The cab took them down a small, single-lane road around Glass Ribbon’s incredible parking lot, slowly circling around the reflective tower until the city gave way to modest, sparsely-settled grassland. The difference was so sudden and complete, it was like they had accidentally crossed into a completely different region. In the shadow of Glass Ribbon, small, single-story houses stood in imperfect clusters like toys scattered in a yard. A light breeze ruffled the grass as they stepped out of the taxis.

“This must be like Manehattan suburbia,” Twilight said to herself as they walked into the fields. Small dirt roads reached across the grassy plains to the knots of houses, and they followed one along the edge of a split in the ground.

“Stop,” Octavia said, awkwardly raising herself to stand on her hind legs.

“You can do that without your cello?” Rainbow asked.

“With some effort, yes,” she said distractedly.

“What are you doin’?” Applejack asked.

“Trying to get a better view of these houses, so we do not waste our time searching aimlessly.” She got back on all fours and walked purposefully to another road, long and empty. It was hot out, and the dust kicked up low from their hooves. So far, the nearest houses were behind them.

They slowly angled away from the crack and turned in to a deeper section of field, where the grass grew taller and healthier, and the houses were farther apart. The sounds of Manehattan were disappearing behind their own hoofsteps and the chirp of birds. A line of thin trees joined them as they walked, hemming in a dark, tilled patchwork of brown earth. The sun watched them from directly above, and there was no shade in the fields; houses’ dull roofs and pastel walls throbbed in the heat.

When they reached a break in the trees, Octavia stood again, wiping sweat out of her eyes as she searched the distance. She stood for only a few seconds, falling gracelessly to her hooves with a soft exhalation. She bowed her head, and stood that way for a minute, sweat dripping off her muzzle.

“Are you okay, Octavia?” Twilight asked, going to her.

“Do we have any water?” she asked. Her breathing sounded dry.

“I didn’t bring any of our things, no.”

“Shade, then,” she said, bringing her head up and stumbling back to the nearest tree, which offered only a meager needle of shadow for her. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the thin foliage.

“Octavia, what’s wrong?” Fluttershy asked.

“It is my mane. Because it is such a dark color, it absorbs heat very quickly.” She rubbed her head and lay down, staring into the bright sky. “It is very nice in winter, but at all other times, I feel like I am wearing a blanket on my head.”

“Do you want to go back to the apartment?” Rarity asked. “We can come back later in the day.”

“We are already here, and I think I see our house. Just give me a minute, and I will be ready to walk again.”

“You don’t have to exhaust yourself,” Twilight said.

“I know what I am doing.” She lay for a minute more, then pushed herself up and, with another few moments of hard breathing, walked out of the tree’s shadow and back into the heat. “Follow me.”

She slowly led them down the empty road, stopping at a house with a wilting porch and an overgrown yard, protected by a splintering, sagging picket fence. Large, grasping bushes grew at the house’s side, swallowing a bent storm pipe and scratching an olive colored wall. She swung the gate open and approached the grimy windows.

“See anything?” Pinkie asked.

“It is difficult to say. These windows are very dirty.” She went to the door and held her ear to it, then knocked, receiving no answer. “I am going in.” She tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. She turned and bucked the door, her back legs striking it with a ferocity that surprised them all, but it did not buckle.

“Try your magic!” Pinkie suggested.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know about that,” Twilight said, taking a step closer. “I don’t think you’re ready for a spell like that.”

“I want to try,” Octavia said, backing up and fixing her dull eyes on the door.

“Well, okay. But be careful.”

“It is just an application of force, no?”

“Well, yeah, but you have to focus. Remember, Octavia, when you’re casting, you need to—”

“Please, Twilight. I do not want to sound ungrateful, but I am trying to concentrate.”

Twilight frowned, but stepped back, and Octavia narrowed her eyes at the door. A wreath of gray magic enveloped it, and slowly, it rattled in place, before swinging outwards with a crack of dust and broken wood.

“Wow. That was actually pretty good for a beginner,” Twilight said.

Octavia looked at her and strode boldly into the house. The air inside was musty and stale, and thick with dust. She closed her eyes briefly and tried to breathe less deeply, a tactic she had learned in her youth, for navigating dangerous air. To take too large breaths would invite more dust into her lungs.

The carpet was unraveling at the edges, and it felt sticky in some spots. A defunct fan hung over the couch in the anteroom, moth-eaten and coated with a thick layer of dirt. It sat beside an ancient chair, its floral pattern a faded parchment color; they sagged in the centers, two depressed tenants. A mostly empty bookcase crouched by the wall, all but one of its shelves lying in a confused mess on the floor.

She looked back at the others, who crowded the doorway. “Do not touch anything. Any displaced dust could arouse Flash’s suspicions.” She walked through the living room and into a dirty kitchen, trying not to breathe through her nose as she went to the phone. She held it to her ear, hearing a weak dial tone. Enough to call the police once they had incapacitated Flash.

Satisfied, she turned out and went down a dark corridor, its walls stained with old leaks, and into a bedroom, which looked just as bad. Even the sunlight looked dirty as it passed through the fraying, green curtains. The bed was a graying slab of mildewy fabric, the sheets a wrinkled shell over the mattress, while their colors—once vibrant reds, yellows and blues—had evaporated into shades of the same slate neutrality that so much resembled her own coat. A collapsed bookcase stood by a closed closet, yellowing stacks of paper and a chipped paperweight lying against it. The dried husk of a cricket was mashed into the carpet.

She walked into the bathroom and slowly crossed the gritty tile. The bathtub drain was ringed with yellow and black crust, and a collection of empty shampoo bottles was pushed into the corner behind a dusty toilet. The mirror was spotted with water, and she wiped a hoof across it to look at herself. She rubbed her eyes, burning from fatigue. She had been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

She walked back into the anteroom, where the others were conversing at the threshold.

“And last night, she couldn’t even lift a pillow,” Twilight said, the others nodding along.

“Yeah, it was impressive, no question,” Applejack said.

“Let us go. I have seen everything that I want to,” Octavia said, parting them. Just outside, she paused to look at the row of peeling, black numbers on the house’s front. “Memorizing the address,” she said, seeing their questioning looks.

In their brief time inside, the sun had hidden behind a large bank of clouds, and the walk back to Glass Ribbon was much more pleasant. By the time they were hailing their cabs, a light drizzle was beginning, and umbrellas were blooming on the sidewalks.

