Reality vomited us onto a stiff wooden floor like we left a bad taste in its mouth, and to continue the trend of the universe having a problem with me, I got to be the person that broke everyone’s fall. Grant first, then Michael, and finally Emelia, crushing the wind out of my lungs and making me groan. Gods above, I thought, shoving them off and crawling onto all fours. I thought actors eat salad all the time. Why’re they all so heavy? I got on my knees and arched my back, working a kink out of my spine. Then came our duffel bags, one after another spat out from the closet, which slammed into me and left me sprawled on a fluffy white carpet. Thank you, universe. I was almost starting to think you were going soft on me.

  Knowing my luck, the day I kicked the bucket, my casket would probably get struck by lightning for old times’ sake, just because the universe had a sense of humor that way.

  I pushed the bags away and got up. Again. Hopefully for good this time.

  My shoulder quietly burned, and as I was busy rolling it, I froze the second the scent of burnt oranges filled my throat. Not Ambrosia burnt oranges. Something sweeter. Something that made my mouth water. I paused and looked around the room, at the bed with its quilted blankets, the painting of a white horse on the wall and the empty bedside table.

  No way.

  I flew into the hallway. Picture frames lined the walls. Most old. None of them dusty. Some in black and white, a dozen more grainy and taken mid-laugh, immortalizing the dozens of superheroes in them. No. Way. I flew into the living room and skidded across the floor, spun slowly around, and nearly fell to my knees. No way! I cheered. Actually cheered, throwing my fists into the air and myself, too, and deeply breathed in the scent of soil and grass and oranges until my lungs hurt. I listened to the hush of wheat outside and the distant bark of a dog tearing through the fields. Slowly, very slowly, I drifted back onto the floor.

  Something the size of my palm caught my eye, something that made my heart stutter.

  A tiny wooden picture frame sat on a shelf, caught in the bright sunlight. It was me, taken…Gods, it felt like years ago, talking to the Rangers on the picnic bench, smiling, laughing, all of them listening with glimmers in their eyes as the sun caught our faces just right. Did Hank take this? I took it off the shelf and stared at it, a lump thick in my throat as I looked at myself, at the heroes blurred out around us, at the smile I had on my face, as if that time in my life had been just so good.

  I couldn't believe they’d kept it. Framed it. Even scribbled the date on the back of the wood and named it.

  I pushed my fingers through my hair and smiled, lips parting.

  The lump in my throat got bigger, harder to ignore.

  I was forced to, because I wasn’t going to cry when the three of them wandered into the living room. Olympia didn’t cry, and Rylee definitely didn’t cry—she just teared up a little because of the pollen, and when you’ve got senses like mine, things like that really fuck with you, you know?

  I snorted mucus, put the picture back on the shelf, cleared my throat, and spread my arms when the trio stopped beside the large couch, all of their faces ranging from angry, cautious, to Grant, who scratched his ribs, yawned, looked around, and headed directly for the kitchen.

  “Well?” I said, grinning. “What d’you think? Like it?”

  “You dragged us away from a government-backed hospital facility that was training us to fight an almost unwinnable war, just to end up in a fucking wooden cabin on a farm?” Michael’s jaw sharpened. “I think we should go back.”

  Grant, hunting through the fridge, said, “Oh, hey, they’ve got cocktail cans here.”

  I waved at his twin brother. “See? He already likes it."

  “That’s because my brother is a moron who can’t lead a dying man to a hospital without stopping for a beer first.” Michael looked at Em. “Tell me I’m right so we can get out of here. The government spends God knows how much money and time on making sure we’re in the best shape of our lives, just so Rylee can waste our time again and drag us along on one of her impulsive little misadventures. The world is depending on us. And the first thing she does faced with responsibility is run away.” He looked at me, eyes icy blue. “Like she always does when everything starts becoming a little too real for her.”

  I slowly lowered my arms, then forced myself to sigh through my mouth. Let it go, Ry.

  I won’t ruin the one place on this planet that isn’t Bianca’s arms with Michael's bad vibes. That was for the city. For Lower Olympus and its dingy rooms and its corpse-filled alleyways.

  Not here.

  Not when I needed to stop feeling so strangled by the same government that sometimes wants me dead.

