Into the hallway, which had been more or less cleared. Capes were fighting further up, and capes were fighting behind us.

But in the meantime, we had some light, and we had a chance to breathe, spacing out enough that we could find our individual groups.

I almost dropped to a sitting position as I got to the others, and I hadn’t been running around much.

Byron made water, filling a container, than drank it. He capped it, tossed it into the air, and changed to Tristan. Tristan caught it and drank more. At a nudge from Sveta, he handed it over.

“My brother can make water if anyone needs a resupply,” he called out.

“Let us finish what we have,” Gong said. “We’ll take you up on that.”

“Sveta did us all proud,” Ashley said. “She cleared half of this hallway herself.”

“Did I? Sorry, I don’t want to sound like I’m fishing for compliments—”

“I’ve always felt you should claim every compliment you can get.”

“—but my control slipped some.”

“You handled it. You did well.”

“I’d like to think so. I hope so. I feel like I’m closer to being the hero I want to be. I wish it was a little less bloody.”

“Don’t we all?” one of the capes from Gong’s group asked.

“It means a lot that you’d say it, though. Thank you, Swansong.”

“Of course.”

“What’s the standard way to compliment you, Swan?” Precipice asked. “Florid, exaggerated? I’d probably come across like a sniveling cartoon toady to the big bad guy if I tried.”

“You’re nowhere near that,” Sveta said.

“As fun as it would be to hear you try,” Swansong added. “I wouldn’t worry. Complimenting me risks belaboring the obvious.”

“Wow,” Tristan said.

“You did okay, Swan,” I said. “Not a lot you can do with a lethal power and this situation.”

She made a noise of assent.

“And you?” Sveta asked. She found a position next to me. “Your hand is bleeding.”

It was. Whatever. Not enough to matter.

“Talked to Aunt Sarah.”

“And?”

“And it was eerie. I’m not sure how to put it.”

Like something was missing.

She laid her head against my shoulder, being careful of the spikes.

Catching our breath. Touching base, going back to the old therapy circle of group reaffirmation, maybe.

Imp and the Heartbroken were a little further down. They… were picking fun at each other. Roman and Juliette were having harsh words. The tone, insults excepted, was fairly light. Like they didn’t take this seriously.

“Can we get that water?” Gong asked.

Tristan became Byron, who provided the water, a small constellation, a short, focused spurt of stinging cold spray.

There were others who wanted drinks, so Byron switched back to Tristan, who began drawing out what might have been a bottle. He created it, Byron filled it, and then they swapped back.