“The concern isn’t ego,” I told her. “It’s falling into the trap of being your status pieces like Bluestocking wanted us to be.”

“You don’t want to be my bitch?”

“You’ve got enough bitch for the three of us,” Sveta muttered.

Tattletale smirked. “You sure, Tress? Because while I understand you’re having a sucky day, you’re definitely bringing a lot onboard.”

Sveta glanced at me. I wondered if it was to check, to ask if she should step down.

“It’s fine,” Tattletale waved it off. “It’s fun. Antares, you can walk in beside me if it makes your ego feel better. Shall we? Yes? Yes?”

I nodded. But Tattletale’s second yes was a lingering one, awaiting confirmation. Because Sveta.

“I wish I’d changed,” Sveta said. “Redone my paint on my arms and neck.”

She touched the collar that gave her neck the appearance of being a neck rather than a tangle of tendrils, painted on either side. From a distance it would have looked like vivid tattoos.

Wracked with doubts, a little off kilter. Still more together than I would’ve been.

“You look good. The art’s good. The dress is pretty,” I said.

“It doesn’t match the seriousness of what we’re doing,” she murmured. “And I don’t feel very colorful right now.”

I gave her a one-armed hug, my forehead touching hers.

“Come on,” I said. “We get through this, figure out this crisis, then we see if Swansong will let you borrow a suitably colorless dress.”

That got a smile out of Sveta. “The horror. So not my style.”

“You’re thinking about style, hey. Step up from before our shopping trip.”

Tattletale rolled her eyes, opened the door, and walked in first, ignoring her offer to walk in together.

Being casual and confident was a kind of presentation on its own, when faced with a dangerous environment. It started with being a kid on her first patrol, standing tall and not looking afraid as she passed through dark, crime-ridden streets. It played into our stepping inside, me and Tattletale first, then Sveta and Snuff. A spacious dining area, with high ceiling and a kitchen setup in the direct center with a chimney reaching up to the roof, built around a stone stove with wood burning within. A stairwell off to our left seemed to lead upstairs.

Scattered villains were within. I saw Cleat and Crested. Vulturehawk was in the corner, alone, and focused in on Sveta the moment he saw her.

Nursery was here, too, sitting with a pregnant teenage girl who wasn’t in costume. Maybe a local. Her back was to us.

Bluestocking was sitting with Bitter Pill at the kitchen, and she stood. With a motion of her hand, she bid some of their enforcers to pat us down.