“They’re okay,” she said, quiet, before looking up. “They have to be okay. I’m not worried about them. Tell me the cracks aren’t extending too close to New Brockton Bay.”

“They aren’t. Not yet.”

“Then Lookout and her team should be fine. Do we have word from the Major Malfunctions? They were right near the center of it.”

“No word, no communications,” Larue said. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I’m getting some calls, I’ll let you know if—”

But she was already nodding, too quick, almost cutting him off.

Larue resumed what he was doing at the computer, hand moving his right headphone over his ear again.

Eric typed up information for the thinker team, sorting it.

He kind of knew what Antares was feeling. Cinereal was out there. The inverse of Antares, with whom he’d lost his cool. Antares batted her eyelashes, dressed up, smiled and pledged cooperation, only to do the opposite. By contrast, Cinereal stuck to the stylish costume the PRT had given her once upon a time, but she didn’t manipulate, she said exactly what she meant and acted like a gruff hard-as-nails pain in the ass, while ultimately being cooperative.

She was out there in the thick of it. His boss. His partner in some ways.

“Another report coming in, garbled,” Larue said. He typed furiously.

Eric felt a profound despair wash over him at those words. They kept hearing about more, but they weren’t hearing about any wins. Some capes were fending off various Titans, trying to fight, and after half an hour of this, there still weren’t any reports of ‘Titan defeated’.

No cheers.

“Took a second to confirm location. It’s in one of the pocket worlds,” Larue said.

“Which one?” Antares asked.

⊙

“Prance,” Moose said. Begged.

Prancer had entered his breaker form, but it was a broken entering. His figure was like a man who had leaped through what he’d thought was an open window and crashed into glass. Except the glass had remained in the frame. A thousand shards impaling him, opening him up.

The glass in this case was bands of black and gold that braided, wove together, and forked, wrapping around him, through him, taking him to pieces.

Only part of his head, mouth, neck and shoulder were really intact.

Moose backed up, hand out to usher Daisy and some of the others back.

The idea had been that this would be a safe place. Almost a place to retire. They’d had the cash, the resources, the connections. Money for security, money for recreational drugs. A place to low-key party and relax, when they were so very, very tired.

Recuperate from heartbreak, after losing Velvet.

“Halfway there,” Prancer said. “Maybe I’ll get to see Velvet on the other side.”

More than halfway, Moose thought. “I don’t think that’s the way it works. Doesn’t seem like a good reason to go through with this.”