“I’m worried, Elias,” Allacia says, hugging her knees as she sits on the couch in our apartment looking like she’s about to cry. She’s serious - she almost never calls me by my name when speaking to me directly. And, honestly, I don’t blame her.

  “Fourteen days,” she continues, “tomorrow it will have been two full weeks since she just disappeared. I couldn’t even respond to her message because she sent it when we were both asleep. Something's wrong, it has to be.”

  “You still don’t believe it’s just a mission, like she said?” I ask, as I walk over and place a mug of hot tea on the coffee table in front of her. I sit down next to her as she grabs the mug and takes a sip, then begins leaning against me.

  “Of course not,” she answers, “What kind of mission has her not responding for more than a few days? Not the type we do, not without much more warning than that, and, even then, it would be given to someone with more experience.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, “but whatever it is has to be classified. If she was attacked or something, I’d have heard of it by now. People would be looking for her.”

  “You still haven’t picked up anything?” Allacia looks up at me with pleading eyes.

  To be honest, I’ve heard a ton, but none of it useful. The issue with relying on gossip to gather information is that half of it is mere speculation and another forty percent outright lies. Sorting through to find what’s helpful is part of the challenge, but telling Allacia all that would do no good, so I just shake my head sadly. The disappointment she allows to slip into her gaze makes my heart clench.

  “You know… it might help if I had a starting point,” I confess, "Did anything suspicious happen in the week leading up to her disappearance? Aside from her acting funny, I mean.”

  Allacia ponders the suggestion for a moment, sipping her tea again. I don’t miss the moment when her eyes widen in realization.

  “…that man…” she murmurs.

  “What man?” I ask.

  “Some man I’d never seen before wanted to speak to Charlie after our girls night,” Allacia says a little louder, “Tall, asian - probably japanese - with long black hair tied back, wielding a pair of katanas - one shorter than the other. I never got a good look at his face, but I caught his voice. I’m sure I could identify him if I saw him again.”

  As she finishes, I’m already typing the description into a group chat on my phone.

  “I’ve put out some feelers,” I say, hitting send, “let’s hope we turn something up - that sounds like it could be a real decent lead."

  “Yeah…” Allacia says, “I should have said something sooner, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I reply, giving her a warm smile, “I should have asked sooner myself. We both were just stressed, between work and worrying about Charlie. It must’ve slipped our minds.”

  Allacia makes a half-hearted noise of assent and leans into me more, snuggling up closer as the two of us sit in companionable silence. Naturally, I’m worried about Charlie as well, but Allacia is taking this really hard. I think she blames herself; both of us noticed Charlie was off, but she shot down my idea of confronting her about it, preferring to take a gentler approach.

  I just hope nothing’s wrong that can't be fixed, otherwise it will only get worse from here.

  Suddenly, my phone dings. I pull it up, and find to my surprise that I already have a response. Allacia hoists herself up to peer over my shoulder curiously as I read.

  “Brandon - from the Bronx, the lizard guy - says he saw a suspicious man matching your description at a motel while on patrol. He caught a picture, here: see if you can recognize him.” I show Allacia the photo, which she scrutinizes with a narrowed gaze. Then her eyes light up.

  “That’s him!” she exclaims, “I’m sure of it! The markings on that longer sword are the same as what I remember,” she scrambles to her feet, “Let’s go! If he was at a motel, then he might still be there!”

  Allacia runs over to grab her coat and put it on hastily as I pry myself from the couch with a sigh. Normally I appreciate her energy - keeps me motivated - but this time…

  “He might not be there, babe,” I remind her, “The picture’s from three days ago. We should be ready for this to be a long investigation.”

  “I know that,” Allacia responds, “but I’m still going. I have to do everything I can to help Charlie; she’s our friend.”

  “I know, babe,” I say, “that’s why I like you.”

  —

  I weigh the paper bag carefully in my hand, feeling it out - about half a pound lighter than last time, if I had to say. The butcher’s getting stingy - might be he suspects something. If so, I should find somebody new next time. Or maybe that’s just all the beef five-fifty gets me. Still, probably better to find a more generous supplier. Rhea alone eats too much for this little to last long.

  I take the scenic route back home, my steps light. I’ve been restless ever since Charlie sent me that message. “Will be out of the city for a bit. Not sure how long. Sorry.” That’s all I got. The apology at the end almost feels worse than otherwise.

  I push a little heat into my legs to add some pep to my step, and begin eating away at the two miles between here and home. Arguably a bit paranoid to be walking so far to run errands, but, should I be recognized, it’s far too easy for someone to track me all the way back. That goes for both heroes and… other concerns.

  The route I take goes through a rougher part of town - in fact, I’m there now - but it’s not much of an issue for me. Less heroes overall might actually be a good thing, and I have no issues dealing with the average thug.