When they arrived at the apartment, it was a little before noon, and the rain was coming down harder. Applejack diverted from the entryway and walked along the building’s front, eyes stuck on the wet brickwork. Around the corner, she stopped, seeing what she wanted: the X, a small, imperfect, black cross, sprayed quickly onto the wall and partially hidden behind a water meter. It was just the one letter, almost menacing in its singularity.

“All this fuss over just a stupid letter,” Applejack said, shaking her head.

They shook the rain off in the central alcove before letting themselves be buzzed in, and then made their way to Strawberry’s room.

He let them in after a cautious look up and down the hall. “Got your house?”

“Yes. It is a small, isolated house in the fields behind Glass Ribbon,” Octavia said, following him into the kitchen.

“And you have all the information about it?”

“I hope so. I have never spoken with an arsonist before. I am not completely certain what to expect.”

“Just be discreet about it. Don’t give him your real name, or any of your real information, and don’t ask for too many details of his. He’s just as concerned about being found out as you are, remember. Don’t make him suspicious.”

“What about payment?”

“I’ll front the money, as I said. I just hope it’s not too much.”

“You don’t seem particularly bothered about spending all this money on him,” Rarity said.

“I have a six-digit salary. Officially.” He poured himself a glass of water. “I can afford it.”

“Should I try to haggle with him?” Octavia asked.

“If you think you can get away with it, by all means. But don’t push your luck.” He looked at his phone, then at Octavia. “You should do this now.”

Octavia nodded and picked up the phone.

“If he asks you how you got his number, you were referred by a friend of yours; her name is Sterling Words. She works in parks and recreation, in the center of town. Do not mention my name.”

Octavia frowned at him as she leaned on the counter, and he recited the number. She waited several seconds before speaking, her face and voice as passive as always. “I am looking for Flash. Is this him?” Silence. “My name is Bossa Nova. I am looking for someone to help me collect some insurance money.” Silence. “Sterling Words told me about you. Yes. Parks and recreation, yes.” Silence. “I work for the Manehattan Events Coalition. I am a musician.” Silence. “My reasons are my own. Just tell me if you are the right pony for the job.” Silence. “One one seven zero three, Porridge Lane. It is behind Glass Ribbon.” She waited, her countenance firm as ever, though inside she was vibrating with anxiety. “It is my summer home. Was, rather. I have not used it in some time, and would like to collect the insurance money.” Silence. “The house is old, and falling into significant disrepair. I do not envision salvaging it.” She pursed her lips as he spoke; it was a couple minutes before she responded. “Very well. That is all I can ask of you. I will call you at the same time tomorrow for your report.” She hung up and looked at them.

“That was smooth,” Strawberry said with a smirk.

“Thank you.”

“Well? Is he gonna do it?” Applejack asked.

“He will examine the house tonight, and I will call him back tomorrow, at this time. It is then that we shall discuss the price, if he can do the job at all.”

“Not today?” Rainbow asked, a little disappointed.

“The process takes time, I would imagine,” Octavia said. “Especially if you want to be careful, like he does.”

“So what do we do now?” Twilight asked.

“We wait,” Octavia said with a tiny shrug.

It was a little after midnight when Flash left his apartment on the west side of town, closing the door softly behind him. The key, off its ring, was tucked into a pocket of his nondescript work clothes, and he wore a large cap, its shadow obscuring the important parts of his strong-jawed face. He checked the lock, tapped the handle gently, breathed out, and quietly descended the stairs. He walked along the sidewalk to the end of the complex, then turned a corner and emerged onto one of the main thoroughfares.

There was no one around. Flash, also known as Spark, also known as Bluebell, also known as Bug—short for “firebug”—lived in a quiet, uninteresting neighborhood full of ponies who preferred to keep to their own affairs as much as possible. So it had been for years.

He walked a ways down the street until he came to a tall office building, hooking around to its back without breaking stride. He rounded the corner and took in the familiar scene before him: a half-full Dumpster, a few cardboard boxes next to it, bleak cinder block walls and a meaningless message scrawled in dark red on them. It was his least favorite route away from the apartment, of which he had nine.

He unfurled his pale purple wings through the holes in his outfit and took off, flying almost parallel to the wall. It was a difficult flight for him, who spent the majority of his time on the ground, and he had to go slowly to avoid clipping the windowsills. The windows were black, the office closed. The only ponies inside were those on the cleaning crews, who worked by candlelight; he would see their light before they saw his silhouette. He cleared the building’s roof, but didn’t stop, flying until he passed through a cloud. Only then did he stop, lying back on its cool, squishy surface, relishing the moisture on his tired body.

He rolled over and waited for ten minutes, head over the edge and eyes watching carefully for any sign that he had been spotted. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.” His neighborhood was a dead block of black apartments, with only a single, subdued light in the distance below. A dark band of clouds floated in the distance on the other side of town, near Rose Tower.

He saw no one nearby, but only moved after his ten minutes were up. He counted the seconds in his head. When he took off again, flying for Glass Ribbon in a long, wide-winged arc, the air was cool against his plumage, and he reflected on the events of the past day. He had passed the bar twice before collecting his money, and had very seriously considered not going in to face the group. Only on the third pass did he set aside his uncertainty, for faith that their own nervous demeanors would keep them from trying anything.

He coasted over a thin skin of clouds and rose up toward Glass Ribbon’s top. There were large vents in the walls, specifically for pegasi to enter, and he slipped through one several minutes and seventy feet off the ground later. He brought a hoof to his hat and lifted it slightly, revealing more of his face as he stepped into a mostly dead shopping center. “Rule five: no one pays attention to an uncovered face.”

He always enjoyed the mall in the dead of night. While Rose Tower came alive after midnight, with clubs and bars filled to the brim with young and energetic ponies, Glass Ribbon dreamed. Most shops were empty and dark, and the hum of voices and hoofsteps on the other levels was enough to lull him into soft contentment as he passed single patrons. A pony who looked lost, a pony enjoying a cigar by the fountain—his ponies, he thought to himself. “In this moment, Glass Ribbon belongs to me.”

He walked into a jewelry store, the only open store he could see, and looked around the watch section, appreciating the roundness and shininess of the dials, the straightness of the hands. Black, perfect, lines and shapes. The orderliness brought him comfort.

He browsed for half an hour before getting on a little train to the tower’s bottom floor. The lobby, unlike the higher floors, was more open, and every sound was amplified. Every hoofstep was a lonely clap, somewhere far away.

He left the tower and crossed the dark parking lot. Useless street lights stood all around him, of which only two, on opposite sides of the lot, shone like beacons. There was no one around, and several cars, scattered like relics.

