“So, a metahuman, then,” Becenti said.

“Aye. Cloak of feathers,” Ichabod said, “Mask of silver, covered the top half of her face.”

He shrugged.

“Ring any bells?”

“Not immediately,” Becenti said, “Doesn't sound like anyone in the rings I ran with.”

“Guild records show her name as Macabre,” Vicenorn said, having pulled up Ichabod's files, “Part of Pantheon, usually sticks to the city, but sometimes goes on more private jobs for specific clients. No plane of origin, or anything like that.”

“And no records of her that we can immediately get access to?” Becenti asked, “Nothing official that Pantheon submitted?”

“Details like that are probably either in the Tower itself, or stored away on some obscure Library World,” Vicenorn said, “Myron, I know you don't like it, but I want to look through her file in the Fed's metahuman database.”

A look of pain crossed Becenti's face for a split-second, before he returned back to a neutral expression. He gave a curt nod.

“Do so.”

Vicenorn began typing away on his laptop. G-Wiz sat by the door, taking a drag from a sad, limp cigarette. She tried not to show just how much Rorshin's killing of the parrot got to her. The druid was still downstairs, and though he was quiet, the air had become charged and tense. Magic hung 'round the smokeshop now, more intense than it had been before.

Hopefully that didn't alert Pantheon.

Contort was cooking up some dinner, the smell of ramen broth wafting through the room. It was a quick affair, though he added a couple slices of tofu and the last of the corn to each of the bowls, passing them out to each of the group. He sat down by G-Wiz at the door.

None of them had bothered to close it. Rain deluged outside on the overhang. It gave them sound, to cut through the awkward silence after Rorshin's killing, through Vicenorn grumbling under his breath as he tried to access data, any data, on this locked-up plane.

They ate in an equal silence as well. Despite Contort's best efforts, the ramen felt soggy, and did hardly anything to absorb the broth. The corn, at least, was passable. Once more, G-Wiz ate that, and left fully half of her bowl unfinished. Becenti crossed over to her, picking up the remains of her meal and pouring into his own bowl.

“Waste not, want not, Ms. Wiz,” he said.

“I don't want it,” G-Wiz said, “I'd rather starve.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Becenti replied.

“Here we are,” Vicenorn said, “Found her.”

He turned the laptop over. Becenti walked over to it, ramen bowl in hand, half-heartedly stabbing some noodles on his fork. He twirled them around the tines as he looked at the screen, which depicted a picture of a woman with pale skin and ebony hair, her eyes glowing silver.

“Macabre,” Vicenorn said, “Home plane is Amzuth. She's purported to be thirty-seven years of age, by Federation standards.”

Becenti glanced through her bio, a small smirk climbing his face.

“She's smart. Good on her. Listed ability is 'eyes glow silver.' And that's it.”

“You think Pantheon's got more on her?” Ichabod asked.

“Oh, no doubt,” Becenti said, “But it's not good business to compromise one of your agents with the High Federation. Especially a metahuman one.”

He stood back up, scooping up another mouthful of ramen. Chewed in thought for a moment.

“We've got another problem, then,” Becenti said, “Figuring out what her powers are.”

Vicenorn grimaced as he leaned back.

“Yeah, that's part of it,” he said, “I'm worried about something.”

“All ears,” Becenti said.

“Ichabod, you said she was in the same building as you, right?”

“Correct,” Ichabod said.

“Did she get a good look at any of you?” Vicenorn asked.

“...Not a good one,” G-Wiz admitted. They turned to her, “I turned around while we were in the elevator. She was staring at us. Might have just been because of the elevator, might have realized who we were, I dunno.”

“I doubt she knows who we are,” Contort said, “I mean, only Becenti and Vicenorn went to the Tower. If they knew who we were, they'd be more on the lookout, right?”

“Perhaps,” Vicenorn said, “But there's also that her power might have been able to, I don't know, detect you in some way.”

He let that statement settle. Becenti nodded, accepting the fact. Seemed about to say something. Ichabod, however grimaced.

“Well, let's not play with Schrödinger's Cat, here. Just open the damn box, see what's inside.”

“The hell does that mean, Ichabod?” G-Wiz asked.

“It means,” Ichabod said, “Let's not waste our time thinking on the what-ifs here, if we don't know what the damn meta can do. Let's do research with what we've got. There's got to be something we can find. Old records! Something on the plane!”

