I headed home after having a brief conversation with my parents, Hannah, and Colin.

  We kept it vague. Broad strokes. I mentioned I had some concerns and that further discussions would be needed. But there was a dialogue open now. That seemed to placate them, at least for now.

  I still couldn’t believe the four of them had orchestrated something like this.

  I helped Melody pick out an outfit for the party, then told her I had some important stuff to handle before tonight.

  Mostly true. I took off anyway.

  I did have a few things to handle. But mostly? I was dreading going to a party with no set end time. I was off to shed my person disguise and recharge.

  Work on the fire station was still underway. It was expected to be completed by the weekend, so within the next couple of days. I was looking forward to seeing how things turned out. A little anxious, a little excited.

  One thing had been nagging me all week. I hadn’t had the time–or the headspace–to deal with it. But now that the ABB threat was handled, more or less, I figured it was time to stop putting it off.

  So I called Taylor.

  It rang long enough that I thought it was going to go to voicemail, but then she picked up. I heard voices in the background. Sounded like she was out somewhere.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Morgan. I got a new phone. Still have my old one too, but this is a… work phone.”

  “Okay,” her voice was flat. Distracted, maybe.

  “Last time we uhh… hung out,” I said, fishing for how to say fought a horde of gangsters and a dragon man. “I said I wanted to chat with you, if you remember?”

  “Oh, right. Been busy, forgot.”

  “Hah! Tell me about it! Same here. Anyway, I was hoping we could sit down and I could pick your brain for a couple of hours. Discuss some hobby stuff.”

  God, I sound lame.

  One-sided phone convos were the worst.

  “Now’s really not a good time…” she trailed off.

  I heard muffled voices as she covered the mic with her hand.

  “Oh, no worries. Today’s not good for me either, but maybe we could try and set a date this weekend?” I asked, trying to keep things light.

  “Hmm. Busy today. Probably tomorrow too,” she said.

  Ah, hell, she’s blowing me off. Maybe?

  “What about Sunday?” I probed.

  Silence, only the sound of voices chatting in the background.

  Finally, she said, “I guess that could work. I don’t have any plans. Did you have something in mind?”

  Success!

  I cleared my throat. “I did, yeah. Do you like nature stuff? Walks, hikes, that kind of thing?”

  She sounded a little surprised. “I do, actually. Yeah.”

  “Awesome. Let’s plan on meeting Sunday morning, not too early. Once it’s warmed up a little. Nine, ten, something like that?”

  “Ten works.”

  I was grinning. “Nice! Plan on it. Can you also bring a few things?”

  “Hm. Maybe? Like what?” She sounded intrigued now. Good.

  “Couple things. Portable food, water, or hydration. We’ll be out there a while, have lunch, you know? Oh, and dress warm, layers, if you have them. In case the weather turns.”

  I hesitated, then added: “And uh, I have kind of a weird request?”

  The phone was covered again, and more talking, then she was back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you bring your uhh… little fashion project? And the stuff you usually wear with it?” I meant her costume and kit, but I wasn’t going to say it out loud.

  “...Fashion project?” she echoed, skeptical.

  “Yeah, you know,” I said, “The suit you’ve been working on. The dark one? Accessories you normally wear with it?”

  Her suspicion sharpened: “I don’t know… Why, exactly?”

  “I had some… fashion ideas I wanted to bounce around. Thought it might help to have something on hand for reference. I don’t have anything of my own I could really use.”

  That seemed to mollify her: “Oh. Yeah. Sure, that’s fine. Just as long as I don’t have to wear it for any kind of demonstration.”

  “Nope, nothing like that. Just wanted to chat, bounce some ideas around. I won’t hold you up–Sunday at ten. Want me to meet you at your friends’ hangout spot?”

  “Sure. That’d be easier,” she said.

  “Okay, great! I won’t keep you, see you then!”

  “Yep. Bye.”

  Click.

  The line went dead.

  I called Faultline next.

  She picked up on the second ring.

  “Yes?”

  She sounded busy. She usually was.

  “Hey! Had a quick question for you. Can you look into a group for me?” I asked her.

  “Hm, sure. Who?”

  I tapped a big claw on the floor. “PMC group, or maybe squad, is the right term. Works for Coil. Goes by Chess Team. Names are Bishop, Knight, Rook, and Pawn.”