  “Grant,” I said, still looking at his brother. “Cocktail me, I’m thirsty over here.”

  “Coming right up. They’ve got…long islands, a couple daiquiris, and…mango super blast? What the hell is that?” He cracked it open. Almost immediately, a fruity sprite of air filled my lungs, and wow, I forgot how good real fruit smells like, despite the alcohol mixed in it. Grant sipped it, made a face, then shrugged. “Not bad.”

  “Ry,” Em said, as I caught a long island that Grant threw across the house. “What is this place? Is it yours? I thought you were, no offence, kinda broke.”

  I cracked the can open and downed it, putting my finger up so she could give me a second. I needed some alone time with my taste buds, who’ve done nothing but endure the bullshit gruel and nutrient pastes I had been putting them through recently. I swear, if I fed that stuff to a stray dog, I'd have animal rights groups on my neck for abuse.

  When I finished the can, my throat burned and my stomach snarled for more, and I couldn’t help but crush it in my hand and let the taste linger on my tongue. I swallowed, sighed as I nodded, and said, "Definitely not my place. I wish I had a place like this. It’s called Valhalla. It’s kinda like a retirement home for Golden Age superheroes. They hang out here, barbecue, just, you know, have a good time and ignore the world for a while. I came here last year when things got rough and I nearly died. Honestly, Lucas was the one who brought me here. I don’t know why he did, but…maybe he had a soft spot for this place, too. It’s really great.” I smiled at her. “You’re gonna love it. Besides, I met Cleopatra over here, so you’ll meet a bunch of old—”

  “—and washed up superheroes?” Michael asked. “You brought us to a retirement home, for…what, some kind of vacation? The world is ending, Rylee, and you brought us to meet a gang of has-been superheroes?”

  I pointed at him. “Keep running your mouth and I’m gonna break it.”

  “I second that,” Grant said, sniffing a partially drunk coffee mug on the kitchen counter. “You really need to relax, Mikey. You’re always so tense all the time. Live it up a little. And it’s not like we can’t train here, too. If Rylee’s right, then we can learn a lot from these old timers.” Behind the can he sipped, he muttered, “Maybe some of us can learn to temper their anger a little, too.” Michael glared at him. Grant smiled. “Beer, baby brother?”

  “I’m calling Kincaid,” Michael said.

  I grabbed his wrist before he could move. Frost crawled up my skin, digging through it like heated needles. “Don’t even think about it,” I whispered, almost through my teeth. “You’re not ruining this place for me, Michael.”

  “Keep holding my wrist, Rylee, and you’ll lose your fingers to frostbite in a few seconds' time.”

  “Still have an entire other fist to beat you to death with.”

  Em shoved us apart. “Alright, alright. Jesus Christ. Someone needs to teach the both of you to use your words, and not just to threaten each other with them.” She looked at me and stood in front of Michael, making sure I couldn’t keep glaring daggers at him. “Why’d you even bring us here? I don’t want to say Jack Frost over there has a point, but a lot of people are relying on us—on you—to save them. Kicking your feet up now isn’t a good look.”

  I groaned and hovered toward the couch. “I get it, I get it. Save the world, Rylee. What’re you gonna do about the Empire, Rylee. I know!” I flopped onto it, bounced a little, then put my hands behind my head. This place didn’t have a TV, just a fireplace and a stack of books and board games on a shelf. Perfect. Em once told me that Grant would go and gamble his paychecks every other week. Maybe he could teach me how to throw dice. I always watched a bunch of people in Lower Olympus play it on street curbs all the time, and once they realized I wasn’t a cop and wouldn’t arrest them for it, they even tried to get me to play. I was so stuck up, high-and-mighty and so invested in thinking I was better than them, that I’d wave them off and keep flying. “I’ll figure that out on my own, because incase you haven’t noticed, you guys aren’t the ones who keep getting fucked by everyone you trust. I tried my best, OK? But I didn’t trust the government, and they didn’t trust me. I could feel it in the air. Valor and the others are great and all, but they all got screwed by the government somehow, and they’re still on their sides. I'm not gonna keep doing that, no thanks.” I shut my eyes and let my shoulders relax. “I’m not a big fan of large government entities trapping their super powerful ‘heroes’ under their boot. I kinda have a thing against overbearing oversight. Something about it kinda just kills my vibe.”

