“Hey,” Lisa said, offering a warm smile. “It’s been a while, Taylor.”

  “It has,” Taylor agreed, looking around the room. Their old hideout at the abandoned Redmond Welding building. “Have you been doing alright?”

  “Oh, you know,” she replied with a shrug. “Getting by. You?”

  “It’s…” Taylor paused, feeling her throat tighten. “It’s been tough.”

  “Working for Cauldron? I bet.” Lisa stepped over to her and wrapped an arm around Taylor’s side, offering a tight hug. Taylor found her head resting on Lisa’s shoulder for a moment before she pulled away. “The things you’ve seen and done? I can’t even imagine.” A shadow loomed behind her, twisted and malformed, a rogue Case 53 Taylor had hunted down months ago. Lisa smiled as blood began dripping from two wide gashes on her cheeks. “So, who’s next?”

  Weaver woke with a start, sitting upright in her bed fast enough to make her head spin. She looked around her empty quarters, reaching out to the few thousand bugs she had sequestered away in various nooks and crannies where Cauldron wouldn’t be bothered by their presence. Several flies took flight outside her door, riding the Custodian’s air currents through the halls.

  Nobody around her, not in the next few hallways at least. She hadn’t been awoken to be summoned then, it was just—

  “Weaver,” the communicator beside her bed squawked as Number Man addressed her. “Come to the primary office, quick. Full costume.” She snatched the small device up and pressed the button to speak.

  “Who are we meeting?” Weaver asked, her grogginess quickly fading. She had only been present for meeting a single client so far, a South African woman with heavily-accented English and a tumour in her brain. At least the formula had kept her mostly human…

  “Primary office, and quickly.”

  The device clicked and Weaver sighed, stuffing it into a pouch on her utility belt before dressing in her costume and armour. It was far more complete than any of her old sets had been, now using alloys Cauldron had access to instead of bug carapaces reinforced with spider silk. It was far more effective, and had saved her life more times than she cared to count, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of nostalgia for her handmade outfit.

  Cauldron… Weaver had never expected to find herself here, cooperating with the boogeymen of the cape world. Of course, she had never expected to become a villain, or fight Leviathan, or take over part of a city either. She’d heard necessity called the mother of invention, but in her experience it was more the daughter of desperation.

  Weaver left her room and strode quickly through the halls toward the primary office, Doctor Mother’s main one used for meeting with clients. Bugs gathered in the corners of the room as she approached, and a brief look through the eyes of a jumping spider told her both Doctor Mother and Number Man were already waiting.

  Odd, Number Man wasn’t usually present for meetings like this. Then again, neither was she, so maybe it wasn’t that strange. But it still begged the question of what client was coming and why it merited the entire organization meeting them.

  When Weaver reached the hall where the primary office was, she at least got half an answer. Her bugs one hallway over felt a sudden change in air pressure, not the Custodian’s gentle shifting but an unsubtle slap. Contessa appeared in the hallway a moment later, a mosquito alighting on her hat. The other person was shorter, lightly dressed, with a buzz cut; but Weaver didn’t do more than brush bugs past his body just in case he was some kind of cape who could detect it.

  “Weaver, thank you for joining us,” Doctor Mother greeted her as she entered the office and took her place at the left side of the desk. “You’re rested, I trust?”

  “Yes,” Weaver replied. She’d only managed an hour or so of sleep, but she could always catch up later. “Who are we meeting?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know,” Doctor Mother said dryly. “Considering the number of insects you maintain your watch with.” Weaver suppressed a wince.

  “I only noticed him coming through the door with Contessa,” she said. “I can tell you that he’s short and has short hair, but not much more than that.”

  “You didn’t look?”

  “Gnats and flies can only give me so much information with their eyes,” Weaver said with a shrug. “And I didn’t have more able bugs nearby.”

  “No matter, you’ll see shortly,” Doctor Mother said with a hint of a grin. Weaver didn’t like that one bit, and soon she found out why.

