Angelo Lawrence was many things. The responsibility of the convoy was forcing him to be one he was not, though.

Patient.

The Roadrunners could have allied with the Portal Tyrants and Guardians and gotten this job done by now if it weren't for the messy politics of moving a guild force into the area jointly controlled by the Coyotes and Iron Falcons. But no. Neither of the two guilds who guarded the Carlsbad Portal Break would allow the other three entrance. It had to be under the Governing Council's banner. And only two other guilds could be involved at all. And each could only bring a single S-Ranker.

It was ridiculous, and it made for a logistical nightmare that was on the verge of making Angelo go nuclear.

He had to manage close to thirty-five delvers. Over half of them were guild teams: the A and S-Ranked mixed-guild team he and the Portal Tyrant had assembled, three B-Rank teams, and a single C-Rank trainee team made up of five supports and healers. That management puzzle alone was a mess, but he'd figured out five different team setups for handling everything from C-Rank portals to the A-Rank break in the White Sands. They weren't the problem.

The problem was the GC's insistence on bringing low-powered, C-Rank teams. In the abstract, it made sense. The Council was interested in Phoenix's safety on a longer-than-tomorrow timescale, and the convoy offered an opportunity to train up the independent teams that filled in the cracks the five big guilds couldn't cover. The portal surge they'd fought a month or so ago had exposed those cracks for everyone to see.

The fifteen independent delvers—split across three full teams and a small smattering of solo acts—were Angelo's real problem. He had to figure out what to do with them all. Recon, patrols, portal-closing. Where to put them so that they didn't get bored. Or worse, in over their heads. How to balance their needs with the needs of his and Terrel Young's people. All of that was normal logistical stuff.

The more bodies he added to the convoy, the slower it would move and the more logistical support it would need. It was rapidly reaching the point where it wouldn't be worth the effort to send it at all if it weren't for the White Sands break. Even with the widespread, low-rank break between Carlsbad and Phoenix, half the delvers they were bringing were more trouble than they were worth. That was a political problem, though.

But there was a problem that logistics and politics couldn't account for. One he would have to address directly.

"Deborah, come to my office," he said into the air.

Then he sat back and waited.

It took her all of five minutes. The best tank in the Roadrunners hadn't bothered changing into something formal. She wore practice pads and carried a dull sword and steel shield, and she smelled like fresh sweat. "Sorry about the delay. The fresh meat needed tenderizing."

"Drop the act, Deborah," Angelo said. "You have not yet passed the trial of responsibility. Your continued vendetta against the Noelstra boy is an ongoing thorn in your side, and you have not put any effort into removing it."

Deborah stayed quiet. Angelo nodded approvingly. She was learning. She couldn't hide the surprise on her face, though. Not fast enough. "However, it needs to be removed. Now. The boy's team will be accompanying the convoy. Given that, do you still wish to go, or would you prefer to stay in Phoenix?"

"I'm going. I said I was going, and he's not changing my mind, sir," Deborah said.

"I'd hoped that would be your answer. If you choose to go, you will be working with him indirectly. This is your trial of responsibility. You have a choice to make, Deborah. Can you set aside your ridiculous, petty vendetta, or does it rule your emotions?"

"I can handle it."

"Are you sure?"

Deborah's fist balled. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Wonderful. In that case, I have a series of tasks that need to be carried out. Please make arrangements to ensure all of these are completed within the next twelve hours." Angelo handed a dozen papers over to Deborah. Then he paused. "Thank you."

As his second-in-command left, Angelo stared at the desert off in the distance for a few precious seconds. He'd offloaded the worst of the logistical nightmare onto Deborah, who would no doubt offload it on her underlings. And he'd made it clear—without compromising just what Kade Noelstra was—that the tank's anger against him had to be put on hold.

And, even better, he hadn't directly told Deborah that he knew she was really conspiring against him. Even if she suspected he knew, she didn't know it yet.

Treachery was so refreshing.

