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rightly so—but our numbers were steadily growing.
    As with Neal, we lost some to battle, while others had been lone-wolfing it for so long that they found the structure of troop life, as loose as ours was, too stifling. Those agents would fall silent in our meetings, nod at our plans to enter the city—to enter a place called Midheaven and free the men trapped there, bringing them into our fold—but would inevitably be gone by morning, the only sign they’d been there at all a smudged footprint as they slipped into the night.
    It didn’t matter. The more active we were, including those stealth comings and goings, the more the manuals spoke of us. The comic books would otherwise be filled with the actions of the Tulpa and his troop, or Warren’s battle for Light. Our mere existence stole coveted page space from the troops, along with the energy from the young minds reading them. The Shadows, especially, were still stronger, but thus far there was nothing either side could do about it. Meanwhile, the rogues just kept coming.
    “We’ve got company,” Gil muttered as we approached the sinkhole, finding two such men waiting outside the clearly booby-trapped entrance. They shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot as a team of thirteen grays—bearing one dead—swooped their way. The men around me sniffed at the air as we slowed, reading everything their acute sense of smell could tell them about the duo: were they once Light or Shadow, how long had they been here, what did they have for breakfast . . . did they mean us harm?
    Upon sighting me, one of the men nudged the other, and though Vincent had already set me on my feet, he and Oliver drew tight around me. Fletcher and Milo, holding Neal’s body between them, shifted to take up the rear. Meanwhile Carlos led a forward flank of nine to greet the newcomers. As we drew to a stop before them, and Carlos began to speak, the second reason they hadn’t entered the sinkhole rose like a black cloud from within it, ambling directly toward me.
    “Hey, Buttersnap,” I said, nuzzling the cause of the test site’s whispered rumors under her chin. The giant dog responded by unfurling a tongue as long as my forearm and lapping at my hand, practically swallowing it whole. For some reason the beast had taken a liking to me, which was surprising as she’d once been a Shadow warden. She didn’t care for mortals, and she rabidly loathed agents of Light.
    Guess my father’s heritage was more potent than I thought, I mused, scratching behind ears the size of army boots. Though after the demonstration in the desert, it wasn’t an especially comforting thought.
    My protectors took a step back now that Buttersnap guarded my side. The newly arrived rogues took two.
    “Fletch, Milo, take Neal’s body to Io for cleansing. We’ll bury him at midnight, and honor him before the evening’s . . . festivities.” Carlos gave the newcomers an apologetic smile, though he didn’t elaborate. Not yet. “Meanwhile the rest of us will retire to the commons.”
    The shorter man’s shoulders slumped with relief. His partner held himself autocratically, looking like an English butler despite his torn T-shirt and jeans, but he too let out a visible sigh of relief, and Carlos gave them a little nod. “You’ve come a long way and are probably hungry.”
    Carlos’s standing policy was to welcome any rogue, though they wouldn’t be allowed to stay until they were thoroughly vetted and had agreed to the grays’ objectives and rules. They also wouldn’t be allowed alone with me. I was mortal, pregnant, and—Carlos believed, wrongly—still the reputed Kairos, a sort of savior to my chosen troop. He wasn’t going to take a chance that some rogue would attempt to gain himself a vaulted place in the manuals at my sake. Of course Buttersnap helped disabuse most of that idea as well.
    Our bunker was a burned-out post-apocalyptic sinkhole, a dystopian’s wet dream, but also pretty homey. Though