He was aware that he was babbling to them, as he looked around for support. They were all fixing him with odd looks.

“You did the research yourself, Ichabod,” Becenti said, “And you couldn't find anything on her.”

“I... I wasn't looking hard enough,” Ichabod replied, adjusting his glasses, regaining his composure, “Trust me, Myron. Pantheon has two hundred members to its name. Finding the little details for each and every one of them, on a backwater plane like Londoa, proved difficult.”

The old metahuman fixed Ichabod with a hard stare. Then he nodded.

“Alright,” he said, “Oris, see if you can't find anything. Ichabod, help him with the search. If Macabre is part of Pantheon's security detail for the Tower, then we need to find out what she can do.”

“And if we can't?” Vicenorn asked.

Becenti looked at him.

“I'm not about to risk this team on an unknown like this,” Becenti said, “Macabre's abilities could be situational, or they could be incredibly powerful. She's hidden herself well. If we don't find out what she can do, we're done here.”

Ichabod made to speak up, but Becenti turned.

“And that's final.”

***

And so their research began. It did not require any sort of moving about the city, however. Instead, it was simple computer work, Vicenorn tapping away at his small laptop, Ichabod through a console on his arm. They occasionally exchanged words with one another as they looked through various databases.

Over time, as the atmosphere lightened from awkwardness to comfortable silence, Ichabod began to draw closer to Vicenorn, until the two were right next to each other as they worked.

Rorshin came upstairs an hour later. His fingers were caked in dried blood, as were his robes from absentmindedly wiping his fingers as he worked. He presented Becenti with two small, wooden cubes.

“One for me, one for you,” Rorshin said.

“And how does the spell work?” Becenti asked.

“When you get into the building, pop it into your mouth,” Rorshin said, “It sits in the gut for three days. In that time, it's linked to this one.”

The druid rattled his cube.

“And I can use it to listen in. It will then copy and use Agrippa's voice, another helpful part of the spell. I will speak, and the serpent's voice will rise from me.”

Becenti gave him a grim smirk, pocketing the cube.

“Excellent work, Rorshin,” he said.

“I will...” the druid glanced around for a moment, “I will be... meditating. I am tired. This spellwork is not easy. And I must ensure that Pantheon has not breached my defenses.”

He drifted over to the corner opposite the door, sitting down and closing his eyes.

Before long, however, he was lightly snoring.

“That's not good for the defenses,” Contort said.

“I'd let him sleep,” Becenti said, “A couple of hours, at least.”

“Alright,” Contort said, “You're the boss.”

***

The hours passed. Vicenorn and Ichabod continued to work, accepting cups of coffee from Becenti, who warmed them up with his metapower. There was no creamer, no sugar. Only black coffee, bland and bitter, but they drank anyway to keep themselves awake. Ichabod started muttering to himself. Vicenorn opened up his pack, pulling out another laptop, connecting the two together. The two screens were far brighter than G-Wiz had expected, the red man's face awash in light.

It also meant that, along with the dimmed lights that Ichabod refused to turn off completely, there wasn't enough darkness for her to sleep comfortably. She always preferred pitch-black night to sleep. No light, with sounds being the natural cadence of the wind, or the electronic beats she put on her headphones back at Castle Belenus. Not these mutterings of Ichabod's, Vicenorn's oafish grunts. The two chuckling to one another under their breaths.

She walked downstairs, dragging her bed mat behind her, lying it down just by the counter.

A few moments later, Contort followed, bed mat and all.

“Long night,” he said, “Coffee?”

G-Wiz shook her head.

“Well, I'm having some.”

“I'm trying to get some sleep, Contort,” G-Wiz said, “Leave me alone.”

“Sorry, right,” Contort said.

“You're trying to sleep, and you're drinking coffee?”

“I make bad choices, sometimes,” Contort said.

“'Some times,'” G-Wiz deadpanned.

“Fine,” Contort said, “Maybe I won't have coffee. Maybe I'll just put my bed mat down and sulk, like you.”

Which he did, laying his mat down across from G-Wiz and sitting down on it. G-Wiz glared at him for a few moments as he preened and made a show of getting comfortable.

Then she snorted.

“You're an asshole, you know that?” she said.

“Yeah, I think so,” Contort said.

They settled in. G-Wiz took out a pair of earbuds, put them on and connected them to her zumbelaphone. She slowly nodded her head to the beat as she laid down. Contort stretched, his torso twisting completely around, letting out a dull crack as he did so.