  “Not familiar with them,” she said. “But I can find out in fairly short order. Need to make a few calls. Why?”

  “Well. I know we talked some about hired help. I was thinking that I’m not at the station full-time, so it might be smart to have a couple of people there. Keep an eye on things. They seemed to know their stuff when I met them.”

  “Hmm,” she said, and I heard typing in the background. “That’s a good idea, getting some bodies over there to make sure that nothing happens when you’re not home. PMCs can be professional. Do you know what you’re getting into, though?”

  “You mean the kind of people? Or more like the expenses?” I asked.

  “Bit of both,” she answered.

  I sighed. “I expect it’s extremely expensive. I’m wanting your feedback and suggestions, too.”

  More tapping, then she shifted the phone around. “So the biggest consideration is what you want them to do. There’s overlap, but with increased expectations and risk, you have increased costs. Are you only looking for guards, or do you potentially want people to work with in the field?”

  I paused to think. “That is… a very good question. Having someone who can provide transport, and maybe backup in a fight, that could be useful.”

  “In that case, you’re going to want a mercenary or PMC, yes. Guards protect a location, and bodyguards are more concerned with keeping you alive. They’re not the same as combat backup.”

  There was more tapping, and she continued: “Mercs get paid based on experience and track record. The better they are, the more they cost. You’ll get better rates for longer-term contracts, and depending on what you’re asking them to do.”

  I braced myself. “Soo… how much are we talking here?”

  “High-end mercs, short engagement? Eight hundred to a thousand. Per person. Not counting hazard pay or bonuses.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s not too bad. So four people, four thousand a week? I can manage that, no issue.”

  Her tone was level and patient.

  “No, Apex. Not per week. Per day. ”

  I coughed.

  “O-oh. That’s a bit more than I expected. Quite a bit more.”

  “Yes. But you can save significantly on longer contracts, and if it isn’t daily life-or-death. You want my advice? You get what you pay for. Cut corners and you might regret it.”

  Makes sense.

  “Yeah, sure. I get it. Well, will you look into them and let me know what you find out? If I like what I can see, maybe I can contact them and discuss rates.”

  “That won’t be a problem. What are your plans looking like moving forward?” she asked.

  I fiddled with my claws and was quiet for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I should share the news, but I figured she had contacts or moles in the PRT anyway, so she’d probably figure it out sooner or later.

  “I was at a cookout with my family earlier. Armsmaster and Miss Militia showed up, out of costume.”

  A moment of silence from the other end of the line. Then: “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I…” I started, stopped, then cleared my throat. “They, he, wrote me an apology. About what happened. Me and The Protectorate.”

  My throat tightened just thinking about it. “They extended me an invitation to the team.”

  Quiet, once again. Finally, she said, “What are you thinking? Or did you give them an answer already?”

  I swallowed.

  “I did. I told them no. My parents were furious, and we–Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and I–went and had a somewhat involved conversation in private after. It was…” I trailed off a moment. “It was ugly, some shit was said, but I think things ended on much better terms than they started on.”

  When she spoke, her voice was… different. She was hard to read at the best of times. I wasn’t sure how to categorize it, just that it had changed. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Joining them?”

  “It was, yeah. It was the only thing I wanted up until they dumped me. I’m still not over that. Don’t know if, or when I will be.”

  She was a touch quieter, maybe a bit softer, too. “You shouldn’t let anger cloud your judgment and cause you to make snap decisions. Things you feel strongly about right now, you might think aren’t that big of a deal in a few years. You’re talking about life decisions here.”

  I took a deep breath and then sighed. “I know. But it isn’t just that, Faultline. I’ve seen things. Learned things that changed how I see the whole picture.”

  “Such as?” She asked.

  “Things we’ve talked about. Things you’ve shown me. My experiences with some of the other capes out there. The system… I think it mostly works, but it’s broken in important ways. It’s like– what Gregor said. Good people doing bad things, and bad people doing good things. It’s not black and white.”

  I was trying to voice what I was feeling in my gut, and I wasn’t sure I was doing a good job of getting it across.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Couldn’t you try and fix things from the inside? Build power, prestige, make change from within?”

  I sighed again. “You sound like you’re trying to tell me I’m making a mistake, and that I should join them.”

  A long pause. Dead silence.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Still here. I’m trying not to tell you what to do. I so want to see if you’re considering all sides.”