  “Doctor Mother, Number Man, Weaver,” Amaranth greeted them flatly as she entered the room behind Contessa, making Weaver’s heart seize.

  She looked different to the last time Weaver had seen her in person, different even than the mug-shots the media had shown. Though still skinny, she’d put on a lot of weight over the last year. Her face was no longer gaunt, and her grey eyes were colder than ice. Weaver clenched her fists and forced her bugs to calm down. Obviously she’d been fed Weaver’s identity at some point, but there was no way she knew who she really was.

  “Amaranth,” Doctor Mother greeted her in turn, folding her hands. “Your precognitive aspect seems to have changed, unless someone fed you Weaver’s identity.” Amaranth sighed heavily and shook her head.

  “Jack Slash is out,” Amaranth said without inflection, making Weaver’s stomach clench. What? “He emerged in Killington, moving towards New York City, with several hundred clones of Slaughterhouse Nine members. I need transport to Brockton Bay, then New York.”

  “How soon will he attack?” Weaver demanded, fighting to keep her voice level.

  “Hours,” she said with a shrug. “You should contact the Protectorate as planned, I’ll join you once I’ve gathered my team.”

  “How—”

  “Very well, we will assist,” Doctor Mother cut Weaver off. “In return, you will follow Weaver’s lead. She is a highly experienced operative and knows how to deal with this situation.”

  “I know.” If Weaver’s bugs hadn’t been nearby, she wouldn’t have caught Amaranth’s whisper. “Alright, we will. I need a door to my second hideout.” With a nod from Doctor Mother, Contessa summoned a door and ushered Amaranth through. Just before she stepped out, she cast a strange, knowing look back at Weaver.

  “Interesting,” Doctor Mother said once they were alone. “Contessa, did you give her any information?”

  “No,” Contessa replied, shaking her head. “When I asked how she knew a passcode to contact us, she simply said she remembered. When I asked who she remembered telling her, she didn’t answer.”

  “And you still brought her here?” Doctor Mother asked, arching a brow.

  “She has extensive knowledge of our operations,” Contessa said, nodding to Weaver. “However, her ability also means she needs no persuasion to work with us, and she understands the consequences of sharing our secrets. It’s also highly useful, especially as we approach our endgame. Her knowledge may soon hold the key to our victory.”

  “She’s been reluctant to share before,” Number Man commented.

  “This time seems different,” Doctor Mother sighed, nodding slowly and turning to Weaver. “Are you ready to travel?”

  “Yes,” Weaver said quickly. “I can make contact immediately.”

  “You may inform them of your identity at your discretion,” she said. “And that you work for our organization, it may help smooth things somewhat.” She felt her lips twitch down in a frown.

  “Or it may turn them hostile,” Weaver said, recalling the fight against Echidna just before she’d been arrested. “Cauldron is viewed pretty poorly all across the Protectorate.”

  “The end of the world should be incentive enough for them to accept our assistance, however begrudgingly,” Doctor Mother said. “But as I said, at your discretion, you’re capable of deciding that course for yourself.”

  “Alright,” Weaver said, eyes flicking briefly to Contessa. “Anything else?”

  “Will you allow Amaranth to join you?” Contessa asked.

  “Don’t know, should I?”

  “You may be able to extract the name of who told her your identity,” Contessa offered. “And we would do well to have someone with her, just in case any new revelations come to light.”

  “Alright,” Weaver said with a nod, turning and taking a step away from the desk. “Door, Lord Street and Main.” A portal opened before her and she took a deep breath.

  Time to go home…

  Weaver hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, and she was far from disappointed.

  “Don’t move,” a PRT officer said flatly, aiming an assault rifle at her chest. “A hero will be here shortly to escort you.”

  “Alright,” Weaver replied easily, keeping her hand well away from the pistol slung on her hip. Her eyes flicked between the four other officers standing guard, a mix of lethal and non-lethal options in hand. “As I said, I’m an ally.”

  “Look like a villain to me,” the officer who’d addressed her said flatly. “Who are you affiliated with?”

