“Moonsong,” Sveta said. “I don’t think you know Tristan as well as you think.”

“Same,” Moonsong said. “I feel really sorry for you if he’s already got into your good graces. Because that bastard is the kind of guy who hires someone who kills people by looking at them to cover his ass, and uses them against teammates. He likes to win and he wins at any cost.”

“We know the story,” Sveta said.

“I doubt you know the entirety of it. Have you split the discussion fifty-fifty between listening to him and Byron?” Moonsong asked. She didn’t even wait for a response before deciding, “No. Because it doesn’t work that way.”

“I gave Byron the opportunity,” Tristan said.

“Yeah,” Moonsong said. “I know how that goes. Like with Team Reach’s therapist, right? You get your turn, Byron gets his, you go in for extra advice, you take over, and somehow the team’s therapist gets weird ideas in his head about Byron. You suggest things and then when Byron gets his turn he’s having to play defense, get rid of these preconceived ideas. He gets no time of his own with the therapist, because he’s stuck trying to undo the damage Tristan did during his time.”

“All I did,” Tristan said, lines standing out as his neck, “Was try to figure shit out. There’s a lot to figure out with the situation being what it is, and somehow I end up doing the legwork.”

“It’s a lot of work to manipulate everyone around you, isn’t it?” Moonsong asked.

“Stop,” I said. “Stop this. Now.”

I pushed out with a faint hit of aura.

“Please,” Sveta said, adding her voice to mine.

“I want to hear that Byron is okay, from Byron’s mouth. I don’t give a shit about Tristan’s time.”

“Fuck this,” Tristan said. “Fine.”

He blurred, his eyes becoming crimson points, then transitioning to become teal.

Byron, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.

The gravity effect dropped away.

“Hi Byron,” Kenzie said, her voice small.

“Hi Kenzie.”

“You okay?” Moonsong asked.

“I’ve had better weeks, but things with my brother are as tolerable as they get,” Byron said. He slouched, sticking his hands in the pocket of the sweatshirt. “You kind of went overboard.”

“I had to check.”

“I know,” Byron said.

There was a noise behind us, and I turned to look.

Foresight. Anelace and someone I hadn’t met.

“Why don’t you come on in? Step into the office,” Anelace asked. “Moonsong? Can I have a word?”

Foresight’s administrative office wasn’t the same office I’d been in when I’d interviewed with them. Their headquarters was situated elsewhere, and this was something else, a space set up for meetings, for paperwork, interactions with other teams and more. Much like the hallways had, it looked like an office.