To say things had been tense as we departed New York would be like saying the city needed a fresh coat of paint. An oversimplification and a disregard for the real problem—and wouldn’t you know it, I was guilty of both.

Legend’s promise of “sinfully good” pancakes had been, if anything, a gross understatement. Until I joined the crew, I had never had pancakes before. That was the sort of food one made by a beleaguered but loving parent who forced themselves out of bed early on the weekend in an effort to lull unsuspecting children into a sugar rush tempered by Saturday morning cartoons and inevitably followed by an accompanying crash. The perfect opportunity for said parent to sneak in, and I quote, “shower sex,” per Edict. A sentiment unbelievably echoed by Toro, albeit accompanied by the usual string of insults. On that particular occasion, a wild accusation about Edict being fucked by a goat and a technically true one about her drugging her kid, if one squinted really hard.

Thing is, I’d never had that. Well, I had, in Klaus’ memories, but that was a whole different can of worms.

So. Cafeteria pancakes. It wasn’t that I’d never had pancakes—Gregor had made them for the crew a couple times. It wasn’t even that I’d never had good pancakes either—if Gregor was bad at cooking something, I’d yet to taste it. Hell, I had memories coming out the wazoo of eating all kinds of pancakes, courtesy of my unwanted, inherited memories. Traditional light and fluffy. Sharp but sweet blueberry. Overly indulgent s’mores style. I even had an unfortunately clear memory of eating pancakes off of a guy’s perfectly shaved ass, complete with maple syrup and a comically large glob of butter.

Three guesses who that last memory came from, and the first two don’t count. The less I think about what happened to the leftover syrup and butter, the better.

But the PRT cafeteria’s pancakes… they were so. fucking. good. Pillowy soft and light, perfectly rich and moist… There was simply no way Legend hadn’t done something to them, no matter Therese’s assurances that she’d had them once before and that they’d been just as good then. That man was possessed by the ghost of some world class chef who could turn food into dark matter or some other bullshit, and I could not be convinced otherwise.

So yeah, maybe I’d been a little too jazzed up by some world class night breakfast when I marched up to the rest of the crew with Therese in tow and told them in no uncertain terms that she was coming with us.

Maybe.

“I am… not certain this is the best time to be expanding,” Gregor had said, his apologetic unease and carefully worded denial completely overlooked by my full-steam ahead, dumbass stubbornness.

In hindsight, it was pretty obvious he was trying to politely remind me just how fucked our situation was. Faultline was dead. She was dead, and we needed to carefully navigate the manipulated optics of my would-be jailbreak while figuring out how to keep our house of cards together without it falling apart. And perched atop that precarious pile of playing cards? Two other new members. One we’d picked up not two weeks earlier with the promise of giving her a better life than picking through trash cans for the least moldy loaf of bread she could find, and the other taken in the middle of a city-wide crisis hot on the heels of everyone they knew being brutally murdered by that very crisis. Tossing a defecting Ward in could easily sour the pot.

Got my metaphors mixed up. Whatever.

In all fairness, Therese had been in a likewise shitty situation. I probably couldn’t have coaxed the details out of her if she hadn’t been completely exhausted from the fight against Nothung and the following week of protecting people from the nightmares the bastard left behind. Really the fight against the Teeth had just been the cherry on top. Couple all that with parahumanly perfect pancakes, and it was a wonder she even put up the token resistance she did.

Like hell would I let the PRT force her to be anybody she didn’t want to be.

The problem had just been getting Therese out of that situation without betraying her trust or making things awkward with the rest of the crew. “She quit the Wards,” I’d whispered, leaning in close, “and we have the room.”

Oversimplification and a disregard for the real problem. And Gregor, sweet Gregor, had caved. Too gentle to abandon a stray, too kind to tell me to deal with my own fuckup. If I’d tried that shit with Faultline, she never would have let me get away with it.

But Faultline was dead. She was dead, so it was very, very tense as we all packed into our miraculously intact van and left New York.

