“Because he knows we’d shoot him if he led from the front,” Foil answered. “I might be able to hit him. Shoot through the repulsion field. But I might miss.”

“I could help,” Harbinger One said, sidling in close enough that he was in Foil’s personal space. Damsel stuck out a claw, touching his shoulder and prodding him back.

“Can you guarantee a hit?” Foil asked.

“No. Can’t see enough of him, and it’s too dark.”

“I have the same problem, so it’s not much help.”

“Don’t shoot if you can’t keep him alive. We need him to undo what he did to others—” Assuming that’s even possible. It has to be possible. “—and to give us the dirt on March.”

“If you’re trigger-happy, you could shoot—” Tattletale started. She paused one second, started again, voice quiet, and the lower undertones of Moose’s voice, even though he wasn’t technically in earshot, were enough to drown out the initial sounds.

She started again. “Woman in red. MYOSHA, all capitals.”

“Machinery explosions,” I said. “Dangerous.”

“Yes. Or one on the far left, ox skull. Prong.”

“Don’t know him,” I said, noting the soldier with an ox skull mask that looked like it obscured his peripheral vision, with the way the skull and his own eyes lined up. He wore a heavy coat over what might have been body armor. Bulky kevlar, not fancy costume armor panels.

“Point,” Tattletale smirked, the smirk faltering as she took in a halting, probably painful breath, “for me.”

I was annoyed at that, but I let it slide. “What does he do, then?”

“Brute tough, but you can wear that down. Or use Foil’s power and ignore it. Wanted to hire him once, he said no, he was busy, so fuck him. The—”

She stopped. Her face was shiny with sweat. Rachel brushed a mittened hand over her upper face to move hair away, not really as delicate in the operation as I imagined ninety-nine percent of the population would be.

“—The schtick is ‘you mess with the bull, get the horns’. Curved spikes of light. Spear you like a—like a spear. And carry you back and away. Impales you to a wall with one spike then stabs you ten times with the other, or he just pushes you back out and away. Extends the spike out past the horizon.”

“Endless range?” I asked.

“Twenty-five feet. But once he gets you, it’s endless.”

“Cretan and Lionwing are there, but they aren’t stepping up,” Tattletale observed. “They’re sticking close to Cradle. Closer relationship. They’re actually loyal.”

The conversation between Moose and Prancer was wrapping up.

The pair broke apart, but instead of Moose returning to us and Prancer going to the station where Bluestocking’s group was maintaining watch, it was the other way around.