“One hundred and forty-seven centimeters of height, seventy-nine pounds. Not injected, which makes it more likely it’s something to help with sleeping. There are four likely possibilities, but with conventional dosages, we can rule out two, unless they weren’t thinking about body weight or they wanted her to overdose.”

“Let’s assume they’re not idiots,” I said, though I tensed up a bit, worrying it was a kid that had provided the dose, or Imp, who I wasn’t sure I had the best judgment of.

“Two possibilities. Given conventional fifteen and thirty milligram loads for tranquilizers in pill form, accounting for body type…”

“Who has insomnia?” Chris asked Chicken Little.

“Um. Tattletale. Darlene too, she wakes up with nightmares a lot, scares the crap out of the rest of us if she forgets to disconnect from us when she falls asleep. But Darlene doesn’t take anything for it. She hates the feeling of being drugged.”

“Tattletale wouldn’t want to be confused all day,” Chris told Number Five. “Not triazolam.”

Number Five nodded. “Mmm. They gave her a lower dose than they had to, even accounting for body weight. She’ll be out for one and a half to two hours and fifteen minutes, not accounting for fatigue.”

“She doesn’t sleep enough. I bet Tattletale thought that if she could get Lookout sleeping, she’d stay that way,” Chris said. “She’ll be groggy but alert-ish and wanting to throw herself into things as soon as she’s awake. Chuck in some drug interactions on powers, she’ll be wonky in more ways than one.”

“How long do we have before that comes to pass?” I asked, indicating the wall, which was now showing random scenes of Contessa handling drugs and syringes.

“Not two hours and fifteen minutes,” Rain said.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s a problem.”

“Long shot,” Byron observed.

“Maybe you should start by explaining your plan,” Sveta said. “You want to communicate with the Titan?”

“No,” I said. “I want to communicate with the person inside the Titan. We’ve been going about this entire thing all wrong.”

“I could have told you that,” Chris said.

“You did tell us that,” I told him. “They’re stronger than us, we can’t win a fight like this, it’s all stacked against us.”

“Look at that,” Chris said. “You went to go pick up Chicken Little, and you came back with Chicken Little and a brain.”

“Shut up, Chris,” Sveta told him. “Where is this line of thought going, Victoria?”

“In my old sparring matches with my Uncle Neil, before I had powers, and even after, he taught me how to fight someone bigger and stronger than you. If you’re fighting someone like Ashley, like Swansong, you can’t take what she’s dishing out, so what do you do?”

“Pray,” Rain said.

“You get out of the way,” Chris said.