The next few days blurred past faster than I expected.

  I attended classes online with my laptop for obvious reasons. I was effectively grounded on the first floor of my apartment with the shades down and curtains drawn. I was pretty sure I could crawl out the front or back door without breaking anything, but that presented a much bigger problem: being a giant blue sea creature-bug-tentacle-lizard thing running around Brockton Bay. I knew I’d have to face that reality sooner or later, but for now, I was putting it off while I tried to decide just how exactly I was going to go about doing it.

  I had a lot of free time I wasn’t at all used to having all of a sudden when I wasn’t in classes. The boredom was pretty bad at times, but I didn’t feel like it ever got too far out of my grasp. I was stuck more or less in place and reliant on others for essentials. Right now, things were very tightly under wraps, with Victoria and Amy helping to bring over food, which I was going through at a staggering pace, and other odds and ends that were easy for me to interact with. I was for sure starting to get cabin fever pretty badly, though.

  With so much unexpected free time, I kept myself busy in a few ways. Most of it was spent getting to know my body: learning how to move, how to control my new limbs, and how to avoid breaking things by accident. I ran experiments with my changer power, testing what I could shift and what limits I had. And when I wasn’t focused on that, I was catching up with people. My phone had exploded with messages since my parting with the PRT. Over a hundred unread texts from my old teammates in the Wards, a few members of the Protectorate, and even Dragon.

  The reactions from my fellow Wards were a bit mixed but generally supportive of me. Missy was mad at the PRT about how things went. I didn’t want to tell her the full, brutal truth of what Armsmaster had said to me. Carlos was sad to see me go, said he was going to miss his sparring partner, and that the team just wouldn’t be the same without me. Dennis cracked jokes to try and lighten things up, and I appreciated that. Sarcastic, mostly. But he meant well. Chris offered to make me some stuff for flying solo very much under the table, and I told him I’d sincerely think about it. Dean gave me a sorta canned response, wishing me luck. Sophia had sent only a single message: Told you.

  That you did, Sophia. I should have listened sooner, but I doubt it would have changed the result.

  Experimenting with my ability to change myself was an interesting experience. I felt a bit less inhibited by my prior hangups. I already looked like a monster in my mind. What difference did it make if the end of one of my hair tentacles had a claw or spike on it? Modifying myself was easier. I could get what I needed, where and how I wanted it, no struggle. I wasn’t sure if it was my growing confidence, a natural improvement in my control, or something else entirely. I could change fairly minor things, seemingly up to a certain percentage of my mass or volume–I wasn’t certain on that–but I wasn’t having any luck shifting my entire self.

  The idea of being stuck like this forever… that was a source of real, existential dread. But one thing kept that fear at bay. Each day, I had been testing my ability to shift back to human. Not only was I getting better at it, but I could push further each time.

  Monday, I managed just my forearms down. Normal skin, hair, nails. On Tuesday, I managed my head, hair, and face, which looked absolutely ghastly on my massive blue body. By Wednesday, I could shift both lower arms, legs, face, and even part of my torso.

  I kept feeling like there was a limit or something in my head, though. I could make parts of my body look normal, but I was still big, and I couldn’t get rid of the extra stuff I’d grown, like the big arms, wings, or tail. My mass was more or less the same, and while things had been promising, I had hit a sort of roadblock. I also couldn’t hold the changes I had been making.

  Holding those changes kept my power active. For the first few hours, I was fine. But then a fatigue would creep in, building until it became impossible to ignore. Testing for it specifically on Wednesday, I found that around six hours was when it started getting sorta bothersome, and by the end of the school day, when I had been using my human-shifted lower arms, I was feeling it pretty strongly. Letting go, returning to my full form? It eased the pressure. Let me rest. Recover.

  I had never pushed this hard with training my power when I was still Phoenix Strike. I hadn’t dared.

  Thursday morning I broke through. A huge, huge breakthrough. I woke up feeling like that thing in my head was gone, so I tried to see if I could push for a full change. Sitting cross-legged on my kitchen floor, I closed my eyes and really pictured being the me I knew the best and drawing on my power. I felt the strangest sensation, a tugging sensation deep in my chest. The floor shifted under me as something moved–my tail and my wings rustling as they slid across the floor. I felt like five, maybe ten minutes had passed. At the end, I was grinning ear to ear. Eyes still closed. I could tell.

