Wind Sage

Safety came in numbers. That's why people run in the same direction when there's a bad event happening--they know they can escape if enough people surround them. That's why they group together when they enter a workforce, looking for people who will have their back, who they can laugh with, who can support them. Safety came in numbers, which is why Daisy always tried to keep herself with four people at all times.

First off, her mother.

Triss Manholder was a strong, independent woman who raised Daisy to love feminism and love creativity before all else. Closest to Daisy, Triss rarely revealed to others when she broke down, often aiming to keep her emotions to herself and 'save face'.

"Run, Daisy!" Rain pelted them, coursing down Triss's face as she held tight to the steering wheel. She wasn't going to leave without Daisy. She wouldn't. Couldn't. "Get in the fucking car, Daisy! Get in!"

Feet pounding. Heart pounding. Head pounding. The heat was too much. She was dizzy. Dripping. The wind couldn't save her, it couldn't, it couldn't, but she kept trying. There was something she needed to do. She couldn't get inside the vehicle. Not yet.

The earth shook again--another quake that rippled through the ground like the water sloshing over the side of the road. The bridge wouldn't hold on for long.

Next, her father.

Caden Manholder was a strong, independent man who raised Daisy to love creation, her family, and being herself before all else. Closest to Triss, he kept his love life to himself and kept his family closer than anyone else.

His eyes were brown and tired. Gripping the abutment on the left side, he fought gravity and the ripples that shifted through the city as he tried to pull himself back up.

"It's okay, baby-girl," he told her, but still she tried.

Her body ached. The wind blew the flames off the metal and lifted strands of chestnut hair off his face, giving him relief, if only for a moment.

But the world wasn't perfect. Another quake came and the fires rose higher than ever before--in the city behind her, the fight continued, louder, faster. Supers were always fighting. They were always trying to save people. Always trying to kill people.

Always trying.

So why couldn't she bring herself to try harder?

Then came her best friend.

Mandy. [redacted]

On the other ledge, Mandy was slipping.

Both hands held out, Daisy tried keeping them both above the waters. It was too high. The waves crashed up and when they fell back down, her father was gone.

She fell, slipping down the side of the bridge and letting herself go with the water. The air formed a bubble around her mouth and she dove through the waves, trying to see, trying to part what could not be parted, trying to find him, trying to bring him back.

She couldn't.

When she surfaced again, Mandy had been swept away as well.

And finally, her hampster.

Susan was a wonderful hampster, bright and full of energy, who always loved treats and affection. She was great at listening and giving kisses when a bad day happened.

Hampsters didn't live forever. They, like humans swept away in storms they had nothing to do with, died in the middle of the night, without a warning, without a goodbye.

Just gone.

Those were her numbers. Like her namesake, Daisy had a variety of petal-friends. They were her go-to when it came to Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and, most importantly, school. In high school she had the exact number needed--34. In college, that number dropped to a solid twenty.

After college, things drifted. Petals fell off. Daisy stuck to what numbers always stayed the same. Four she could count on; Four wouldn't leave her.

Until they did.

"You okay?" Eliotte, a younger boy fresh out of college and handsome as any model out there, sat next to her at the cafeteria. The bustling hordes of people were nothing compared to his dark, looming eyes that seemed to hold everything within them. He continued, "You were looking like you were about to fall into the void."

"I think I already have," she joked, piking at the food on her plate. It tasted like nothing. Work food always sucked, yet still she refused to actually put in the work to bring her lunch daily.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Oh, the best intentions. Grief never worked well with intentions.

She smiled, placing her hand on his and shaking her head no, then letting go to take another bite of mashed potatoes smothered in ketchup. "I think I'm good, E."

Eliotte was a gentleman, a sensitive man, one who understood why some people didn't get over things. One who understood how people can go about their lives after something terrible and only deal with it occasionally, like when they were staring into the river of red ketchup on their plate and suddenly find themselves lost in memories that had been long dead.

"So," she said, perking herself up again with a big breath and forced energy, "I have a new project I'm starting this weekend."

He groaned. "What is it this time?"

"I want to make a doll out of hot glue," she said, shoveling the potatoes in her mouth as though they were the most delicious meal she'd ever eaten. Getting them off her plate was the hardest part. Once they were in her mouth, they were gone, just like the thousands of ideas that cluttered her life.

Shaking his head, Eliotte took a large bite of an apple off his plate. He, unlike her, always seemed to find the good stuff in the cafeteria. Possibly because he was attractive as hell and the lunch ladies loved him, or because he actually spoke to them unlike the vast majority of people who shuffled in and out of the dreary, artificially lit concrete room.

There was safety with friends--even if her number was one, that was manageable. She could keep one. She could hold onto one.

"Oh hey, how did your mom like the doll you made her?" Eliotte asked, taking another bite of his apple. Somehow, he was the only person she knew who could eat an apple and not look like an asshole.

"She liked it," Daisy said, but her heart squeezed at the thought of their last conversation. Things had been stressed between them. Things were always stressed.

Daisy couldn't save everyone. But hell would stop her before she found a way she could.

"I'm glad," Eliotte said. "You'll have to make me one, you know. I'd like to see my chiseled face in your style."

They laughed, an offset of joy in their daily lives. Two people acting out the motions, neither willing to confront the past, neither willing to let go of it. Daisy held to her final petal and smiled. This one, at least, she would never let go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Null

There's something about Toronto that Bryn's never really liked. Maybe it's the city, tall and polluted and busy, or maybe it's the way everything blends together, how everything seems distant and disconnected. Reality doesn't feel as real when you're surrounded by all the noise and commotion of the big city. Either way, the packed streets have always felt too lonely for her liking.

It's a Saturday afternoon. Ben's next to her, hair wild and messy, something he's never bothered with trying to fix. He doesn't say a word, just strolls and stares into shop windows while Bryn walks one step ahead, looking for where to go next. Neither of them speak. His silence is comforting, if anything, because Bryn swears if he wasn't there to keep her company most of the time she'd be completely out of her mind. He's always been her pillar of support (though she'd never say it out loud).

They stop at a café at the end of the street. It's packed inside, as all Toronto cafés are, but they wait in line anyway because the two of them thrive on the bitter taste of a hot coffee. Ben speaks for the first time in a while, muttering under his breath, "there's got to be somewhere less busy we can get coffee from."