  “I get that,” I said, agreeing with her. “I just, maybe I’m not putting things into words well at the moment, but.”

  I rubbed two big claws against one another, circling around and around while I thought.

  “Joining them is what I wanted. And part of me still does. But another part of me thinks it’s a mistake. That it doesn’t feel right. I’d be better off doing something else.” I paused. “Not better off in the material sense, but like, better off with… myself? If I’m conflicted now, joining the Protectorate might only make it worse.”

  She took her time, choosing her words carefully when she replied. “I think I understand what you’re saying. And yeah, if something feels off on your end, maybe it is a bad idea. Reservations don’t vanish just because you push them down.”

  “It’s just that–maybe this is naive–I feel like things would be better if there was some kind of intermediary? Something that isn’t here nor there? A foot in both worlds? I mean, I know back channels exist and there’s people doing what you do.” I slapped my tail on the carpet in the other room. “I know I’m not making any sense right now. I’m sorry.”

  “I think I know what you’re getting at. Maybe it’s possible. If you don’t take the offer, though, you are going to be labeled a villain. As we discussed before.”

  “I know. I’m less worried about the label and more about what might come with it. I don’t want to be arrested or locked up, obviously. And I haven’t forgotten the lessons. I know that in order to get what I want, I’ll have to have leverage.”

  “Do you have a time limit on it?” She asked. “I assume they gave you a deadline.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a week, but after I explained the whole ‘I’m not the me you see’ thing, that gave them pause. I expressed other concerns, too. There’s going to be more talks, at some point,” I added.

  “Right. Well, if you need to talk more, I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks, Faultline. I mean it. I’d be in a much worse place at the moment if we hadn’t met.”

  “Mmh. I need to go. Talk later?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Do your thing. I got something to get ready for, too.”

  “Until then.”

  Click.

  I had a lot to think about. But right now? I had a party to get ready for.

  I took care of everything else I needed to get done, and when I was all done with that, I got myself back in party-going shape and raided my closet upstairs.

  Melody had a nice dress that she was going to wear tonight. I figured I’d do the same. Especially after feeling like an underdressed bum earlier.

  It didn’t take too long to figure out what I was going to wear. A rich, deep blue halter-top dress. Backless with fairly high-cut side slits. It hugged the figure very closely from the hips to the chest. I’d bought it for a formal party I was going to go to last year, but then chickened out on wearing it at the last minute.

  This dress was daring. Bold. Confident. It wasn’t a Morgan dress. It was an Apex dress.

  Very showy, despite covering everything. There was a little hint of side-boob, but otherwise it was full coverage. Back excluded, of course.

  I found a pair of heels and a handbag that would go well with it. It was a small bag, but I was able to get my keys, phones, and a rather large jingling baggie full of evidence into it.

  I was hoping security wouldn’t be too tight; otherwise, they might ask why I had a bag full of tungsten, brass, and lead.

  I did my ‘hair and makeup’ and texted my parents I was ready for a pickup.

  I also sent a message to Hannah that I had the thing she’d asked me for, and I’d be bringing it with me to the party since it was convenient. I might need her to meet me downstairs to pick it up.

  She confirmed a moment later.

  I didn’t wait long for my ride to show up, and I got in the back of the SUV. Melody looked great, but even better than that was seeing her face when she saw my dress.

  We got to the gallery a bit early, which was good, because it looked like the turnout for the event was going to be massive.

  Our VIP passes got us in without a bunch of hassle or questions, and I was able to meet Hannah outside the entrance to the top floor.

  Melody and my parents went into the event area. I stepped aside with Miss Milita into a quiet alcove lined with paintings.

  She gave me a once-over, head to toe, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t think you were into those kinds of outfits, Morgan,” she said, speaking quietly, even though we were in a fairly secluded little area.

  I grinned. “You know, I bought this a year ago, but never worked up the nerve to wear it? I’ve been pushed outside my comfort zone lately. I think bold and blue suits me a bit better nowadays.”

  Her voice went a touch lower. “I hear that. And– again, sorry about earlier.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s… It’s okay, really. I misjudged the situation and what was going on, and was starting to get myself more worked up than I would have been otherwise.”

  She nodded. “Everyone’s been under a lot of stress lately. It’s been happening more and more.”

