Victoria had a bandaged hand again. She was doing such a terrible job of managing her forcefield these days, in a way that made Crystal worry. Victoria was—Crystal stopped as she processed the thought, and that crushing pressure didn’t go away as she realized what it was. Victoria had the same look as the prematurely aged Mr. Vera had. Carol simply looked tired.

“Hey,” Victoria said. She let go of Aunt Carol, made sure she was stable, then gave Crystal a hug.

“What happened?” Crystal asked, hugging back. “Where’s Uncle Mark?”

“He’s staying behind, to keep an eye on Amy,” Aunt Carol said.

He’s alive, Crystal thought. She could breathe again, even with the tight hug. The sunken, crushed feeling could gradually make its way to the surface now.

“And you?” Crystal asked her aunt, talking over Victoria’s shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m not combat-ready, but I can get there on my own from here.”

“That’s good. But you left early?”

“It’s dangerous over there. Sentiment. Mark can handle himself and I’m more liability than asset. If I’m out here, I can get Mark out when it’s time, if things don’t get better, and I can keep in contact.”

“He’s prisoner?”

Carol answered, “He’s something close to being a prisoner. He’ll be fine if it’s like this, I think. Their politics are more focused on each other than on us, now. They made an attempt to paint us in a bad light and that was shut down. Victoria and her team did well. The Founders and Coalition are reasserting control of things. More of yesterday’s status quo, as far as we’re concerned.”

“That’s good,” Crystal said. “I think.”

“It’s good,” Aunt Carol said. “You look like you’re frozen inside and out.”

“I am, if I’m honest. Do you want to eat somewhere we can warm up and catch up on details, or…”

She stopped.

“Vic?” she asked. She rubbed Victoria’s back with her hand.

No change in the tightness of the hug, no change in breathing, barely a movement.

She looked at Aunt Carol, helpless, not sure what to say or do. Aunt Carol didn’t have anything to offer, her head turned to look at others, and Crystal had no idea if that was on purpose or by happenstance.

“Vic. You okay?”

Victoria broke the hug. Crystal got a better look at her cousin, and saw a hundred-yard stare, gaze averted, fingernails digging into the coat sleeve over forearm. The Victoria she’d seen after Gold Morning, who was still relearning day-to-day life.

By herculean measure over a span of a second or two, a rapid-fire set of tiny step-by-steps, Victoria adjusted posture, body language, and reasserted focus, then eye contact. To reassert the facade Victoria of last week, instead, if a more tired one.

“I’m okay.”

“What happened?”