He took an oblique angle toward the city, meeting a split in the ground as he reached the first major intersection. With a quick look around, he slipped off and under the black shelf of suspended street. Not looking down, he followed the ragged, dark line of cut earth until he judged, many minutes later, that he was near the target.

He came back up onto a rough, grassy ledge beside a small cluster of houses, settled at an angle away from the others, all scattered behind the tower, and stopped. He looked around, left, right, up, and, seeing no one else, pulled out a slip of paper with the target’s address. He walked.

When he found the house, with its sagging porch and filthy windows, he walked right past it, doubling back only when it was out of sight. He flew high and far from the house, circling a tree and only descending into it after five minutes of watching. There, he waited. “Rule two: always stake out the target.” He leaned against a bough and brushed leaves out of his face, meticulously picking any errant piece of bark or leaf off his wings. He waited and he watched, eyes narrowed and scanning the vista of dark, lonesome homes for movement.

When he was satisfied, he shifted his weight slightly and waited for ten more minutes. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.” He had learned the truth of it painfully recently, when he was caught with a bottle of cleaning fluid and a book of matches, just outside a target building. The mare had been calmly furious, pinning him with her eyes and hooves both, and threatening his life.

He smiled to himself, humorlessly. He had told her everything he knew about his client, and in a move that surprised him—even after six years of dealing with the scum of Manehattan—she offered her own money to reverse his job back onto the first pony. He agreed to the tune of six hundred bits, and then managed to squeeze out another six hundred from the target, just for fun. “Rule twelve: no loyalty to the client.”

He stretched his wings and flew to the house’s roof, landing on it and stomping carefully to test its sturdiness; it gave only slightly. He landed in the yard and looked around, observing carefully where the dried grass was thickest, noting possible ways for the fire to spread—something about which the mare on the phone seemed to care little, but to which he had to pay attention. “Rule four: keep it contained.”

He went to the door and opened it, his wandering mind arrested in place of a calculating, observant intelligence. The hinges gave no protest, though the door hung askew when he released it. “Door opens too easily for an abandoned house. Suspicious.”

He stepped in and looked around, smelling the air: dust. A pile of books sat to the side, and a faded couch slept in the middle of the room before a dark TV. He wandered through the rest of the house, observing all the possible ways to start the fire, and watching out for any strange signs.

He almost didn’t find any. Only when he checked the bathroom for flammable agents—ways to keep the fire’s cause inside the house—did he spot something. He looked at himself in the mirror, shining his tiny, portable flashlight on his own face. He was tracing the water spots with his eyes when he noticed it: a slight blur along some of their edges. He frowned, following them in a long swipe that ended before the mirror’s edge. He ran a hoof over it lightly. “They match. Someone’s been here recently. Clearly not living here. What, then?” His face darkened, and he flicked the light off. “A setup, maybe. Rule nine: there’s always something more to the job.”

Half an hour later, he left with a good idea of how to burn the house, but his mind was swarming with questions and paranoia. So soon after being caught, he was full of concerns and fears, all of them centered on the mare on the phone. She was hiding something, he knew, but it felt like more than mere caution. “Rule fourteen: clients never tell the whole truth.”

Octavia waited patiently for the sun to rise. She had been awake since four in the morning, when she dragged herself off the floor, sweating and shaking. She had since regained her composure, and sat at the window, watching the dark street outside.

As soon as it was light, she scribbled a note for the others and left, going out onto the sidewalk and walking around the block. Very few ponies were out, and she had the path, and her thoughts, to herself. She felt alone and small in the emptied city, and it was a feeling she relished as much as she despised. Traveling with the others, dodging their questions, she had grown accustomed to being a point of focus, a curiosity, a helpful interloper. Standing on the pale yellow sidewalk by an intersection, she was none of that. She was free, but she was also alone.

She remembered Manehattan from years ago. It had been full of busy, hurried ponies then; a quiet moment to one’s self, even as early as hers, was unheard-of. She met her own eyes in a shop door’s window, and quickly looked away. “They are gone. The water drained too soon, and thousands of ponies lost homes. We are fixing a half-dead city.” She wondered whether the rest of Equestria was in a similar state.

When everyone else was waking up and getting ready for the day, Octavia reentered. She hadn’t considered that the Oranges would need to buzz her in, and so waited outside longer than she would have liked. When she got back in, there were a few hours until she needed to talk to Flash; she spent them practicing magic with Twilight. The topic: illumination spells.

It was quarter to noon when they went downstairs to Strawberry’s room. Octavia was quickly improving her magic, and she knocked on his door with a slow, magical thump that earned congratulatory smiles from everyone around her.

“Do you think he’ll go for it?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes,” Octavia said, and the door opened, caught on its latch, closed, and opened fully.

“Be quick,” Strawberry said, waving them in.

“Extra paranoid today, I see,” Rarity said coldly.

“I don’t like having a pattern of seeing you.” He closed the door and pointed into the kitchen. “Go ahead, and try to be fast. I have a call to make after you.”

Octavia led them into the kitchen and dialed, Strawberry reciting the number again. Her face was motionless as she waited, her eyes without feeling as she spoke. “It is me. Bossa Nova. I called yesterday in regards to the house on Porridge Lane.” She frowned. “What kind of questions?”

Strawberry watched quietly.

“I believe that the—the hinges are damaged. Yes, badly. That is one of the reasons that I do not want the house.” Her face straightened as she listened, and her eyebrow quirked suddenly. “Um… I do not know. Are you certain?” Pause. “I assure you, there was no one there yesterday, so far as I know.” A smile teased at her lips. “If that is the case, then that is all the more reason to destroy it, is it not?” Her mouth was tense as she listened, and then her expression melted. Relief flooded out of her. “Excellent. You do not know how great a service you are doing for me. How much shall I expect to pay?” She nodded, and stayed silent for a long time. “Wait. Five days? Why?” She frowned again. “No. The job needs to be done as soon as possible.” She breathed out of her nose, and they could hear Flash’s impatient voice on the other end of the phone. She glanced at Strawberry. “I will pay you double to do the job tonight.” She listened for a moment, then smiled again. “Fine. Whatever it takes.” She listened silently for another minute, then hung up.

“Well?” Twilight asked.

“He wanted triple the price to do the job tonight. The total is six hundred bits.”

“Another six hundred,” Strawberry grumbled. “But he said he’d do it?”

“Yes. We need to have the first half delivered today, by three. A bar on sixty-seventh and seventy-ninth.”

