The thought lingered, as I tried to gather my composure. Vista touched my arm.

“Stuff’s happening. They want you too,” I told her.

“Got it.”

We said our brief farewell to the boys. Something in Vista seemed lighter, walking away from the reunion, as heavy as everything else felt.

What are you doing, Amy?

And why the hell does it feel, deep in my gut, like this isn’t the thing we should all be worried about? Are we overlooking something or someone in that long row of green and lime-green lights?

Sundown 17.4

Vista’s dorm room was on the way. Every person we walked by looked stressed, busy, or were trying to get out of the way of people who were. We were the busy ones.

Reaching her room, Vista stepped inside, handing me her coat and bidding me to come in. I remained in the doorway, my back to her, my hands going out and back to hold stuff or hand stuff to her as she got changed into her costume.

I took note of the Gallant poster again. No ‘Vista’-specific stuff on the walls, but there was an image of the Brockton Bay wards, and an image of the old Protectorate and the Wards, each image no bigger than a sheet of paper from a printer. A postcard of the Brockton Bay’s namesake bay, including the floating base. A postcard of an artist’s rendition of Glory Girl in a minimalist style. Stuff like that.

By the bed, she had a music player with headphones perched on it, and a grid of art slips from CDs and vinyls, stuck to the surface with tack. I recognized a few as ones Weld had recommended, which were amusingly ones I’d gotten because Weld had recommended them to Sveta, back in the day, and she’d recommended them to me. Artists so minor that I doubted they had much traction. Or if they did have traction, Weld might have been one of the driving forces.

Vista gave me her visor, having me hold it, while she rearranged stuff. I kept my back turned.

“Gonna be just one second.”

“Not a problem.”

Spare folded laundry on the top of the shelf by the door included a visible ‘Vista’ logo. Dean had had the exact same thing. Was that a thing the Wards did, ironically or unironically wearing the themed merch for local teams, normally reserved for kids and superfans?

She came up to my left and leaned over her desk as she fished for stuff. A comb ran through her hair, drawing some relaxer or counter-agent for the stuff she’d put into it before, to make it wavier, fuller, and shaggier in body. She plucked the visor from my hand, plugged in an earbud that dangled from it, before pulling on ear protection over it, with an attached visor and headband for hair that was now straight and parted.