  “Kills your vibe?” Michael stood over the couch, totally killing my vibe with his icy corona. Literally. The guy was a walking meat locker. I opened one eye to look at him. “Eight billion people need you to save them.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I won’t get the job done.”

  “Why’re you not taking this seriously?” he snapped. “You go on this fucking tangent about being a better superhero, about making Selina proud.” I clenched my jaw and shut my eye. “And now you’re taking time off?”

  All I could hear was his heartbeat, his dry throat and the air scraping out of his lungs.

  I sighed through my nose. “You know,” I said quietly. “When you were playing pretend, I had the worst year of my fucking life. My mom kicked me out. The guy who took me in died in my arms.” I opened my eyes to look at him. “The one person who I thought could one day be my dad turned out to be an asshole. They cloned me. The same government you want me to trust made an entire copy of me.” I swung my legs off the couch and stood. “I went to hell, a witch sold my soul, I worked with a jackass of a supervillain I can’t seem to get rid of, and sure, I made mistakes, I made tons of mistakes.” I jabbed my finger into his chest. He stumbled back and tripped into an old armchair. I glared down at him, watched his fingers claw into the arm rests. “You don’t get to lecture me about what I need to do when you could've been here and made better choices than I did. I’ll fix it. I’ll stop the Empire. I’ll save the world. And you know what’s gonna happen after that? The government’s gonna waltz over, shake my hand, and offer me the keys to the fucking kingdom with a knife behind its back, because that’s what Earth is, and that’s what the Empire is—you people are so fucking lucky I want to save this planet, or else I would’ve left by now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Right, Earth is just so lucky to have you.”

  “It is,” I said. “Now stop killing my vibe and grab a cocktail. I’m still gonna work, I’m still gonna get better. I’m just doing it where I feel like myself, and not like a lab rat they can finally keep in a stupid cage. They’ve always wanted to study me, and they had me and played nice—I didn’t buy it.” I sat down on the couch again with a sigh. “Stop licking their feet, man. The government can get angry as all hell if it wants to. Who cares? I call their bluff on screwing with my mom. Your dad is Poseidon. They wouldn’t fuck with your family. And Em?” I shrugged. “A hair out of place, and I wouldn’t even blink about putting a hole in the White House.”

  “You’re talking about attacking the government, Rylee,” he said. “That’s treason.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then said, “I was talking about protecting Em’s family, and you're thinking about it being treason?" Silence. Very heavy silence. "What happened to teammates first?"

  Em, standing beside the couch, folded her arms. She stared at Michael.

  Michael looked away, clenched his jaw, and quietly cursed.

  Grant wandered over, offered me a new cocktail, gave Em a kiss on the cheek, then landed on the couch beside me with a grunt. “No TV, huh?” he said. “Shame. I really wanted to watch the last few football games before the world ended, but I guess I’m just gonna have to conjure them up in my head.” Another sip. “Fun times, right?”

  I shrugged and cracked it open. “Imagining the Olympus Eagles winning is the only way they would.”

  “Low blow,” he said. “Go Eagles, am I right?”

  “Weren’t you meant to play in college?” I asked him.

  Em sat next to her boyfriend, and suddenly, I felt kinda awkward sitting on the same couch as them. Michael stood up, hands stuffed inside of his pockets, glaring at the pictures on the wall, quietly stewing. He could keep doing that in his corner for all I cared. I'd taken enough of his shit for one lifetime. He could fantasize about his glorious government someplace else. “He should have played,” Em said, taking the cocktail out of his hands and drinking from it. “But he chickened out.”

  I poked him in the ribs. “Way to go, Mr. Star Football Player.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “You could’ve gone and played soccer in college, too.”

  “Yeah, but…” I shrugged again. “Being a superhero is way more fun.”

  “Do you ever wonder how it would’ve gone if you did both?” Em asked me. “I mean, Olympus U in the day, superhero stuff at night. It’s not like you weren’t already doing that whole thing in high school, too.”

  I waved my hand and put my sneakers on the coffee table. “Too much work.”