A crack loud enough to be heard over G-Wiz's music. She glanced over at him as he twisted his shoulders, another series of cracks and pops reverberating through his body. He let out a far too satisfied sigh of relief, like a boulder had been lifted off of his head.

G-Wiz turned her music up.

***

Becenti came down a few hours later, rubbing his temples and dragging his bed mat behind him. Contort, who was still awake, smiled at him.

“They're keeping you up, to?” he said.

“They're still at it,” Becenti replied, yawning, “Doing research. Talking to one another. We'll be out of coffee, I think.”

“Damn, like I'd miss the stuff,” Contort said.

The thunder roiled outside. A reprieve in the storm.

“Can't sleep?” Becenti asked.

“Insomnia again,” Contort said, “You?”

“I don't have any of the usual meds,” Becenti said, “I'd rather not dream, if you know what I mean.”

But nonetheless, he laid out his bed mat, sitting down on it. Made to stretch, before something in his body resisted. The old man winced, letting himself settle back down into its uncomfortable stoniness.

“Never get old, Arne,” Becenti said, “All it brings you is bad memories and a worse body.”

“You're in reasonably good shape,” Contort said.

“Hmm, perhaps not,” Becenti said, “Only so much that one can take, at the end of the day.”

“Fair,” Contort said.

He thought for a few moments, laying down, feeling an annoyed twinge at the fact that he wasn't getting tired. He rolled for a few moments, before sighing and sitting back up.

“Hey,” he said to Becenti, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Becenti nodded. The old man was starting to sway a bit.

“This Macabre, she's definitely dangerous, right?”

“Yes,” Becenti replied.

“How dangerous, you think?”

Becenti shrugged.

“She's an unknown,” he replied, “That means that we need to be prepared for the worst. The fact that we don't know anything about her is a major blow to our ability to pull this off effectively.”

He looked down at the ground.

“...We're already the underdog already,” he continued, “Ichabod's done his research. And he's done it well. But there's only so much research one can do. So many theoreticals one can map. Eventually, you need to face the music. And we can't do that if we don't know what she can do.”

“A plan never survives first contact with the enemy, and all that,” Contort said.

“Precisely.”

“Still,” Contort said, “You're not seriously thinking about pulling out if they can't find it, can you?”

Becenti looked up at him.

“I just think you're overestimating her, is all,” Contort said.

“I am not,” Becenti's voice was flat and icy, “I have seen far too many missions where we didn't have all the facts of a metahuman working for the other side. And we suffered for it.”

He took a shaky breath.

“We suffered for it,” he repeated.

Contort was quiet at that.

“Knowledge is what lets one kill a metahuman,” Becenti said, “To study them. Observe them. See how they react to stimuli. Remove the emotional aspects of what it means to be alive, look at one of us as one sees an amoeba in a petri dish. Only then, will you learn how to kill one.”

“...I think you're tired, Myron,” Contort said, “You should get some sleep.”

“The dreams, Arne.”

“Sleep's more important.”

The old metahuman nodded. He made an attempt at taking off his coat as he eased himself onto the bed mat. His fingers went limp as sleep overtook him.

Contort rolled his eyes, still feeling as awake as when he was in the night club.

“If only it were so easy.”

***

G-Wiz opened up her eyes. Her music was still playing through her earbuds, but the classical rock had been replaced by just plain classical. Stomach churning at the sound of it, she clawed out the earbuds and tossed them away.

“Morning,” Contort said.

He was smiling at her, though there was an awkward tiredness in his eyes.

“You didn't sleep, did you?” G-Wiz said.

“I'm telling you, insomnia's a bitch,” Contort chuckled, “I'm fine, G. S'all good.”

“Uh-huh,” G-Wiz said. She sat up, looking around. Becenti had gone to sleep at some point, the old man curled up on his bed mat, though despite this he did not look comfortable.

“Yeah,” Contort said, “He's been tossing and turning all night. Forgot his pills.”

G-Wiz nodded at that.

“You didn't go upstairs?” she asked, “I bet your ass that Vicenorn and Ichabod are still up.”

“Nah,” Contort said, giving her a knowing smile, “Thought I'd give them some space.”

“Straight up,” G-Wiz said, “Nice.”

“Well, no use sitting here, I guess,” Contort rose to his feet, “Coffee? I think there's a bit left.”