They looked at Strawberry, who sighed and disappeared out of the kitchen.

“We will need to be careful,” Octavia said, looking at Rainbow and Applejack. “I do not know how, but he knows that someone has been inside. He was asking about it.”

“Uh… geez, Octavia, Ah dunno ‘bout this anymore,” Applejack said.

“Yeah, it’s one thing to try it when he’s not suspecting anything, but now?” Rainbow said. “I think we should find a better way.”

“There is no time. We will need to be there by sunset,” Octavia said.

“Sunset?” Applejack repeated.

“He did not say what time he would do the job. It may be before ten, and it may be after midnight.”

“Octavia, I dunno if you know this, but we’re not used to staying up doing nothing like you are,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie laughed, and Octavia frowned at her. “Sorry, Octavia. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Here,” Strawberry said, dropping a bag of bits on the floor beside Twilight. “Three hundred, exactly. Now get out.”

“Just like that?” Applejack asked.

“I have work to do. Someone… never mind. Not your concern.”

“You said that last time too,” Twilight said.

“It has to do with that former business partner of mine.”

“The one who’s watching you,” Rainbow said.

“Is she the one who turned Flash on you?” Pinkie asked.

“I assume so,” Strawberry said. “Now please, no more questions. I have some… contacts to call.”

“Yeah, just don’t forget our agreement,” Applejack said, heading for the door.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They went back to the Oranges’ room, Twilight holding the money in her pocket dimension, and passed the time playing cards. When it was two-thirty, they got into a pair of taxis. Pinkie and Octavia sat next to each other, neither speaking.

It was nearly three when they arrived at a large stone building, its mural of an edifice proudly labeling it as the bar they wanted.

“The Toadstool. What a name for a place,” Rarity said unhappily, exiting her taxi. “It sounds positively disgusting.”

“It sounds awesome,” Rainbow said.

“I really like the artwork on the front,” Fluttershy said.

The entire façade was painted in aggressive reds, yellows, blues, and greens with thick black lines between the slabs of color. Close-up, thin to the point of near unreadability, were written small phrases and names, darkening spots of color or abutting the black lines like fine hairs.

The inside was crowded with shadowy ponies sitting at tables, most in pairs, speaking quietly and contributing to a faded ambiance that reminded Twilight too much of The Shot Apple. She stopped inside the threshold, and Rainbow stopped with her.

“You all right?” Applejack asked quietly.

“Fine,” Twilight said, shaking her head slightly.

“Who’s going to give him the money?” Fluttershy asked suddenly. Her voice was so quiet, it was difficult to hear her under the murmurs deeper inside. “We were all there last time. He’ll recognize us.”

“I have thought of that already,” Octavia said, nodding to Twilight, who summoned the money. She walked purposefully up to the bar and got the barkeeper’s attention. She spoke authoritatively, and recognition sparked in the barkeeper’s eyes when she said Flash’s name.

He nodded, and she put the bits on the counter; he stowed them in a compartment beneath the bar. She turned and made for the door, and when they were outside, she cast a look through the window.

“I want one of us to stay behind and make sure that he actually gives the money to Flash,” Octavia said. “But I am not sure how to do that without risking Flash seeing us.”

“I think I know a way,” Twilight said, her voice lightening as they walked away from the bar’s entrance. “Teaching you magic reminded me of quite a few spells that I haven’t done in a while, Octavia.”

“What are you thinking of?” Rainbow asked.

“I… oh.” Her countenance wilted again. “I can make myself invisible, and wait in there for him to deliver the money.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” Rarity said.

Twilight shrugged. “I’ve never really liked bars.”

A look passed among them, and Applejack spoke up. “Can you make one of us invisible instead?”

“…I don’t know. Maybe, if I had my books with me. But then I’d have to either put a cutoff time for the enchantment, or have you find me, or… well, there’s a lot to consider. It would be easier to do it myself.” She offered a nervous smile. “I’ll just do it on my own. It’s no big deal.”

“I dunno, Twilight,” Rainbow said.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!” Pinkie said. “We can all just trust the bartender! He looked nice!”

Twilight shook her head. “I’ll do it.” She looked back at the door. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

They retreated to the side of the bar, standing between it and a short, brick wall in a patch of dried dirt. She cast her spell; it felt odd in her horn, to be used again after a long period of neglect. She hadn’t been invisible since her early days in Ponyville, when she would try to return to the library without having to stop for friendly strangers. Her body felt awash in light, foamy magic, and she looked down at herself to verify the spell. Where her hooves had been, she saw only twin depressions in the ground, mysterious forces pushing the weeds out of the way.

They went back around, and the others separated from her. Pinkie took the lead, and Rainbow followed her quickly, yelling with excitement as she took to the air. Twilight waited outside, and several minutes after her friends were gone, slipped in when someone else opened the door.

Rainbow was a flying dot of dust up in the clouds above the park, tumbling and gamboling, flying straight up like an arrow and then exploding in loops and corkscrews, while Fluttershy contented herself to lie in the shade of a tree and watch her, uttering tiny phrases of encouragement. It had been so long since Rainbow had had a proper flying session. Pinkie, meanwhile, had gone off toward the park’s center, and Applejack followed her, where they found a trio of kite-flying ponies.

Octavia watched from a distance as one of them gave Applejack the kite string and sent her running with her colorful prize trailing jerkily behind. She smiled in spite of herself, and watched until they had moved too far away to be seen properly.

She stood up, stretched, and walked to a nearby fountain, splashing peacefully in the sunshine. She looked into its basin, appreciating the water’s clarity and the cool, minute spray that hit her nose when she bent down too close.

She examined her face in its reflection. Her mane was no longer the perfect, straight, coal curtain for which she knew she was once envied, and her coat was rough and uneven, a light gray fuzz that was ruffled and untamed. Her eyes were heavy with dark purple bags underneath, the whites stippled with veins. Her face was smooth, with no creases indicating where she had smiled or laughed. Her teeth were dulling.

“Dreadful,” Rarity said, sitting next to her. “This mane is simply dreadful. I must re-brush it when we get back. Oh, but I suppose it is a lost cause. Have you seen the products they have in the bathroom? I can barely make myself presentable in the morning.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, but you look fine, darling,” she said to Octavia, who continued to stare at herself.

“I said nothing.” She wanted to say more, but she was lost in the water. Her head felt like a fizzing motor, her eyes like dials of sand. The ripples entranced her. She had gotten five hours of sleep after two days.

Rarity paused, as if uncertain how to continue. “It certainly is a beautiful day, though.”