  “Of course it was,” Michael muttered.

  I pointedly ignored him.

  "Imagine that," Em quietly said, leaned her head against Grant's shoulder. "Us trying to be normal."

  "Knowing us," I muttered, sliding an arm behind my head, "we'd screw it up somehow."

  "Cheers to us," Grant said.

  For nearly ten minutes, nobody spoke. Em rested her feet on Grant’s thighs. He slowly kneaded her calves and shared his cocktail with her. Michael slipped from room to room, silent, cold, still stewing until he finally sat down again, jaw clenched as he flipped through an old newspaper with the Olympians on it. I could see the thoughts behind his eyes. How hard he looked at me whenever he flipped the page. I made no effort to even look at him.

  Because I was daydreaming about what Em said, being normal.

  And found it pretty funny, because I didn't even know what that looked like. Normal for me was fighting crime, getting yelled at by someone older than me, and trying not to have an existential crisis because my extended family wanted to kill everyone I knew.

  Normal had different meanings, I guess.

  I finished the cocktail and stared at the ceiling, watching a tiny spider try to finish its web in the gusts of wind that made it dance. I shut my eyes, felt the buttery wind slide through the open windows. Hank would be back soon. He’d probably be shocked as all hell I was here again, and with company this time. We’d go and say hi to everyone else, shake hands, flip burgers, pretend the world wasn’t falling apart.

  I just hoped mom was safe. Founder would probably whisk her back to New Olympus. I didn’t trust the old-timer yet, but if he could do this for me just because he felt like helping out, then he was in my good books for now. Someone as powerful as him would also do some good back home. Let someone else sweep up the city for once, I thought. I battled a yawn. Not much to do, anyway. Threaten a couple of villains. Glare at a handful of thugs. Hug Bianca for me and tell her I’m doing fine, and I’ll be back soon, and that I missed her. A lot.

  God, I missed her a lot. She was meant to see this place with me.

  She would. Soon.

  “Is being an alien weird?” I turned my head to look at Grant. Em was asleep, but his hands still slowly worked at her feet. “No offence, it’s just…wow, you know? I’ve known you for years, and I just never thought…”

  I smiled a little. “Yeah, it’s weird. I eat green goo for lunch and shed all my skin every two weeks.”

  Grant looked at me. “Really? Do you, like, eat the skin?”

  “No, dude, I’m screwing with you,” I said, bumping his arm. “I’m still half human, and to the Empire, that’s what matters. I might as well be a cockroach that can talk to them.” I chewed my tongue, sat with my thoughts. “I felt different, that’s for sure. It made me feel weird a lot of the time, and puberty for someone like me was…interesting, for both mom and I. But it’s not something that messes with me. I kinda just learnt to live with it, you know? It’s normal.”

  “Right, sure,” he said. “It’s totally normal that aliens exist and I failed algebra with one.”

  “You can burn a forest down with your hands.”

  “Any stupid kid with a lighter can do that.”

  I laughed. "It's a miracle you haven't."

  "It's a miracle more people don't know that I have."

  "Actually?"

  Grant shrugged. "Stupid kid who found out his entire body is a lighter at summer camp."

  "Tell me your dad lost his shit."

  "You think my dad is scary?" Grant asked. "Oh, man, Ry, my mom scared the crap out of me."

  "Something about moms who can get literal demigods to sit and listen, you know?"

  "Tell me about it," Grant chuckled.

  Michael flipped the newspaper, making it crinkle. His jaw only hardened.

  A bark tore through the air. I smiled as Grant sat up a little more. “Relax,” I said. “The guy who lives here has this big dumb golden retriever. He’s really excitable, so get ready to get licked.” The kitchen’s fly door swung open, and in came the dog, bounding into the living room and leaping onto the couch. He attacked me with his tongue, barking and yipping and wagging his tail so hard it beat against my legs. Em startled awake. The dog barked at her and buried his wet snout into Grant’s chest, then barreled onto Em. Fur. Soil. Everything got onto the couch. Em vanished in a burst of electricity, suddenly away from the dog, moaning about the saliva in her hair.

  The dog sat where she’d been lying down, tail beating against the couch. It barked again.

  Michael looked up from the newspaper, then froze. His eyes widened.