  “Alright, well. Happy birthday. Here’s a poorly wrapped present for you.” I unzipped my handbag, pulled out the sealed baggie, and held it out to her.

  Her eyes widened when she saw the sheer number of objects and the material. She looked from the bag up to me.

  It was funny. I was taller than her in these heels. I shrugged a little and gave her a what? look.

  “You really did that?” She asked.

  Frustration flared, but I pushed it down and nodded.

  “Miss Militia, I really don’t have a reason to lie about this kind of thing. Besides padding my ego, it doesn’t serve a purpose. And I try, at least, not to lie to myself.”

  She leaned down and slid the bag into one of the lower cargo pockets on her fatigue pants.

  Straightening, she said: “Well. We get a lot of fantastic claims. Most of them are just that. You have to take everything with a grain of salt.”

  I nodded again. “I get that. I suppose I should head inside. I want to congratulate everyone, and hopefully have a relaxing night for the first time in weeks.”

  She chuckled and turned around. “Yeah, I hear that. Let’s head on in. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

  The thought tugged my heartstrings just a bit, but this was a celebration. No crying allowed.

  I entered the party area.

  The room was huge, a two-story glass-topped atrium rather than another gallery space. No art installations here, just open space, natural light, and elegance by design.

  Honestly? It was beautiful. But I suppose that was the point.

  The place was getting fairly full of all sorts of well-to-do people. It was also packed with capes. All the capes. Pretty much every Protectorate and Wards member in the city was present. There were a number of PRT officers with containment foam sprayers stationed in small squads around the room, too.

  I made a beeline for where the Wards were.

  Wait. Do they know too? I didn’t even think about the potential that they’d been briefed on my identity. Wards have access to some of the PRT records, but not all. A lot of it is gated behind access levels.

  Well. Too late now.

  I approached them, and two guys in dark suits stepped forward and put their hands out to bar my passage. I blinked a moment.

  Oh. Right.

  Probably wanted to see my invite.

  I was looking in my small handbag when someone put their hand on my arm. I glanced up.

  Victoria.

  And–

  Wow.

  She was also wearing a pretty killer dress, although maybe not quite as daring as mine. Mine showed a bit more skin than hers did, but she filled hers out.

  My ears burned, and I flashed a huge grin at her. She returned it, then turned to the two men. “She’s with us, she’s cool. Oh, wait–” She looked around, then turned to me. “We should get Melody, too.”

  I gazed around, then saw her returning from a drink station with a ginger ale or something in hand. I waved to get her attention, and when she saw who I was with, she hurried over.

  The three of us passed the soft perimeter security that was keeping watch around the Wards. It wasn’t a static thing, just what I assumed were PRT officers who were politely keeping people at a respectful distance. The capes could still mingle. People were.

  I said hello to my friends, including the ones I didn’t get to see as often.

  Namely Missy.

  Dennis was in his ‘Clockblocker, but not actually’ mode, cracking jokes and cutting up.

  Chris was mumbling and didn’t seem to be able to get two coherent sentences out.

  I didn’t see Sophia, although I expected she was around here somewhere.

  Carlos was all easy smiles, and we chatted a little. I showed off my dress for him, and he hit me with some heartfelt compliments. We shared a little moment briefly.

  I stepped forward to give him a hug before moving on. We whispered a few things back and forth.

  “Since when did you get so good at wearing heels? I remember you wearing ones half that height and tripping everywhere at Junior Prom.”

  “Oh my god, shut up, Carlos!” I laughed. “Yes, I’ve uh–been practicing. Are you happy everything is over now?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. The bomb scare, with the big one? I was afraid things were going to end badly. We were caught off guard by it, almost no time to react.”

  I gripped him by the shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

  He had a nice sports coat on. It flattered his frame: broad shoulders, tapered waist. Athletic. “Never doubted you for a minute, and I know you had faith in them too.”

  He dropped his gaze first and grinned, a boyish, almost bashful thing that was rare to see on him these days. “I did. They’re great. I’m so proud of everyone.”

  I clapped him on one shoulder, then leaned in once more.

  “You take care of yourself, Carlos, okay? I know it’s been a hard couple of weeks. You look tired. Give yourself permission to take a break. Even if you’re only doing it for them.”

  He glanced up, his gaze sharp, and clenched his jaw. Then he nodded quickly.