There's not, and they both know it. It's the dead of winter - everyone in the city's looking for the perfect place to get a hot drink. Something else Bryn's always hated about Toronto; she can't count the hours she's spent waiting in lines, when traffic's come to a dead stop or everyone in the province decided to get a cup of coffee at the same shop. It almost makes her miss her old town, where no one ever saw each other and the singular coffee shop was always deserted - save for a few employees who look more dead inside than Bryn's ever felt. At least back there she could have something to drink without waiting eight hours for it. She voices this to Ben, who opts to remain silent.

He's never been one for arguing - which is a good thing, because Bryn can't make it through a whole conversation without wanting to fistfight someone in the back of an alleyway. It's a nice balance, to say the least. He makes a good mediator.

They order the same thing - a large black coffee, plain and simple. Ben pays, as per usual - Bryn swears she'll pay him back one day, but until she's able to pay off her tuition, it's not happening. She's barely got enough money for rent these days, and a daily large coffee will eventually turn her bankrupt, as much as she hates to admit it.

There's no room to sit at a table, so they head back outside. Bryn leans against the café's brick wall and Ben stands awkwardly by her, sipping the piping hot coffee. There's more silence, and then Bryn says, "I'm dropping out of uni."

Ben quirks an eyebrow. "The hell do you mean?" he asks. "What are you gonna do, then? Go back home?"

Back home is in Alberta, a place she's not completely convinced she wants to return to, no matter how much she misses getting her coffee in an abandoned Timmies in less than ten minutes. She shakes her head, chugging her coffee and trying to ignore the burning sensation on her tongue. She should've gotten sugar and cream - it was pointless waiting that long for bitter, sad black nothingness. "I was hoping you'd help me figure it out," she says.

Ben rolls his eyes, exasperated. "You want me to help you figure out what to do? Why don't you, I don't know, finish the degree you poured your heart and soul into?" He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching on the knots and tangles that he never bothers to brush out. Bryn kicks her heel into the wall behind her, taking another long swig of her coffee.

"Don't want to," she says simply, and plans on ending it there, but Ben's got an inquisitive look in his eyes that she doesn't like, so she continues. "Hell, law is boring and I don't want to do it for the rest of my life, alright? I want to do something fun, is that so bad?"

"You've been forcing me to buy you coffee for the last two months," he says, and he's got a point but Bryn will never admit it. "What are you going to do that's going to make you that much money? Make a sex tape?" He laughs.

"No," Bryn says, pouting, "I just want to do something fun. Can't you at least give me an idea?" She finishes the last of her coffee, and the nearest garbage can is too far for her to walk, so instead she drops it. It falls a few inches and then disappears, reappearing into the garbage can a few meters away. Ben watches her with raised eyebrows.

"You could totally be one of those superhero guys, y'know," he says. "Those guys who fight criminals and rescue people from floods? You'd be great at that, if you stopped using your ability for such mundane things." He scrunches his nose at the hole that still sits below her grasp. He's never approved of her using her abilities in public - it's dangerous, he says, what if people see you and get the wrong idea?

But hell, Bryn thinks, if she's got the chance she might as well use them. What a waste of the glorious gift given to her, right? Whatever god or goddess gave these damn portals to her gave them to her for a reason. Ben's always argued that the reason probably isn't so that she can grab the remote sitting on the TV stand without standing up, but what else could she use it for?

"Those mundane things are half a million times easier with a couple of portals. You're just jealous." She pulls a pack of smokes out of her pocket and lights one, while Ben watches disdainfully. He's already learned there's no point trying to convince her not to. "Besides," she says through her clenched teeth, "That life isn't for me. I can already imagine all the shit I'd be dealing with - people are crazy, y'know?" She slips the smokes back into her pocket. She's got to save the rest of them; there's not enough money in her bank account for any more packs.

Ben coughs as the smoke hits him. "Law wasn't for you either, but you seemed pretty intent on doing that until ten minutes ago. Don't you think it'd be fun to be a hero? Save the world or whatever?" He frowns as she drops her cigarette and lets it fall into the trash can just as her coffee had. The portal by her waist glows a bright white, almost blinding if you look at it for too long, so she sends it away quickly. "Your powers are perfect for a hero job. Maybe that's what you were meant to do, you know? Maybe you have the portals for a good reason. A better reason. Maybe you've got a purpose in life that extends past law school."

Ben's always been wise for his age - the dawn of nineteen is too early to be spouting poetry about life's works, but he's always been smarter than he looks. God, she hates that about him. Always has. He's the type of person who shouldn't be wasting his days working in a mechanics shop - he's the type who could do something great, but he's never recognized it and she hates him for it, always will. He never stops spewing shit about how she should fulfill her destiny or fate or whatever, and now, even though she's about to be a deadbeat university dropout, he still won't shut the hell up.

It's snowing now. She barely even noticed. Fat flakes of snow drift from the clouds. One lands on her cheek, then the tip of her nose. It's cold, and suddenly she wants to go home very badly. Ben still looks at her expectantly, and she knows he wants an answer, but she's not sure what answer to give. She doesn't want to be a superhero. Doesn't think she could if she tried. But for his sake, she smiles, big and fake, and says, "I'll think about it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Manipulator

The ground beneath me swirled in patterns of circles as I stared at it intently, my own head spinning. It had been an accident. I hadn't meant to do it, and I had no idea how it had happened either. I had just been there, with my brother, and now I was here, at the time of 4:03pm. It had just been 5:00pm. These types of situations had happened before, but never like this. I was crazy not to have listened to SHADR when I had the chance. Now, here I am, standing three minutes shy of an hour before the incident of my brother had occurred. This was a chance to change what had happened though, and I think it would be my only chance. This has been a fluke. I couldn't do it again.

I lifted my head from the no longer spinning ground. And stared at the door, waiting for the squeak of the door knob as my dad appeared through the entrance, when he would yell at me about not doing good enough this year, for not making it into the best University possible. I sighed, not wanting to experience this again, but stood my ground, the familiar squeaking sound entering my ears.

"Aliyah, your mother told me how you went..." I waved at him in disruption, not letting him continue on with a sentence that I had already heard once too many times.

"Look, Dad. I know, but I think there's another option here, that is much better than even going to University, then you don't have to worry about the fact that I'm not good enough for you, because I will be." My dad stared at me, his blue eyes seemingly piercing through my whole self, as a sigh escaped his mouth that was quickly followed by a smile.

"I thought you turned them down?"