  I pass through a narrow alleyway between a liquor store and a laundromat, walking beside neon graffiti and littered cigarettes alike, when I hear a noise from behind me. I turn to look and find a trio of men sneaking into the alley after me.

  “Speak of the devil,” I mutter under my breath as I turn to face them.

  They look so stereotypical of criminals that I almost laugh. There’s a man with a ratlike face and a scar under his left eye, an excessively lanky one carrying a baseball bat, and, at the center, a young looking one with tousled hair and his hands in his pockets, a smug look plastered on his face. He grins freakishly upon seeing that I’ve noticed them.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he says, “what’s a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  “That line ever work out for you?” I ask nonchalantly, setting down the bag by my feet.

  “Not really,” he admits smugly, “but that’s never stopped me before.” he and the others chuckle as if hearing a joke only they are privy to. I roll my shoulders, loosening up.

  “I’ll give you one warning,” I say, “but only because I’m nice. Personally, I’d prefer it if you didn’t leave, because then I’d get to work out some stress.”

  The three men share a look. Then burst out laughing.

  “You?!” the leader wails, “What are you gonna do, pepper spray us? Dumb bitch, you aren’t scaring anybody.”

  You can hardly scare me, Luó wén.

  My blood goes cold.

  I feel my hands begin to shake. My breathing starts to become uneven. I take a step back, then another. My mind races; I see his face, his accursed smile. Not here, I can’t do this here, not now, it isn’t safe. I can’t…I musn’t…I have to…

  “What’s the matter, finally figured out what kind of situation you’re in here?”

  I stumble, pressing onto the wall of the alley for support. My eyes unfocus, I no longer see where I am now - just a room, painted orange by flickering candlelight, and the horrible smile of the monster standing in it.

  No matter how strong you get, I’m still me, and you’ll always just be…you.

  “Hey, boss, I think she’s really freakin’ out there.” The men chuckle.

  The monster lays his hand on my shoulder. The grip is strong, with an unnatural energy just below the surface. I want to pull away, but I can’t.

  It’s better this way. I’m sure you’ll come to see that in time.

  I run.

  —

  All things considered, we get incredibly lucky.

  It’s not just that someone had a lead for us mere minutes after Allacia provided the description - though admittedly that’s also unusual - but we somehow managed to catch the guy right as he’s leaving the motel.

  “There,” Allacia whispers as she nods in the direction of a man in a black trenchcoat who just stepped outside one of the motel’s first floor rooms. Give her a soft nudge to acknowledge - both of us are trying to be subtle given how little we know about who we’re dealing with.

  The man in question fits the description quite well: I spot the long, black hair almost immediately and I have no trouble believing he could easily hide a pair of swords underneath that massive coat. He also seems to move with a lithe grace I’ve only seen in individuals with some extent of combat training. If nothing else, he’s as suspicious as they come. I too would’ve made note of him if I'd seen him on patrol - if not outright stopped him to ask some questions.

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  He leads us on a winding path through the outskirts of the city as we follow as close behind as we’re willing to risk. On multiple occasions, he pulls us through crowds and I almost lose sight of him. He’s being rather careful, almost too much so.

  “I think we’ve been noticed,” I whisper to Allacia, “He’s acting like someone who’s trying to shake a tail - and knows what they’re doing.” She nudges me in acknowledgement.

  Without the slightest warning, the man suddenly dips into an alleyway. Allacia and I share a look; we both have a bad feeling, but we can’t stop here. I pull upon the power of Ink, using a tortoise tattoo to reinforce my body, and slip ahead of Allacia, stepping into the alley first.

  Even with the boost, the blade sinks about a quarter inch into my neck.

  It rips free, as I gag from the sudden pressure on my throat. Without tortoise up, I would’ve lost my head - that speed was faster than I can match without a boost in that field of my own. My hands come up to the wound, finding it mercifully mostly dry. Only a little bit of blood wells out - he missed anything too vital.

  I duck to the side as Allacia hurls a trio of bubbles in retaliation. The man swipes his sword at them, knocking them aside, but that attack succeeds in making him back up. I growl in rage and pull upon the power of a rhinoceros tattoo, then charge.

  It may not be as reliable as the tortoise, as versatile as a bird, or as flashy as a mythical creature, but, when rushing an opponent, there isn’t an option better. Even this man with all his blinding speed is caught by surprise as I barrel straight into him, using my body weight and the ability boost to knock him clean off his feet.

  Unfortunately, he seems unfazed by this, landing upright around ten feet back. He charges me again, one hand on the sword still sheathed at his side. Dimly, I realize that’s an important detail as I raise my arms just in time to get in the way of his striking blade. I howl in pain as the attack cuts as deep as my bones, but blessedly goes no further.