  “My organization prefers to remain anon—”

  “Sergeant,” a sharp, familiar voice cut Weaver off. She turned her head slightly and saw Miss Militia fast approaching, a rifle like the officers in her hands. She was followed by Clockblocker, who stared openly at Weaver, freezing like he’d used his power on himself a few feet before the gathering. “Report.”

  “A cape identifying herself as Weaver,” the sergeant replied, not taking her aim off of Weaver. “She wouldn’t say who she is affiliated with.”

  “Is that so?” Miss Militia said thoughtfully, staring at Weaver. “Weaver, I haven’t heard of you before.”

  “No reason you should have, Miss Militia,” Weaver said with a shrug. “My work takes me all over, but today it’s here.”

  “Does this have something to do with the alert Dragon put out ten minutes ago?”

  “It does.” She narrowed her eyes at Weaver.

  “Come,” Miss Militia snapped, turning on her heel. “Don’t cause any trouble. Sergeant Hooks, stand down.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the officer said sharply, lowering her gun and gesturing for her team to do the same. “And by all means, feel free to cause trouble; we’ll be ready.”

  “Noted,” Weaver said flatly, then strode past her and headed into the PRT headquarters.

  Clockblocker fell in behind her silently, and she felt the pressure of his realization. No way he’d missed it, there was no other reason for him to react as he did to a cape he didn’t know. Miss Militia probably had as well, though at least neither of them were making any sudden moves to take her down.

  Weaver was ready though. Outside of Cauldron’s base, her power could touch the tens of millions of bugs hidden throughout every inch of the six-block area around the headquarters. Before making contact, Weaver had ensured she had enough of a swarm at her beck and call that the entire building would be drowned before they could shut a single shackle around her wrists.

  And this time, there was no Amaranth to save them.

  Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that though. Weaver had a mission, and it didn’t involve the wholesale slaughter of potential allies. They needed everyone they could to pull off what Cauldron had planned, and she wasn’t remotely interested in scuttling it.

  At least, not anymore. Weaver recalled when she’d first been brought into Cauldron’s confidence on ‘the contingency’ as it was internally called; the idea of letting Jack succeed had infuriated her for months, almost driven her to escape more than once. But the more she’d done for them, the more she understood.

  There wasn’t a better option. Parahumans were simply too combative, too unstable, to push this out any further than they needed. Even if Jack was stopped, somehow, it would only delay the inevitable and invite more casualties to the Endbringers while they bade their time. It still meant the probably death of billions, but not of everyone, and Weaver knew it was the best they could do.

  “In here,” Miss Militia said, pausing in front of a door and eyeing Weaver.

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  “Before we go in, can I ask something?” Clockblocker said, coming around Weaver’s side and standing next to his CO nervously. “If you don’t mind, ma’am.” Miss Militia glanced at him, then gave a small nod.

  “Before you do,” Weaver said, holding up a finger. “If you’re going to ask me about my history, just don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, and you would prefer to remain ignorant.”

  “And what if I don’t?” Clockblocker said, crossing his arms. “What if I think you’re a villain here to take revenge for what the PRT did to you?”

  “Think whatever you want,” Weaver replied flatly. “But keep it to yourself. We have more important things to worry about.”

  “That we do,” Miss Militia said grimly. “Weaver— Skitter— don’t cause problems, or I’ll make sure you no longer can.”

  “Understood Miss Militia,” she said. “And it’s only Weaver, Skitter is dead.”

  “I wish,” Clockblocker muttered under his breath as they headed inside, making her stomach twist.

  If that sentiment was held by the rest of the heroes, then they were all screwed.

  If the reception had been cold, the meeting that followed was more frigid than the Arctic.

  Weaver’s appearance had been accepted, but she’d been repeatedly warned about causing trouble by just about everyone who could form an opinion. When New Wave arrived, they didn’t say a word, just glared. Whether they knew or not, they didn’t like having an unknown cape around here trying to get in on their work.