"I've decided I'll give it a go, Dad. Maybe it will help me deal with the stuff I couldn't during school that impacted on my studies my last year or so. I know you expect me to be the girl who was the smart, and attentive student who could have gotten into any University, but that wasn't healthy for me. I'm not saying what happened after that was healthy either though, but this will be. I'm sure of it."

If I could get my dad to agree to this, then none of the following events would occur hopefully, and everything would be okay. I anxiously bit at my fingernail, still watching my dad stare at me. He nodded his head.

"Okay. Well, I think it's a good alternate to your studies, and I certainly believe it will help you out, but I worry that it is much too dangerous for you to be a part of this Aliyah." I nodded my head in understanding. I knew he cared for me, but if this didn't happen now, then something much worse was going to happen in about twenty minutes. I could just see our fight happening all over again in my head. The one where he would race out of the house in a huff, run past my brother who wold be just getting home, then my brother would turn around and run after him, and then the reason I'm here again would occur. Goosebumps appeared on my body and tears almost formed in my eyes again at the thought of it. I wished I had said yes to them the first time. I had wanted to. I had always found myself to be different, and this was an exclude to be able to blend in and be myself for once, instead of going around school pretending like I mattered, like I wasn't someone who didn't belong there. With the little to no friends I had, the trouble I'd gotten myself in, and the way I'd stuffed up because of how I felt, how I still felt standing in my own house in front of my dad who I knew loved me, and always would.

"I can take the danger. And I'll keep in contact with everyone very regularly. You, Lewis and Daphne. I'll contact all of you. I swear."

"Okay," he nodded his head, then turned it away to watch my brother walk in the door, a smile on his face, like it always was. His blonde curls and green eyes reflected that of his personality. He was the knight, and I was the damsel of the family.

"Oh, Lewis, you're home. Would you be able to go and pick Daphne up from school?"

"Of course. I'll see you in ten minutes then, love you," Lewis responded, turning around the race out the door.

"No!" I half whispered and yelled to myself and ran out after him. But it was too late. He was already backing out of the driveway as I had hesitated. I had thought to much about what I was doing, and what I needed to do that when it came up, I missed it.

I could hear my dad's yells behind me to come back, but I couldn't. I knew what was about to happen. Sure, enough I watched another car pin Lewis to another tree a few blocks down from our house. I stopped out of breath from chasing the car and yelling at him to no avail, but quickly forgot about my heaviness of breath and sweat that was coming from my body and arced over the car that was on its site. I smashed the window which was already half shattered, undid Lewis' seatbelt and pulled him out gently to lay him on the grass. The driver who hit him, still upright next to us.

I had saved my Dad, but not my brother. He laid there, his eyes wide and blood spilling out of his abdomen as he struggled to get something out of his mouth.

"Aliyah. You're my little Manipulator, please go. SHADR need someone like you."

"Lewis, please no. You're going to be okay. It's different to before. This can be fixed. Or I'll go back again." My brother stared at me, his green eyes full of shock and pain, but also of love. Through everything, he managed to reach up his hand and grab a hold of mine.

"No. Please. No. You'll make it worse. You've made it all better now. No need to ruin that. I can see it. In my mind," he whispered, the grip on my hand tightening with every word he struggled to get out of his mouth, the sounds of sirens blurring together in the background.

"You see it?

"Yes. I always have..."

Lewis' green eyes remained open, but his ragged breaths stopped just as the ambulance appeared and came to pull us apart. They dragged me and held me, as I fought and cried. My brother being placed on a bed and being covered up with a blanket so that you can no longer see any of him, even his face.

"He's gone. I'm sorry, sweetie. Do you have any contact details to call your parents?" I ignored the man who held me and muffled my cries into his T-shirt. I couldn't stop, and this time, I couldn't go back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Antidote

DID NOT HAND IN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightbolt

For Sebastian Faulkes, the downsides of stardom didn't start automatically. They were hidden, like Easter eggs, along the red-carpet he walked. But in the glitz and the glamour, the rush of reporters and designer suits, the thrill of a bald-faced lie and a discreet truth, it was easy to forget what conditions had been hidden in the contract that was his life. Although he'd read the fine print, at eighteen years old there was no way he could have anticipated the magnitude of the cost. Because like everything in life, being famous had a catch. And it meant never having a moment of peace and quiet ever again.

As he sat backstage, listening to the furious hum of people all around him, the ceaseless noise was almost the same as no sound at all. Sebastian had long since learned how to drown out the assistants adjusting the lights and his manager shouting orders that weren't aimed at him. There were people all around him, names and faces blurring together into an unrecognizable swarm of people who all seemed to be centered around him. Mr. Stanberg liked to say that he was the sun at the center of their universe, pulling everyone else around him in an endless gravitational field. Because he was the star. The performer. The showpiece.

A tv screen broadcasted an interview from years passed. It was there that he fixed his eyes, stuck somewhere between the televised audience and the digitally-edited whiteness of the host's teeth. "Ladies and Gentlemen," his lips were slightly out of sync with the audio when he spoke, "I am sitting here today with a face that you all know and love— Nightbolt!" The rush of cheers from the crowd signaled his arrival. Waving, smiling, wearing sunglasses inside like some sort of idiot. The suit was Neiman Marcus, Sebastian recalled as he watched himself sit down. The tabloids went nuts over it.

"Can you tilt up your chin for me?" A woman's arm reached across his line of vision, adding a streak of blush to his cheeks. He did as instructed, letting the soft bristles move towards his chin as his eyes stayed focused on the monitor. "Thanks, honey." Sebastian let out a hum in response, lips twitching into a smile for the briefest of seconds.

The confidence dripping off the younger version of him was almost nauseating. Sebastian could barely stand to watch himself. The way he lounged in the chair, legs crossed and arms open as if the world was his for the taking. That's how I need to be today, he told himself. Open. Steady. The Nightbolt they know. But his stomach was churning, bubbles of discomfort boiling beneath his skin until he could feel them spreading over every inch of his bones. Resisting the urge to squirm, his eyes fluttered closed, focusing on the noise of the room.

"So tell us, Nightbolt." He didn't have to see the host's face to remember how his hands clasped together, leaning forward in his chair to get closer to the famed superhero. "The world is dying to know. Where did you come from?"

