A line of black wire-branches ripped up out of the earth, tearing up road, each one larger than the last. With Moonsong in front, Moonsong was the first in the line of fire. Between the touch of the ground and the imminent impact, there was only about a second.

But the heroine didn’t run or try to get out of the way. Instead, she raised a hand.

The branches were uprooted, flung skyward. So was the offending cape. With the break in her contact with the ground, the branches ceased appearing.

“No!” Moonsong called out. “Years of good relationship, and you’re throwing it all away!”

The suddenness of the counterattack seemed to give the villains pause.

Amy perhaps most of all. She’d never been a fighter. She’d hated the idea of appearing on the battlefield.

I opened my mouth to tell Eric, and immediately gave up.

I typed: bait Amy. She’s scared. She wants a way out.

“I need you to pass on a message from me to the Red Queen,” Tattletale said. “Do not tell her it’s from me.”

I typed: My outburst earlier. It’s eating at her. Tell her…

I kept on typing.

Tattletale recited. Passing it on. Building on it, with her power.

“Amy!” Sveta called out.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Amy was so good at the position thing, so good at placing herself in areas we couldn’t touch her, where she had rank or respect. She had power.

But posture. She had a way of looking weak even when she was on top of a world, so to speak.

They were going to eat her alive. It was inevitable. I could see it in the Fallen.

“Earlier, Amy, you said when there are no other options, you end up extending trust to the wrong people and places.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“What options are you leaving Victoria?” Sveta asked. She raised her voice. My words. Typed, translated, built on and passed on.

Seir lashed out. A bolt of darkness, and a bunch of duplicates. Rain slashed out with a silver blade, maybe anticipating that one would become real. It didn’t.

Which, in turn, saw Scribe attack. A chunk of building tore away from the wall, flying toward the Shin group. Already marked with her sign, gripped with her telekinesis, probably well in advance. One of Scribe’s companions leaped up with a jet of flame, touching the rubble. It started crackling with electricity.

Someone in Shin’s faction blasted it, tearing it to small chunks. But small chunks of wall were enough to gash, to concuss, to hurt others. One caught Amy in the head. And for a long three or four seconds, she was out of view.

I could entertain the idea of her dying and feel nothing except suspension. Not even hope.

“Remember her outburst? When she snapped at you? Called you a deluded little monster? Threatened you?”