  Heroes. The idea made her scoff. They were as territorial and desperate for control as their villainous opponents. From the outside looking in, it was almost pathetic. They’d wasted some time arguing about which villains to invite, before Tattletale had showed up on her own and put an end to that particular fight.

  Tattletale herself had given Weaver a single glance, then kept mostly to herself and her team. Her team, not Weaver’s, not anymore. She’d kept herself from reacting, but the Undersiders’ appearance had rattled her more than she expected. At least Amaranth arrived soon after, her Terriers in tow, and the meeting could finally start.

  “Amaranth,” the director, a man named Higgins, said sourly. “Understand that if you step out of line, there is a pre-signed kill order with your name on it. Do not cause trouble.”

  “Understood,” Amaranth said flatly. One of her teammates opened his mouth, but she just shook her head and he shut up without protest.

  “Let’s focus on the matter at hand,” Weaver said, loud enough to draw all eyes in the room to her. “The Nine are a more dangerous threat than any person or team in this room. As long as they exist, we can’t afford to fight each other.”

  “She’s right,” Tattletale added with a frown. “I’ve got my issues with Amaranth, but frankly I’d prefer to be alive at the end of the day; and I’ve got a shitty feeling something in her head is going to be useful before this is over.” The device at the center of the table pinged.

  “So long as you understand your position here,” Miss Militia said coldly, glaring at Amaranth. She stepped forward and pressed a button on the device, projecting a hologram of an aerial overview of a small town. “Dragon, status?”

  “I’ve arrived over top of Killington,” Dragon’s voice came through the projector. “I can’t see anything from up here, shall I descend?” As the director ordered Dragon to take a closer look, Weaver noticed Amaranth had shut her eyes, and most of her team were looking away from the image.

  Soon after, she wondered if she ought to have done the same.

  The briefing ended not too long after, the Protectorate marshaled their heroes to get into the fray, and Weaver headed out of the building to meet up with Amaranth and the Terriers. As she did, she could feel Tattletale and Grue speeding from the room to catch her. Dammit, of course it hadn’t slipped by Lisa…

  Well, this had to happen sooner or later. Cauldron had always planned to send her here to liaise with the Protectorate and Undersiders, working to get everyone prepared for the end. Weaver would need to be damned careful though, she knew just how good Tattletale was at ferreting out information.

  “What?” Weaver asked as she stopped and spun on her heel. Her...allies jerked to a halt, and Tattletale’s mouth twitched down in a small frown.

  “Oh I’m doing fine Skitter, how have you been?” she said with her usual level of sarcasm. “Cosied up all nice with the—”

  “Stop,” Weaver snapped, hand twitching towards her pistol. She really didn’t want to have to shut her old friend up. “We don’t have time for this Tattletale, you know that.”

  “We have enough time,” Tattletale said quietly, eyes flicking momentarily to the floor before returning to Weaver’s. “What did they offer you? Couldn’t be money, there wouldn’t be a price high enough. Power, maybe revenge? Or—”

  “Tattletale,” Weaver said sharply, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath before she opened her mouth again. “You know better.” Tattletale clicked her tongue.

  “I thought I did,” she said. “Then you showed up working for the bad guys. So, what was it?”

  “It’s…” Weaver sighed. “Complicated. I can’t tell you everything, but this was necessary. Considering my other choice was the Birdcage, it wasn’t that hard.”

  “Mm.” Tattletale studied Weaver quietly for a moment, then clicked her tongue again. “So, the plan?”

  “Win,” she said simply. “Can’t afford anything else.” She glanced at Grue briefly, then looked away. “For what it’s worth...I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” Tattletale replied quietly. She shook herself as if waking up, then turned to Grue. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  “Right,” Grue said with a nod, then followed her without another word. Taylor sighed again as she stared after them, wishing it could have gone another way.

  But she couldn’t worry about them anymore, there was just too much at stake. She could only hope they’d understand, in the end.

  “Get ready,” Weaver said to the Terriers as she checked the weapons she’d retrieved from Cauldron’s armoury. “It’s time.”