It was the sound of his own voice that did him in. The warm laugh, the inviting attitude. "Well, what can I tell you? I grew up in—"

"Can we turn this off, please?" he asked suddenly, raising his voice above the static hum of the other bodies around him. From somewhere in the room, someone obliged to his wishes, letting the screen go dark just as his eyes flickered open once more. None of us need to hear the story again. His fingers flexed against the chair, body scooting upwards as soon as the woman doing his makeup moved away. New York City. Poverty stricken neighborhood. Grew up with an innate sense of right and wrong. Family died tragically in a fire due to an apartment complex not up to code. Now who do I fight? Bank robbers? Evil masterminds? Terrorists? No. A bitter taste coated the back of his throat. Politicians and their shitty ideas.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a set of black sneakers approach him from the side. Their owner cleared their throat gently, trying to tug at the superstar's attention. Slowly, he turned, facing a short, pretty girl with black glasses framing her eyes and a clipboard held tight in her hands. Sebastian had worked with her for years, she was his agent's personal assistant and probably his only friend in the sea of people surrounding him. "Sadie—" he started to speak, but she cut him off with a sympathetic look. What is it now?

Reaching behind her clipboard, the shiny cover of a magazine quickly crossed from her hands to his. "It just came in," she told him gently. "He wanted me to bring it to you."

It wasn't hard to see why. On the cover, a grainy picture of him with his arm up to block the flash of the cameras was buried only by the words: 'NIGHTBOLT vs. FREEFALL: The Ultimate Power Couple SEPARATES? THE HEARTBROKEN HEROINE TELLS ALL!' Sebastian stared at it for far too long, anxiety forming knots in the back of his throat that threatened to suffocate him if they got too tight. He flipped over the magazine, more content to stare at the subscription information and an ad for Botox than the picture of him plastered on the cover. I'm never going to live this down. The deep-seated throb in his temples threatened to spiral into a full-blown migraine at any given second.

Sadie's warm hand on his shoulder was enough to pull his eyes away from the magazine and back to her. How long has it been since we— Memories flickered through his thoughts, reminding him of a long night with too much to drink and lips that never should have belonged to him pressed against his throat. Not long enough to forget. "Don't let them scare you," Sadie encouraged. She smiled as she pulled her hand away, shifting the clipboard in her grip. "It's just a press conference, NB. You'll be great."

The nickname was enough to tug his lips upwards. Sebastian started to speak just as his phone started to buzz, prompting an exasperated sigh from his lips. He squirmed for a minute, giving her an apologetic shrug as he pulled his phone out from the back pocket of his jeans. An unlisted number shined up at him from the screen and Sebastian stood up. "How much time do I have left?" The magazine slid to the floor as he brushed off a few traces of loose powder from his clothes.

She checked her watch, nose scrunching in concentration as she read the time. "About fifteen minutes."

"Great." It was easy enough to smile at her as he held the phone to his ear. The tricky part was looking her in the eye. "I'll be right back." Sadie gave him a quick nod, stepping out of the way as he answered the buzzing phone in his hands. "Ambassador!" The cheerfulness that rang through Sebastian's voice as he stepped through the sea of people was real, even if everything else around him felt forced. "Thank you so much for getting back to me on such short notice." He made his way towards the exit, pushing the door open with his shoulder as he stepped out into an empty lobby.

SHADR had asked and he would deliver, even if it had meant a full week of phone trees and secretaries before he could hear the sound of the ambassador's voice. "Well, I couldn't necessarily put America's favorite hero on the back burner, could I?" Crackles of static interrupted the words. "What can I do for you?" The thick concrete walls of the building made the signal weak. Sebastian paced across the floor, trying to find a place where he could hear better.

"Some of my associates and I want to check up on our Guatemalan branch," Sebastian explained. "But, moving sixteen metahumans across borders is ah— " A soft, embarrassed chuckle left his lips as he shifted the phone to his other ear. "A bit nerve-wracking without prior warning, huh?" He pressed his hand against the wall, only long enough to turn himself around and begin pacing to the other side of the room.

There was a laugh on the other end, amusement dripping through the words as the ambassador responded. "Yeah, I see where you're going here."

"I don't want to start a scandal. That's a hell of a lot of paperwork for you, I bet."

"Let me see what I can do for you, Mr. Faulkes." Sebastian, he wanted to respond. Call me Sebastian. A pause filled the line, followed by a brief sigh and the clicking sound of keyboard keys. "I'll send over a clearance notification to your directors as soon as I can."

His smile stretched wider, letting the warmth of it seep through into his words. Mission accomplished. "Thank you so much, Ambassador. I really appreciate it." He disconnected the call, pulling the phone away from his ear with shaky fingers. Despite the mundaneness of it, Sebastian hadn't done anything that felt so exciting in a long time. His heart was fluttering as if he'd just run a marathon, grin plastered to his face. This is hero work.

"What was that about?"

Sebastian's whole body cringed, sliding the phone back into his pocket as he turned towards the voice of his agent. Mr. Stanberg was waiting in the doorway, arms folded and brows furrowed as he waited for an answer. "Just hero stuff," Sebastian replied casually. The words were like eggshells beneath his feet, each broken piece sending him a little closer to the lecture that was to follow. "We're going to Guatemala."

A scoff left Mr. Stanberg's lips, hands raking through his hair as he started towards Sebastian. "After the bullshit you pulled with Freefall this week? I don't think so." Great, here it goes. It didn't take near long enough for the agent to be in his face, finger pressed into his chest and wrinkling his dress shirt. "You might have signed on to be SHADR's lapdog, but you're Nightbolt first and don't you forget it." He was so close that Sebastian could see the annoyance in his eyes and smell the turkey on rye he'd swiped from the buffet table.

Taking a step back, the hero shook his head slightly. "But I thought the reason I joined—"

"You joined as a publicity stunt." The correction hit him like a blow to the throat. Sebastian swallowed the words lodged in his throat, watching as his agent sighed and struggled to compose himself. "The media's kicking your ass, Seb. If we hadn't done something to boost your popularity, you were going to tank." He knew better by now than to try to get a word in. Instead, he cast his eyes to the floor, letting the words pound against him like falling hail. "Do you realize how much we depended on Freefall's support? Her influences? And you threw that all away for— for what exactly?"

As if to answer, a familiar face peeked in through a crack in the door. Sebastian looked up just long enough to meet her eyes as she spoke. "Three min—"

"Thank you, Sadie," Mr. Stanberg snapped. Just as quickly as she came, she was gone again, leaving them alone once more. For one blissful moment, there was complete silence. It lasted long enough for Sebastian to let go of the shaky breath swelling in his lungs. "We'll finish this talk later. For now, you go out there, you win these reporters over, and we bury your little incident in the sand." He grit his teeth, trying to ignore how his agent's eyebrows arched and waited for an answer. It's just a little longer.