  The kitchen floor was cold against my bare legs and ass. Hair tickled my upper back. My hands, smooth and clawless, rested on my thighs. Opened my eyes and looked down. Breasts, nipples stiff with cold. Creamy skin. Blonde hair. Hands. Feet. Nails. Elation surged through me, and I let out a shout: “YES!” It sounded like me to my ears. I got up, testing my weight and strength, hopping up and down on the floor, bare-assed naked. I was me, but I wanted to be sure.

  I sprinted up the stairs, into the bathroom, and inspected every inch. Head to toe, using both my wall and hand mirrors. I was perfect, or should I say: perfectly imperfect Morgan. I still had a couple of birthmark freckles on the back of my hands. I had eyebrows that were just a bit too thick by my estimation. I left the bathroom, peeked at the clock next to my bed, then jumped into the shower.

  Holy shit, I have missed this.

  I was elated, grinning nonstop. But even that high couldn’t drown out the nagging thoughts. Even though I was back to being me, I felt like things were sort of off, oddly enough. It wasn’t just smell and sounds that felt dulled. My vision, god, my vision was completely different. Blurry, fuzzy, like I’d gone from high-definition back to an old TV. When I was stuck in my other form, I could read a snack bag’s ingredient list from twenty feet away. Now? I couldn’t make out the fine print on the shampoo bottle on the shelf in my shower. It was disorienting, and I hated it. I felt smaller, sure. But the world felt smaller, too. That I hadn’t expected.

  I could also feel my power was active in the back of my mind, the same way it had been when I’d been experimenting over the past few days. I had a strong suspicion I wouldn’t be able to stay like this forever–and that sucked–but it was a problem for later. Something to test. Something to understand. Maybe my control would keep improving the more I used it.

  For now, I was ecstatic.

  Towling off, I tossed on some underwear, athletic shorts, and a sweatshirt, and headed back downstairs to get ready to go to virtual classes. I sat on my couch instead of the floor for the first time in days, kicked my legs out across the cushions, wiggled my toes, and logged on with my laptop.

  The school day flew by. I had the option to attend classes live, like I was doing now, or use the self-paced interactive system for the day’s material and turn in assignments digitally. Our school’s online system was honestly a blessing. And because I had been a Ward, I was allowed to attend with very little restrictions on my schedule and attendance, provided I was logging my hours and getting my work and projects done on time.

  When the school day ended at two, I leaned back into the armrest and stretched with a yawn. I had gotten up a few times throughout the day, during lunch, I grabbed a sports drink and made a normal-sized meal. That seemed to suit me just fine. I hit the restroom as well, which was something I seemingly didn’t need to have to do at all in my other form.

  Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure that body even had the equipment for waste disposal.

  My life had gotten weird when I triggered. This was just the latest flavor of strange, and on a much larger scale than before.

  As the hours ticked by, I felt that familiar pressure slowly building behind my eyes. But it wasn’t any worse than when I was just changing my limbs or head. That was a good sign. I checked the clock. It had been about six and a half hours since I’d shifted. The pressure was there, but faint. I figured I had a few more hours left in the tank.

  And I really wanted to get the hell out of this apartment.

  There were also things I needed to do around here. Basic stuff I hadn’t been able to handle in days, thanks to my bulk and the limitations of being stuck in one place.

  Heading upstairs, I grabbed my toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, and a bunch of toiletries and stuffed them in a makeshift XL travel bag. I hauled everything downstairs and set it on my kitchen countertop next to the sink. If I was going to be stuck downstairs again, I was going to make the best of it.

  I also grabbed my bedside alarm clock and plugged it into a wall socket in my living room, setting it on the carpet next to the wall where the living room and kitchen met. Then I headed back upstairs and dug through my closet, looking for something, anything, that wasn’t “lounging around the house” wear.

  That’s when my phone started ringing.