  “What?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem with a dog, too. You really should chill…”

  My nose twitched.

  Him.

  I stood and turned, breaths already short, sharp–heart raging in my chest.

  “You,” I snarled.

  Adam stood in the kitchen, loose jeans, tucked in white t-shirt, his silver hair long, falling past his ears. We stared at one another. Stared for so long the space between us almost warped. Scars littered his arms. His face. I took a step forward. His eyes narrowed, just like they always did. Nothing moved inside the house. Nothing moved past the air crackling with quiet energy. What the fuck is he doing here? How’d he even find this place? God, of course.

  Of course!

  The one place on this goddamned planet where I can finally not lose my mind, and this…this thing is here!

  “You really, really should’ve died,” I spat. “Third time’s the fucking charm, right?”

  “What’re you doing here?” he asked quietly, his eyes going from Grant to Em to Michael. The dog whined. He glared at me, eyes sharp, hair tousled by the wind. “You came here to kill me? You hunted me down just to try again?” He stepped back. I stepped forward. Coward. Always so scared. “What the fuck is your problem? You won.”

  “You’re alive, so I didn’t. Why’re you here?”

  “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “Everything,” I snarled. “It’s got everything to do with me. This place is mine. And now here you are, still alive when I thought you were AWOL and crazy, losing your mind in some pit in the woods on the verge of death.”

  “Charming,” he said. “Leave, and take your gang of freaks with you.”

  “Freaks?” Emelia whispered. “Freaks?”

  Grant stood. “Don’t call my girlfriend that. I know you look like Zeus, but I also know what your body looks like when it’s been torn apart. Not sayin’ that I’d do that, but I wouldn’t mind letting Rylee go at you.”

  Adam’s lips curled into a flat snarl. “Poseidon’s kids and a Mexican girl who used to be a prospect.” He stood a little straighter. He reeked of ozone. I didn’t care. And a part of me was kinda happy he was alive, actually. I liked to think he thought about me, dreamt of me, had nightmares about me. He’d wake up cold and sweaty, heart beating so fast it almost tore out of his chest. I’d beat him to the brink of death for all eternity if I have to, just so his life gets more and more miserable. I cracked my knuckles. His eyes narrowed. “And a girl who’s all talk, no results. How’re you feeling after Lucian nearly killed you? Or knowing that Veronica keeps getting hurt because of you.”

  “Say her name, Adam, and I’m gonna—”

  “What?” he asked, spreading his arms. “Do what? What haven’t you already done to me? You’ve ripped my arm off my body, nearly torn me in half—embarassed me in front of the entire FUCKING world, left me to waste away in some goddamned hospital as Cassie spent everything nurturing that stupid clone of yours instead of ever checking to see if I was still alive or dying in some hovel hooked up to a machine, and now what’re you gonna do, Olympia, huh?” He walked closer, boots knocking against the wooden floor., voice loud “Gonna take away America’s trust in me? Gonna ruin my face and make everyone remember I’m just a clone?” He stopped inches away, looking down a slightly crooked nose. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re this…this thing, this concept of agony to me that I refuse to acknowledge anymore. I’ve grown past you. I don’t even think about you.” He looked at the rest of them. “You’re no different. A group of has-been superheroes standing up for a murderer doesn’t impress me.” He turned around and walked toward the kitchen. “You’ve ripped my life apart enough times for there to be nothing left. Kill me. Try to. I don’t care. I’ll just keep on going and watch you eventually die on your stupid quest to be a ‘better superhero.’” Adam snorted and opened the fridge. “What bullshit, you’re no…” He paused, then looked at us, at the cans on the floor and the table, then slammed the fridge shut. “You drank my cocktails too. Do you have no pause in anything you ever do in your life? What do you want from me? Next you’re gonna take my bedroom from me.”

  “Your bedroom?” I asked shrilly. “That room was mine before I ever tore your face apart.”

  “That’s not what everyone else said.”

  I froze, then quietly asked, “What?”

  “Yeah,” Adam said. “I live here now, so I have the authority to tell you to get the fuck out of my—”

  I slammed my shoulder into his chest, and out the kitchen door we went, trying to kill each other again.

  Just like old times.