But my sister? Amy? Her reaction mirrored mine. Stopping in her tracks. Quiet horror or unease. Then resumed motion. She looked away before I did, but I did look away too.

The tension was palpable, and I wasn’t sure it had anything to do with us. If Gary Nieves could see how Chris and Amy were right now, or if he could see how my parents were, he’d be quickly disabused of any notion they were in charge. To look at them, they looked like they expected the guillotine. Chris seemed most at ease, but he was still tense, muscles on his lanky limbs taut.

“Something’s up,” Tristan said, quiet.

“Feels way more hostile than the last few times I came,” Vista added.

“They were three-two in favor of working with us and one of the three got replaced,” Miss Militia said.

“Why?” Tristan asked.

“I don’t know,” Miss Militia said, under her breath. “But be ready to use your powers, and tell the others to be ready for the same. Nonlethal if you can help it.”

Breaking 14.5

Miss Militia stood straight, one hand behind her back, the other extended forward, like she was going to shake their hands. They couldn’t though, because we were all arranged in a loose circle that put the nearest members of Shin’s government about four long strides from Miss Militia’s position on the floor.

“Miss Militia. Warden. If I may?”

Her words were followed by an echo, the translators speaking in muted tones to respective groups. Only two groups had translators, it seemed.

“Luis, Founders. I think you might,” one of the men with braided ties answered, his English without even an accent. “I’ll wait for my colleagues to reply.”

I recognized Luis. His skin was black, his clothes fine, and his expression a constant kind of warm that might have been politician fake.

Many sat at chairs with tables built into them made me think of student’s desks in a high school. Difference was that cloth draped from the arm that held the table up and surrounded the legs like a skirt, and the makeup of chair and desk both were ornate, almost throne-like. At the foot of maybe four or five of the thrones, and there were maybe fifteen in total, I could see young men, fourteen or fifteen, sitting on cushions or mats, writing constantly.

I hadn’t expected the gap in culture to be something so oppressive.

I was put in mind of attending a mosque service, having little idea of the process, and trying to not embarrass myself or disturb the regular attendees. The difference was that barely anything was happening, nothing specific was expected of me, and yet we were so much further from the familiar.

Except for Luis, who seemed uncannily ordinary. I could remember seeing him back when we’d first met Goddess, holding her umbrella.