  I pulled it out and checked the screen. Local number. Not one I recognized.

  I answered and pinched the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could keep rummaging with both hands.

  “Hello? Ms. Rivera?” It was a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar but not one I recognized off the top of my head.

  Miss Rivera? Was this the school? A doctor’s office?

  “Yes, that’s me. Who’s calling?” I kept my voice purposefully cheerful.

  “It’s Taylor. Hebert? You gave me your card a couple of weeks ago?”

  Oh! She still sounds uncertain, but I remember that. She’d been a little awkward when we met.

  Honestly, I was glad to hear from her. After a few days with no call, I’d figured she either tossed my number or lost it.

  “Hey!” I said, and this time it wasn’t forced. “I’m glad you called. I thought you’d lost my number. And please, no Miss. It’s just Morgan.”

  There was a moment of silence from the other end before she spoke: “No, just been busy dealing with… things.” You and me both.

  “Did you- Are- Can you talk?” I remembered how I’d pegged her during the tour. Bad social anxiety.

  Hm. I did want to get out. Maybe…

  “Taylor, you sort of caught me right in the middle of getting dressed–”

  I flipped the phone between my ears to hear her saying: “...if you’re busy–”

  “Wait! I mean literally. I have my hands full of clothing.” I laughed a little. “I do want to talk! I was just about to head out. I’ve been going stir-crazy. Want to get a coffee or something? My treat. No pressure.”

  The line went quiet for a moment. Then: “Where?” “You go to Winslow, right? Are you on the north side of the city?”

  “Yeah. South of the Docks, west of the Boardwalk.”

  Older neighborhoods, I thought. Some are a little rough, but not terrible. And not too far from me either.

  “Oh, hey, that’s actually pretty close! Nice. You know the coffee shop with the bookstore in it? Right next to the good pizza place?”

  “Yeah,” she said. Then, almost like a confession: “I like that place. You can grab a book and read upstairs.”

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  “I know, right? Love it there. Cool. See you there in uhh… twenty or thirty minutes? I think I’m a little closer, I’ll just walk over after I get changed.”

  She came back with a “Sure,” and this time there wasn’t a pause or hesitation in her voice.

  “Awesome,” I said, grinning. “See you soon!”

  I decided on some high-waisted athletic leggings, loud sneakers, a crop top, and a hoodie. Grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys, I was out the door in no time at all.

  It was a beautiful day outside. Sunny and bright, the kind of early spring weather that still had a nip of cool in the air, but in a way that felt refreshing rather than cold.

  As I walked, my mind drifted. I really wanted to go back to school in person. I missed seeing my friends face-to-face. There was risk, of course. What if something went wrong? What if I slipped up, and lost my grip on the form? Worst-case scenario, I figured I could fake an emergency call and duck out. Teachers were usually understanding if you gave them something to work with. And it wasn’t like the PRT had updated my school about my new status. Not with graduation just over a month away.

  The coffee shop was warm and welcoming as I stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed beans and baking pastries hit me in the face like a long-overdue hug. God, I wanted a cup of coffee. I’d been downing water by the gallon all week, hydrating like a champ. But now craving something rich, with a little bite.

  I wasn’t picky when it came to drinks. Water was fine, great even. But I didn’t have a coffee maker at home, and I’d definitely been feeling it.

  Taylor walked in a few minutes later, a little flushed and lightly sweaty. She looked like she might’ve jogged part of the way.

  I waved and crossed over to meet her, smiling.

  We got into line at the front counter, and I asked her: “Hey! Did you run here? You didn’t have to do that!”

  She took a couple of deep breaths and nodded. “Yeah, but I wanted to. I’ve been trying to work on my fitness. Running most days, so this counts as my afternoon run.”

  “Oh, nice! I’m a–” The person in front of us finished their order, and I stepped up. “I’ll have a tall iced mocha, no toppings…” I glanced over at Taylor.

  “Is iced good? I’ve never tried cold coffee like that before.” I nodded emphatically and told her, “Swear by it. You can break into cold brew if you’re feeling brave, but iced is a solid gateway drink.”

