Adah and Sheffa took out the turtle Cruelty without any trouble.

  Adah had a much easier time adjusting to the shift in gravity when Sheffa turned off her [Invert Instinct] than when she’d first activated it. Relying on her usual instincts for flight was simple, even if the change in physics was equally disorienting. Plus, she much preferred viewing the world right side up.

  The turtle fared worse. Feeling like it had flipped onto its shell even while stuck in the air must have been confusing enough, but now it found itself falling back to the ground without warning. Its underbelly was completely exposed to the girls below, and it had no sense for how to defend itself. It tucked its head inside its shell as it fell, probably hoping for some miracle to save it. All it got instead was Adah putting it out of its misery.

  She charged her [Nightwind Whip] as the beast fell, and unleashed her spell well before the turtle hit the ground. A cloud of black smoke exploded in the air above her and Sheffa, from which no remnant of the Cruelty emerged. It was a bit of a shame Adah couldn’t consume the monster’s essence with her scythe, but it wasn’t worth overcomplicating the mission just to siphon a paltry D-Rank. She had been quite conservative with expending her weapon’s energy, and could tell from the scythe’s heartbeat that she had plenty of power still stored.

  After the smoke cleared, Sheffa whistled and said, “That’s a cool one. Mari’s real jealous of it, you know?”

  “Why’s that?” Adah asked.

  “She loves explosions and big spells,” Sheffa said. “Have you seen her bio? It’s like, ‘I’m the kaboom kitsune!’ She’s desperate for her fans to see her as a pyromaniac, but they keep giving her spells like she’s a prankster ghost.”

  Adah’s [Nightwind Whip] had fallen into her lap along with Heartbreak’s whole theme, so she’d almost forgotten how common it was to try and sway your fans’ impression of you in a certain direction with the goal of unlocking certain types of spells. Apparently, Mari was proof that even your best efforts could backfire.

  Still, it’d be interesting to see how the Sisterhood of the Last Light rebrand would impact the team’s future unlocks. While Lightburst Lyrika wasn’t a far departure from Shining Lyrika, the increased focus on her music and the fairy theming could influence her next spell. Ami as the Zerker had likely opened the doors for a proper offensive spell, and Emi’s assassin identity could inspire spells that focused on stealth or utility. In the end—as Mari’s example proved—the fans’ perception of them would be more important than whatever they called themselves. If they wanted spells that reflected their characters, they’d have to deliver on those themes.

  “You’re sticking around for dinner, right?” Sheffa asked, breaking Adah’s train of thought. “I’ll treat you and Nora to the best food humble Alliment has to offer.”

  “As long as it’s not spicy,” Adah said.

  “The demon princess has a sensitive palate?”

  “It’s a luxury afforded to royalty.”

  ☆☆☆

  By the time the two magical girls and Nora finished dinner, the sun had long since set. Adah was tempted by Sheffa’s offer to spend the night—they had two open rooms tonight, after all—but ultimately decided she needed to return to her own team sooner rather than later. They’d need her if more work suddenly popped up. Not to mention, Adah’s original purpose in visiting Sheffa had been to seek her help in resolving the trouble brewing within the Last Light.

  As their captain, Adah needed to return to the teammates she was asking so much of. The possibility of a B-Rank mission was almost within reach, and she had to lead them through to the very end.

  So, after another train ride, Adah returned to the quiet corner of Letria—the region she had started to call home. As she walked the last stretch of her journey home, she looked up at the stars that littered the sky. All those lights congregated above her like schools of fish in a dark, distant sea. They even seemed to swim, little by little, with each step she took. She had never had such a clear view of so many stars growing up. The lights of streetlamps, cars, and high rises had shrouded the night sky in a gray glare through which only the brightest of stars could pierce.

  A sky full of twinkles was calming, even warming, on a cold night like tonight. The stars even helped Adah feel less alone. Although, she wasn’t alone for long.

  A shadowy figure rushed toward her, from the direction of the Last Light agency office. Judging by the height and speed…

  “Ami?” she called out as the figure approached.

  The twin slowed her run to a stop in front of Adah, and her face came into view under the light of the starry sky. Sweat ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin, despite the frigid night air. She exhaled in rapid puffs of vapor.

  “Welcome back,” Ami said between panting breaths.

  “What are you doing out here?” Adah asked. “It’s past ten.”

  Ami pointed at her sweaty face and smiled. “Running.”

  “I could have guessed that,” Adah said. “But why are you running right now?”

  After glancing in the direction of the agency office, Ami said, “I just felt like getting out for a bit. Letting off some steam.”

  If she hadn’t been so obvious about what was actually going on, Adah might have left the conversation at that.

  “And why are you full of steam this late at night?”

  Ami laughed, though it wasn’t her usual unrestrained belly laugh. It sounded more like nervous laughter.

  “Just had a tiny argument with Emi,” she said. “I think what she said pissed me off a little, so I came out here to cool off. Or sweat it off.”

  From the sound of that, Rika’s assessment of Ami had been on the mark. The girl was definitely mad about something—something involving Emi—so Adah decided to figure out what exactly the issue was from this twin’s perspective.

  “Why don’t we turn down the run to a walk,” Adah said, “and you can vent it out instead?”

  Emi had seemed happy for Adah to play her role entirely as a captain, but Ami had a different relationship to Adah. When it came to resolving conflict, Ami saw Adah as a mixture of identities: a captain, an older sister, and a friend. It was a captain’s authority that brought Ami to the discussion, but a softer ear that would get her to speak her mind. Once Ami got the words out of her head, that was often enough to resolve whatever was bothering her.

