“I run into that with making knives,” Rain said. “I made a mistake using too pure a steel once.”

“Exactly,” Tristan said, enthused. “Do you run into that, Etna?”

“Oh. I guess so. I figured that out as I went. I never really thought about it.”

“Ah, so it’s instinct,” Tristan said. “But even with instinct, there are different kinds. For a parahuman, there’s the instinct that comes from you, and there’s the instinct that comes from the connection between you and power. Or you and agent.”

“I like that a lot,” I said. “You could say there’s an instinct that comes straight from the agent.”

“You can definitely say that,” Sveta said. “I’ve been fighting it for all my life. It’s only recently I got to stop fighting and finally relax.”

“I think most of my instincts are learned and come from me,” Rain said. “Or is it more accurate to say I’d like to think that? How do you know?”

“You know,” I said, at nearly the same time Sveta did.

“Then I think I know it’s me,” Rain said, his tone a little different, like he’d been subdued a bit.

“Three kinds, then,” Tristan said. There was an energy to his mannerisms and tone that wasn’t always there. I might have thought it was related to him being away from the hospital bed or energized from the fight, but it wasn’t. Not exactly. He turned to Etna, “Any theories or thoughts?”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Not really. But I’ll think about it.”

“Are the Huntsmen treating you well?” Sveta asked, her tone bright.

“Yes, they really are. Nice, but they’re very serious when it comes to the cape stuff.”

“Good serious?” Tristan prodded.

“Yep. It’s good.”

Tristan was strong enough to move through the snow without difficulty, due to that small boost his powers gave him to his physical capabilities. He put a hand back to give Kenzie a hand, while I took her other hand. We lifted her up and over a tough patch of footing.

I could just see how much agony he was in. The energy he was putting into bashing his head into this brick wall was a consequence of his stubbornness and his extroverted nature catalyzing together. I could picture him dragging fingernails down his cheeks.

It was comically amusing at a time comical amusement felt out of place. My thoughts were on Mockument and on Swansong, on Kenzie and on Byron.

“You remind me of my brother when he was a kid,” Tristan told Etna, his tone still light.

“Really? Should I take that as a complement?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s a good guy.”

“Neat.”

More agony for Tristan. Ten or fifteen minutes of this.

“Here’s my car. Sorry it’s a bit of a mess.”