“Yes.”

“The sun is out, the birds are awake, the grass is green.” She sighed contentedly. “I love spring.” When Octavia didn’t respond, Rarity returned to checking herself in the fountain’s reflection. Her reflected eyes looked into Octavia’s, and sighed quietly.

“Is there something on your mind?” Octavia asked.

“Oh, just that dream I had last night,” Rarity said.

“I remember you mentioning it, but you did not talk about it.”

“It was quite bad. I’m… still a little shaken up about it.”

“I understand.” Octavia wanted to ask Rarity about it, but dared not. The sanctity of dreams was not something she took lightly.

“I don’t usually remember them. This is the first in… gosh, it must be months.” She hesitated, and Octavia nodded slowly for her to continue. “And I never let them get to me. Not like this.”

“You are not accustomed to nightmares.”

“N-no, I suppose I’m not.” Her eyes flicked to the fountain’s surface once more, and Octavia looked away. “It was so real,” Rarity said imploringly. “I’ve had nightmares before. Seldom, but I’ve had them. They were never like this. It felt like I was right there, awake, watching everything happen, and I was totally helpless. For a few seconds, I wasn’t sure if I had actually woken up or not.” She sighed and looked at Octavia, who turned to meet her eyes. “I don’t understand it, but I’ve been feeling… not myself lately. Like I’ve changed, and I have to pretend to be the real Rarity.”

Octavia nodded; she knew the feeling. “And this upsets you.”

“I’m not as happy as I was,” Rarity said quietly. “I feel… I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I feel… anxious. Things that didn’t scare me before make me nervous now. I…” Her face broke and she sobbed suddenly, leaning her head down onto the fountain’s side. She stayed for just a moment, and then, just as suddenly, collected herself. “I’m afraid to tell any of this to Twilight, or Fluttershy, or the others because I’m afraid they’ll judge me. Can you believe that? They’re my best friends, and I’m afraid to tell them.”

“Then why tell me?”

Displeasure flickered on her face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re so understanding. Maybe it’s because you’re still kind of a stranger. Maybe it’s just because I’ve always liked your music, and I’m holding out for the same sort of comfort your performances give me.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I… I won’t say I feel hopeless, because I don’t. I just feel… lost, I guess.”

“What makes you feel this way?” Octavia asked. She looked away as she said it, uncomfortable. The closeness was making her uneasy.

“Nothing really. Just when I’m alone, my mind starts to wander.”

Again, Octavia sympathized, but said nothing.

Rarity sighed again and stared into the water; it was a long stare this time, and Octavia felt that it would be wrong to break it. Finally, Rarity spoke, in her original tone. “Have you been sleeping well, darling? I know you tend to stay up late.”

Confused by the sudden switch, but not showing it, Octavia simply shrugged. “I sleep when I am tired. That is enough for me.”

“Well, make sure you don’t push yourself too much. Being in the dressmaking business, I’ve pulled my fair share of all-nighters. I know how draining they can be.”

“Yes.”

Rarity lifted a hoof toward Octavia’s back, and she shied away. “You should get at least eight hours of sleep every day.”

“I have heard that.”

“It would do wonders for your beauty, I’m sure.”

Octavia looked at her dispassionately.

“Oh, I mean no offense, of course. I’m just saying, you would look so much better if you rested properly.”

Not wanting an argument, Octavia simply nodded.

“Have you been having nightmares too?” Rarity asked, sobering a little.

“I always do,” Octavia said, and immediately regretted it. Her sleep was none of Rarity’s business.

“Yes, everypony is having them now. I asked the others a while ago; most every night, every one of us.”

“That is… unsettling,” Octavia said, trying not to let her concern show on her face.

Rarity sighed and resumed staring into the water, and after a few minutes, walked away. She sat down under a tree, by herself, and Octavia watched. Pity stirred in her heart, but she tempered it with reason. “I am not the one to help her overcome this problem. I am not her friend.”

Twilight found them all fifteen minutes later; the barkeeper had kept his word, and passed the money to Flash with no issue. Relieved, they went back to the Oranges’ apartment, stopping briefly to tell Strawberry that everything was fine, and they would try to catch Flash that night. He bade them good luck through the cracked door.

In the Oranges’ apartment, their hosts were settling down to a small lunch. They watched them enter patiently, and when everyone was inside, Mrs. Orange cleared her throat lightly. “You know, Applejack,” she began, “you’ve been staying here for a few days now.”

Applejack knew immediately where the conversation was going. “Uh, yeah, Ah guess we have.”

“Now, we certainly don’t want to be rude, but…” She looked at Mr. Orange, who nodded sternly. “Well, we’re not exactly equipped to handle this many ponies living in our apartment like this. Not for very long, anyway.”

“Oh, um, excuse me,” Rarity said. “If this is about money, I assure you we can help out with the expenses. It would be no problem.”

“No, no, that’s not it. We have plenty of money.” She sipped her drink and regarded them for a moment. “It’s space. We appreciate that you don’t stay here all day long, but it must get awfully cramped in that guest room.”

“Well, it does get a little stuffy,” Rainbow said.

“I guess what we want to know is how long you think you’ll be staying here,” Mr. Orange said.

“Not much longer, I hope,” Rarity said. “A week, tops. What do you girls think?”

“Ah think yer underestimatin’ it a bit,” Applejack said.

“We haven’t even started to fix the city,” Fluttershy said.

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ve been so busy with that, uh, thing,” Rainbow said.

“Yes, your tower. How is that going?” Mr. Orange asked.

“Fine,” Rarity said shortly. “Well… we’re making progress. It’s quite the difficult problem.”

“Strawberry seems capable, however,” Octavia said.

“We can look fer someplace else to stay, if you want,” Applejack said.

The Oranges looked at each other for a moment. “You don’t have to,” Mr. Orange said. “It’s just something to think about.”

“We definitely will,” Rarity said, offering a smile.

They retired to their room. Pinkie got the cards out, but no one seemed interested.

“We should probably look fer a different place to stay,” Applejack said.

“I agree. They said that it was fine, but I can tell when a pony is being nice to you out of politeness,” Rarity said.

“But where can we go? We don’t know anypony else here,” Rainbow said.

Pinkie laughed and jumped up. “Kissy Kisses! Kissy Kisses!” She bounced in place, and after a second, Applejack laughed too.

“Who is this?” Octavia asked.

“The mare we met in Rose Tower,” Twilight said. “It’s Lacey Kisses.”

