---
He glanced at her ribbon, at the stance that says I slept with my knife in my hand and dared sleep to argue. He nodded once. Respect, issued without needing to know a last name.
The woman in gray lifted her chin at John. "Who is the leader?"
Before Ray could invent a terrible answer, Fizz floated forward, drawing himself up to his absolute most official height. "Team Lord Fizz, reporting," he said. "Acting commander, strategic genius, snack quartermaster. This is my human, John. These are my flames, first-class and second-class respectively."
Rhea coughed into her knuckles. Ray stared at a fern to keep his face from telling a joke it would regret.
The woman's mouth almost smiled. Almost. "Proctor Yarrow," she said. "Field supervision. Who started the fire line."
"I did," Rhea said.
"Who placed the lamps and guard stones?"
"I did," Ray admitted, because lying to competence is a disease and he was trying to stay healthy.