  “Finally,” Nadir said, pushing herself off the wall and rolling her shoulders. “What took so long?”

  “The Protectorate has made contact with the Slaughterhouse Nine,” she explained. “Now we’re going to reinforce them.”

  “Gonna blow away some bad motherfuckers,” one of Amaranth’s teammates, a black guy with hair that reminded her of Brian’s, said eagerly. “Betcha I get more than you, Reese.”

  “In your dreams, Zeke,” the largest of Amaranth’s team said with a low chuckle. “I’m gonna be spitting the bars after this one.”

  “Terriers, ready,” Amaranth barked, making her teammates stiffen. “Let’s get a move on, no time to waste.”

  “Agreed,” Weaver said with a nod, turning to an empty section of hallway. “Door, North Yonkers.” Doormaker’s portal opened before her and she quickly stepped through onto the snowy New York streets.

  She took a deep breath as she reached out to the millions of bugs around. Not many outside, most were sheltered from the cold night. They stirred into action at her command, the more dangerous sorts gathering into large swarms in the hidden places of their shelters. Less useful bugs were made scouts, spreading quickly across a swath of the city. Soon nothing was outside her perception, not the hundreds of inhabitants who’d failed to obey the evacuation order, and certainly not the rampaging clones of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

  Weaver tapped the small computer on her wrist and tuned her radio in to the local Protectorate frequencies. She had a throat mic under her costume, and as she tapped into the command line, she keyed it so they could hear.

  “NYC Protectorate this is Weaver, leading a parahuman team with Amaranth and the Terriers,” Weaver said, spreading her bugs widely to try and figure out exactly where they needed to go, and who they were fighting. Not easy by any means, but at least it was something familiar. “We’re here to assist with the Slaughterhouse Nine.”

  “Weaver this is NYC Dispatch,” a voice tinged with panic came back. “Happy to have more reinforcements.”

  “Good,” she said. “Then direct us to where we can help with the fighting.”

  “Wait one.” Weaver heard the sound of rapid-fire typing. “Right, we have a fight north of you, several heroes fighting two members of the Nine; Crawler and Crimson.”

  “Understood.” She cut the mic and turned to her new team as she sent her bugs in the direction that had been indicated. There. “Let’s move, we have an engagement four blocks north of us, Crawler and Crimson at least.”

  “Let’s move then,” Amaranth said flatly, taking point and heading the direction that Weaver hadn’t indicated yet.

  So she already knew, but why not say anything beforehand? Weaver caught her eye as she passed, grimacing. Amaranth looked like she’d already lost, her gaze hollow, mouth fixed in a frown. This fight was going to go badly then. Dammit, Amaranth needed to learn how to talk to people, or they’d all be screwed.

  “Hey,” Weaver said as she jogged alongside Amaranth. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Amaranth replied, her voice as hollow as her gaze.

  “Don’t screw around Amaranth, we can’t afford it.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I know your plan, and it’s a bad idea.”

  “Stopping the end of the world?”

  “Letting Jack trigger it,” she muttered, sending a chill up Weaver’s spine. “Don’t bother denying it, I know.”

  “Then you also know it’s our best chance of survival,” Weaver replied, her voice low and dangerous. If Amaranth was going to interfere…

  What? What would she do if Amaranth decided that billions shouldn’t die today? Weaver had a job, an important one, in making sure Jack’s army was contained but he still succeeded. It was already a narrow, fraught path, and if Amaranth was going to interfere it would become that much harder.

  “No,” Amaranth said sharply. “It isn’t. Our best chance is killing Jack and putting a stop to everything before it starts.”

  “That only delays things,” Weaver countered. “And the longer we wait, the lower our odds as capes die to the Endbringers and other conflicts around the world.”

  “I know the excuses and I’m telling you they’re wrong,” she said obstinately. “We’ve killed a lot of people between us Weaver, how much more blood do you want on your hands?” Weaver knew the question well, because she’d asked herself that months ago, joining Cauldron’s group.