“Oh, I remember now,” Rainbow said. “She said we could come over if we needed a place to crash.”

“That sounds accurate,” Rarity said.

“We can go see her while you three are out!” Pinkie said.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Yes,” Octavia said, looking out the window. “Speaking of which, we will need to leave in a couple hours.”

Since Derpy had been coming over, sometimes for dinner and sometimes just to hang out, Spike had steadily grown more sociable, enough so to venture out into the town as he used to. Some ponies treated his reappearance as though it were nothing, while others followed or surrounded him, asking whether he was okay and speaking to him as though he were not. These ponies irritated him, but he tried not to show it; they had good intentions.

He had written to Princess Celestia that morning, asking how Twilight was doing, and cleaned up a small section of the library. Even without the studious unicorn, the library seemed to naturally devolve into a state of dishevelment just as fast as he could keep it cleaned. At least he always had something to do, he told himself.

After lunch, he went into town to buy some flowers, to liven up the library’s interior. Twilight’s taste in flowers was not in accordance with his own, and it gave him a tiny thrill to decide which window would be graced with which flower. It was still a little strange, wandering Ponyville without Twilight and her entourage around him, but he was growing to like it. Before, he had always been an accessory to whatever the girls were up to. If he wanted to stop for something, he either held the entire group up, or passed it. Now, he had time.

He stopped by Golden Harvest’s carrot stall, near the town’s edge. She had been over to the library a few times with Derpy, but never said a whole lot, preferring instead to play with Opalescence, upstairs.

Her face brightened as he approached, and he leaned against one of the stall’s support posts. “Hey, Golden.”

Her voice was quiet, and she gave a little wave as she spoke. “Hey Spike. What’s up?”

“Not a whole lot. Just thought I’d say hi.”

She looked down for a moment. “Hi.”

He chuckled to himself. “Slow day, huh?”

“Yeah. Saturdays usually are.” She yawned. “It’ll pick back up tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Soooo… anything new?”

She thought for a moment. “I heard some ponies talking about the spa a while ago.”

“I thought it closed down.” The lack of running water had yet to be addressed, though there was a team that, he had heard, was supposed to start digging for broken pipes soon.

“Some parts, yeah, but not entirely. You can still get a massage there, or a hooficure. I think they collect water from the well every day too, for the steam room. They may have used it all up by now.”

“Wait, who’s in charge now? Aloe and Lotus left. Didn’t they?”

“Yeah, they did.” She nodded gently and picked at a spot on the counter between them. “There’s a pair of pegasi working there now. I forget their names. Flutter and Cloud-something-or-other.”

“Hm.”

“They’re not very experienced, but they’re trying to keep the business afloat. You have to respect them for that, at least.”

“That’s cool. I’ll have to stop by there sometime.” He briefly considered inviting her along, for politeness, but didn’t. She was simply too boring. With a nod and a few parting words, he left, heading into town in search of a flower stall. He got a small bouquet of wisteria and brought it back to the library, where he placed it in one of the front windows.

He waited around a little, thinking of things to do, but left again, heading for the spa. He had only ever been there with Twilight and her friends, and felt weird approaching it alone. With Aloe and Lotus gone, he didn’t know what to expect, and when he entered, he paused for a moment at the serious-faced, lilac pegasus behind the counter. Her white and silver hair was stiff and spiked with gel, and she looked to be just out of high school. Her mauve eyes were half-lidded as she stared at a magazine.

When she looked up at his approach, however, her bored and unfriendly expression gave way to a happy smile and congenial flap of wings. “What can I do for you today, sir?” Her voice was husky, but polite, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Um, well, what are you offering?”

“We can provide massages, hooficures, any sort of facial or cosmetic treatment you desire. And we gather water at the well daily to supply steam for the steam room.”

“Sheesh,” Spike said, impressed; they were missing much less than he was expecting. “Put me down for a massage and an hour in the steam room.”

“In that order?”

“Um.”

“I would recommend that you do the steam room first, and then the massage, so you can already be nice and loosened up.”

“Uh, sure. You’re the expert.”

She laughed. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m no expert.”

“Well, you had me fooled. When can I come in?”

“You can come in right now, if you like!”

“Oh, uh, sure. Let’s do it.”

She beamed and led him down the stairs to the large, oblong room. “I’ll get the steam room ready.” The steam rooms were on the opposite side of the spa, a fairly small, peanut-shaped chamber that held in its center a large support pillar, a vein of discolored spackle running up its length. Spike passed the hot tub, where he had relaxed with the girls many, many times, and the mud baths, of which only half appeared ready for business.

The other pegasus was already inside the steam room, and Spike watched them work, a little surprised at the quality of their effort. While the spike-haired pegasus scrubbed the benches and walls, her counterpart, an even younger looking almost-twin, brought in pales of water from elsewhere in the building and arranged the stones in their compartment. Neither spoke much, and when they were done, the younger of the two beckoned Spike in.

“She’ll take care of your massage when this is done,” the first pegasus said, leaving and closing the door behind her.

Spike leaned back uncertainly as the pegasus produced a large ladle and began pouring water over the smooth stones. Hissing clouds of steam bloomed outwards, and before long, the entire room was sweltering and fogged. Spike’s scales glistened, and he could see the pony’s fur and plumage darkening with moisture.

“You’re Spike, right?” she asked, reclining on her side of the room. “Twilight Sparkle’s assistant or something?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Former assistant, really.”

“Right, right. I’m Flitter. That’s Cloudchaser up front.”

“Nice to meet you. I don’t remember seeing you in Ponyville before. Are you new here?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We came down from Cloudsdale to help out with getting the water up there, but…” She gestured loosely with her hooves. “All this stuff happened. We’re looking for a house right now.”

“You’re not gonna fly back?”

“Cloudsdale is ruined. That’s a bummer thing to say but…” She heaved a breath and wiped her face. “This steam is really something. You okay over there?”

He waved a claw through the thick air. “Yeah, I’m good.” He didn’t want to make her suffer with more.

“Yeah, but Cloudsdale is messed up, big time. No rivers means no new water, which means hugely restricted weather production. The local government’s all tied up with the factories and businessponies.”

It could have been the steam, or it could have been the weeks without intelligent conversation with someone else; Spike could only scratch his head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

Flitter sat up and braced her wings on the back wall. “So, Cloudsdale’s all about supplying weather to the country. There are smaller weather factories in the more distant areas, as well as way-stations for storage and such, but for the most part, it’s Cloudsdale and nothing else. The problem is, because of the cracks in the ground, the rivers aren’t flowing, which means any water the pegasi use to make clouds won’t be replenished.”

