“Less like we’re tyrants who just happen to be acting nice.”

“Maybe. I never saw you as a tyrant. You were always my little girl.”

“Oh god, Mom. Gross. No.”

Missy put her hand to the door, pulling the latch and popping it open.

“Dinner tomorrow night? Gravy pie and cheesecake.”

“I don’t want to promise. I’ll flip a coin to decide if it’s you or Dad.”

“If your dad wanted to see you more he could have picked a place to live that was closer.”

Missy climbed out, then bent down a bit. She was short, so it didn’t require much bending. She gave her mom a look. “If you get pissy or angry, Mom, I’m not going to come over at all. Your issue with Dad isn’t my business.”

“I’m not getting pissy, thank you very much for that word choice, I’m just saying…”

Missy pointed at the gearshift. Slowly, it drooped, until it bent in an upside-down ‘u’.

“…that he should have… oh come on, that’s not fair,” her mom said, grabbing the gearshift and giving it a shake.

“That’ll wear off in ten minutes. Sit and think about what you did.”

“Put it back the way it was, Missy.”

“Thank you for the ride,” Missy said, giving the roof of the car an audible pat.

“You’re a tyrant after all.”

“Ha ha,” Missy said, without much humor. She shut the door, giving her mom a smile as she walked away.

The area wasn’t as badly hit as some of the others. One damaged building covered in red tarp with leftover bits of yellow construction tape from yesteryear holding it in place. The vehicles here were mostly trucks, and the people were mostly law enforcement of varying stripes. Some were vigilantes, some were people from Cheit, others were Patrol.

She checked her phone to find the location, saw the time, and picked up her pace. It was hard to resist using her power to speed things up, or to make room when trucks were making their way down the road. There were no crosswalks, no lights. It was controlled chaos, with trucks simultaneously expected to give way and be on the lookout for pedestrians, and, she imagined, having places to be with strict schedules.

She had the impression that people were handling this different than they had Gold Morning. Gold Morning had been followed with a sentiment of fear and fragility. Of silence, like nobody even wanted to speak of it, in case it disturbed something better left untouched.

The people were motivated. There was a determination there, in the officers, the military personnel. The trucks full of people ready to break down a condemned neighborhood for salvage.

A truck stopped, giving her room to cross, and she gave them a grateful wave before jogging across.