  Just before he can pull back again, I reach forward and grab his sword with my left hand, his blade still stuck in my right arm. Once again, I switch sets, calling on one of my most powerful - the kraken, for perfect motor control and an iron grip. He tries to free himself, but I hold fast. A wind explodes into being around me, buffeting me relentlessly - an ability, no doubt - but clearly my opponent underestimates me. Still refusing to let go, I slam him into the wall of the alley. He drops his sword and I grab him by the wrist, pulling him away from the wall again.

  And right into Allacia’s attack.

  He crumples to the ground as she slams a bubble right into his chin. The moment he falls, I relax, letting him collapse unimpeded. I slump back against the wall feeling hot blood continue to drip down my neck and especially my arm.

  Time to figure out what this guy’s deal is before I go into shock.

  —

  I’m panicking.

  All rational thought went out the window the moment I remembered his words. It was only on pure adrenaline-fueled instinct that I ran, but it only makes things worse. I try to calm down, but I can hardly ground myself when the ground beneath my feet keeps changing. I can hear the sounds of people following me, and my brain says it’s him and I can’t even think. I could run faster, I know I can, but I’d need focus and confidence and I have neither.

  So I just keep running, like the scared little girl that the thought of him makes me feel like I still am. I take turns without thinking, racing through the streets. Left, right, right, left, I wind my way through the city without any clue where I’ll end up.

  And then I run into a dead end.

  The men clamor in, huffing and cursing as they block my only escape. I press up against the wall, my breathing just as hard for a completely different reason. In my mind, their faces are the faces of his men.

  “Y…you’re…gonna…pay…for…making…me…run…you…bitch,” the leader of the men ekes out between heavy breaths. He stumbles forward, drawing a pocketknife, his face red and perspiring.

  Then suddenly his minions both stumble forward, falling flat on their faces. I see him turn just in time to get socked in the jaw. A man with bony protrusions coating his arms steps forward, wearing one of those small hero masks that covers none of the face.

  “Are you okay, miss?” he asks me, “Don’t be alarmed, for I, the Spinosaur, will protect you from these lowlife thugs.” A hero, just my luck. I try to settle my mind, knowing that if he doesn't recognize me I am safe. I try focusing on the floor, on my breathing, but I just can’t. My mind refuses to think I’m safe.

  “Miss?” the hero reaches his hand towards me.

  I slap it away, rushing past him in the moment of surprise then whirling back around to face him again. I begin to back away, eyes never leaving his confused gaze.

  “Wait…I’ve seen you before,” he says, “Sorry, miss, but I think I'm going to need you to stay a little while longer.” He starts walking toward me again. I back up more.

  Until I back up into something solid.

  I look up. Looking back down at me is a face I recognize: Rhea. Seeing it, more memories come flooding into my mind, but, this time, they’re different. I see the smile on her face when she first told me that she would help me escape. I see her grasping the monster’s wrist, staring at him with violence in her eyes. I see her righteous fury; I see her protecting me.

  And I began to cry.

  Rhea’s gaze softens.

  “Fucking hells, Rowan,” she says, more pity than anger in her voice, “What happened to you?” She looks up again, at the hero.

  “You,” she mutters under her breath, “Hero.”

  The venom in her voice is strangely comforting in an eerie way - perhaps because it is not directed at me. She gently pushes me aside, striding toward the hero with rage in her eyes. I slump against the wall and continue to feel hot tears running down my face as she approaches him rapidly.

  “S-stay back,” the hero says in fear, “I’m warning you!”

  A pike materializes in her hand from nowhere. The hero charges; the blade slides right between his ribs. He dies without a sound, lifeless body collapsing in a pool of blood. I see Rhea flick her blade, splattering droplets of red in a line along the concrete.

  Then she turns back to me.

  It takes me another second to realize the men from before are dead too. Their bodies lay scattered by where they were knocked down by the hero, each and every one still. The hero did not do that, would never have done that.

  “T-thank you,” I weep, “Thank you.”

  Her pike disappears with a flash. She wraps me up in a hug, holding on tight. We stay like that for a moment, neither of us saying a word. When I finally stop crying, she pulls back.

  “It happened again, didn’t it,” Rhea whispers softly. It is not a question; I do not answer.

  “You could have defeated them easily,” she continues, “but you were scared. Not of them - not you. Something triggered you again, and it was worse than normal.”

  I shake my head, “It was just bad timing, it wasn’t-”

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was still this bad?”

  I look into her eyes and see nothing but disappointment. It only feels half directed at me.

  “I-I didn’t want you to worry,” I say, sniffling. All semblance of composure is gone - now that I feel safe my mind is trying to pick up the pieces.

  “I could’ve helped sooner,” she says, “and don’t even think about asking me not to help now. Not one year ago I fought a god among men for your sake, I’m sure as hell going to find you a new fucking therapist - especially here, it’ll take me a day at most.”