  She turned to the barista. “I’ll try the same thing she’s having.”

  I eyed the glass display case with goodies in it, but decided against it. I asked Taylor, “You want anything to go with it? Their baked goods here are on point.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m actually trying to lose a little weight.”

  I gave her a very skeptical look, then swiped my card. She caught it and murmured, “Tell you later,” just a little quieter.

  We moved down the counter to the pickup area, and I picked up where I’d left off.

  “I’m a gym rat, honestly. Cardio, like that’s great, but I’ve really gotten into strength training the last couple of years.”

  “It shows,” she said.

  I grinned. “Thanks.” We picked up our drinks and made our way upstairs to the quieter seating area. It was early afternoon, and the space was mostly empty—just a few scattered patrons and a pair of students sharing a laptop—so we had our pick of cozy corners. We settled into one tucked away near a window, half-shaded by a hanging plant.

  I peeled off my hoodie, pulled an ottoman over, and sank into a plush armchair, throwing my legs up comfortably. Taylor took the matching chair opposite mine, angled conversationally across a little round table. She held her coffee in her hands. She glanced down at my bare midriff and let out a faint, frustrated huff.

  I stuck out my tongue at her.

  “Whenever I gain weight, it’s always right here.” She poked herself lightly in the stomach. “Nowhere else. Drives me crazy.”

  “Oh, I feel you. Is your family really tall and lanky, too?”

  She nodded, taking a cautious sip of her iced mocha. Then another, faster one. Her face lit up just a little.

  I grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Good, right?”

  She gave a small, enthusiastic nod, curls bouncing. “This is really good.”

  I took a sip of my own and glanced at her again. The dark, loose layers she wore were nearly identical to what she’d had on during the school tour. Hiding, I suspected. I tilted my head, curious.

  “You ever go to the gym?”

  She shook her head. “No. Only when we have to, for school.” Her tone was apologetic, like she thought that might earn judgment.

  I drummed my fingers on my spandex-clad thigh, thinking how best to phrase what I wanted to say. Girls our age, hell, girls of any age, got handed a hundred kinds of body shame to carry around. I’d seen it with my friends. I’d felt it myself. And now, I was juggling an entirely different kind of body image crisis on a whole other scale.

  So I eased into it.

  “You’ve probably got what’s called an ectomorphic body type. Tall, slim, fast metabolism, trouble putting on weight, especially muscle. Sound about right?”

  She furrowed her brow slightly, unsure. “Yeah… I guess?”

  “There are ways to kind of hack that. Cardio helps, sure. But it also trains your body to be more efficient. So you’ll lose weight, but you might also lose shape in places you don’t want to.”

  She frowned down at her coffee and adjusted her grip on the cup.

  “I don’t want to make assumptions about your goals,” I said, “but if you ever wanted, I could show you some training that helps with weight loss and adds lean muscle. The best part of strength training? You get to decide where you want to put it.”

  I offered her a smile, trying for supportive, not pushy.

  Taylor snorted. “Sounds like a lot of effort for a slightly different kind of scrawny.”

  But she didn’t shut it down.

  “I used to have a way slimmer build,” I told her. “Played soccer pretty seriously. You’ve gotta be in ridiculous cardio shape if you want to compete. I was. Then I got into a car accident and messed up my knee. And knees? They take forever to heal. I didn’t want to stop training, so I pivoted into strength work instead. That was… two years ago now. I still work out more than most people, but honestly? I’m really happy with where it’s taken me.”

  She looked up from her drink and met my eyes. Her expression was sharp now, attentive. “How old are you?”

  “I’m eighteen,” I said.

  She tapped her plastic cup. “Wait, seriously? Eighteen? I figured you were older.” She squinted. “And you work for the PRT? What, are you on some fast-track program?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out in a puff of air. “Worked. Past tense. I got let go less than a week ago.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Really? But… you were good at your job. Like, really good. You knew that place backward and forward.”

  Now it was my turn to contemplate my coffee. “Yeah. I thought I was doing well, but… I guess not. It was a shock for me too.” I took a long sip, letting the bitter flavor ground me. “I’m still figuring out how I feel about it. Trying to decide what comes next.”

