Jessica was more tan than the last time I’d seen her. She might have had more lines in her face. She wore a sweater with a folded collar and slacks, with suede boots that matched the sweater. A lot of attention had gone into her appearance, as if she’d broken from her rhythm to such a degree that she’d overcompensated on coming back, even three weeks later.

“I think I’m caught up on events,” she said. “I had to ask them to take turns so one voice wouldn’t dominate the room.”

I nodded.

“You’ve worked hard,” she said. “I can’t necessarily agree with the direction of that work, but I think we’ve always had our disagreement over the balance of priorities. The balance of civilian against powers, with each of us pushing for one or the other.”

Why did you block my phone?

“I dunno,” I said. “I don’t think I push for powers that hard. I just think… a lot of the time, the happiest, healthiest cape day-to-days are the ones where they blend together seamlessly. Sous-vide with a laser sear. The little, casual acceptances of power into life.”

Don’t ramble.

“You pushed hard here, didn’t you?” Jessica asked.

“Here?”

“With the group. Nevermind. I’m getting ahead of myself,” Jessica said.

Where are you going that that’s getting ahead of yourself?

“Sure,” I said.

“I exchanged words with Dr. Darnall. He says you haven’t been going to physio.”

Is this caring about me or is it accusatory? Is it your next step in getting to the real subject of this conversation?

“I did. I went. I got the exercises and the game plan and I’ve been keeping up with it. Every morning.”

“Regimes need to change. Things need to be monitored, Victoria.”

Doesn’t answer my question about whether this is caring or accusatory.

“They were. And they are. I’ve seen family and teammates get hurt, I read up on what to do when Patrol members got injured when I was in the Patrol.”

“That’s no substitute for medical attention, Victoria.”

It’s not, but I’d like it if it counted for more when I did pick up certain skills or knowledge. Or when I put in effort.

“It’s enough. I know what to watch out for, the differences between kinds of pain. I just…”

She didn’t cut in or fill the silence that followed.

“…kind of hate hospitals,” I said. The bitterness of the sentiment and the bitterness of the feelings I was holding back made it a paradoxically weaker statement overall, like my voice had almost broken as I admitted it.

“If that’s how you’re taking care of yourself, walking that risky line where you’re half-blind and taking on enough responsibility that you’re running the risk of hurting yourself, are you really taking care of the others?”