“He’s—he’s here,” Mayday said. “Unhurt.”

“But?”

“But everything went to shit,” Mayday said. “Come.”

I followed, giving Gilpatrick a look over my shoulder. He was already talking to others, the moment Mayday was gone. Things to do, people to coordinate. It looked like other leaders of other patrols, that he was helping to coordinate.

One of the buses had the remnants of Advance Guard around it. Mayday hopped up and hauled on the lever to open the emergency door of the bus. Capes converged, ready to guard.

The cape wore a goat mask, golden, and a black costume. He sat on one of the benches of the bus. There were others in the bus, men and women in cuffs.

Now that I looked, the cape had cuffs on as well.

“This is Scapegoat,” Mayday said. “He can heal. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“It always is. What happened, Scapegoat?” I asked. I used flight to steady myself as I dropped low.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“He went Fallen,” someone supplied.

“He’s not the only one,” Mayday said. “We had one other, who died in the scrap. A lot of people were looking for answers after the end of the world, and the Fallen were promising them.”

Scapegoat shrugged.

Reach, as Tattletale had put it.

I wanted to ask him things, to shake him, to push for more than a shrug. I imagined a lot of people did.

But I needed his help.

I draped Rain out on the road. Scapegoat looked down at him.

“Hey,” I said. I pressed a finger to his pulse.

I couldn’t tell if there was something there or if it was my feeling my own pulse reverberating through.

But he moved. His head shifted slightly as he looked at me, eyes flickering as he tried to open them—but one was cut and the other was crusted with blood.

“I want someone to heal you,” I said. “Okay? Hey. I need your okay.”

I saw his head move a fraction, then again.

When he tried again, there was more of a nod.

I looked up at Scapegoat. He looked away, looked at Mayday.

“You want to play games, Scapegoat?” Mayday asked.

“Not games,” Scapegoat said, voice soft. “But I’ve helped you a lot already, and it doesn’t seem like my situation is any better. My power sucks to use.”

“I got a message from Tattletale,” Looksee reported, coming in over the phone. “Tell Scapegoat Tattletale says to, and that he needs the goodwill. He needs a lot of it.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Tattletale. She says to. You need goodwill, here.”

He paused.

A tense moment later, he nodded, crouched, and held his hands over Rain. He looked up at Mayday. “Can you get him warm?”

“We have blankets,” Mayday said. “Shortcut, grab some.”