  Even now, she didn’t have an answer…

  “Shit man,” Reese gasped, clutching his wounded arm. “God dammit.”

  “It’s alright,” Nadir reassured him as she tightened a tourniquet on his upper arm, looking back at Weaver. “Help’s on the way, right?”

  “Five minutes out,” Weaver confirmed, her attention mostly in her swarm, seeking and tracking as far as she could. “Hurry, we—”

  An unsubtle slap of air knocked a brace of flies from the wall on the inside of a building, four blocks south. It was a familiar feeling, one she’d experience many times working with Cauldron, and it chilled her to her core. Weaver quickly strung a few lines of silk across the bottom of the hallway, then opened her spiders’ eyes.

  Jack, Bonesaw, another villain her height, the Siberian, and so, so many more.

  “We need to move,” Weaver snapped.

  “Jack,” Amaranth said, perking up. She pointed her finger roughly in the direction Weaver had felt him emerge. “That way, right?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, narrowing her eyes. “How did you… No, your power, right?” She just shrugged.

  “We can wait for the ambulance, right?” Nadir said, not taking her eyes off her patient.

  “We can,” Amaranth confirmed.

  “We shouldn’t,” Weaver countered.

  “We can,” she repeated, more firmly.

  Nadir looked between them for a moment, looking uncertain. With a quiet grunt, she rose and grabbed Amaranth’s arm, dragging her to the far side of the road. Weaver sent a few bugs towards them surreptitiously, not willing to let them out of earshot, not with how Amaranth had been talking.

  “—oing on?” Weaver caught the end of Nadir’s hissed question. “You know where and when Jack shows up and don’t tell us?”

  “Couldn’t,” Amaranth muttered, shaking her head. “Not with Weaver around.”

  “How many times?”

  The question made Amaranth pause, and sent alarms blaring through Weaver’s head. ‘How many times’ what? How many times had Amaranth seen the future? That didn’t make a lot of sense. How many times had Weaver messed up? Also nonsensical. So what—

  “I don’t know,” Amaranth murmured at last. “Ten...fifteen...I don’t know.”

  “You’ve died fifteen times?”

  Amaranth died?! Weaver’s head snapped towards them, she couldn’t help the reaction. At least they were both distracted, and looking at Amaranth… Her shoulders were slumped, head hanging low. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

  “I don’t know how to beat him,” Amaranth admitted like she was confessing to murder. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I just… Joy I don’t know anymore.”

  “Fuck,” Nadir swore, grabbing Amaranth’s shoulders and wrapping her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry Lia, I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Amaranth whispered. “But I have to try, have to...have to do something.”

  “You’ll think of something,” she reassured the girl. “You always do.”

  Amaranth didn’t reply, just rested in Nadir’s arms. Weaver’s mind was racing. Not only had Amaranth lied about her power, she’d managed to hide its true nature from everyone. She didn’t remember events because of some precognitive aspect of her power. She remembered because she’d been there and died.

  It was ridiculous, Weaver knew that wasn’t how precogs worked. Even Coil or Dinah would die when they died, and she knew it first hand. Judging by how Amaranth reacted, she wasn’t exaggerating either. It was obvious how she’d changed, but Weaver had just put it down to the girl’s time in the Birdcage.

  But with this new revelation…

  “Amaranth,” Weaver snapped as she strode rapidly towards the pair. “What’s going on?” Amaranth flinched, pulling away from her friend and staring up at Weaver. There were tear-stains on her cheeks, but her expression was a study in neutrality.

  “Getting ready to go,” Amaranth replied flatly. Nadir stared at Weaver for a moment, narrowing her eyes.

  “You were listening,” Nadir growled, hands clenching into tight fists. “Don’t deny it.”

  Amaranth’s expression turned to one of horror, and her hand snapped out. Weaver pulled away, but too late, and her wrist was caught in Amaranth’s grasp. As she squeezed, Weaver felt a spike of cold fear stab her chest, remembering the last time this happened.

