“Yeah,” I said. She’d moved when I talked, like she was stirred out of a daze. I avoided looking.

“Same for Case Fifty-Threes. The mutations tend to get worse,” Sveta said.

“Yeah, but your new body isn’t from that, is it? Otherwise Weld would be in big trouble.”

Sveta looked away at the mention of Weld.

“You stepped up your game, huh?” Chris asked. “Better body.”

“Yeah,” Sveta said. She smiled. “I’m pretty happy with it.”

“It’s okay. You could’ve gone with a supermodel body and you went with that.”

“Fuck you,” Sveta said. “You’re better than that, Chris.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Why would you think that? Name one thing I’ve done that’s ‘better’.”

“You were our friend.”

“Sorry, but that doesn’t count for anything. I used you, that’s all. No hard feelings.”

“Some hard feelings,” Tristan said.

Chris snorted.

“We need to instill you with some manners,” Marquis said.

“How long have you tried?” Chris asked.

“If I try for just a short while longer, I may strike on a success.”

“Ever the optimist,” Amy said, her voice pitched funny. Nervous.

Tristan didn’t take his eyes off the window. I looked. Miss Militia was standing in the center of the room now. I wished I knew the context. Natalie had rejoined her, but looked so intimidated I wasn’t sure what she could add. I worried, by the look on her face, that she had detracted more than she added. This wasn’t her world, it wasn’t her fight, and we’d pulled her into it.

Guards stared me down as I looked past them. I didn’t flinch, turning back to Breakthrough. The others.

This warm space was crowded despite the unoccupied swathe of patio between the two factions. The guards were arranged in two rows of five by the door, hands on their weapons.

Yosef had talked so casually about killing a parahuman child. Would he do something? I had my aura. I could hit the glass above us and bring snow and glass down on their heads. I wasn’t sure it was enough.

A face loomed in my peripheral vision. I was worried I was going to lose it if I didn’t distract myself.

“Mom. Are you okay?”

“Better,” was her response.

“I sent you messages.”

“I got them,” she said.

“I read them to her,” my dad said. “We couldn’t reply. Nothing nefarious, just… difficult.”

In looking at him, I glanced at Amy. It was a punch in the gut.

I hated having feelings that had nowhere to go, and with no air in this hot box of a room, with everything on the line, things were worse.

“Are you going to fully recover?” I asked.

“Yes,” my mom said. “Mark and Amy are looking after me. We’re moving slowly, but we will get there. We’re being treated well.”