“Aaaay!” I glanced back over my shoulder and found Newter’s tail swishing back and forth a bit at the tip like an oddly precise puppy as we passed the tiny, dingy sign indicating the state line between New York and Connecticut. It doubtlessly would have been a flashier affair on the interstate or highway, but we’d stuck to back roads to avoid the miniature exodus from the broken city. “Never thought I’d be so happy to get out of New York. Feels like we were there for years.”

[Toro: Back to the Bay. Been a bit since we’ve been there.] [Klaus: I’m just saying, you could ask Therese about giving Gregor more details.]

My eyebrow twitched with suppressed violence. [Klaus: She seems like a nice girl.] It helped that punching Klaus in the face for being so goddamn pushy would mean punching myself. [Klaus: She’d understand.] [Edict: I think she gets it, Klaus.] Yes, I wouldn’t feel it, and yes, I would heal, but that was a slippery slope I wasn’t gonna touch with a ten foot pole. [Klaus: Are you just anxious about asking her?] [Sarah: Is… he always like this…?] Not to mention how batshit crazy I’d look bashing myself upside the skull out of fucking nowhere. [Klaus: There’s really nothing to be anxious about!] [Edict: Well…] [DZ: Yes!] [Alchemist: Generally.] It’s not like they had to listen to Klaus going on and on and on and— [Klaus: You just go up to her and—] Would you shut the fuck up, Klaus?!

[Rotlimb: Yes! Thank you! Goddamn, Seven!] [Klaus: … I could have done without the image of you breaking my nose…] [DZ: You are being a lot, Klaus. Real after school special.] [Footloose: Normally you shut his type up by ravaging them. First one way, then the other way.]

“It has felt very long, true.” Gregor’s eyes briefly rose from the road to look over us all through the rear view mirror before returning to the road, ignorant of the cacophony only I could hear. Up ahead, a grimy sign for a 7-Eleven loomed from its perch atop a tall metal pole. “Does anyone need a break? Stretch legs, get food and water?” [Quarrel: Says the grade schooler.]

“Mischief could always eat!” came the unsurprising reply from the back seat, the Changer’s words far too chipper and bright for the mood of the rest of the van. As if sensing precisely that, Mischief then walked their statement back with a scratch of their nose and an added, “If ya be stopin’ anyway.” [DZ: Twenty. One. Years.]

“Um…” Therese coughed, clearing her throat. I felt a stab of sympathy and second-hand awkwardness. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been the new person on the team; I remembered what it was like. “Um, y-yeah. Yes. Not food, that is. Just ate. So stretching.” [Toro: That how long ‘til you’re legal, baby boy?]

“Damn girl, chillax!” Newter remarked, punctuating the words with a chuckle. Naturally, Palanquin’s very own patron spirit had noticed her discomfort and set about disarming it. I’d seen him charm a smile and easy laugh out of dozens of shy, awkward girls who’d just come to the club to hang out with their friends. “Take a breath. No one’s gonna bite—unless you want them to, of course.” [Diamondback: Obviously not. Even were the legal drinking age not twenty-one on its own, Three was twelve when he died.] [DZ: Fuck you, Toro. Fuck you.]

He turned in the passenger seat and gave Therese a wink that left her cheeks rosy and me rolling my eyes. Thankfully, Masuyo got us back on track, speaking up from where she and Elle were seated behind Therese and me, her words quiet and carrying a hint of a lisp. “I think stopping for a few minutes is a good idea, Gregor.” [Toro: Not into pedophilia, pintsize. Maybe ask Thirteen? I’m sure he’d take a bite outta ya!]

“Very well,” Gregor rumbled as he slowed the van down and turned into the 7-Eleven. The building was, against all odds, grubbier than its sign. At least the sign had an excuse, high up enough the owner would need a crane to scrub away the filth I could only assume had come from the smokestacks of the factory off the road a bit further down. The windows were caked with grime and plastered with posters proclaiming special deals, their presumably once bright colors muted from the beginnings of accumulating filth. And judging by the torn and soot stained hoodie and jeans of the person exiting the store, the clientèle matched the premises. [Rotlimb: A bit of grime doesn’t mean a place has bad bones, kid. Hell, place reminds me of that wreck Seven and Hev built the Jaw out of after Behemoth wrecked Queens.]