  I smiled. “Catch you later, I want to see the others before things get crazy.”

  I headed over to see Missy.

  She was the youngest member on the team, only thirteen, if I was remembering correctly. She was the most powerful, too. An astonishing Shaker 9. Anything ten or higher was considered a potentially extreme level threat. Considering she could warp and twist space in a pretty wide area around herself, she certainly deserved such high rankings.

  She was very mature for her age, often being more serious than some of the sixteen or seventeen-year-olds on the team.

  We always got along, I’d even say we were pretty close, until my parting with the team.

  She hadn’t talked to me much since then. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was just busy or if it was because her feelings were hurt.

  Probably both.

  She was sitting at a big table they had set up for the Wards by herself, down at one end. She had her phone out under the table like it was math class.

  Texting, browsing the web.

  It was so her to be doing what I assumed was work-related stuff at a party, partly for her.

  I walked around behind her and took a seat next to her, turning the chair to face her at a forty-five-degree angle.

  She tapped a few more times on the phone, then looked over.

  Confusion washed over her face for a moment. I think she thought I was someone else initially.

  Probably Victoria…

  I tested the waters with a big smile and held my hands out, if she wanted to take them. Her call.

  She clacked her phone on the table and practically lunged forward and grabbed me in a wicked hug, her face crammed in my chest.

  I laughed, loudly, and hugged her back.

  I spoke down to the top of her head: “If you get boogers on my dress, I’m tying you into a knot in front of all these people.”

  She pulled back with a snerk and a grin.

  Her eyes were watery, though.

  I held my hands out to her again, and she took them.

  “Morgan, I–” she started.

  I shook my head.

  She canted hers in silent question, and I squeezed her hands.

  She squeezed back.

  “Missy. I’m sorry.”

  Her brows drew together. “For what?”

  I smiled a little. “For not saying goodbye first. For being a shitty friend and not keeping up with you this past month. For not being there with you through all of this shit.”

  Her lips tightened a little, and she blinked rapidly, then nodded. She squeezed my hands again.

  “I–thanks. I’m sorry too.”

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, I know everyone’s probably kissing your ass and wanting selfies with you and Dennis tonight, so I’ll keep this short and sweet.”

  “Thank you for keeping my family safe, and the rest of the team, too.”

  “You’re awesome. I wish I were like, five percent as capable as you are when I was your age.”

  She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Why’s it always about my age?”

  I chuckled. “Hey, I’m complimenting you here, not treating it like it’s a limiting factor like everyone else does. I’m just saying, when I was 13, I was like, all knees and elbows, awkward, and trying to run across a soccer field without eating grass.”

  I grinned. “You’re over here attending VIP galas and saving cities and shit.”

  I poked her on the thigh. “Making me worry that you’re going to clown on me when you’re my age.”

  “Pft!” she exclaimed, then came back in to hug me again. I hugged her back, then we sat back in our chairs.

  “Have you been holding up alright?” I asked her.

  She nodded, glanced over the crowded room, then turned back to me, her voice low: “Is it bad that like… It’s easier when it’s busy and hectic?”

  I drummed my fingers on my lap and glanced down at them.

  Funny, I didn’t try and make my nails black. When did that happen?

  “No, I get it. It’s weird, isn’t it? You almost feel bad about it. But for me, it’s like… I’m more myself when stuff is going on.”

  She nibbled her lower lip, then nodded. “Yeah. Same for me.”

  I grinned, I couldn’t help it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Guess it just means we really like our jobs.”

  She groaned and reached for her phone, which had started vibrating on the table.

  I stood up. “You try and enjoy yourself some tonight, okay? I’ll be around, maybe we can catch up later.”

  Missy’s eyes wandered over me, and she tilted her head slightly.

  This time it was my turn to ask: “What?”

  She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “You look different than the last time I saw you.”

  A mild sense of dread crept up from my gut.

  Did something slip? Do I have blue skin showing?

  “You seem…” she started to say.

  I had a little smile frozen on my face, but I sure wasn’t feeling it at the moment.

  “I don’t know, more confident, maybe? You’ve always had that going on, but… It’s different. Hard to describe.”

  She shrugged lightly. “Still confident. But more sure of yourself.”

  I smiled warmly at her and thought about it a little. I did feel pretty good at the moment.

  “Thanks!” I gave her a little wave and headed off to continue making the rounds.

