And he couldn’t risk breakage, soiling her with yellow mess that would be so hard to clean up.

“Sister,” he greeted her. The word killed him a little.

“It’s good to see you, Egg.”

“Same,” he said, smiling, feeling his face crack. “You’re not cold?”

They were gathered outside a building, snow falling around them. Cars and buses were pulling up. There were two buses that had handicap facilities, beeping in the background as they slowly lowered ramps.

“A bit. I have lots of surface area,” she said, smiling, her fingers brushing across the layers of lace at her stomach. His heart leaped.

“That’s what I was wondering about,” he said.

“It’s not bad. I feel the chill, but there’s not much of me that hurts because of it. I’m comfortable. You?”

“I—the fluids are thicker in the cold. Makes it easier in a lot of ways, but makes me more tired.”

“Hopefully the testing won’t require too much stamina,” she said. “Some of us were going to join the fighting. We don’t want to be tired when it counts.”

“No,” Whippersnap said.

Egg looked over at his old friend. There were so many less Case Fifty-Threes than many people assumed, even with the addition of some that had come from other worlds after Gold Morning. Egg and Whippersnap were of a similar age.

Their little community had endured a few reshuffles, a lot of losses. In the midst of one, Egg had stopped talking to Whippersnap. More of those hard emotions, thinking back to those pivotal, crucial moments. Egg and Whippersnap had been too young to fight, but there had been a distinction; Whippersnap had actively wanted to avoid the fighting. Had tried to convince people not to help deal with Cauldron. Had maybe convinced a few. Had maybe slowed down some with new doubts or hesitations, when any doubt or hesitation could get someone killed.

Egg dwelt a lot on those days. Replaying conversations in his head, over and over again. If he could return to those moments, would he be able to use what he knew now to change minds? To convince others to let him participate? To get Whippersnap to help? Steer the outcome?

They’d had one shot. One. And they’d gotten the worst possible result. Everyone dead. Doctor Mother dead, no secrets or answers divulged, and the monstrous bitch hadn’t even suffered a ten thousandth of the pain she had caused. It had, according to the person who did it, been quick.

And with her went most or all of their hope for a fix. A cure.

Whippersnap saw Egg looking, and raised one eyebrow.

“Are we okay?” Egg asked.

“That’s up to you,” Whippersnap said.

“Okay,” Egg said, feeling tense, wrestling with emotions that were suspended inside his fluid center, always feeling like they might shatter him from within, but never doing so. “We’re okay.”