“My analysis says you’re okay,” Venarum told me. “Mostly. You’ll want a full spectrum of antibiotics when all of this is done. The purging clears all disease from your system after it happens, but you got that scratch on your back after, I’m guessing.”

I nodded, uncomfortable.

I halfway expected him to criticize me, to talk about my injuries and scars, the accumulation of damage.

Amy would have. This felt a lot like talking to Amy, in some ways.

Rain had slipped past the pair of Malfunctions. Venarum cape turned his focus on him.

“I need to fix my arm,” Rain said. “I missed having it that fight. It got shredded earlier, when we got clipped by the hallway warper.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I don’t suppose, uh, Love Lost?” he asked.

Love Lost twisted around, glaring at him. She was cleaning her claws with what looked like a silk cloth, but I wasn’t positive it was silk.

“You got the tinker power last night. And Cradle’s share.”

She continued to glare at him. He took it, facing her square-on.

“I could help,” Colt said.

“If you could, that would be great.”

Love Lost beckoned, her expression and the tension in face, neck, and shoulders no less hard.

When he took a step forward, she held a hand up, flat, and pointed.

He disconnected his broken arm, then tossed it at her.

Imp’s group was talking among themselves. Again, there was that omnipresent, light tone, tonally off. I’d just killed someone, three good capes had died, and it seemed to be like water off a duck’s back. Roman was poking fun at Samuel. Together, they walked down the hall toward the intersection I’d been fighting.

I heard noises, and flew to the intersection to look back at what was happening. My feet skidded on the ground.

It was the Heartbroken and the one remaining thrall. The one I’d taken down with a thrown bit of concrete.

Roman was holding the man up. Samuel was slapping the thrall, kicking.

“Hey!”

They spun around, alarmed.

“What the hell?”

“You scared me,” Samuel said. “I’m using my power, since my family is so busy trying to score points that they keep taking the chance away from me.”

“It’s fine,” Imp said.

“You’re beating up a man who can’t defend himself.”

“You killed a man who couldn’t defend himself,” Roman said.

Samuel stopped the assault. The thrall hung his head, and started sobbing.

“That was necessary,” I said, wishing I believed it. “And this is worse.”

“This is for the best,” Imp said. “Samuel can break people. Hitting them in the right places, right times. Goes through their mental defenses like butter. We can extract information.”

“Torture doesn’t work,” I said.

“It doesn’t,” Swansong said, off to the side, quiet and ominous.

“Mine does,” Samuel said. “It’s better if it’s a fair fight, though.”