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T wo days later, Roma strides into the Courtyard around lunchtime with a singular goal: to not run into Esmeralda Laguerre.

It’s more the Council’s goal than her own, really. After her “mishap” with last week’s mega-rift, Nasir decided that Roma should prioritize closing them with demons other than Ez at least once or twice per week. Roma can’t deny that it’s a smart move?—if Ez hears about Roma working with other demons, she’ll be less likely to suspect that Roma is up to something?—but she admittedly isn’t enthusiastic about spellcasting with anyone besides Ez.

Not that she’s enthusiastic about spellcasting with Ez, of course. Especially not after Sunday’s prison break. Roma fights back a wince, stepping onto the line for Falafel Express. Luckily, Chester’s prediction was correct?—none of the hunters were injured badly enough that the infirmary’s spellcasters couldn’t fix them up?—but it still makes guilt churn through Roma that they got hurt at all.

If she hadn’t told Ez about the neophyte from midtown, then this never would’ve happened. No one would’ve gotten hurt, the prison wouldn’t be bare and empty, and the Sanctum wouldn’t be back on high alert.

It doesn’t help that this was their third jailbreak in less than six months, either. Technically, the Council signed off on the first one?—Roma “helped” the demons rescue JJ as part of her fake defection, so the interrogators treated it as a drill?—but the second and third were a lot more vicious.

And Chester got hurt during both of them. That’s the worst part of all for Roma. Yes, she knows that Ez is a demon; yes, she gets that they’re not actually on the same side; yes, she understands that Ez is going to look out for herself and her people before she even thinks of looking out for Roma, but??—

But part of Roma was almost starting to think of them more as allies than anything else. Allies in the mysterious case of the neophyte demons, at least. Even if Ez was trying to give Roma plausible deniability for the jailbreak, the fact that she didn’t even mention it beforehand stings more than Roma expected.

So maybe it’s good for her to get a little distance from Esmeralda Laguerre?—and, luckily, Ez is nowhere in sight. Quietly, Roma whispers a spell to check for demons in the vicinity, nodding to herself when she senses a few nearby.

They might not be as talented as Ez, but they should be able to help her close a mega-rift easily enough.

The customer ahead of Roma moves to one side to wait for his food. She steps up to the window in his place, waving at Falafel Nick behind the counter. “Hi,” she says, fishing a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Can I have an order of hummus fries, please?”

“Hm…” Nick leans across the counter, giving her a calculating look. “Actually, I don’t think you want hummus fries. I think you want falafel nachos.”

Roma blinks back at him, nonplussed. Truthfully, she was in the mood for hummus fries, but… “Falafel nachos?”

“Exactly!” Nick says cheerfully, and he makes an incomprehensible gesture at Andrew that Roma can only assume is interpreted as “one plate of falafel nachos, stat!” “They’re our newest menu item, and Andrew spent ages perfecting them. A plate of golden-brown pita wedges topped with our specialty falafel, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers??—?”

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jacob complains. “You’re not supposed to give people the recipe!”

“?—?feta cheese, tzatziki sauce, and loooove!” Nick finishes, and he shoots Jacob a scowl. “I have to tell her the ingredients, man! What if she’s allergic to cucumbers?”

“Name me one person in the entire history of humankind with a cucumber allergy.”

“It could happen! I once knew a guy who was allergic to bananas! And speaking of which…” Nick peers at a point over Roma’s shoulder, grins, and shucks off his apron. “Now that there’s no line, I’m heading over to Tacos Near Me to grab a burrito for lunch.”

“Liar,” Jacob says. “You just want to flirt with Esteban without being interrupted.”

“Oh, I would climb that man like a tree,” Nick confirms solemnly. “But the pull of Lucia’s burritos cannot be overstated.”

“Also, what do bananas have to do with?—you know what? Never mind,” Jacob says. “I really don’t want you to answer that in front of a customer.”

“A wise decision.” And, with a wink at Roma and a wave at his coworkers, Nick ducks out the back door of the food truck and saunters towards Tacos Near Me.

Roma frowns after him. “I worry for Esteban.”

“Same,” Andrew says seriously, and he pushes Roma’s tray across the counter. “If you like them, tell your friends. If you don’t like them, lie and say that you did.”

“You can tell your enemies, too,” Jacob adds. “We’re not picky.”

“I’ll, uh. I’ll bear that in mind,” Roma says, and she waves awkwardly as she grabs her tray and heads to a nearby table, glancing around.

Still no Esmeralda Laguerre in sight. Perfect. Satisfied, Roma grabs a wedge of baked pita, loads it up with falafel and toppings, settles in to take her first bite??—

A mega-rift crackles to life before she can. “Seriously?” she groans, glaring down at her food. “Seriously?”

The falafel nachos don’t answer. Neither do the myriad civilians who scramble underneath tables or behind food trucks for cover. And neither do Bryant and Chester, who?—although she can’t quite pick them out of the crowd?—she knows are hidden by cloaking spells and maintaining the rift right now.

Much as Roma deeply appreciates their help, she’d appreciate it even more if they’d just let her finish a meal for once. Sighing, she shoves herself back to her feet, turns towards the mega-rift??—

And nearly trips with surprise when she sees none other than Ez already jogging towards it. Hurriedly, Roma hustles to catch up with her. “When did you get here?” she demands, slowing to a stop next to the rift.

“Been here the whole time,” Ez says briskly, and she shifts into her spellcasting stance. “Ready?”

It’s the first rift they’ve closed together since that night on the corner of East and Mayfair. Roma tries not to examine too closely why she feels pleased about that. “One, two, three??—?”