“Sure,” G-Wiz said, “Let's go.”

They went up the stairs, their footsteps becoming lighter and quieter as they went up, realizing that the ceaseless typing had ceased, the endless murmurs had ended. Rorshin was once more at his place in front of the door, keeping up his defensive spells. Vicenorn, however, had dozed off, laying his great head on Ichabod's shoulder. The thin man was still working, his entire left arm converted into a makeshift console. He had taken off his sunglasses, his glass eyes glowing a soft green as Contort and G-Wiz walked upstairs.

The cybernetic man's head turned.

“Quiet, now,” he whispered, “If you wake up Oris, I'll kill you.”

Contort smirked at that, gently sneaking over to the kitchen counter. There was little coffee left, only enough for two cups. He poured them out, taking them over to the stairs and handing one to G-Wiz. They made their way back downstairs, wincing as the staircase let out a creak on the third step.

They drank their coffee at the counter. The rain had started back up outside, though it was calmer than it had been. The coffee was bland and terrible, and G-Wiz was sure there wasn't any caffeine in it. But it was something to do while they waited.

Becenti continued sleeping. He let out a light snore at times.

“Hey,” G-Wiz said, “Mind if I vent to you for a sec?”

“What's up?” Contort asked.

“Are you fucking terrified, or what?”

“Who, me?” Contort said, “Terrified? Of the Tower?”

“Of... All of this,” G-Wiz said, “I'm used to getting into hairy situations. But I'm still...”

“What? Is G-Wiz being a scaredy cat?” Contort needled.

“Oh, fuck off,” G-Wiz said, and she punched his shoulder. Playfully. Or, at least, a good mix between playful and painful, she hoped. Contort chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee.

“...I mean it, dude,” G-Wiz said, “This whole plane's vibes are off. Like it knows it's dead, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Contort said, “Doesn't help that we're dealing with Agrippa, and all that.”

“Yea,” G-Wiz said, “That, too. You ever done something like this before?”

“Once, before I joined the guild,” Contort said.

“And what happened?”

“Got messed up. Got bailed out by Wakeling. Joined up not long after,” Contort said, “I wouldn't be too worried, though. Be the right amount of worried, the amount that keeps you alive. But don't let it eat you up.”

“Yeah, I guess that's the way to go about it,” G-Wiz said, “Nole always used to say, everything worth anything has a little bit of fear attached to it.”

“He was a sharp guy,” Contort said, “Smelly, but sharp.”

G-Wiz snorted at that. It had been a long time since she had talked about her old friend like this. She drained her coffee like it was something stronger.

“Still,” she said, “Seems like Ichabod's intent on pushing this through.”

“No matter what,” Contort said, “We're just along for his wild ride.”

“You think they'll find out about what that metahuman can do?” G-Wiz asked.

“Probably,” Contort said, “Maybe. I don't know. Vicenorn's pulled plenty out of his ass before. Ichabod's determined, too.”

“So determined that, even if he doesn't find anything, he'll still go through with it?” G-Wiz asked.

Contort took a moment to register that. He sipped his coffee. He frowned at G-Wiz.

“...Just what are you implying?”

“I'm just sayin', dude,” G-Wiz said, “I just think Becenti's being a bit of an ass about all of this pulling out business.”

“Gross, dude,” Contort said.

“What are you, twelve?” G-Wiz said, glaring at him, “Try and be serious here.”

“I am,” Contort said, “Listen: we're a guild, alright? We're here under some pretty big stipulations, and one of them is that Becenti's the boss. I mean, he usually is, but especially here.”

“I know, but-”

“Drop it, G,” Contort said, his voice flat, “You don't know what Agrippa's capable of.”

G-Wiz narrowed her eyes.

“From what Ichabod told me, I know he's done a lot.”

“You heard a bit of it?” Contort said, “He doesn't really go into it much. He hardly told me anything, only that Agrippa goes for the throat. You should see the way that Wakeling talks about him. She doesn't want us, any of us, here.”

“I know,” G-Wiz said, “But you should hear Ichabod, is what I'm saying. He's been building up for this.”

“I know,” Contort said, “I know, G. But if Myron says we're out, then we're out.”

G-Wiz rolled her eyes, irritation roiling in her belly.

“And that's that,” she spat.

“That's that.”

She sighed. Took another sip of her coffee. And said nothing else.