He put on his best, most winning smile, and straightened his suit. "I won't let you down," he promised. "Have I ever?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pocket Watch

I wouldn't consider myself a hero. Not really.

I was one fortunate enough to be raised in a loving family, with two mothers, and an older sister. From the beginning, I was taught about compassion, and empathy. "Everyone is going through something" Momma would chide me.

Perhaps I was always this way. Or I grew into it so naturally I didn't even notice it happening. I found that I wanted to help people, that I wanted to ease them from pain and work towards feeling complete, as I thought I had been. At 15, I knew I wanted to be a therapist. Someone people could talk to, and I would have the knowledge and skill to do so. Nothing would hold me back from helping.

In college, I studied Psychology, Sociology, Biology and Communication. I found my mind insatiable with knowledge. So much so, that my professors signed me up to become a Dual Major, Psychology and Mass Communications. In doing so, I became someone who could speak to any level of people, understand them, and help them. There was no higher joy than knowing that I could be so much more than myself.

Fate was on my side when I signed the lease for my first office. It was on the edge of downtown, an active but not busy area. It was tidy, and small. But it was mine. I threw myself into decorating, making it as calming and homey as possible. Plush couches, soft pillows and blankets, were scattered about. One or two bookshelves full of odds and ends, education books, picture books, empty sketchbooks and pencils, rubix cubes, stimulation toys, small trinkets, and my prized possessions, my two degrees.

Clients came one by one into my office. Each with their own tangled knot of problems that we would work on. Each session a tug on the yarn, until finally the knot was untied. Some clients I saw once, others I saw regularly. I greeted them each with a smile, and their favorite pillow set on the conversation coach.

That was when I met Reggie.

Reggie was a mess of a man. He was unkempt, with greasy hair, sad eyes, and a hunched over back. He walked like he had a limp. He sat on the edge of the coach, his eyes darting to and fro nervously. I uncrossed my legs and sat up, opening my posture to him. He smiles weakly, and began. His life had not been easy. He started at nothing, believed he was nothing. He had worked up to a good position as a shift manager at a local grocery store. However, after 10 years working there, he saw only a few raises, and no promotion in sight. Meanwhile younger employees were passing him in leaps and bounds. At home, his long-term girlfriend has acting "bitchy". He winced at the term and apologized. I simply smiled, encouraging him to continue.

"I'm stuck in a rut." He sighed. I nodded, my heart going out to him.

"Yes, it does seem that way." My words were practiced, careful. Agreeing with the client helped, but I was not going to let him get comfortable. "But let's see what we can do to get you out of there."

I began my questions, very standard, but precise. How his job made him feel, if he had considered confrontation? He said he had considered, but did not act. I nodded, he was afraid.

"What is stopping you?" I asked simply. He gave me a blank stare, but behind those eyes I saw his mind working a mile a minute. When he did not answer, I nodded and tried again. "Is the fear of being seen as a bad guy stopping you? Or perhaps the fear of being fired?"

He thought for a moment. "A little bit of both. I am very grateful for my job and I don't want to lose it. I don't want to... uh, I don't want to make the owner feel like I'm not grateful, because I am."

"What about Elise? Your partner..." My next question had to be incredibly careful. "Would you say you experience a similar fear with her?"

Reggie really thought about that one. I didn't press, allowing him to really reflect. After a long silence, he nodded.

"I love her, man." Reggie said desperately. "I don't want to lose her, so I don't want to say anything."

That's how it went. Reggie became a regular at my office. Every time, we worked on his confidence, to push back his fear and anxiety of confrontation. I encouraged him to speak his mind with me, and suggested how he might approach his boss and his girlfriend.

The change was so slight, but it was there. Slowly, Reggie stood a little straighter, a little taller. His limb-like walk was a thing of the past, replaced by long confident strides. His appearance became cleaner, and more polished. His unkempt hair was washed and clipped, transforming his face into a mature man, rather than a sullen boy. Deep down, my heart swelled with pride.

One day in particular, he came strutting in. His head was held high, and his face had a radiant glow to it. I made a comment towards it, saying that he looked good.

"I feel good." His joy was barely contained. I smiled, and waited for him to burst. His knees bounced up and down excitedly as he sat. "I finally got my courage. I finally did it. I talked to John about a promotion or at least a raise... He was floored, oh you should have seen his face. It looked so shocked, but then he smiled. Apparently, he thought I was happy where I was... and now I'm a full-on Manager, with a raise! I was so happy, I had to... I took out my girl on a date."

Reggie's smile was contagious. I could already feel my cheeks aching from smiling along with him. Reggie continued. "Elise.. well it was wonderful. I took her to Dimanchie's, our favorite restaurant. I reminded her of our first date. Oh I was so nervous, but...."

Reggie fumbled his phone out of his pocket and opened up a photo. There was Reggie, standing next to a beautiful blonde woman-Elise. He swiped to the next photo, and there was Reggie down on one knee before the Elise, who was covering her smile.

"Oh my..." I gasped out the words. The warmest of joy covered my body. It was dizzying and wonderful. "Reggie, just... Congratulations. I am so, so proud of you!"

As unprofessional as it was, I hugged Reggie then and there.

I saw Reggie less often as before. He came in to report how his life was going. It felt more like two friends meeting rather a therapist and a client. A month after Reggie told me about his engagement, I received the formal invitation in the mail. It was pure white, with gold lettering. On the bottom, in blue ink was a note from Reggie.

"Thank you for everything Ava! I would be honored to have you there as my Guest of Honor."

I smiled, and sent my confirmation. Of course, I was going to be there. Reggie had become a dear friend alongside being a wonderful client. I wanted to be there on his happiest day.

Until... two days before the wedding.

Reggie came storming into my office. He was unkempt once more, his hair tossed and frizzy, his face ragged and wild. His eyes scanned the room, landing on me. My gut tightened. Oh no.

"Ava, I need your help. Please!" Reggie walked forward. His steps were jagged and strange, as if he wasn't sure if his feet would carry him correctly.

I got up, and caught him as he stumbled forward. The smell of alcohol hit me. It reeked to high Heaven. That would explain the staggering...

"Reggie, you are drunk." I said smartly, my face still crumpled up in mild disgust.

"I know, I'm sorry." He slurred back. "I need to talk to you."

"Ok, alright. Let's get you on the coach."

