“She knew of you.”

Chilling.

“Did you use my name? Your relationship with me?”

“Did I—”

“Did you convince her that you were legitimate or that you were safe by using the fact we’re related?”

“No,” Amy said.

Not quite a lie like the other, that was something she desperately wanted to believe. This… a half truth.

I stared at her, and she broke eye contact.

I drew closer to her, fully ready to hurt her if I had to, if she moved a muscle. True to her word, she didn’t.

I got so close I could smell her, and the smell stirred up memories that Engel had shaken loose.

I might have lost track of what I’d meant to say, but I saw movement. Nestled in the mane of brown curls that really needed more conditioner, Amy’s little imp Dot was curled up against the back of her neck, face pressed against the side, peering through the strands. She bared needle teeth at me.

My voice was barely audible when I spoke to Amy.

“Next time, if you want to insult me to my core, try going straight to spitting in my face, instead,” I told her. “It’s not quite as bad, and at least there’s only some chance you hurt innocents with the collateral damage.”

She stepped back as if I had hit her. I saw emotions cross her face. Then that faint light of shaky hope I’d hoped to extinguish appeared once again.

“I’m handling it,” she said. “I can do this. I’ll show you.”

I believed her even less this time.

Maybe it was better I hadn’t extinguished it, if it got her to the Wardens’ headquarters.

Could I count this as one demon slain?

No.

But I could handle it. I could see a possible light at the end of this tunnel.

Back to the arena. To our group, which stood clustered at one segment of the circle. Natalie was there, her forehead creased in worry.

“How are we?” I asked her.

“Not great,” Natalie answered. “You?”

“Some resolution.”

“Great. I hope you won them over.”

The murmur of conversation in the room sounded different from one end than from the other. Our group spoke in one tongue, other groups spoke in another.

All went silent as Luis stepped forward. Sleek figure, black, with a braided tie. His movements were dramatic and echoed our own Earth’s, but they made me think of a showman, not a statesman.

“We stand at the crux of two solutions,” he stated. “In one hand, we hold a breaking of ties. We would send you home, keeping only a select few, and we would end all trade, all promises, and retract all contracts.”

That was still on the table.

Miss Militia was tense.