  I looked up at her and gave her a wry grin. “You looking for a personal trainer? I offer rock-bottom prices.” I snickered at my bad joke. “Joking aside, I have a new gym membership right around the block from here. I can give you an unlimited guest pass. Most gyms love it when you bring someone along. Makes people more likely to stick with it.”

  I got an “I don’t know, maybe,” from the girl, and I considered it an improvement. I could tell I was making inroads, but she was twitchy. Still guarded, still half-ready to bolt. I’d have to handle her carefully if I wanted to keep that momentum.

  So I pivoted. “I’ve been talking your ear off. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  Her fingers tightened around her cup. “Is it… Okay if I ask you about PRT stuff?”

  I waved the idea off like it was no big deal. “Not at all. I’ll keep it honest, and I’ll try not to let my personal feelings color things too much. I’m an open book. Except the stuff I legally can’t talk about, of course.”

  She gave a ghost of a smile at that.

  “How did you get a job over there in the first place?”

  That one I’d have to bend the truth on. But I could stick pretty close to it.

  “I actually met one of the Wards a while back. We hit it off, became friends. Through him, I learned about some of the programs they don’t really advertise: invite-only internships, or stuff that needs a connection to get in. We’re still friends, which is nice. I need to hang out with him again soon, actually. Things have been… busy.”

  Taylor perked up a bit at the mention of a superhero, which was expected. People ate that stuff up. The Protectorate and Wards weren’t just part of the system; they were the face of it.

  “Who was it? Or is it?”

  No harm in sharing the alias, I figured.

  “Aegis. He’s a good guy, and I help him with training stuff sometimes.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Aegis? No way. Seriously?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, really, and I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.” I took a sip of my drink before continuing. “The thing most people don’t get about parahumans is that at the end of the day, they’re just people. People in masks. Costumes. And yeah, some of them are incredible, but they’re also just… human. People love to idolize them, to put them on pedestals. Sometimes it’s flattering, but mostly?" I made a face.

  “I think it messes with their heads. Badly.”

  “Like in the case of villains?”

  I pursed my lips and rocked my head from side to side as I weighed my words. “Villains are tricky. Sure, there are narcissists, ego cases, full-blown psychopaths. But there are also people who got labeled that way because of where they came from. Their circumstances. Misunderstandings. Bad information. Some folks figure it out eventually. Some get arrested and get help. They’re the ones who might make it back across the line. Might even join the good guys, if someone gives them a chance.”

  Taylor tilted her cup and took another sip. “You always seem really well-informed about this stuff.”

  “Well, I might be a jock, but I try not to be a dumb jock. I think about this stuff a lot. Partly from working at the PRT, but also from spending time around the Wards.” I nibbled my lower lip, eyes drifting downward. “I was looking forward to a career there. I really did love it.”

  “The jock thing being how you know Sophia?” Taylor asked. “Do you know her very well?” I didn’t look up, still a bit lost in my previous train of thought. “Yeah, I mentioned that we met through track. I don’t know her super well, mostly because she’s hard to get to know. Frankly, she’s super rude and more than a little obnoxious.”

  A pause.

  “Do you ever meet or hang out with her outside school?”

  I glanced over at Taylor. Her expression was oddly distant, introspective, almost. The question caught me off guard, not because it was inappropriate, but because something about it felt... off. She seemed genuinely interested, but also a little too careful. But then again, Taylor was always a bit hard to read.

  “God, no,” I said, making a face. “Are you kidding? I try not to talk shit about people, even the shitty ones, but no. We do not get along. I can’t imagine being friends with her unless she had, like, a split personality or something.” I snorted.

  Still… her expression hadn’t changed.

  Something was definitely up here. Sophia rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, sure, but this wasn’t just annoyance. There was something heavier behind Taylor’s questions.

  I leaned forward slightly, curiosity piqued.

  “What about you?” I asked. “I mean, I know she’s in your class, but why do you care so much? She tends to throw shade at random people. You two don’t get along?”

  Taylor’s voice was quiet. Not whisper-quiet, but… subdued. Like she wasn’t entirely speaking to me.

