“You’re not getting anywhere. It’s my headquarters too. Take a break and wait for Victoria or make a decision.”

“Victoria can’t do anything about this,” Sveta said.

“Then who do I call?”

“Nobody.”

“Jessica?”

“Ashley, Swansong, I—I said nobody. Jessica’s not even doing therapy anymore. She’s not caught up. It would be too much to ask.”

“Then who?”

“You’re not listening to me! You can’t fix this. This isn’t the sort of thing you fix,” Sveta said. Her voice broke at the end of the statement.

“Isn’t that a decision on its own?” Weld said, distant, barely audible.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Sveta said. “I’m saying it’s not her business. That’s all.”

“My headquarters, m—” Ashley said.

“You’ve said that,” Sveta said, bitter, annoyed.

“—my friend,” Ashley said. She took advantage of the pause that followed. “My, hm, cousin?”

“Cousin?” Sveta asked. It was like the statement had shaken her from her train of thought.

“We’re all Armstrong’s, in our way. Should I call him?”

Armstrong. The PRT director who had de-facto adopted Weld, who had supported Ashley from a distance when she was Damsel of Distress, living in a small town. Who had accepted Sveta with open arms and, I wasn’t even sure Sveta knew, provided a good chunk of the cash for Sveta’s now-destroyed prosthetic body.

“I didn’t even think about Armstrong,” Sveta said. I could hear the pain in her voice. “Can you just leave, Ashley? Please? Tristan, I’m guessing you’re in earshot. Can you—”

I flew in, touching Ashley’s shoulder. She backed out of the way of the door.

Inside, it was cold, the door had been open for at least a few minutes.

Sveta’s cheeks had been marred, both by tears that weren’t clear but were shot-through with black, and because makeup that had been used to give her a more normal skin tone had been wiped away. Her tattoo on her cheek was plainly visible.

The headquarters space was a good forty feet across. We’d picked it for its spaciousness. A good thirty feet separated Sveta, who stood at the end nearest Chris’s old corner, near the washroom and the tiny kitchen counter. Weld stood near Kenzie’s console at the ‘head’ of the apartment.

I started forward, saw Sveta move in reaction, and hesitated. I could see her telling me to leave, or telling me not to approach. The former would fit with what she’d said to Ashley. The latter would suggest she didn’t trust herself.

But there was no resistance, no defensiveness. Without a word spoken, despite the fact she no longer had her unsteady prosthetic body, she teetered slightly my way. I closed the distance and I hugged her. She hugged me back tightly enough that nails that had been sculpted into her Precipice-made hands bit into my back.