  I don’t respond, I just pull back in on myself.

  Rhea sighs, “Let’s get you home, kid.”

  —

  “Thank you for letting me help, Nightingale ma’am!” The cheery young girl wearing a kaleidoscope of fall colors says gratefully. I think her name is Dappled something-or-other; I feel bad for forgetting, but she's a newbie and I’m terrible with names.

  “It was a pleasure,” I reply with a smile, “Your ability is incredibly useful for reconnaissance. I might ask for you again if my usual guy is busy.”

  The girl beams, “I would love that, thank you!” She then bows at me respectfully before scampering off. I turn and survey the scene before me.

  I may have gone a little bit overboard, to be entirely honest. After the rookie informed me how the villain’s base was fortified, pulling the roof down on her minions’ heads just seemed like the most logical option. Is it my fault so many of them got severely injured? Probably, but at least I avoided any fatalities. That’s a win in my book.

  You’re okay with all this? The words suddenly come to mind, of that young hero from not too long ago. Why do I have to recall those now? I shake myself, and try my best to focus. I can’t get wrapped up in all that now.

  I try checking my phone for new messages, but there isn’t enough to distract me. I survey the scene one more time but find nothing new. My mind just has a will of its own sometimes and now is one of those times: I can’t stop thinking about that young hero.

  “Fuck!” I curse out loud after a few more moments of this. A pair of EMTs splinting a minion’s broken bone flinch.

  “Sorry, not you,” I say, mortified. I pull upon spacetime around me and begin to drift upward, local gravity reversing to allow me to fly away. The exercise is one more last-ditch effort to clear my mind, but after a few seconds I notice I’ve been unconsciously flying back towards the Bowl - back to where Jonathan is. Back to where I can learn more about her. After realizing, I just decide to go with it. I can’t help myself.

  I conjure up more gravity to pull open the window to his office and just float in, settling down in front of him. He doesn’t even look up from the paper strewn across his desk.

  “Hey, Johnny boy. Sorry to drop in, but I was curious about that young hero from before - Frontracer, I wanna say?”

  That makes him look up, a scowl marring his otherworldly handsome face. It’s a damn shame he’s so grumpy, honestly. I might’ve been into that otherwise.

  “Frontrunner. Why do you ask?” he says precisely.

  “Just curious, like I said. You told me I wouldn’t need to worry about her anymore; you didn't kill her or something, right?” I tell him with a perfect smile. He doesn't seem to notice.

  “I placed her on temporary exile for interfering with a reaper mission,” he replies, not noticing me wince as he looks back down at his work, “She’s with Multishot, out in Southern New Jersey. It’s been about two weeks now.”

  “Two week exile to the sticks?” I helpfully summarize, “That’s a little harsh.”

  “On the contrary,” Jonathan remarks, “had anyone else done what she had, I would have simply killed them.” I cringe inwardly. The man I’ve known for years is just as harsh as he’s always been.

  “Was it really all that bad?” I ask.

  “She attacked a reaper for doing his job,” he replies, “and had been attempting to gather information on the organization for some time before that. Had I done nothing, she could’ve seriously jeopardized our operations here in the city. She needed to be shown that her actions have consequences.”

  “Okay, that does sound bad,” I admit a little sheepishly, “but maybe there was a better way to handle her? I mean, from what I remember, she’s quite the virtuous soul. It may have been more effective to recruit her than punish her, you know?”

  “May I remind you just how dangerous what she attempted is?”

  “I mean-”

  “We’re losing, Violet,” Jonathan interrupts, looking back up at me, “Badly. We cannot afford to be any less than perfect, to let ourselves lose even one battle. We do not have the capacity to recover should a damned of any sufficient strength rampage within a city. Everything we’ve built has a precarious balance and it was almost upset by a hero barely past her rookie years. I cannot allow that to continue."

  “Well, dammit, John, but if it’s that bad then have you ever considered she might just be right?” I say before I can stop myself.

  I continue, “Maybe we should try something new, try letting heroes at least in on what happens behind the curtain. If even half of the USC’s heroes doubled as reapers, we’d have more than we could ever possibly need. Have you even considered that?”

  The most powerful man in the country stares at me in silence for a moment, and, for the briefest instant, I’m reminded of just how much I’d taken that for granted.

  “You used to agree with how we do things,” Jonathan states.

  “Yeah, well, some of what she said just got to me, is all,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing.

  Jonathan turns back to his desk.

  “We can continue this conversation when she returns,” he says, “In the meantime, do us both a favor and consider for a moment just how much you’re willing to risk on the whims of an inexperienced young girl.”

  I face the floor.

  “It’s not just her…” I whisper.

  But nobody cares.