***

Vicenorn had once remembered reading a study that, no matter what, everyone dreamed. It was when the brain was most active, rebuilding tissue and digesting knowledge from the day. Dreams, certain magicians said, were a necessary part of the life cycle, manifestations of the soul made real. No matter what, you dreamed. You just didn't remember them.

Vicenorn used to remember every dream he had. But he had begun to forget after he had gotten his cybernetic implants. After the war, and the massive machine had been rooted into the spot his left arm had used to be, his heart replaced by a facsimile of metal and bronze. They disappeared completely as they took more and more of him away. Leaving him...

Well.

He sometimes, deep down, feared that he had lost his soul somewhere along the way. That the inability to dream was a sign that one was no longer human. No longer truly alive.

And yet, this morning he remembered his dreams. Murky things, true, but for a moment, just before they sunk back into his subconscious, he saw them. It had been a great plain, like the one surrounding Scuttleway, only this one had been green and young. The sky was blue, and there was not a cloud in the sky. A lone tree rose from a hill.

The image hung in Vicenorn's brain for a moment, before fading. And he was back on Neos. Back on this rain-drenched, foreboding world that had been Ichabod's home. He realized, with a start, that he had been resting his head on Ichabod's shoulder. Ichabod, however, did not seem to have minded, continuing his typing through the night.

Ichabod grew tense as he realized that Vicenorn was awake. Vicenorn, growing red, sat back up.

“G-Good morning, Oris,” Ichabod said.

“Morning, Ichabod,” Vicenorn said, his metal heart hammering.

He glanced down at Ichabod, who was typing away.

“You didn't...” Vicenorn said, “You went to sleep last night, right?”

“No, I didn't,” Ichabod said, “It's alright though. Plenty of coffee and a bright screen. I've pulled all-nighters before.”

He stifled a yawn.

“B-Besides,” he said, “I think I have it.”

***

They gathered together in the morning, Contort quickly throwing together a breakfast of more noodles. G-Wiz grimaced as he presented her bowl, and she quietly put it to the side. Ichabod clicked a button on his arm, presenting a few readouts to the group via hologram.

“First off,” he said, “There's not much on Macabre on this plane. Any obvious records are stored away in the Tower.”

“Naturally,” Becenti said.

“Vicenorn and I had to go off-plane to get the information,” Ichabod said, “He managed to get us connected to a Silverfish located in the city. We piggy-backed the signal to connect to a couple of networks on Ritosis. There was a bit of information here and there, nothing major.”

“Could you get the signal past Ritosis?” Becenti asked.

“A bit,” Ichabod said, “But Ritosis and a couple of the other surrounding planes were the only places we could look. We didn't get any exact read-outs, per se. A lot of what Vicenorn and I have found are news articles. Videos. Conjecture and observations.”

His hologram wavered, melding into an image of Macabre atop a great, mechanical being festooned in forests and plantlife. It was a clipping from a news article.

“Next to Ritosis,” Ichabod said, “Is Great Rana, the Solar World. Neos is involved with that plane, as it's one of the primary planes that they import food from. Macabre was recently involved in a skirmish there, and it was all over the news.”

“And Agrippa didn't try to censor it?” Contort said.

“The article was published by Great Rana's state-run newspaper,” Vicenorn said, “OzTech couldn't contest it, not without major political implications.”

“Besides,” Becenti said, “It's just another guild spat. Nothing worth working up about.”

“Just business,” Vicenorn said. He and Ichabod were both wearing the same arrogant smirk. It looked strange on the large man, “That is, until you realize what the article is saying.”

Contort leaned in, reading the article.

“'Macabre, a member of guild Pantheon, was among those present during what people are now calling the Battle of the Nyame,'” he quoted, “'Using her flock, she was able to successfully remove guild Blue Sky Waiting from the Nyame's head, throwing them to the city below.'”

“...So she has a flock,” Becenti said.

“Yes,” Vicenorn said, “The article only describes 'flock.' But take a look at the photo.”

Becenti did so. Macabre was in her full regalia, standing atop the Nyame's ear, her face impassive. A forested city opened up around her, flocks of birds wheeling about a blue sky.

“Those birds,” Ichabod said, “They're ravens.”

“All of them?” Becenti said.

“All of them.”

“And it doesn't stop there!” Vicenorn said, “We went and did a bit more digging, hacked a couple of security cameras in the upper tiers of New Shan.”

