"Should I write up an answer?" Leona inquired. "Getting out the fraud?"

I murmured. "Sadly, I don't figure we can. The duplicate Kitten has our characters in her back pocket. We can't go on offense until the point when we know more." I looked down at the floor, seeing how my white tennis shoes concealed my toes—the toes that used to dependably be painted (gravely). Presently they were lackluster.