Gregor pulled the van around to park against the side of the building in a spot half hidden behind propane canisters locked in a cage, and after maneuvering the gear stick into park, he pulled up the hood of his jacket. Masuyo’s seatbelt clicked, and she edged around the front row seat to slide the door open. Her movements were slow and careful to avoid antagonizing the burns still healing under the bandages wrapped around every inch of skin from the collar of her t-shirt to her chin and from there to her left ear. Slow and careful, but without hesitation. [Footloose: Yeah! Like Sixteen’s sister!]

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I bristled at Footloose’s insinuation, almost missing Gregor start to ask, “Masuyo—” Shut your fucking face, Foots.

“What can I get you?” she asked, not needing the rest of the question. One corner of her lips quirked up in a smile, the other side shifting without rising, stuck in place from the scarring only just beginning to form at the edges of the massive burn Sabah had inflicted on her. [Footloose: Down girl, down! I’m just saying, she’s probably a good lay despite—]

My fist caved in my cheekbone, blood squirting out from under my eye in a gurt that painted Newter and the floor between us in speckles of dark red blood.

My eyesight blurred, and my eyelid shuddered shut as it tried and failed to shut. Blood dribbled down over my fist where it was still embedded in my ruined face. There were words and noise, alarm and concern, but I wasn’t listening. I was talking. “You don’t talk about my sister like that, you filthy, fucking bastard. I don’t care that you whored yourself out to anything with a heartbeat. I don’t care that you think it’s all in good fun or whatever bullshit reasoning you’ve convinced yourself of. You do not speak that way about my family. Any of them. Do that again, and I will find a way to rip you out of my skull, and I will cut off your dick and make you eat it. Am. I. Clear?”

Something touched me. Somethings. I don’t know how I managed it, but I didn’t lash out. A hand settled over my fist, another over the one not buried in my cheek, and the tips of fingers ghosted over the curve where my neck met my shoulder, before trailing down and leaving nails gently scraping over my skin. But it was the first, Masuyo, who commanded my attention, getting right up in my face. She should have been shying away, repulsed by the girl insane enough to maim herself, but there was no revulsion in her eyes. Only concern over my injury, then concern over me when that injury pieced itself back together. Barely a hint of a flinch when my blood slithered over and under her hand and back into me, my face pushing my fist out as it reconstructed itself.

“Ignore him. All of them. Don’t hurt yourself over me.”

“‘Him?’” Air escaped me in a sharp, short burst, equal halves a sigh and a tsk of frustration. I realized I was shaking. “Said that aloud?”

There was a shuffling sound behind me then a click and the faint whine as I felt first the back doors swing open then Emily—or more accurately her mp3 player, her headphones, and the thin wires connecting them—clamored out. The act cut through the tension like a knife, the chorus finally speaking up after the silence following my outburst. [Toro: Damn, kid. Respect.] [Diamondback: Ridiculous, harming yourself like that.] [Caterpillar: I think it’s best if you respect the boundary, Six.] [Quarrel: This one will go quickly.]

“Yeah,” Masuyo affirmed as she finally let me go, pulling back enough that she wasn’t directly in my face. “I should go after her.” [Footloose: I didn’t mean to— I just… Well, shit.] [Klaus: Harming yourself harms the people you care about, June.] [Sarah: Ha… Well, thank goodness for my power?]

“I can. Will, I mean,” Therese spoke up with a hint of a grimace. She gave my other hand, the one she’d grasped before, a quick squeeze. “You’re hurt, and I want to stretch anyway. If you’ll, just, uh…” [DZ: Dude. Klaus. After school special.] [Alchemist: Yes, Delible… Quite.]

“Right.” Masuyo carefully stepped back out onto the pavement, clearing the way for Therese to slip past me and out of the van. With one last meaningful look, Masuyo returned her attention to Gregor. “What can I get you?” [Klaus: I just watched my niece punch herself hard enough to shatter her own cheekbone and nearly blind an eye with it. You’ll just have to forgive me for being a bit more concerned about that than how I sound to you, Danger Zone.]

