“Fuck that stuff,” Scribe said. “Right now? Our priority is saving the city. W-we need to, um. Save people. What I always believed was that we needed someone strong in charge, in a fucked up world with Endbringers and… giant p-p-… childbirth abominations. Strong leadership, firm hand on the rudder, focus, some good soldiers, and these are the people who protect the meek and good people who can’t be soldiers. Only difference is I used to believe in some r-racist shit. Just… adapt that crap. Protect everyone, um…”

“You okay?” Vessel asked.

“I’m okay now,” Scribe said. “I think. Working on what I, um…”

She trailed off, trying to find the thread of what she wanted to say.

Vessel touched her arm.

“I’m okay,” Scribe said, annoyed. She didn’t like appearing weak. “I’m w-working on what I don’t have exactly right. They need soldiers more than, hm…”

She floundered.

She stopped.

“V-Victor,” she snarled the word.

Victor rounded the corner. His chuckle was low, deep in his throat, and made broad shoulders shake.

“The f-fuck,” she asked. Victor had the ability to steal abilities in a field while augmenting his own. He’d been aiming it at her. Taking her gift of gab. “You dick.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Wanted to make an entrance, and the best entrance is the sort that kicks in the door and puts down the scariest guy in the room right away.”

“I’m not your enemen—enemy, you phimo—phimotic cock jockey.”

Victor laughed.

“Turn it off.”

“Just did,” he said. “Wanted to see if there was any sign of the old you in there.”

“You aren’t s-s-supposed to be talking to a recalcitrant ex-supremacist,” she told him. “Remember?”

“Vessel, Armiger, and Accolade won’t tell, will they? You guys are cool?”

Vessel was sitting up straighter, hand at her hair again. “We’re cool.”

The boys nodded.

“Give us some privacy?” Victor asked. “We’ll hang out later?”

All three looked to Scribe instead of giving an immediate answer, though Vessel looked like she’d be crestfallen if Scribe shot it down. Scribe nodded.

“It’s your funeral if you get caught. They’ll count it as a mark against you,” she said.

“You could eat crow and say sorry.”

“I don’t say sorry,” she told him. She looked off in the direction of the station and the procession line of naked giants that were marching away from it. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine. You were ‘fine’ when Coil outed us. You were ‘fine’ when Kaiser died. You were ‘fine’ when you were injured. You were ‘fine’ when we went back to the Clans and the new leadership treated us like dirt and blamed us for what happened in Empire Eighty-Eight.”

“Morons,” she said. “What if I was fine?”