She dug through the photos again, and wished desperately she were more articulate. As if she could argue against this stupid kid with anti-parahuman sentiment, and represent her side better. How many other people were having this debate? Discussing this very thing?

How many of them had the close relationship with a team, or the information that she had? She’d followed Breakthrough from the beginning. They’d started small and they’d risen to the point that they were helping make plans this big work. Stupid, desperate plans, but…

…If she couldn’t convince this moron, how could anyone convince the others?

She pulled out more. One with Precipice in an old costume. “Precipice went to jail, because he was raised by monsters. He has worked hard to be a hero, since. He’s fought to be better.”

“He went to jail.”

She pulled out one of Victoria, her arm around Swansong’s shoulders. She had to take a step to the left because the bearded dude was keeping her from lunging at Caden and mashing the pictures into his face. “Swansong. Ex-villain, and she got better. She gave her life stopping the Fallen, I think it was. It was a lot. Teacher and the Fallen and others, and those guys would have won if not for people like Swansong. And it was sad and it was tragic, and Lookout, their kid tinker, she said she hurts every day because of Swansong dying.”

“A lot of sob stories.”

“No, and fuck you. This is what they’re supposed to do because it’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what you’re supposed to do. We get better. We push forward, we give our all, even if it means reaching out to shit-breathers like you to help and back them up. They struggle constantly. Tress and Capricorn had to deal with messed up stuff, but they were good in the end. And that’s just one team—”

Presley’s dad appeared in the doorway.

“—and that’s important,” she finished, lamely, limply. She’d crumpled some of the images in her hand in her anger. Now she pressed them to her side.

“Sorry, John, was there a problem?” her dad asked.

“No,” the bearded man said. “A fight. Passionate words.”

“You know him?” she asked her dad.

“My boss, or—my boss’s boss, I should say,” her dad said.

Presley shrank down, mollified, aware she might have badly embarrassed her dad.

Her dad asked her, “What were you fighting about?”

“Fangirl rage,” Caden chimed in.

Presley almost crumpled up the images again, and if her dad hadn’t been here, and if she hadn’t had her dad here, if she hadn’t embarrassed her dad just now, she would have shouted at the kid, threatened to push him down those stairs behind him.

“Your mom’s downstairs, Caden. She’s looking for you,” her dad said.

She was glad when Caden retreated, ducking back inside.