.”

“Bull,” I retorted. “This isn’t you. You can’t be okay with this.”

“I came out of the attack on the Fallen compound needing three inches of colon removed after it got pulled out of my middle and left exposed to the world,” he said. “A friend died. I’ve had to face a lot of ugliness.”

“Boo fucking hoo,” Swansong said.

“No,” I said. I could see a dark look in Prancer’s eyes. As dark as any I’d seen in Swansong’s earlier tonight. “Ugliness sucks. It hasn’t been great.”

“I can’t stand gutless villains. There’s no point to this, and there’s no point to holding back and being neutral except to be an utter coward. You cast yourselves in the worst light by hiding when it counts.”

“Swan?” I asked. “Speaking of standing by, give Etna a breath of air?”

She didn’t budge.

“One breath,” I said. I glanced at Paris. “Unless you’re going to stop her?”

A gamble. Was he going to act differently while Prancer and Moose were here?

She walked over to Etna, and Paris didn’t stop her.

She hauled back on the decorated ‘flame’ collar of Etna’s costume and lifted her up. Etna took in gulps of air, coughing and sputtering, her arms curling up awkwardly, like t-rex arms. Not that I’d been better.

Swansong dropped her. Etna splashed down into the water.

“This is who you are, Moose? Gutless?”

“I’m sayin’, feeling awfully mortal after that little funeral service. All I’ve wanted since the world ended was a place and some people to keep close.”

“Do you want those people to be people who maim others?”