Reggie fell into the coach closet to him. I sighed, and sat on one nearby. The story came in small bursts of drunken clamor.

"Elise..." He sobbed. "She's been... she's been cheating on me."

Tears began racing down his face. "She was my... everything. I loved her so much. You know. I told you so much."

Instead my chest, I felt heart break pound painfully. It felt chipped, slightly cracked. He had been so close to being complete and happy.

It took the good part of an hour to console him enough to stop the tears. I couldn't even say Elise's name, or he'd start all over again. I huffed.

"I knew I was nothing... I just knew it."

"Reggie don't, you are something-"

"NO!" He roared back. I flinched backwards. "SHE USED ME, MY WORLD, MY GIRL USED ME."

"I know that-"

"NO YOU DON'T..." Reggie sobbed. "If I don't have Elise who do I have?"

I couldn't answer. All of my knowledge, my power, left me. All I could do was stare at this broken man.

"I was hoping it could be you... but clearly I'm not wanted here either." He hiccupped more sobs.

"Reggie, I want to help you-"

"No..." He choked on last time, and reached for his back pockets. He drew out a revolver, an old one. With a swift sweep of his arm, he drew it up to his temple.

"Reggie no-" I shouted.

Something triggered within me. It felt like a cord snapping within my chest, within my heart. The world took a hazy, almost dreamlike, air about it. I whipped my head around, looking at the sudden shift. Everything was the same, all my papers and files and books were in the exact same spot.

My eyes darted back to Reggie. The gun was still planted onto his temple, his eyes still wide and wild. I reached out a hand, he did not move. I reached further, still he stood still. The finger on the trigger moved deathly slow, pulling the trigger back to fire a shot. It was already pulled. A loud click sounded, and the gun fired.

I gasped, and the world cleared up, moving once more. Reggie crumpled to the floor. I couldn't bear to look at him.

I had thought once that I was whole, that I was complete. In the days that followed, I found myself broken. I couldn't cry, I couldn't speak. Momma insisted that I come home, that I needed the support, and the distance. I barely remember agreeing, or going home.

Momma cooked me all manners of food, starting from my favorite. The meat pie didn't taste of anything, I barely felt its warmth as it slid into my stomach. Momma looked at my sadly, but did not say anything.

Mom, on the other hand, decided that cooking wasn't enough. Two days into my stay, she barged into my room and sat on the bed. I turned over to face her. She gave me a stern smile, and held an envelope to me. I sat up, confused. The envelope was small, but was firmly shut. I ripped it open, ignoring the protests of Mom. Inside was a note.

It was a letter of invitation, to some organization called SHADR. I grunted and looked up at my mother.

"Is this it? You're sending me away to the looney bin?" I did not attempt to hold back any sarcasm or bitterness.

"Watch your mouth." Mom's Scottish accent made her sound angrier than she was. I sighed. "I had to pull a few strings to make this happen."

Mom wasn't necessarily the secretive type, but she always directed any family questions back to Momma. It was like a black hole, Mom's side of the family.

"I never once asked for this, and I'm sorry that it has fallen to you." She began with a sigh. "SHADR was my... ahem, previous employer. They are brilliant people, people who want to help... People who might... people who might be just a little more than human. Who could help those like them."

I stared at my Mom, and saw something I don't think I've ever seen there, sympathy and acknowledgment. I sucked in a breath.

"I was an agent there... I advanced myself so much more than I could at any university or academy." She said wistfully. "It was wonderful... and I think... I think it's something for you."

With that, Mom left me. No amount of questions was enough. My mind swirled at the possibilities. I could... I could learn more? Already I was anticipating the validation that came from excelling in another learning experience. Still, a dark doubt stuck in my mind. People who were more than human... people... like me? The idea did not seem very comforting... still I scanned the letter for a phone number.

The rest, well the rest is history. I reached out, and said that I was interested. I was accepted quickly, and wholeheartedly. I sold my office. I was sad to see it go, but in my heart, I knew I was going onto bigger things.

At SHADR I didn't just grow. I thrived. I learned what a metahuman was, that what I could do was not only wonderful and special, but deserving of praise. I had the ability to go into "bullet time", where I could access situations and act accordingly. It was a rare gift, or so I was told. Every day, I trained, extending the time limits of my ability, so that I could move more, see more, and I became stronger.

A year flew by. I found my calling in the PR department. My dream to help people was rekindled, and that was where I could do it. I found fulfillment, and I was excited to see every day coming. Slowly, I felt the cracks in my heart soften, weathered by time and better experiences. I had found a new home, a new purpose, something that made me feel complete once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hourglass

It was cold. Desperately cold as if the presence of summer had been killed and hidden. The rain raced down his neck and shirt, he should take it off. It wasn't helping protect him, the wet cloth only made his bones rattle. He ran his hands up and down his arms trying everything to feel some form of heat.

His legs shook with each step he took begging for him to give up, what would his mother think of him now? She would have probably yelled at him not for running, but for standing in the freezing rain. Salomon yearned to have her here, she would know what to do. She always did. The thought of her painted black as if someone had spilt fresh ink on it, don't worry Salomon she's better now. She was in a better place. And soon he would be too or that was what Salomon prayed for.

Broken glass bit away at his skin, crimson puddles trailing behind his steps. Where was he going? Salomon looked up at the buildings since the moment he was able to leave that house he never looked at his surroundings. He was deep in the city, crimson signs that read "18 and older" whispered for him to come in. This part of town was meant to be off limits for kids his age and that didn't stop Salomon from entering the closest one that read in bright scarlet words "Satan's Heaven."

Heat, it kissed his skin when he opened the door and melted the ice that began to form on his bones. The air drowned with the smell of sweat and sweet perfume that reminded Salomon of his mother's cinnamon rolls. He pushed through the darkness following the serene voice that mused out to him from the shadows. Green and blue lights cracked through the curtains that separated the entire club from everything else. Salomon's fingers itched to pull it back, perhaps it was better if he stayed here. He could become one with the shadows and be forgotten.

"What are you doing here?" A voice, deep as the trenches that laid in the ocean, boomed from the now open curtains. Leather strapped across the man's chest forming an X and half of his face was covered in a mask. "You're too young to be in here." Salomon stood there— if he left that would mean walking in the cold and wet. The man stood there, his chained arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Salomon to say something. There was no need to exchange any words Salomon dove between his legs and entered the devil's lair.