“A large coffee and a couple of granola bars for now. Thank you,” he said with an admiral attempt at looking past the sudden, here-and-gone violence. I had no doubt we would be having a conversation later, but for the moment, he seemed content with Masuyo’s handling of the situation. [DZ: Okay, man, sorry. Geez. I didn’t mean any harm by it.] [Butcher: Said it before. This one’s gonna be short lived.]

Newter, however… He was pale—or as pale as his neon orange skin could be, anyway—and watching me with wide, wary eyes. He started, as if just realizing I was watching him back, and gave me the most obviously forced grin I had ever seen. “Hyper violence probably isn’t the best way to convince’m, June. It’s sort of their shtick.” [Klaus: Accepted…]

“How about you, Mischief?” Masuyo asked, stumbling somewhat over their name with their lisp. Despite the fumble and who she was ostensibly speaking to, it was Newter who she gave a pointed look I probably wasn’t meant to see. Abashed, his expression settled into something more genuine and sheepish. [Belial: Punch yourself, if it suits you, Juniper. Rebel—resist—how you see fit.]

If Mischief picked up on the tension choking the atmosphere in the van, they were superb at hiding it. “Doritos and Mountain Dew for Mischief, thank ya, Miss Yo!” [But do not bury your head in the sand. It is as pathetic as it is pointless.]

“I’ll have what they’re having,” Newter chimed in, shooting Mischief finger guns and a grin. [It has been nearly three decades since I murdered the Butcher of the Bay.]

“Anything for you, June?” I mutely shook my head, my stomach roiling and churning, a storm on the sea. “Elle hasn’t eaten in hours. Why don’t you come in with me, help carry things and pick something out for her?” [Live your life, and live it well. Art is long, and our life is fleeting, dear child.]

I didn’t trust myself to speak. My seatbelt popped upon with a thought, and I stumbled out of the van past Masuyo. One foot in front of the other, my feet marched themselves around towards the entrance. [As our forebears have gone, so too must we.]

[Memento mori.]

“Oo oo oo! There’s a ‘z’! There’s a ‘zeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’!”

[Tororonono: Fuck — my — life.] “Oh?” Big sis leaned over and did a squinter looksie. All around, “Hm, nope, try again.” [And no, Six, not literally.]

“Whaaaaat! Nuh uh!” I huffed and twisted around to point, but the sign was already running away, all scaredy-cat. She must not have seen! [Footsy: You wound me, Nine! Wound me!] “‘Hurt ‘n’ accident? Don’ let man— mana— uh… managles… boss ya ‘round! Call Zelson and Wurdock!”

“‘Managers,’ June.” Big sis pulled back, all wincy-mincy. I was gonna tear down that doll house first thing, I was! “That sentence has no z’s in it.” [Footsy: Don’t make the offer if you aren’t even interested. Hmph!]

“Sideways!” My face was all pouty from all the dolls and runaway signs and nopes. “Sideways!”

“You mean Nelson,” said Curl Gurl, behind instead of beside. “That was an ‘N.’” [Danja Z: So this is… a lot.]

“Sideways and upside down,” said Newther, all haha’s and hehe’s as he drank some more of his matching water. [Alchemist: Quite. Perhaps if Belial were to restrain himself in the future, we might have less repeat performances.]

“Mischief’s thinkin’ tha don’t count.” I tried to give them all my pouts, but I couldn’t get them off of me, stuck like glue. Shenanigans did the shoulder shrug, opposite of dug. No drank left to be drunk, they’d already drink’t all. “Creative though!” [Rotlimb: I mean, shit, if this is gonna happen half the time…] [Caterpillar: I’ve not known Two to be easily dissuaded.]

There was but one course of action: I shook my fist in the air and did declare, “I’ll get zee, ‘Z,’ if zee’s the last zeeng I ever do!”

The giggles jumped out of me like fizzly pop, flowing and unstayable, even as Gregdy spoke up for the first time in a looooong time. Barely a word in hours ‘n’ hours, honest’n’true, and so unable to stop or stopper, I did my best try with mouth in hands, left to shake and rattle as they threatened to roll. [Sarah: I mean, at least she’s… ‘Happy’ isn’t quite the right word. Enjoying herself?]