He clicked a button on his own laptop, turning it over and presenting it to the rest of the team. It depicted a video of dark shapes on an even darker night, birds flitting about the city, silhouetted against the fuzzy neon lights of the holo-ads.

“Those are ravens, too,” Vicenorn said, “At least, we think they are. It tracks. If she can control ravens, it stands to reason she has them out here, patrolling the city for any movement.”

“That makes sense,” Becenti said, “So, our Macabre can control ravens, then.”

“Indeed,” Ichabod said, “She’s rather… unkind, about it, isn’t she?”

There was silence at his poor joke. Vicenorn shuffled uncomfortably.

“I don't get it,” Contort said.

“I do,” Becenti said, “It's... Well done, Ichabod.”

But G-Wiz was staring at the ground. A series of realizations was hitting her, all at once.

“There was a raven there,” she said.

They turned to look at her.

“Down in the black market,” G-Wiz said, “It was staring right at me.”

“...Shit, you're right,” Contort said, “There was. Probably a few more, too.”

“How closely did they see you, G-Wiz?” Becenti asked.

“It was right in front of me.”

“Which means it got a good look at your face,” Becenti said.

“Yeah,” G-Wiz said, “It probably did.”

There was another bout of silence. Ichabod's face was slack.

“...She can probably look through the ravens, too,” Becenti said, “Right?”

“That doesn't mean anything,” Ichabod said, “So they got a good look at G-Wiz. They already know that the Amber Foundation is here on Neos, it stands to reason that you'd have brought back-up.”

“But if we go through with this,” Becenti said, “Then there's a chance that they could investigate.”

“You're already visiting them again,” Ichabod said, “We know that. We need to have you talk to Agrippa again in order to get a reading of his voice for Rorshin's spell. It stands to reason that, perhaps G-Wiz decided to take a look at a couple of birds with the rest of us.”

“But you were there, too,” Becenti said, “So if we get caught on this, we can't cut you loose like intended.”

Ichabod grimaced.

“I... I suppose,” he said.

“We can save face on this,” Becenti said, “I have to talk to Agrippa anyways. After that, we can leave the plane.”

“She doesn't know our identities, does she?” Contort said, “I mean, we were blending in with the crowd pretty well. Ichabod kept his head down, made sure to have a hood on and everything. How many pale weirdos are on Neos? Quite a lot, I'd reckon.”

“...Perhaps,” Becenti said.

The old metahuman turned to G-Wiz.

“Galatea,” he said, “How intent was that raven looking at you?”

“It was eyeballing me the whole time,” G-Wiz said, “It... It didn't look at anyone else, Becenti. I swear it didn't.”

“Did it have any recording equipment on it?” Becenti said, “Any at all?”

She had remembered...

No, she hadn't.

Her memories felt too murky. She glanced over to Ichabod. The man had a pleading look on his face. So, she shook her head.

“I don't think so,” she said, “But I do know, that raven was staring right at me. It didn't even turn to consider Ichabod or Contort at all.”

“There's an easy solution to all of this,” Rorshin said from the corner. They turned to him. The druid was standing up, rapping his staff against his knuckle, “You find Macabre, and you kill her.”

Ichabod watched as Becenti's frown deepened and his hands balled into fists. But the metahuman nodded.

“A possibility, if there's time,” he said.

“If the raven only saw G-Wiz,” Vicenorn said, “Then we may still be able to do this.”

“Explain,” Becenti said.

“Take G-Wiz with you,” Vicenorn said, “Contort, Ichabod, and Rorshin should be enough to take out any security, right?”

“It's risky,” Contort said, “I'd rather have G with us, when she's up and running she's one of the most powerful of our little team.”

G-Wiz went red. But Becenti nodded.

“It significantly reduces her role in the plan,” he said.

“Yes,” Ichabod said, “But either we do that, and maintain the illusion that the Amber Foundation is here for business, or we risk G-Wiz being identified once we're out.”

Becenti steepled his fingers together, his eyes hard as he mulled it over.

“I don't mind it,” G-Wiz said, “I really think we've still got a shot at this, Becenti. They're looking for potential threats, not the Amber Foundation itself.”

“It's just business,” Ichabod said.

For a long moment, Becenti was quiet. He steepled his hands together, and sat down, laying them across a crossed knee.

Then…

“Very well,” Becenti said, “Galatea, you're with me as we talk to Agrippa. The rest of you, the plan continues as normal.”

He took a shaky breath.

“God help us all.”