Caleb Richter wasn't joining the convoy.

There was too much danger in it. Deborah would be there, for one thing. And for another, so would Kade. Carter couldn't survive a direct confrontation with either of them. Deborah would kill him like swatting a fly. And as for Kade…he might be able to kill Kade. It was possible. Unlikely, but possible.

But as he rode the bus toward downtown, he couldn't help but shake his head. He'd never wanted Kade dead. He'd been dismissive of him, then afraid of him. But wanting him dead? No. Not even in the portal Kade had ambushed his team in. He'd just wanted to talk.

He didn't want to fight Kade. He was pissed at the man. He needed to have it out with the lightning swordsman. But he didn't want to. A direct conflict would only end badly for someone. Probably him.

He wanted to…Carter didn't know what he wanted. To stay alive. To keep his team safe—even if they weren't his team anymore. Even if, for all intents and purposes, he was dead. Those were non-negotiable. But what did Carter want? The bus stopped at a red light, and he stared out the window at the sweltering city outside.

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Carter didn't know what he wanted.

He'd managed to check in with his old teammates—discreetly. He hadn't said a word to either of them. He hadn't gotten within a hundred feet. All he'd done was use a skill to confirm that both of them were alive and on the mend. And then he'd left them alone.

They were safer that way.

"What a mess," Carter said under his breath as the bus stopped a few blocks from the Fallen Delver's Memorial.

The last few weeks had been…hard. He'd been putting in the effort to make Caleb Richter a real person. Most of his time had gone into inventing a backstory. He was from the California cities. His team had been in the Sonoran Desert, trying to keep the west coast clear, when they'd run into a portal break they couldn't handle. He was cut off from home, and he fled to Phoenix. It had been his best bet.

Someday, he'd go back home. But not until a convoy headed back toward San Diego—and those were yearly missions, if that. So for now, Caleb Richter was stuck in Phoenix and making the best of things.

Finalizing that, internalizing it, and running enough portals to have a resume that'd get him on decent teams had taken all his time and energy.

But that girl—GC Representative Gerald—kept popping up in his head. The name felt familiar, and now, with the city's energy focused on the convoy that was leaving in less than a day, he could finally do some digging.

The first order of business was the Memorial. He'd thought about the GC archives, but his perusing there might be tracked. He hadn't stayed alive in his fake identity by not being paranoid, after all. But the Memorial was public. It'd be safer to start there.

He walked up to the Memorial and typed in the last name. A picture appeared on the screen. The man looked a lot like the girl. Similar nose, similar hair, facial structure was a match. Roger Gerald. A fighter. Saber and dagger. He'd died in a portal break a little over a year ago.

Centipede monsters. They'd overran his house, and instead of retreating against a superior enemy, he'd stood and fought. For a second, Carter couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Then he kept reading.

He'd stood and fought because his two kids were in the house. Jessica Ilea Gerald, and a stepson.

Kade Allen Noelstra.

Jeff hadn't slept over at Kade's since they were in middle school.

But he was still sleeping on his friend's bedroom floor. The couch was taken—Ellen had grabbed it first thing—and Sophia had taken the armchair. With Raul's pad and bag in the kitchen and Yasmin set up on the floor under Sophia's chair, that left Kade's floor.

He couldn't sleep. Kade snored slightly, and that was distracting, but that wasn't why. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, would be the last night Jeff spent in Phoenix. Unless something went horribly wrong at Carlsbad Fortress, he intended to stay there. His friends—excepting the five delvers and Jessie all sleeping in this apartment—were there. And he'd promised himself that he'd do whatever it took to keep his friends safe.

The last ties to his eight-year exile in Phoenix were all here. And most of them were going with him.

Jeff stared at the ceiling. The time kept dragging on. He was ready—as ready as he could make himself.