“Emily?” His peepers peeped the mirror, but not a peep peeped back. “Emily, I have a question for you.” [Day-jur Zoh-en: ‘Happy,’ ha! That’s one way to put it.]

Still nothing. I did the rotini to look pasta my shoulder, and back in the back there was no look back. Fire sis was pouty—like me?—all sticky with glue to her and her to phone. Sticky and still, no answer nor look. Misconduct paused, fur paw no claw raised to tappity tap, but nope nope nope, nunna that.

No Rascal, no Curl’r’Bell G’l. [Sarah: Is… Is she…?] Next up us Sisters Two, but I didn’t want to! [Coal Chest: No] [Handtight: Rhymin’ with sick timin’? Haha!] And so to Big Sis I turn, ‘cause Fire Sis… wouldn’t… [D to the Z: I’m not sure I’d call it ‘rhyming,’ Foot…] [Bullbull: Thanks. I hate it.]

I jerked, the world stuttering. I only realized I’d bitten through my tongue when I tasted iron, blood slicking over and between clenched teeth until my body pieced itself back together. What had—? Wait, I— I did it, but why…?

“June? You okay?” Masuyo’s whisper was almost intelligible, half slurred from her the partially immobile lips she hadn’t yet grown accustomed to. [Alchemist: That sensation is… most unpleasant.]

Gregor heard her too, or perhaps he’d noticed my flinch. I met his eyes in the mirror. A flash of concern and something more, and before I realized what I was doing, I was touching his brain with Toro’s broken power. Pointless and unintentionally invasive, I immediately retreated with only the certainty that Gregor was feeling something intense and that I had made a gross misstep.

“We were… Someone… Saying?” I asked, ashamed and floundering against the tug. My body felt like lead, except lead I could have lifted. Easy peasy, Amy squeoh no no no noooo— [Diamondback: Be more careful. The mouth is how Fourteen killed Thirteen.]

“Hey, Ems!” Abrasively abruptive, the words cut through the van, front to back, Newter to Emily. The edges of each loud syllable caught on the foggy film that had been settling over me once more, peeling it away with all the grace of their owner’s spit sending some sap spiraling into a sloppy high. Then, perhaps unsure whether Emily had truly heard him, perhaps simply enjoying the disruption to the quiet that had settled over everyone, Newter called to her once more, drawing out her name and injecting several unpleasant surges in volume. “EeeEeEeeeMmssss!” [Quarrel: Spoiled the surprise. Now she’ll know to watch that weakness.]

I heaved a groan from emotional whiplash, off balance enough I almost rose to Quarrel’s bait. In the back seat, I felt Emily’s headphones slide off and around her neck as she impassively answered, “What.” [Klaus: A class act as always, Quarrel.]

“Thank you, Newter,” Gregor replied, the normally affable man not sounding appreciative whatsoever, though his accent made it hard to tell. “Emily, we will be passing by Providence in an hour or so, and—” A space between words, a pause just short enough I was unsure it had actually happened. “—I would take you home, if you wish.” [Rotlimb: Stick a sock in it, Seven. You’re being even more insufferable than usual.]

“No.” Emily’s answer was clipped and delivered without hesitation or consideration in a tone so flat and so empty that it would have felt right at home coming from Elle, deeply steeped in the depths of a bad day as she was right then. The springs in the seat behind Masuyo and me squirmed. Not Elle—Therese? [Klaus: I’m impressed, Rot. You used the word ‘insufferable’ correctly.]

“You need not make a decision immediately. It would be understand—” [Rotlimb: Fuck you.]

“I. Said. No!” Emily spat, ramping from zero to sixty in three seconds flat. I half expected her to start spitting actual fire, as did everyone else, if everyone but Elle staring at her was anything to go by.

“Uh, Ems?” Newter started to ask, apparently stupid enough to inch towards the metaphorical powder keg with a lit match. “You—?” [Klaus: That… escalated quickly.]

“I don’t want to talk about it.” And before one more word could be uttered, the headphones were back on. Then, as if one of us might spontaneously develop the power to communicate telepathically by meeting her eyes, she pulled up her hood and twisted in the seat to face out the window.

And so we didn’t. Not one word from anyone until we finally made it back to Brockton Bay.