  “You say a fucking word to your bosses and I’ll kill you,” Amaranth said, voice low and vicious. “You try and use that knowledge against me, I’ll kill you. And if somehow, someway, you figure out how to kill me? I’ll just come back and kill you next time. Is that clear?”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Weaver said, feeling her bugs milling as she fought to keep her voice level. “But I want to know why you never told anyone. If your power works like I think, then you could be far more useful than you ever have been.”

  “And all it would cost me is everything,” she murmured, her grip on Weaver’s wrist relaxing slightly. “I decide when it ends, understand? Not you, not Cauldron, not god. I’ll figure out a way to do it though, a way to kill Jack and stop everything.”

  “That’s not the pla—”

  “I don’t care!” Amaranth bellowed, her grip tightening until Weaver felt her bones creak painfully. “I’m not letting another fucking person die because someone else can stomach it. I know you didn’t last time, but Taylor please listen.” She stared at the ground and whispered, “I need you.”

  Weaver gazed down at Amaranth, frozen in place. Last time. Did she mean the last time they’d spoken, the last time Amaranth died? Or did she mean Brockton Bay, where if Taylor had just listened, she’d never have lost as much as she did…

  “Then tell me your plan,” Weaver said firmly. “All of it.”

  Weaver had heard the saying ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy’, and she’d hoped it was wrong given that this wasn’t Amaranth’s first time.

  Unfortunately, the old saying was right on the money.

  “Nadir!” Amaranth screamed as her teammate fell to the ground, clutching the bleeding stump of her arm.

  The Siberian sprang forward, unbound from Nadir’s gravity well, and pounced. Amaranth managed to dodge one swipe, but another caught her stomach and sprayed blood over the ground. Amaranth grunted and stumbled back, falling on her ass as she clutched her wound.

  Weaver was busy with her own problems though. Her swarm sense vanished as she ducked under a swing of Hatchet Face’s axe. It was disorienting, but she had enough experience that it wasn’t necessary for her to fight. Another blow, another dodge, trying to get herself in the right position.

  Hatchet Face bellowed and swung his axe down in a crushing overhead blow. Weaver ducked inside the strike, her long fighting knife rotating in her hand as she swung it up and under the villain’s jaw. The blade punched straight through his toughened skin and into his brain. Weaver made a quick, swirling motion, then drew the knife out smoothly as the Brute collapsed backwards and her swarm sense returned.

  She twisted just in time to see Amaranth roll out of the way of Siberian’s swing, a cloud of pulverized concrete and snow flying into the air. Weaver sent her swarm into the cloud to track the fight, and found Amaranth rolling towards the Siberian. She reached out as the Siberian grasped her head, then Weaver felt her hand clench.

  With a sound like shattering glass, the Siberian was gone, and Weaver could touch Amaranth’s skin. How the fuck? She ran forward into the cloud and found Amaranth setting explosives on a small, ovoid container. She barked for Weaver to get back, and she managed to get out just in time for the charges to detonate, sending shrapnel pinging off her armour.

  “Fuck,” Weaver heard Amaranth gasp after the detonation. “Shit, shit. Weaver!” She ran forward and found the bleeding girl laying on her back, hands over a wide gash in her stomach.

  “Hold on,” Weaver said quickly, pulling a square of gauze from her first-aid kit and pressing it to the girl’s abdomen. “We’re clear for now, just hold on.”

  “Not gonna,” Amaranth muttered, teeth chattering. She was deathly pale, her lips turning purple. “Joy’s dead, so’re Zeke and J. Gotta go back, gotta save them.”

  “Hey, we can still do this,” Weaver said firmly, unwilling to let this go so easily. “We’ve been making progress, Jack’s not far and—”

  “Taylor,” Amaranth cut her off, shaking her head slowly. “Can’t. I’m sorry.” Her breathing grew slower, more shallow. “Next...time…”

  “Next time,” Weaver promised as Amaranth’s eyes shut, never to open again.