“I’ll make it up to you,” my mother said.

“I believe you.”

My mother produced a coruscating spike in her hand. I knew the energy she made could be diffused or left ‘sharp’, and I imagined she’d picked something that would burn at worst, if someone were to walk fast enough into it.

I’d wanted her to guide me. But she didn’t, instead putting a hand on Sveta’s shoulder. Because she didn’t think—there was a dwindling number of people to manage us.

“Regretting sending Mom here?” I asked, approaching my dad, because the alternative was that he wouldn’t think either, and I’d be left with Amy guiding me.

I didn’t walk a straight line to my dad, either. I took the path that kept him between Amy and myself. She had a look in her eyes that was somewhere between wounded and hopeful, constantly changing, and my little maneuver pushed things into the ‘wounded’ for the time being.

Though he held his arm straight out in front of him, the hand he put on my shoulder wasn’t one that gripped me hard. It was almost reassuring.

“It saved her life,” he said.

Right. Of course. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry this is happening this way.”

I shook my head.

Besides the fact that Amy was behind me and I had no idea what she was doing, besides the fact that she’d tried to grab me from behind once already, and had chased after me more than once in the time since Gold Morning…

No, I’d rather bite the bullet and keep the peace. How did it go? Rule of law, then right and wrong, and if neither of those worked, reach out for counsel? If none of that was possible, do what I could do without regrets?

This was the law here. It was ridiculous and unjust, pure farce for political points and to apply pressure on another government.

“Fuck me with a salted log, do not fucking touch me,” Vista said.

I turned to look. Amy, with about a foot of distance between a reaching or motioning hand and Vista.

“I don’t want to fall behind,” Amy said. “This is hard enough.”

“Give me a second.”

“You’re going to make them suspicious.”

Vista didn’t budge, staring Amy down. In the meantime, my dad and I were stopped, while the others left the room. Miss Militia remained where she was, a short distance from Vista and Amy.

“Be good,” Miss Militia told Vista. This time, the words really did seem meant for Vista.

“I am. But if it comes down to it, I’m not going to have a squad of soldiers who I don’t know or trust at my back without taking steps.”

Miss Militia looked around. “You undid it?”

“Just finished,” Vista said.