The bat looked like it had been encased in craggy glass or ice, the interior replaced with a localized galaxy or black hole. Glittery motes of light swirled around a dark central nexus. It rested against her shoulder. The other bat was wreathed in gold horns, trim, and other decoration that didn’t seem to touch the bat it lazily rotated around. The wood at the core glowed. The bats didn’t match her costume at all.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Switch told me. She swung the gold bat, the other one still resting against her shoulder. A slash of gold flew out and hit the wall of hard gas, parting it.

“Trapped?”

“Nah,” she said. I thought for a moment she might be a Rachel type, not prone to explanation or sharing, but then she added, “Lonely. Freaked out. And my eyes are actually sore. These goggles, they do nothing.”

She attacked again, a trio of one-armed swings made with enough force and intensity that I had to imagine the bat was made lighter by her power, or she had some good muscle on that arm. The slashes cut through the wall and hit Titan Eve.

“If you need an escort out, protection while you do anything particular…”

“If I go, who’s replacing me?” she asked, her back to me.

“I don’t know. Nobody, probably. We’ll manage.”

“Will we?” she asked. She threw the galaxy bat to one side, and it was wood as it clunked against the rooftop. She took a two handed grip on the golden bat, and it grew to double size. She began swinging again.

Not that Titan Eve or Skadi even seemed to take particular notice of the efforts. Skadi was her overwhelming, ongoing concern, still focusing on Eve as a primary target.

“You were using the galaxy bat earlier. It seemed to do more.”

“I was. But it’s messy and things are messy, and I can’t—”

She froze, gripping the bat.

“Switch?”

“Hitter,” she said. “I prefer that if you want a short form.”

“Sorry.”

She shook her head. “What happens?”

“When?” I asked.

“When… we lose. We retreat. Or they win because we can’t hurt and distract them enough?”

Bad things.

But the tone of her voice—she didn’t need to hear that.

“We retreat, we consolidate information. Some thinkers have new details, my team’s tinker said she had scans. Something will probably come up.”

She held the bat out in front of her, and I had to imagine it partially or wholly blocked her view of the Titans. It moved with every breath she took, and it moved a lot. “So many people are dying.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m tired.”

“Come on,” I told her. “I can take you partway. Rest, drink, decide if you’re coming back into the fight.”

“But—”

“You’re no good like this. You’ve been at this a while.”