“I’ve researched the various teams. I know who you are, though it took some reminding. You had an attempted murder charge for apparent fratricide while they were trying to figure out how to charge killing someone you share a body with. You were Fallen and were directly complicit in the mall fire that killed over a dozen people—”

Each statement was punctuated by a shift in the tone of things, reactions from the room. I could hear his voice echoing, a half-second late, as the speakers outside carried it to the crowd beyond.

“—your own mother just went to Earth Shin for medical care because you struck her so hard you took part of her head off and damaged her spine.”

I dropped my eyes to the ground. Gary apparently knew the fucking particulars better than I did. Fuck.

I wanted to retort but the mental picture took my breath away. I’d left the hospital wanting to keep anyone from ever having the same kind of fate I had, and then I’d hurt my mom that badly.

And they’d taken her to Amy. Who had allegedly done something.

I didn’t want to connect those dots.

“And you were Slaughterhouse Nine,” Gary finished. His capstone.

“So stupid,” Ashley told him.

I reached out, my hand on her shoulder. She looked at me, and her eyes—white from corner to corner, black wisps of smoke curling out from the edges of the eyelids, exaggerating black eyelashes. Her eyes were empty, blank.

“We should go,” I said.

She batted my hand away from her shoulder.

“Stupid, small man,” Ashley said. She took steps forward, and I flew a bit to keep more or less in front of her. I was ready to tackle her to the ground. My wariness and tension seemed to be reason enough for Gary to back up.

I spared a glance, and saw Sveta was pushing past the crowd that was standing around the rows and columns of chairs. Ashley took advantage of that glance to step around me. I didn’t spare another look for Rain and Tristan.

“You have all of these facts but you. Know. So. Little,” she told him, making each of the last three words its own punctuated statement unto itself, accusatory, hissed, and pejorative, in that order.

People were standing from their seats, backing up.

“Swansong,” I said, my voice stern. I used my aura, the radius just wide enough to catch her and none of the audience. She snapped her head around. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Ashley,” I said, shifting my tone. I spoke to her more as a friend, “Please.”

I noticed blue motes. Not many, but some. Byron was using his power, keeping it ready. A blast of water, in case she lunged for Gary? I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because it implied I wouldn’t be in a position to tackle her out of the air.