Spike nodded along, trying to keep up.

“Some places, like Manehattan and Trottingham, are trying to keep up with their own water use with recycling plants. Like, they use water like normal, then treat it, then put it back into the air as clouds or back into the lake as freshwater. And while that might buy Cloudsdale a few weeks to get its crap together, it’s not really all that helpful.”

“So what’s the problem with Cloudsdale?” Spike asked.

“Do you know anything about the way their government is structured?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. So, Cloudsdale’s government is made of three main branches: the City Directory, the Weather Directory, and the City Council. The two directories are in charge of domestic affairs and the use of the weather factories, and the City Council is kind of a mediator. That’s simplifying it, but you get the picture.”

Spike nodded. He was impressed at the mare’s knowledge.

“Obviously, with no water, the Weather Directory’s in huge trouble, trying to meet quotas. Which, at this point, they can’t. The City Directory, meanwhile, is trying to help stimulate the economy, but they’re doing it all wrong.” She sighed and wiped her mane out of her face. “They’re trying to encourage tourism and city pride, you know, to increase spending. But no one’s ready for that yet, so what it actually amounts to is a big waste of bits. They’re creating new jobs for all the out-of-work factory ponies, but in a couple months, those ponies will be in the same exact position. No one wants to spend time in Cloudsdale with our towns the way they are, so the money’s going to dry up really fast.”

“But isn’t Celestia doing something about all this?”

“She’s setting up a chain of relay points from the ocean to Cloudsdale, so we can siphon our water from there. But it’ll be a long time before it’s ready. Everyone has to just try to get by on their own until then.”

“How long will it be?”

“Well, the first relay is up already. It’s between Canterlot and Hoofington. The next one—over Hoofington—will take longer, ‘cause it’s a collection, purification, and minor distribution plant.”

“And then the siphoning station over the ocean,” Spike said.

“She’s already got a start on that. She has her work force split between getting that ready and making the chain. So far, though, all we have is a couple big pumps. No collection areas, no way to desalinate, no way to circulate it… sorry. I know this is boring.”

Spike rested on the bench with a little smile. “It’s not that bad. It’s kind of cool, actually. To listen to someone who knows so much about it, I mean.”

“I majored in city politics,” she said. “Actually, it was a double major. City politics and finance. With a minor in law, just for fun.”

Spike’s jaw dropped. The idea of extra class, just for fun, was baffling to him. “You must be the smartest pony in the whole town.”

Flitter laughed, genuinely. “Some of the folks at the hospital have me beat, I’m sure. That orthopedic surgeon—what’s her name?”

Spike shrugged.

“Well, anyway.” She added water to the rocks. “So, yeah, Cloudsdale’s not a great place to be right now.”

“So you’re both gonna live in Ponyville until it all gets straightened out?”

“Yep. We’ve already got jobs, and all our stuff here. Might as well make it official.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Spike said. “How’d you wind up working here? Do you know Aloe and Lotus?”

“Never met ‘em,” Flitter said.

Spike frowned, and she giggled.

“We always loved going to spas in Cloudsdale, so when we got down here and saw one that needed management, we asked the mayor, and she let us. It’d just be foreclosed anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A pony with a double major in politics and finance, with a minor in law, wanting to run a spa with her sister. Shouldn’t you be, like, in Canterlot with all the other bigwigs?”

“It’s just a major,” she said. “For something like that, I’d need at least twenty years of heavy experience. The best I have is a four-month internship with the Cloudsdale superior court.” She shrugged and wiped her brow again. “Maybe I could be a stenographer or something,” she mumbled.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least I have a job.” She brightened. “And I enjoy it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I love giving massages, and making ponies feel beautiful.” She eyed Spike. “But you’re not a pony, so it’ll probably be different for you.”

“I don’t get too picky with my massages,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, don’t be afraid to critique. I’ve never massaged a dragon before.”

“No worries.”

They both sat back and relaxed, letting out long sighs of contentment, and said no more for the hour. When Cloudchaser came in to tell Spike that his hour was up, he seriously considered purchasing another on the spot, but decided against it.

He toweled off and went to a massage table, where Flitter stood waiting with a smile. He lay down, and she set to work, taking his advice with steadily decreasing enthusiasm. By the end of the massage, it was clear to him that her pride had been hurt, and he gave her a large tip to make up for it.

It was two in the morning, and Octavia pricked her ears at yet another small noise from somewhere in the house. They were in the attic, above the fan in the living room, where they had been since eight. Rainbow had dozed off first, Applejack an hour later, and Octavia let them sleep while she waited, with the experience of years of sleepless nights keeping her attention sharp.

She nudged them awake, and they quickly assumed their positions. Applejack, by Octavia’s side, and Rainbow above, in the rafters, ready to punch a hole through the ceiling at Octavia’s signal: a small flash of light magic, one of two spells she had mastered with Twilight earlier that day.

She pressed her face to a sliver of space, where she could see only a splinter of the living room around the defunct ceiling fan.

Flash watched from the tree for fifteen minutes, then from the window for ten, then sat with his ear pressed to the roof for fifteen more. When he was satisfied, he placed a hoof on the knob and pushed, slowly. He counted off in his head. One to sixty, a centimeter. One to sixty, a centimeter.

When the door was open enough for him to fit his eye to the threshold, he waited, letting his eyes acclimate to the slightly darker house interior. He had a flashlight, but did not get it out. “Rule eighteen: flashlights draw attention.”

Only when he could see every angle and every contour of furniture did he continue pushing the door open. One to sixty, a centimeter. And then he stepped through, as quietly as he could.

Octavia saw Flash’s creeping shadow against the broken bookcase, and she let out a slow breath. Finally.

Flash passed through the living room without pausing, heading to the back of the house, where he knew he would find, somewhere, the garage, and inside that, the house’s fuse box. The mark on the mirror was still on his mind, and the mare’s explanation. He was not completely satisfied.

“Three possibilities. An intruder she’s unaware of. No—an intruder wouldn’t leave a single sign. Too isolated. Too close to perfect. Two possibilities. She wanted to check something before giving the house over to me, or she was staking out for an ambush. Rule six: always expect the worst.”

He waited by the closed door to the garage for fifteen minutes, listening. A single breath, a shuffle of hooves or wings, and he would leave. He heard nothing, and entered as slowly as he had entered through the front.

When he found the fuse box, he produced a tiny flashlight, attached to a pendant that he slipped over his head, then a screwdriver. With the fuses illuminated in a wan, moon-like blue, he picked at them with all the expertise his years of arson afforded him.