  I looked around. I saw someone else standing off by themselves.

  Amy.

  She was sipping a drink, facing my direction, where I’d been talking with Vista. We made eye contact for a moment, and she gulped a mouthful of her drink. I thought she was going to choke on it.

  She found something else to study all of a sudden, as I walked over to her, but those eyes kept darting back.

  I was grinning mischievously. Her social anxiety always cracked me up.

  She’s cute. Like, legitimately cute. She’d probably be well into downright pretty territory if she weren’t always hiding in frumpy stuff and folding herself into corners. I don’t mean to be mean to her, just… girl, let people actually see you.

  She stammered a little as I came up to her. “H-hey, Morgan. That’s uh– that’s a dress.”

  “Sure is! You like it?”

  She nodded.

  Too fast.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. She had on either a skirt or a dress, knee-length, pleated. High socks, with black flats, and a black cardigan. She looked nice.

  A little bit too put-together to be her idea. Probably Victoria’s doing.

  She went stiff. I pulled her into a hug, and she was practically like a rag doll.

  I whispered to her: “You look nice too, Amy, but you’d look even nicer if you straightened up a little and joined the rest of us.”

  I squeezed her, and I swear the poor thing squeaked like a dog toy.

  I pulled back.

  She was beet red.

  “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Amy. Just teasing you to try and get you to enjoy yourself a little.” I explained quickly.

  She is standing up straighter! Small victories.

  “O-oh, you didn’t, I just…” She fiddled with her skirt with one hand. “I’m not good with social stuff like this.”

  I gave her shoulders a little squeeze. I wish I could just give the girl a shot of Vitamin C. Confidence, not citric acid.

  I lowered my voice so that the two of us would hear. It wasn’t hard; there was a good amount of background burble with the two or three hundred people in the room enjoying themselves.

  “Amy, I’m not trying to be pushy. I know your sister probably tells you this stuff too, but maybe it’ll hit differently from someone else.”

  I nudged her. “You’re cute, dummy.”

  She coughed, fumbled her drink slightly, and stared down at the bubbles.

  I gave her a tiny, playful shake by the shoulders. “I know the Bay isn’t… the best for people like us, but I am sure there are girls out there who think you’re the cat’s meow.”

  I smiled at her. “You just gotta let yourself be seen. Meet people. Let others see how great you are.”

  Amy laughed nervously and took a sip of her drink. “Heh, yeah, uh. Maybe, I guess.”

  She glanced down at her soft drink. She didn’t look up. Not right away.

  “Morgan?” She asked, her voice small.

  “Mhm?”

  “What if I’m not?”

  A pause.

  “A great person, I mean. You know, everyone sees the robes and… Panacea, but not me.”

  “Come here,” I said.

  I didn’t give her the option to refuse. I pulled her into a hug and held her tightly.

  In the little bubble between just the two of us, I said: “You know, people don’t see me, either. Better than anyone else.”

  She nodded against my chest.

  I spoke, just above a whisper. Words for only us. “I’m officially a bad guy now. Did I suddenly grow a cartoon mustache and goatee?”

  She shook her head.

  “You be who you want to be. Not the version other people expect. We get judged by our actions, right?”

  I pulled her back a bit so I could see her face. She was blushing again, head cast down, and her lower lip was trembling just slightly.

  Uh oh. Better cut to the chase before we have a waterworks incident.

  I placed my thumb on her chin and index finger on her jaw, and lifted, ever-so-gently. She moved along with me, not forced. Her gaze met mine.

  “You love your family. You care about your friends. You want to protect them, right?” I whispered to her.

  She bobbed her head, small but deliberate.

  I smiled at her.

  “Those are noble traits, Amy. Your desire to protect and help those you care about means you’re a good person, even if you don’t see it in yourself. And I know your family and friends love you back. They see that in you. Everything else? That’s secondary.”

  Her eyes were watery.

  She was blinking hard, trying to keep tears from falling.

  “What… What if I don’t want to do it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being Panacea. Healing people. Fighting…” She swallowed.

  I leaned in, brought my face close enough that I could see my reflection in her eyes. Tuned out the noise of the party, the lights, the room, the world.

  “Then don’t,” I said quietly.

  “The world will go on. People might die. But that happens even if the only thing you did was heal people twenty-four hours a day.”

