“She’s working on the final touches, she said.”

“Nope!” Sveta said. She reached into her pocket, withdrawing a supiciously phone-like container. “Ta-da.”

“That’s your phone,” Ashley said, deadpan.

“It’s built into the phone case, but it’s not a phone. See? I turn it on, press it to Byron’s arm…”

Byron stuck his arm out.

Sveta leaned in close to the phone, tilting her head to put her ear near it. Then she switched to a deep voice, “Beep, boop, boop. Test, test, I’m Tristan, and after hearing Byron say all that, I might actually manage to throw up in this extradimensional space, it’s going to make such a mess, and I’ll never be able to clean it up.”

Byron dropped his arm, moving it away from the phone. He blurred, shifting over to Tristan.

“It works,” Tristan said, in the dullest, most unsuprised, unexcited tone he could manage. “Also, after hearing Byron get mushy over Moonsong, I might throw up. Good thing I’m not in an extradimensional space as I do it.”

“See? It’s amazing,” Sveta said. “Good work, Lookout.”

Her phone illuminated, showing a new text. A thumbs-up icon.

“In all seriousness, though, the way things are right now, don’t speak for me, don’t put words in my mouth,” Tristan said. There was a tone to how he said it that made Sveta take a step back.

“Sorry,” she said. Then, like that wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t think of what else to say, she said, “sorry.”

“Are there any boys you’re ga-ga over?” Ashley asked, sounding very much like the words ga-ga shouldn’t have ever left her lips. Her expression reflected a similar sentiment.

“What the fuck am I going to do with boys?” Tristan asked. “I can’t do anything. We can’t act, we can’t get the Wardens to take us seriously. They assigned us this garbage watch-the-people-at-a-bookstore job. Which would be bad enough, but I’ve got Sveta putting words in my mouth—”

“I said sorry.”

“And I swear I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Maybe you should switch out, cool down?” Rain asked. “It’s Byron’s turn anyway.”

“Fuck him,” Tristan said. Metal clicked against metal as he settled in, arms crossed, looking down over the roof’s edge.

Tristan was signaling—left foot planted a bit ahead of the right foot. The signal had been Rain’s idea, with either arms being folded or footing being our cue to one another that we were playing a part. That we weren’t really upset.

Still, it was spooky to go there, to see backlash and hear friendly voices sound so unfriendly.

My hands in my coat pockets, I looked down from the roof’s edge.