Pop. One fuse gone. It landed on his outstretched wing, and he deposited it gently on the floor. The lights would not turn on, if they were even functional to begin with. “Rule one: can’t be too careful, even on stakeout jobs.”

Octavia listened and watched with mounting dread. Her heart beat in her ears and her muscles begged for release; they had held her still for too long already. She dared not speak, or even look around the attic. She could only wait, praying the fire wasn’t beginning somewhere else, praying Flash was still inside.

And then the wall darkened in the living room. His shadow crossed once more, and stopped. There was the sound of moving air and the quiet shushing noise of fabric in motion. And her view went black.

Her nerves, already taut, flinched in her muscles, and she bit down hard enough to hurt her teeth. She blinked slowly, her breath held, and waited for Flash to speak. To call her out.

Something clicked beneath her, and she resisted the urge to look down. Any movement at all, and she could give herself away. The blackness before her wiggled slightly, and with it, there was a sound of metal scraping against the plaster.

Her lungs ached, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t alert Flash, but her body refused to wait any longer. With excruciating slowness, she let the air out through her nose. The attic was dusty, and she forced herself to wait a moment before inhaling again. She felt faint, and forced herself to keep her head up.

The ceiling beneath her moved, and her breath quickened for just an instant. There was a quiet sound of detaching metal, and then more motion. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, and she waited for him to finish, relieved, but still terrified.

The black shroud over her view moved away with the sound of slow wings, and she heard him land on the floor. She could see his shadow again, and her body relaxed, only barely. She wasn’t safe yet. His shadow wasn’t moving.

With the light’s wiring altered, Flash had only to flip the switch and put a match to the couch. Faulty wiring, an attempt to turn on the light, a spark, and a blaze. But he didn’t feel safe.

As he worked with the light, his sense of paranoia had gone up. He felt, more than ever, that he was being watched, or waited for. He stood in the living room for five minutes, listening. And then five minutes more.

When his shadow finally moved, it slid away from the wall, and she heard only a faint click from the other side. She resisted the temptation to lean forward, lest the attic creak and betray her, and instead squeezed her eyes shut and tried to home in on his impossibly faint hoofsteps. “It cannot possibly be much longer. He must have been here for an hour, at least.” She hated to imagine how bored Rainbow and Applejack were; they did not even have her view of the room.

And then she heard it: the quick shff of a lit match. She was so tense with expectation, she wasn’t completely sure of herself. Her thoughts stirred uncomfortably, but she forced them into order. “That could be it. But it might not be.” She took a deep breath. “This house could be set up in any number of ways. If we miss our chance, we could be trapped in the fire. But if we go too early, we will ruin everything.”

She battled with herself, and in the space of half a second, impulse won over doubt; her magic, still new and unfamiliar in her mind, snapped into place around the simple spell. There was a flash of pale gray, and an instant later, a wooden crash right behind her. There was a cry of alarm and a cascade of dust and broken plaster, and she hit the floor with an awkward tumble.

Metal and glass broke apart just behind her, thumping the couch violently. Hooves clattered on the floor, and Rainbow’s wings pelted. Through the dust, she could see little, but she heard the scuffle clearly. Two bodies wrestled on the carpet, and something warm spread behind her.

As soon as Flash heard the sound of wings above, he ducked away, but the ceiling burst over him, and he was suddenly tangled up with a wiry pegasus. Two more ponies landed near the couch, where his match lay, forgotten in his haste to leave. “Rule three: never leave a match or lighter behind.”

His attacker was fast and nimble, but he was strong, and had fought before; with a savage growl, he grabbed one of her wings in his teeth, getting a mouthful of dry feathers and a squeal. She twisted around him, and he yanked in the opposite direction, to pull her off balance.

Crack!

Applejack stood proudly over Flash’s prone form, her back leg still cocked in case he tried to get up again, while Octavia beat angrily at the couch, snuffing the small fire on the cushion.

“Y’all right, Rainbow?” Applejack asked, helping her up.

“Yeah, fine. Twisted wing.” She sat down and sighed. “Nice aim, AJ.”

“T’weren’t nothin’.” She looked at Octavia. “Need help?”

Octavia hit the couch, already out, with a powerful hoof. “No.” She turned quickly and walked to the kitchen, and Applejack and Rainbow followed her at a distance. She grabbed the phone and dialed the police.

Her conversation was short; she told them to find Flash, knocked out, in the house’s living room, and hung up before they could ask for more details. She returned to the living room and dragged him over to the displaced fan, where she piled a few pieces of ceiling on his head. They left immediately after, heading for the edge of the ground and stopping when they could not distinguish their house from those around it. Rainbow stayed behind to watch from above, to make sure the police got Flash.

Only a few minutes after stopping, Applejack spotted a convoy of police cars silently moving down the dirt road. Octavia stood at attention, not looking at her companion. She ground her teeth and narrowed her eyes, angry with herself. “Pathetic, idiotic, selfish nag. Useless.” Her lips curled up over straight teeth, and she replayed the fight in her head. “Good for nothing, small-minded imbecile. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.” She could feel her pulse and temperature rising.

“Octavia? You okay?” Applejack asked.

She didn’t turn. “Eyes on the house.”

Applejack shuffled uncomfortably. “Geez, okay. Sorry.”

When the police cars drifted away, a half hour later, they headed back slowly, and Rainbow met them near the main road. Flash had been arrested.

The journey back to the apartment was strange and lonely. The streets were almost empty, and they had to wait several minutes for a taxi. The drive back was silent. The isolated, tiny lights felt like confetti in their eyes, a celebration for them only. Octavia still seethed.

When they got back to the apartment, Rarity was still awake to buzz them in, and they went to Strawberry’s room first, to tell him the news. He refused to even open the door, and had them speak through the crack between it and the floor.

Everyone but Rarity was asleep when they got to the Oranges’, and while they settled in to sleep, Rarity told them about Lacey Kisses. They had found her easily, and she was happy to see them all again. Even better, there was more room at her flat than in the Oranges’ apartment. They would be able to move in in a couple days, once Lacey had cleaned the place up a little.

“And you are certain that we can trust her?” Octavia asked dourly.

“Well, as certain as you can be about a stranger,” Rarity said.

“She’ll be fine,” Rainbow said, yawning. “Now let’s get some shuteye.”

Octavia grunted and went to the foot of the bed, where she remained for several hours before falling into a restless, angry slumber.