“Should I take that as a compliment?” I asked.

“Take it however you like. Them? They’ve experienced hurt. They’ve known horror. Maybe not so much for Kenzie, but she experienced enough hurt that it balances out.”

“I probably shouldn’t be hearing this,” I said.

“They haven’t seen the worst of it. They haven’t seen rock bottom and then had someone or something reach up from below and drag them deeper. The Slaughterhouse Nine were that for me. I got the impression from how you talked about Tattletale that she was that for you.”

No, I thought. Only in small part.

“My first take on you was that you knew enough to be useful. Then you talked about Tattletale, and your reaction to someone who has the information, who’s careful, and who has resources? You’re afraid.”

“I’m concerned,” I said.

“I respect it, that fear.”

“Concern,” I said. “If it was just fear for myself, that would be one thing. But I’m concerned about the others here.”

“It’s a very concerning world, isn’t it?” she asked. “There’s a lot to be concerned about. You and I, we have our eyes open about that, even if we’re taking it in very different directions.”

“Are we?” I asked. “Aren’t you giving this hero thing an honest shot?”

“I am. It’s not going to work out, but I’ll be here until the end.”

“You sound pretty sure about the fact that it’s going to go south.”

She tipped back her water bottle, finishing it off, and without even lowering the bottle from her mouth, used her power. Shorter than her prior uses, abrupt. It made its usual cacophony of noise, my ears ringing faintly in its wake, and it pushed her hair up and back, so it took a second to fall back into place.

She caught her balance, taking a second before she stood straight again. Then she looked at me with eyes that had no pupils, no irises, only the white, and only the dark makeup to draw out the eyelashes. Slowly, her pupils faded back in.

All to dispose of a water bottle, apparently, or to make a point.

“I’m not even the most fucked up person on this team, Victoria,” she said. “I might not even be in the top two. Our therapist knows, and that’s why she was concerned enough to reach out to you. They, the really fucked up ones, they probably know. But I know it too, which makes me pretty certain.”

“Yet you’re still here,” I said.

“So are you.”

“I’m cursed with an impulse to help people,” I said.

“It’s an epidemic,” she said.

“Guess so,” I said. I used my flight, my feet rising an inch or two off the ground. “I think I’m going to take off.”

She gave me a small salute, her expression dispassionate.