User: Jeff Carlson C-Rank Stamina: 500/500, Mana: 220/220

Skills: 1. Retaliate (C-01, Unique) 2. Split-Second Shield (C-01) 3. Restoration (C-01) 4. Heavy Armor Mastery (C-01) 5. Sword and Board (C-01) 6. Redirect (C-01) 7. Zander's Endurance (C-01)

Laws: First Law of the Shield-Wedge Wall

Jeff's build wasn't anything to write home about. It was designed to get him to C-Rank as quickly as possible—if he'd started with a healing Unique, he'd have taken that, but otherwise, being a tank had offered him the most control over his teams and the quickest pick-up teams when he couldn't have his own. It was a simple, straight build, with the exception of Zander's Endurance. That skill was what allowed him to fight well past his limits.

Not because he could win, but because it was very, very hard for him to lose. Jeff wasn't a damage-dealer. But he refused to go down. Not since the trap portal. Never again.

He wouldn't lose now. This convoy would make it to Carlsbad. He would rescue his old friends. And then he'd stay there to protect them for as long as he had to.

Jeff had done everything he could to make it happen. And now, after all his effort—and all the effort of his friends—they were ready. But Jeff couldn't help but shiver. Something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and kept sleep away.

It wasn't his new friends. They all knew what was at stake for him, and they supported him.

It was the old ones. The ones he'd had to leave behind. He'd spent years out of touch with them. They'd changed. And so had he. And he couldn't help but worry about that. People were hard sometimes. Jeff was more of a people person than Kade or Yasmin. Ellen understood how to present herself, but Jeff had a feeling she didn't click with most people, either. But even though he'd been able to move between groups freely in school, Jeff had never liked most of the people he'd met there.

That was what it was. That had to be it. His old friends—would they even recognize him now? Would they still be friends?

He started at the ceiling some more. That was it. The thing that was keeping him up. It was such a stupid thing to worry about. But he couldn't help it.

By the time his eyes shut, the dawn was starting to work its way around the edges of Kade's too-small blackout curtains.

Deborah Callahan drove like she was pissed.

The 303 Wall would have filled her rear-view mirror if she'd bothered to check it. But she didn't. No one left Phoenix. Not unless they had to.

Kade Noelstra was off-limits starting the moment the convoy left Phoenix, and Deborah wasn't stupid. Even though she'd offloaded all the jobs the Light of Dawn had given her, she was too busy overseeing them and making sure they were done—and done right—to put any plans into action before then. So the best she could do was solve him in a couple of weeks. Either that, or listen to Angelo and try to make nice with the kid.

What was it about the bastard kid, anyway? What made him so special that Angelo Lawrence, Terrel Young, and every other S-Ranker in the city wanted him? What was she missing about him?

Angelo hadn't ever interfered with her like this. Sure, he'd disassembled the off-the-books teams she'd spent the better part of a year getting off the ground. And yeah, he'd clamped down on the under-the-table portal clears her people had been doing. Those were guild problems, though. He'd been within his rights there. But direct interference with her? Never before—not when it didn't have to do with guild business.

That meant something. If she'd had time, Deborah would have dug into the Noelstra kid a bit. Who he was. Who his family was. She wanted to kick herself for not doing that earlier, but her car screamed underneath her as she pushed it over a hundred and ten, and her focus was equally split between the road and her rage.

She couldn't back out of the convoy now, either. Bernard the Wall wasn't coming. Couldn't come. If she backed out, the elite team would be tankless. Deborah was a vengeful, petty bitch. She knew it. She embraced it. She was prideful. Arrogant, even.

But she wasn't stupid.

If the elite team didn't have a tank, the convoy wouldn't make it to Carlsbad Fortress. She was irreplaceable.

So she was committed.

"Fuck," Deborah whispered as she turned a corner and slammed on the brakes. He car screeched to a stop, pushing her chest against the harness-style seatbelt and shoving her guts against her front from the sheer force. She laughed bitterly.

She'd play the game. She'd play it straight. That was the way forward. Play the game, do her job, and wait for an opportunity to take care of things.

Her way.

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