Sweat reeked more in the room than Salomon anticipated and there were poles, three specifically, in different parts that jutted through the ceiling. Each one had a man on it, all of them were young and elegant dancing to the empty chairs around them. Two of them wore chains that covered their glossy bare chest and the other was nearly naked if it weren't for underwear that he wore. The serene voice that Salomon had once heard was replaced the voice of another, the singer was heavier and lustful pulling on every word as if it was her last.

"You little shit!" The bouncer went to grab him.

Salomon was not meant to be here and yet he didn't stop running throughout the club when the bouncer realized what he did. He leapt over the table in front of him and ran toward the stage that centered around the strippers. They stopped dancing once they noticed the child, blue light danced over his skin revealing the bruises and cuts that covered his body.

"Hodge!" Another voice called.

A hand fell onto Salomon's shoulders and he looked up to find a woman, her purple eyeshadow was over the top with drawn in black eyebrows that made her appear surprised. She moved her other hand to draw the strand of hair that caught in her mouth, her hair was red more than red it was the color of hot winter fires.

"He's a child!" Hodge's face darkened like a plum.

"You say that now, Tilda, just wait until the cops find a child in one New York's famously known gay strip clubs!"

"Well why is the door unlocked? Don't we open at eight?" One of the strippers on the pole jumped off their stage.

Hodge opened his mouth then closed it knowing his words were better discussed without a child in the room. Tilda let go of his shoulder and dropped to her knee, her eyes were blue not the average kind but the color of blue jays and clear summer skies. Salomon longed for nothing more than drown in them.

"You're bleeding." She said. "Join me back stage and I'll see we get help to them."

Salomon rolled onto the roof and sprang back onto to his feet. Don't look behind you. It was one of the rules he was taught before he was able to jump from building and building. Bullets whizzed past him biting into the concrete slabs around him. Another bullet flew past his ear burning from the knick it gave him boiling blood settling in his ear. He was going to have to stop them or the next bullet will be inches closer from where the other one hit.

Swiftly he opened his vial of sand flowing his hand into the air to send the sand quivering into the wind. Focus.

Salomon concentrated and felt the air around him begin to heat, the specks of sand begin to glimmer under the sun like diamonds. The next bullet ricocheted off the metal wind compass, Salomon flicked his hand sending the shards behind him. Shrieks echoed into the warm summer skies. Salomon faced the criminal, he swayed for more than one second blood oozing from hundreds of different holes and hit the ground with a hard thud.

There was no more reasons to run, the shooter was dead. He turned to leave.

"You asshole." The shooter raised his gun and aimed it at Salomon.

Gunshots rang throughout the city, the face of the shooter in the heap next to him.

"You need to be more careful." The familiar voice walked from behind the body. Shadow kicked at the body and laughed.

"I'm always careful." Salomon teased.

"Yeah right." He emptied the cartilage of the gun, shoving the bullets into his pouch.

"What? If I wasn't careful then how come I didn't get shot."

Shadow ignored his statement, observing the area around him. "You should join SHADR, they could use someone like you." Salomon laughed. "I'm serious. What are you going to do once you graduate the police academy?"

"Become a police officer like I told you for the past eleven years."

"Come on Salomon that won't be enough for you. Pete and I know it. Join SHADR and you'll be able to do this everyday the only difference is you'll be wearing a badge."

"I'm good." Salomon started to leave.

"Trying to act heroic and becoming a vigilante will only get you killed. This isn't some comic book."

"If this was a comic book I would have joined SHADR and form some super team, I work better alone." And before Shadow could say anything else Salomon left.

"Micheal, you don't understand. He's like you."

"I do understand, but I can't house some criminal."

"Do not call him that."

It was strange to witness the Tilda change into who everyone actually known her as. Without the red wig and tedious makeup Tilda called herself Pete. There was silence and then the two of them walked toward him.

"Micheal is going to let you stay with us for a bit." Tilda, or rather Pete, now smiled and took Micheal's hand. "Drive safe."

"Always." The words were sour from Micheal.

They got in the car and before long the crimson sign of Satan's Heaven disappeared into the rest of the colors of the streets. The rain didn't stop from the last few hours Salomon had spent inside, it poured down heavier slapping the roof of the car.

"What are you going to do?" Salomon asked.

The car stopped scarlet light revealing the frustration that tightened on Micheal's face. He didn't want to take him in, Salomon could sense it from the way his jaw was locked. "I'm going to do what Pete said. I'm bringing you to our home."

"But eventually SHADR will be brought into the case."

"No." The words came out sharp as razors. "I'll make sure."

"I don't want to be a problem." Salomon said.

Micheal looked at him and for the first time in his years of life he saw genuine pain. "You're not."

Salomon looked out the window. "You called me a criminal minutes ago."

Micheal opened his mouth only to shut it, the red shifted to green and the car began to move again. If there was words to be exchanged then it was from the music on the radio.

He locked the door his fingers twitching against the weight of the lock. He couldn't do this anymore. Blood caked underneath his finger nails looking as if he dipped them in ink. The lock fidgeted underneath his fingers acting like a ticking time bomb.

"What the fuck happened." Micheal pushed Salomon out the way and locked the door.

"I can't do it." Salomon whimpered against his busted lip. "I thought it would be easier. I'll join SHADR"

Micheal was quiet, the Shadow finally got what he wanted and yet the answer didn't please him. He left the room only to enter with an automatic rifle.

"Before you do. Let me go take care of your problem."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nyelia

Tick, tick, tick. The hands of the clock moved slowly. Faintly. Nyelia watched them move with heightened focus, each subtle slide of gears to the next number a fascinating delicacy to witness. A woman sat at a desk in front of them. Her hair was pulled away from her face, gloved hands intertwined together as she leaned forward. "Tell me all of it again," she requested, but the words were not aimed at Nyelia. "From the top." The goddess was barely listening, too lost in absorbing the brightness of the room and the stacks of books neatly shelved along one wall.

From beside her, Dr. Manco cleared her throat. Her fingers were digging into the upholstery of the chair she sat in, leaving gentle indents that gave testimony to her nervousness. "We were in the middle of the desert on a dig." Nyelia stifled a yawn, leaning back ever so gently to let her eyes wander over the woman who called herself Firebrand. "I was—a little tipsy because we were celebrating. And I started translating some of the passages on a few tablets we found." There was a regal sense of power that surrounded the woman, something that overwhelmed Nyelia's own strength. She was captivated by the energy that radiated from her form, and the way her gaze darted quickly between the two of them. But when she stared at Nyelia, dark eyes expanding and contracting in the light, she could recall the darkness.

