With the higher vantage point, she could see a man by the water. He wore a costume that was predominantly an armor of interwoven branches in a Celtic knot pattern. Black and green cloth beneath covered most of the rest of him, with what might have been hints of black skin visible at the back of his neck and between where his sleeve stopped and his woven-branch gauntlet began.

He had his back to her, reaching up to trees and gathering leafless branches, or stooping down to pick things up off the ground. Now and then, he put a branch into a gap in his armor, so it stuck up and away. Some still had dry leaves on them.

One of Blastgerm’s capes. She turned away.

Even the simple act of pulling her hood down was something she had to calculate. It required use of her hands, which meant she had to calculate the risk against the reward. What was the chance she was seen and her white hair was recognized? Adjusting her hood to hide her hair and face reduced that chance, but it introduced the chance her power would activate.

What would happen if she accidentally used her power? People would notice the sound, and she could find herself in a fight.

If it came to that, she could deal with him.

Destroy the bridge, if he was slow. It would force him to jump over. If he was faster, she could go to the building.

If she could make enough noise and cause enough damage while getting away, it would draw the attention of the heroes. That, in turn, would make the Blastgerm group’s life harder.

She adjusted her hood, tense, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

The villain with the wooden armor continued to gather branches, stopping to pick up a dandelion, placing it in the pile.

J had arrived in the time it had taken her to walk around the block of buildings. Bar, Bar’s friends, and Angel were already there. Angel’s brother was absent.

J had brought food. Breakfast sandwiches and coffees.

“Help yourself,” J said.

Eating was risky like sleeping was risky. Eating was supposed to be a social thing, but for her it was a gamble, with the odds badly tilted against her. A loss meant embarrassment. A win meant ‘normal’.

“Why?” Damsel asked, instead of taking the offer.

“Hm?”

“Why this? What’s your angle?”

“Angle?” J asked.

“Not everyone and everything has an angle,” Angel said.

Naive girl. Still, naivety was something Damsel could live with, if Angel remained competent elsewhere.

Damsel ignored the statement and stared at J, waiting for her answer.

J gave. “You’re paying me, hopefully. Them? They’ll probably have my back if we end up doing something risky.”

“Yeah,” Damsel said. It made sense. She could even respect it. Looking around, she asked, “See anyone or anything on your way in?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”