  Adah’s invitation to vent worked as intended. Ami held up her arms and laced her fingers behind her head, then started to walk alongside Adah.

  “I think what she said pissed me off because it was true,” Ami said. “At least a little.”

  “What exactly did she say to you?”

  There was no need to ask what they were arguing about—from her talk with Emi, Adah had a good idea already.

  “Something about me using her as a punchline during missions instead of a partner,” Ami said. “She’s got a way with words, huh? I guess she meant I’m charging ahead and doing things on my own, then leaving her nothing but the finishing blow.”

  “And that’s what you thought might be true?” Adah asked. “A little true?”

  Ami stopped to run her fingers roughly through her hair. Between that and her actual running earlier, the hairpins above her right ear had gotten loose and shifted out of place. She took the pins out and reset them in a practiced motion.

  “Yeah, kind of,” Ami said. “It’s not really about her, though. It’s more like—on every mission, I gotta go forward on my own and be active. If I wait around for somebody else, I feel like… I dunno.”

  “You feel like you’re going to be overshadowed,” Adah suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Ami said. “I don’t wanna spend every mission standing in front of somebody else, getting hit so they can do all the cool stuff. I guess it’s just worse with Emi because that’s the only way we ever learned how to fight. We can’t even make my spell into a bomb together. All we know how to do is that spear-and-shield stuff, and I don’t think either of us wants to do it anymore.”

  If their team had rebranded earlier, they might have avoided this problem altogether. Until very recently, Ami’s entire fanbase had grown around the idea of her being Emi’s protector. The first big boost in FP both sisters had received came after Ami shielded Emi from the wolf Cruelties, which had set the stage for Ami’s identity as a magical girl—and therefore, the types of spells she unlocked. Between her weapon and the shield-catch combo she’d learned, she’d gained a couple of offensive tools, but it’d be up to her rebrand as the Frostfist Berserker to earn her a proper attack.

  That was probably part of the pressure she felt to be active during these missions, too. Her name and backstory wouldn’t matter much if she spent every fight doing nothing but defending her teammates. Fans would continue to see her as the Last Light’s defensive wall. Ami wanted to show off what she could do as a full-fledged brawler.

  While the rest of their team was focused on fighting in a way that attracted fans, Ami had given herself the added challenge of influencing what those fans thought of her style.

  Thinking back on what Sheffa had said, it was clear that Ami felt there was a disconnect between how she could achieve her own goals and how her team was pursuing their overarching goal. She had said it plainly: she felt like she couldn’t wait around. Otherwise, the team might use her as nothing but cover to hide behind.

  Regardless of what spells she’d unlocked, Ami needed to believe—and to experience—that she played a larger role in the team than that. Adah didn’t know exactly how to help Ami reach that point, but she knew it had to start with a shift in perspective. Not just for Ami, but for their whole team.

  “When we’re on the battlefield,” Adah said, “we need to all start thinking bigger. These higher ranked Cruelties are going to test us. They aren’t going to see us as shields or spears or sisters—only as a team of magical girls. It’s up to us to become the strongest team that we can be in all facets. I don’t want anyone to think of you as the wall, or Rika as the sniper, or anything like that. We need to think of ourselves as a unit of four, with all the possible forms that can take. That’s how we’ll keep growing, and how we’ll take out any Cruelty that comes our way.”

  Adah hadn’t intended to say so much, but the ideas had been on her mind the whole trip back from hanging out with Sheffa. The spat between Ami and Emi was a symptom of an issue that would affect their whole team at some point.

  Ami stopped walking again and looked back the way she and Adah had come. She didn’t respond directly to what Adah had said, but her meaning came through all the same.

  “We’re getting pretty far from home,” Ami said. “We should head back before somebody starts to worry about us.”

  ☆☆☆

  Adah woke up feeling like she’d gotten a good night’s rest for the first time in weeks. The most complicated part of her team’s rebrand was complete. The bulk of her work on the first Heartshot music video was finished, with two days left to spare for extra revisions before the release date. She’d even gotten used to her new routine of vocal training, endurance workouts, and Cruelty hunting.

  If she could help her teammates feel like they were part of a cohesive unit again, they could be ready to take on a B-Rank mission in a matter of days.

  That said, those few days already felt like an eternity to Adah. She couldn’t shake the sense that her team was in a race against DreamRise—not after that phone call with Ekki. Based on what Adah could see of DreamRise’s progress through the missions they were taking and the posts Iris made on social media, they seemed to be a ways off tackling a B-Rank for now.

  However, that didn’t mean Iris wouldn’t try something stupid out of desperation.

  So, as Adah sat on the couch in the agency lobby, watching the latest revision of the music video that Seb’s editor had sent over, she was only half-surprised to hear what Grace shouted in disbelief.

  “Are they stupid?”

  Despite the clump of dread growing in her stomach, Adah asked what Grace meant.

  “DreamRise just signed up for a B-Rank today,” Grace said. “Maybe I missed something, but they’re weaker than you girls, aren’t they?”

  Adah closed her laptop and walked behind Grace’s desk to see the mission board with her own eyes. Sure enough, DreamRise had claimed a B-Rank that had been posted only a moment ago.

  “Do you think they have some kind of special plan for it?” Grace asked.

  “They don’t,” Adah said. “But Thibault does.”

  She read through the mission brief to be sure—this variant was beyond DreamRise’s ability. In fact, they couldn’t have picked a worse match-up.

  How stupid could they be, seriously?

  “I’m going to get the girls,” Adah said. “We need to talk.”