  “I hate her.”

  The words just sat there, stark and bare. She looked up at me, almost startled that she’d said it out loud, and then looked away quickly, like she regretted it immediately.

  Ah. Sore spot.

  Best not to press it. Time for a subject change.

  I shooed a fly away and swirled my drink around, the ice clinking together in the disposable cup. I went back to the root of the discussion we’d had so far.

  “You strike me as someone who has quite an interest in parahumans, but I don’t get the fangirl vibe. Are you into the scientific or academic side of things, or maybe you were thinking of pursuing a degree in Parahuman Studies and trying to get a job with the PRT?”

  Some of the tension eased out of Taylor’s posture. She shrugged slightly.

  “You’re right, I only had sort of a passing interest in parahumans until a few years ago. I’ve been doing some reading and getting into things a bit more this year. I’m only a sophomore, but I don’t really like school. I don’t want to think about college; getting through the next two years is going to be hard enough.”

  I tilted my head slightly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what changed?” I offered her a little smile. “I did kind of the same thing, honestly. Got way more into it all at once. And you’re smart, Taylor. You’ve got options, and they don’t have to be school-shaped.”

  She glanced away.

  “I dunno. Just thinking about the future, I guess.” Her voice dipped, lost a little of its steadiness. “Some things changed in my life…”

  Her gaze dropped again. Her shoulders shifted, subtle but telling—like she was weighing whether she wanted to say more or let the silence swallow it.

  Oh.

  It was like a quiet pressure shift in the air between us.

  That tone. That turn of phrase. That look. The way your whole world starts pivoting around something you can’t explain to anyone.

  She’s probably a parahuman.

  The signs were there. The change in interest. The careful wording. The tension that never quite left her eyes.

  Then she looked up again.

  “...What about you?” she asked. “What got you interested?”

  I hesitated.

  Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I get that. Things change. You get thrown off track.” I let a breath escape. “I had kind of a similar story. Messed up my leg, sports scholarship, that was supposed to be my future. Then boom, it wasn’t.”

  I shrugged. “Spent more time with my sister. Played a lot of video games. Kept in touch with Aegis. And somewhere along the line, it hit me: maybe this parahuman thing was something I could actually do. I got invested, landed the internship, and went all in.”

  Taylor nodded along, and I felt something subtle shift between us. A little more connection. A little more understanding.

  I slurped the last of my coffee, the loud rattle of empty ice echoing from the cup. We ended up talking for about an hour. Mostly more PRT stuff, her asking questions, me answering as best I could. She was smart. Attentive. Reserved, yeah, but a good conversationalist. Thoughtful.

  Eventually, I felt a headache blooming behind my eyes, and she said she had to head home before her dad got back from work. We called it there.

  I told her we should keep in touch. She agreed.

  I nagged her one last time about hitting the gym with me, which earned me an eye roll and got her a grin. On the walk home, I stopped to pick up a few odds and ends. Some toiletries. A couple of bags of bulk groceries. The pressure in my head was building fast now, dull and insistent, and I was pretty sure I knew what was behind the headache.

  Back at my apartment, I knocked out the last few things I needed to do: groceries away, water jug filled, nest of blankets and pillows assembled on the kitchen floor. I stripped down to bare skin. The floor was cold beneath me.

  I took a deep breath.

  Then I let go of the form.

  I shifted back, and it was a bit faster and more uncomfortable than when I’d shifted that morning. There were pops, snaps, and crunches. A fair few groans. Within a few minutes, I was back to being gigantic, blue, and having far too many limbs once again. The pressure in my skull evaporated.

  But something like fatigue lingered in its place. Deep and strange and not entirely physical.

  Still, I had planning to do. Research. Homework. Texts to catch up on, people to check in with. I settled in for the night and started ticking things off the list. Tomorrow, if the shift held, I was going to Arcadia in person for the first time in a week. First period through final bell.

  If it all went to plan, I’d be at the gym before sunrise.

  The math added up. Barely. I’d just need to manage my time, listen to my body, and not push too hard.

  I couldn’t wait.