“It’s a vector of attack. People can use those things to hurt any of us,” I told him.

“Okay.”

“Antares, do I need to state—”

“I’m calling Breakthrough,” I said. I had my phone out already, and I started dialing as I finished the sentence.

We walked down the street, and with the flock of birds overhead, we were drawing some attention. Whatever. Past a certain point, I wasn’t sure it mattered. Our enemies didn’t seem like they fit into that territory where they were confident enough to pull this off but so incapable of tracking us that the birds made the difference.

If this was Chicken Little’s normal pattern, then it was better if he acted normal.

The phone rang three times before it picked up.

“Sveta here.”

“Hey. I’m with Tattletale, and something’s come up. Any weirdness today?”

“Weirdness? No. Tristan’s coordinating with other big teams, Rain and I are in the middle of one of my control sessions. Ashley’s bored so she went for a walk to buy some books.”

In the background, Chicken Little was talking on the phone. He echoed my question about weirdness.

“Tattletale’s recommending a communications blackout. In-person only,” I said.

“Master–stranger?” Sveta asked.

You go, Sveta. You’ve been studying, woo! “Yes, and you get big points for that one. Avoid any electronic media or communications. Keep an eye out for trouble. Don’t trust anything that’s not face to face.”

“Should Tristan end his call?”

“As soon as is polite.”

“I’ll write him something,” Sveta said. “I can write him things, I know this situation is serious, but I’m psyched.”

She sounded happy.

“Me too,” I said. I was so glad she seemed happy and that just made me more worried.

“Fill us in soon,” Sveta said.

“Yeah. We hope to have answers before dinnertime?” I made it a question, looking at Tattletale. She nodded. “Before dinner. For now, just be safe.”

“What about Kenzie?”

“Chicken Little is calling her now.”

“Got it.”

I hung up. Tattletale was studying me.

“What?”

She shook her head.

“Do you think the responses on the other end were faked?” I asked.

“I don’t think anything yet,” she said. She glanced around. “Nobody’s spying on us by usual means. I’m wondering if it’s a machine.”

“A machine?”

Snuff reached the car first. He pulled the door open for Tattletale, then for Chicken Little. Me last.

“It feels like these gears turn slowly. Inevitably. If I was a person and I was putting together something this big and this dramatic, and if I was keeping an eye on the key players, I’d be taking action now, trying to ensure I was maintaining control. I feel like a machine would be slower to process and adapt. More sure of itself, maybe.”

Snuff pulled us out of the parking spot, as we were still belting in.