The cavern, void of passage. Nyelia's body was a collapsed shell of itself, caving in as if somehow she could be erased from existence entirely. But she could not feel the pain, nor the hungry or thirst, or the dryness of her bones. Her screaming had ceased thousands of years ago, leaving only the memory of air in her throat and divets in the stone where her nails had clawed fervently for escape. She called it the Hollow Space, named for its emptiness of sound and light, for the absence of life except for her own deteriorating form. Once, years ago, there had been a semblance of warmth in her veins. Her consciousness was dormant, leaving her encased in stone without thinking or feeling. In the Hollow Space, there was nothing. Always nothing.

Dr. Manco shifted in her seat, leaning further away from Nyelia as she spoke. The wound she had made to offer blood to the tablet had left a scar along the side of her hand. "Then, all of a sudden I hear shouts coming from camp."

The shattering of stone, fresh blood bursting to life in her veins from unknown tribute.

Gasping breath. Rebirth.

She coughed thousand-year-old dust from her lungs, eyes prickling with tears as she struggled to climb to her feet. Nyelia was thrown back into life headfirst, without warning or ceremony. She clutched at the crumbling pillar, feeling solid stone turn to ash and sand beneath the strength of her grip. Her vision was still blurry, blinded by the weakness that plagued her. A foreign tongue cut through the air, speaking words she could not recognize. It was a thick and heavy language, barked at her from approaching figures as her wobbling feet struggled to carry her forward.

Then came the first word, rasping out from an ancient throat. "Bow," she commanded. One by one, the figures came to a halt. Looking at each other. At her. A connection was being bridged in her mind, language and knowledge flooding her brain in an influx of information. But they would not move. Even as the wind screamed beneath their feet, whipping her hair around her face, their stumbling bodies refused to give praise.

"And she's there." Nyelia cast a small, lazy look toward her companion, watching the animation of her movements as she continued to speak. "Just- completely naked. Covered in mud." There was an embarrassed blush in Rilla's cheeks as if somehow the sheer memory of Nyelia's bare flesh was enough to mortify her once again.

Then there was Rilla. Speaking. Shouting. Her words, slightly slurred. But coherent. Crystal clear as if she was the only beacon along the shore, guiding Nyelia to shelter. She could feel the closing bridge between them, filling in all the empty spaces where time should have been. The cores of their souls were synchronized into perfect harmony, unable to be separated. As long as she drew breath, the Hollow Space would not claim her again.

Firebrand's voice was like velvet over glass, beauty concealing a sharpness underneath. "That must have been frightening for you both." She was looking at Nyelia once again, waiting for an answer, anything to accompany the bobbing of Rilla's head, but she was more interested in watching dust circle around the light fixtures.

There was a sigh, embarrassment and annoyance mingling together in the voice of her companion. "I'm- I'm sorry. She gets like this." They're talking about you. Nyelia didn't care. There was a solitary speck in the air that was a deep violet, and with the slightest breath she could make it dance before her. "She hears us, trust me."

"It's all right." Firebrand took in a breath, sitting up straighter in her chair as she looked to Dr. Manco once more. "Would you mind stepping out for a moment?" she asked. Nyelia's eyes flickered downwards for the briefest moment, curiosity taking hold as she tilted her head ever so slightly. "I'm sure Dr. Etienam would love to give you a tour of our research department." It was a pretty command shaped like an offer, burning holes through the silence of the room as Rilla searched for an answer.

"Okay," she managed at last. "Yes." Hesitantly, she stood up, brushing off her pants as she did. "I'll just—"

"We'll bring her back to you safe and sound," Firebrand promised. A look of worry crossed Dr. Manco's face as she stepped towards the door. Nyelia didn't need her to speak in order to know what she was pleading— almost praying— for. Please, her thoughts whispered, behave. I need this. We need this.

When the door shut, the room flooded with silence. Only the two of them remained, with Firebrand's eyes burning holes into her skin as she continued to ignore the gaze. "Nyelia." The grab for her attention gained only a moment's recognition, eyes flickering downwards to meet the director's for only a moment. "Will you speak with me?" There is something evil there. The darkness of her pupils was not human. It was constricting, tightening around her throat like a noose the longer she tried to look at them.

Another thousand years could have passed in the time she spent searching for a shred of light in those eyes, and a thousand more could be given to unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth to speak. "They used to call you Empress."

"That is correct."

So she must be powerful. More than I. Slowly, she cupped her hands together, letting her fingertips form a cage to trap the air inside. Power shivered in her veins, moving sluggishly as the wind began to pull and tug at itself. Nyelia watched as it began to change, creating something out of nothing. At first, it was little more than an idea. The promise of an object long since destroyed. Then, the heaviness of metal and the glint of gold. She cupped the object in her palm, fingers separating just long enough to hold it across the desk that separated them.

"A gift," she explained as Firebrand reached out. A single gold ring passed between their hands, set with a black stone. "To prove I bring no harm to your temple." The metal was crude, roughly polished, nothing like the jewelry that adorned the woman in front of her, but she accepted it graciously. I am out of practice. "It was foolish of you," the goddess told her abruptly. "To let them take your title."

Firebrand cocked her eyebrow, arms folding over one another as she leaned back in her chair. "How so?"

It was a simple concept, one that brought a bitter smile to the goddess's lips. "Humanity craves to destroy what it does not understand," she explained. "You frighten them, so they strip you of your grace and pray that dulls your claws." Something was glowing in Firebrand's eyes, a deep warmth that offered little comfort. For the first time in her life, Nyelia felt an absence of control. Her mouth moved without prompt, spilling words from her lips like a fountain for Firebrand to drink from. "None would be bold enough to take my name." Pride and wrath swelled in her chest, turning into a promise. "The walls of my temple would weep with their blood if they tried." For a moment, Nyelia thought she saw the other woman's lips twitch upwards in a smile.

"Your temple was destroyed." The reminder was putrid against her tongue, thick and difficult to swallow. Nyelia had seen the remains, the broken pieces of what once belonged to her. Nobody had prayed at her altar for a long time. She was starved of sacrifice, body craving offerings in a world where there were none.

Slowly, painfully, she nodded. "Yes," she answered. "Now we are here. Seeking shelter in yours. If—" Nyelia licked her lips, eyes darting towards the door. I cannot mess up. For Rilla. "If you will have us both, I will work for you."

The director smiled, stretching her open palm across the space that divided them. "It's a deal."