They jump into their rift-closing spells with practiced ease, their week and a half apart doing nothing to compromise their synchronized spellcasting. Roma still has Bryant and Chester using the old rift-opening spell?—they won’t get Councilwoman Nasir’s official approval for the Magic-Weaver’s one for another few days?—so she’s grateful that she and Ez finish their incantations quickly, not taxing her friends too much.

“?—?close what once was opened!”

“?—?command you to close!”

The mega-rift shudders, teeters, and crumples in on itself without further ado. Almost immediately, the civilians who dove for cover start wandering back out, looking overwhelmingly unconcerned by their brush with the supernatural.

Then again, Bryant and Chester?—along with a few other mixed-breed hunters?—have been opening mega-rifts in various parts of Redwater for weeks now. The locals were bound to get used to them eventually.

“Well, that’s a wrap,” Ez says, and she narrows her eyes at Roma’s picnic table. “Are those the falafel nachos that Nick keeps pestering me to try?”

The question takes Roma off guard. “Um, yeah. Allegedly made with love by Andrew himself.”

“Hm.” Ez nods slowly. “Are they good?”

Ez doesn’t usually strike up a conversation unless it’s about the mega-rifts?—or their corruption investigation. With a start, Roma realizes that this might be Ez’s version of extending an olive branch after Sunday’s scuffle, indirectly checking if Roma is okay without alluding to their shared history in public.

Warily, she accepts the peace offering. “That’s sort of a given. Did you miss the part where I said Andrew made them?”

Ez’s lips twitch. “I’ll have to try them the next time we get lunch there.”

A pang twists through Roma. Ez didn’t even seem to notice that she said “we” instead of “I,” but??—

But Roma is pretty sure that “we” includes JJ. And she has the same intermingled pangs of betrayal and guilt at the thought of him as she always does.

Especially now. Especially with the corruption that’s apparently permeating the Sanctum and the Chain.

Especially since Roma isn’t entirely certain whose goals she’s going to be serving by bringing JJ home.

Determinedly, she forces the thoughts away. Right now, she has a mission to think about?—a mission that specifically relied on Ez not being in the Courtyard today. She needs to do damage control to make sure Ez doesn’t get suspicious. “So when did you get here? I specifically looked for you before I ordered my food, but I didn’t see you anywhere.”

Ez looks torn between surprised and smug. “You were looking for me?”

“Well, yeah,” Roma says bluntly. “I figured I’d finally be able to finish my lunch without you around. Those mega-rifts follow you like a bad penny.”

Ez’s smirk drops into a scowl. Unexpectedly, Roma feels a twinge of remorse. Ez was actively trying to be civil?—almost friendly? —for once, and Roma just went out of her way to ruin it.

But, for the purposes of her mission, she just needs Ez to trust her. She doesn’t need Ez to like her.

Even though part of her kind of wants Ez to like her, too.

“I told you, lackey,” Ez bites out. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

There’s no way Roma didn’t notice Ez. Much as she hates to admit it, she has a sixth sense for the demon by now, and she’s pretty sure she could pick Ez out of a darkened club, to say nothing of a brightly lit space like the Courtyard at lunchtime.

Regardless, she just rolls her eyes. “If you say so, but??—?”

And Roma doesn’t know what draws her gaze to the table. Maybe she subconsciously noticed Ez jog over from that direction, or maybe she’s particularly attuned to the presence of demons, or maybe she just registered a little girl’s tinkling laughter from there, but??—

But whatever the case, when Roma’s eyes come to a rest on the table, it’s to see a girl not more than four years old playing with a stuffed wyvern while three grown men sit on the seats around her. None of them look familiar, but one man in particular is watching Roma and Ez with an unreadable expression that Roma would recognize anywhere?—even with that glamour.

“JJ,” Roma breathes, and without thinking, she takes a step forward.

In a flash, Ez blocks her path, teeth bared in a snarl. “Back off, Gutierrez.”

Roma jerks away on instinct, automatically summoning her ax into her hand. Ez tenses, clearly braced for a fight, but doesn’t move to attack first.

Just over Ez’s shoulder, Roma sees the glamoured man in the corner seat?—Obie, she thinks?—calmly stand up, snap open a rift, and motion his companions through. JJ picks up Desi and steps through first, avoiding Roma’s gaze, and the final man?—Cass, no doubt?—shoots Roma a hard glare before following him.

So much for a peace offering. Cursing herself, Roma drops her ax back into its gap in spacetime. “I wasn’t going to do anything bad, Laguerre. He’s my friend, remember? He’s??—?”

“No, he was your friend,” Ez snaps. The last dregs of good humor in her expression are gone like they were never there in the first place. “But that was before you betrayed him, tried to kidnap him, succeeded in kidnapping his boyfriend, and almost got both of them killed. He doesn’t want anything to do with you, Gutierrez. With any of you.”

And Julian Jackson is a traitor. He’s a dissident. He threw in his lot with the demons, turned his back on Roma and their friends, and abandoned the very Sanctum that saved him.

He’s a bad guy. An enemy.

So hearing that he doesn’t want anything to do with Roma shouldn’t twist into her like a knife. “I??—?”

Ez takes a precise step away. “Doesn’t matter now, anyway,” she says, her voice clipped. “He’s been mostly avoiding the outside world ever since these mega-rifts started opening. Doesn’t want to deal with the drama.” She lifts her chin, a sharp gleam in her eyes. “And neither do I, honestly. Later, Gutierrez.”

“Laguerre?—?”

Before Roma can blink, Ez flicks her wrist to open a rift and disappears through it, leaving Roma alone in the middle of the Courtyard. Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, she ducks her head and strides back to her picnic table, praying that no one sees her rubbing at her burning eyes.

Her falafel nachos are cold by now. She can’t help but think that it’s a bad omen of things to come.