  I swallowed too, a knot in my chest twisting a little tighter.

  This was brushing against my own truths. Maybe that made it more honest. Maybe I could get my point across through the layers of doubts and defenses. The same I harbored in my own chest.

  “Some people will judge you for it.” I gestured at myself. “Same with me, and the way I look. It’s unavoidable.”

  “But the people whose feelings and opinions you should be concerned with? They’ll support you. And if they don’t? Then you find people who will. ”

  I leaned in a bit closer, turned her face just slightly to the side, and kissed her cheek.

  She went still.

  I didn’t pull away. Not right away. I brought my mouth near her ear and murmured: “If nobody else in the world will, I will. Always. Know that.”

  When I pulled back, she was flushed, her expression unreadable, caught between tears and something else.

  I chuckled softly and fished a tissue out of my bag. Handed it to her. She wiped her cheeks. I wiped mine.

  “Best part of my power?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. “No mascara runs.”

  That got her. She let out a snort-laugh. Fast, undignified, and cute.

  “And Amy? You know your sister is ride-or-die for you. Vicky would walk through hell for you.”

  She nodded fiercely. I could see it in her face how much she needed that reminder.

  Something occurred to me. A thought I didn’t want to leave unsaid.

  “Amy?”

  She looked up at me.

  “I was nice, but now I gotta box your ears in,” I told her quietly.

  She blinked, looking confused.

  “I think you’re lying to yourself about something big.”

  Her jaw flexed, and her eyes bored into my own.

  “The most animated, passionate, and out of your silly turtle shell I’ve ever seen you in the years we’ve known each other is the night I was… having issues, and after the time you and your sister got attacked at the bank.”

  I gave her a moment to catch up. Her brows pulled together, gears turning.

  “You might not like the way it makes you feel because it’s strange, alien, and unpleasant, but Amy, I think you’re a fighter at heart.”

  I watched it hit her. Just a glimmer. The seed of doubt in her doubt.

  I pushed her harder. I could feel she was so close.

  I stepped beside her and threw an arm around her shoulder, and leaned in to talk to her. My voice low. I pointed across the room.

  “You’re telling me you wouldn’t turn this place upside-down if she were in trouble?”

  Amy followed my finger to Victoria, chatting and laughing with Melody and Dennis.

  She looked between them and me.

  Then she nodded.

  I gave her a soft side-hug. “That means you’re a fighter, dummy. Most people hate the feeling at first. It’s called the jitters for a reason. It’s your body waking up. If you want to keep true to yourself, learn to work with it. I think… no, I know you’ll be happier with yourself if you do.”

  “W–” She coughed, took a sip of her drink, then cleared her throat.

  I let her breathe and work through whatever she was struggling with.

  She looked at Vicky, carefully, quietly. I saw something flicker in her expression.

  Not taking her eyes off them, she asked softly: “Would you help me with that?”

  I turned my head, and she met my eyes. Searching. Unsteady, but burning with something serious.

  I cracked into a grin. A real one. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to! Hell, it’d give me something to do. Might make my life feel a little bit more like it used to.”

  I turned my face to look at Melody, and my smile softened. Became a bit more wistful.

  That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?

  Amy slipped my arm off her shoulders and, without warning, wrapped both arms around my neck. She stood on tiptoes, tugged herself up awkwardly, and kissed me on the cheek.

  I blinked my eyes rapidly. Then I laughed, bright and airy. Grinning like an idiot, I looked down at her, and I saw a smile crack her lips. I gave her a quick hug, then she let me go.

  “Go, enjoy the party, dummy. Hang out with your sister, my sister, and the Wards. Go sneak some alcohol from the bar.”

  She gasped and gave me a scandalized look.

  I glanced innocently upwards, towards the skylights, and started to whistle like I hadn’t said a thing.

  I frowned.

  What’s that?

  The air inside the atrium resounded with a massive WHUMP!

  Two more followed, along with screeching sounds of straining metal.

  Breaking glass.

  Vicky’s eyes darted up, fast. Instinct. I saw her scan the ceiling, then the crowd lightning fast, looking for Amy.

  I had my arm around her.

  Our eyes met. A moment of communication at the speed of light passed between us. Shared understanding, shared goals.

  She grabbed Melody.

  I grabbed Amy.

  A breath.

  A nod.

  Then, darkness.

  The Undersiders.