“Years ago, his team couldn’t beat me,” Paris said, indicating Byron. “Everything I did was fair—”

“You targeted capes and hospitalized them for kicks!” Byron raised his voice.

“I met them on the streets and I beat them on the streets,” Paris said. “By the rules we all followed, that’s allowed. Reduce it all down and that’s even what it’s all about. Then they turned around and accused me of a murder that never happened. Capes came after my civilian identity. People interviewed my family. My wife. I went to jail. I almost went to the Birdcage. All of the rules you’re talking about now? Truces, what’s allowed? It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now.”

“I could have killed you earlier,” Byron said. “I didn’t. Because I felt like I played a part in what happened—”

“You did.”

“But this road you’re going down, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Don’t talk to me like you’re righteous,” Paris said. “If you had any guts, you would have done to him what he did to you.”

There were two statements set side by side there. To me, they were a non-sequitur. To Paris, no doubt, a natural jump from one idea to the next.

Byron shook his head. It looked like he was recovering now. No ambient red lightning, nothing humming in the air?

“Speaking of righteous,” Bluestocking said. “I know about the charities, Paris.”

“Charities?” Byron asked.

“The money he earns, he gives almost all of it away. Keeps some to secure his family’s future, anyone would, but nobody would give as much to those in need as this guy. I bet Tattletale could shine light on why, if we asked her. Guilt?”

My mind hadn’t been going to guilt. Maybe self-aggrandizement. If his civilian identity made the donations, that identity reaped the reward when it came to reputation and social status. It wouldn’t be the first time a cape identity was used in a dark way to support a shining public image.

“Tattletale’s not available,” Swansong said. “They took her head.”

Bluestocking nodded, seemingly unfazed.

“Outing me?” Paris asked Bluestocking.

“No. But if you’re doing this for money, to throw ninety percent of what you make away at charities, I’m prepared to tell them where the money comes from.”

Paris shook his head. “Do it then. You’ll see how little I care about the money or the reputation.”

“It may not come to that,” I said. “Because I don’t think these people are on your side.”