A hiss slides through my teeth and I clench my fingers in my pockets, the scrape on my shoulder stinging as David wraps a self-sterilizing FieldAid bandage around it. When I hadn't answered his question, he went straight to tending to my scrapes. In case they're poisoned, he said. Cyclone is known for dirty tricks.

Tricks. Lies. All villain things. Did I do that too? Did I hide poison on me, ready to use on innocent citizens? Somehow, I don't think so. Sighing, I lean back, coaxing my breaths to slow and letting my eyes stray to Citizen again.

His face is hard as he stretches out a hand to the components of the three-edged knife. The pieces twitch, tremble, then start to rise off the ground, slowly reverting into the knife they used to be.

It stops a few feet off the ground where Cyclone held it over my stomach not too long ago, hanging motionless in the air as if frozen in time. Citizen lets out a breath and drops his hand. Immediately, the knife disintegrates and crashes to the ground, lumps of ore once more.

My heart freezes. So this is Citizen's power?

"Blank Slate was here," Citizen says, tone sharp. He spins on his heel, facing me and David. "He still could be around here. David, get Denizen out of here."

David straightens, taking my arm and pulling me up. "Yes sir."

As David leads me away, I look over my shoulder. Citizen has his back to us, hand outstretched again, and Cyclone's scarf is reforming itself from a puddle of oil. He stands as stiff as a stone pillar, tension radiating off of him.

And for some reason, something in my chest twists. Perhaps it's because Citizen's immediate concern is my safety when I am the enemy. Perhaps it is the way he stands so stiff as if he would be consumed by an ache inside of him if he relaxed even a centimeter.

Or perhaps it's nothing at all; my chest is only hurting because Cyclone knelt on it. Whatever the reason, I don't get to ruminate on it as David ushers me into a sleek, black hovercar.

The interior is a pleasant mix of gray and black with white accents and plenty of open spaces for holograms, a few of which flick on as David starts the hovercar. He pulls out and up, rising far past the normal air lanes to the hero lanes set near the tops of the buildings, and shoots us off so fast I am pressed back into my seat.

Clenching my teeth and curling my fingers into fists in my pockets, I cast my gaze out the tinted window, watching sparkling skyscraper after skyscraper blur past. The low hum of the hovercar fills the silence between us, crashing against the static in my head.

David clears his throat. "What happened?"

I swallow, inwardly wincing. What am I going to tell them? Certainly not the truth, but it has to be believable. "The best lies are versions of the truth." Sliding my eyes to the side, I peek at David. His gaze is focused on the holograms around him as he turns on the auto-pilot.

"Cyclone kidnapped me."

His head snaps around to me so fast I hardly have time to blink. "From your home? When?"

"No, no. I was...taking a walk." David's eyes narrow and I hurriedly plow on, ice stabbing my fingers. "I couldn't stay in my apartment all the time! I was going stir crazy. And it wasn't that far..."

Blatant lie, and he knew it. I was blocks away from my apartment, nearing downtown where the thugs hung out. "...Cyclone was going to kill me, but then Blank Slate appeared and told him to back off."

David's eyebrows rose like birds on a sea breeze.

"You're just as full of lies as—" I look away, biting the inside of my cheek. The pain mingles with the guilt pricking my ribs, drowning out Cyclone's harsh voice. "He said I was his quarry." Was that a Blank Slate thing to say?

"So he does want something from you."

Yeah. I'd like my memories back. "Then they fought. Blank Slate left before you came."

Though I don't see it, I sense David nod. A hand lands on my shoulder and I wince as ice bites my fingers again, glancing over my shoulder.

David searches my face, brows tilted. Light from the holograms casts a faint, blue glow on his skin, making him seem almost insubstantial. Distant. Unreal. "I'm sorry we didn't come sooner."

A fist digs its fingers into my heart and my lip curls. "It's not your fault."

He sighs and removes his hand from my shoulder, pulling down the scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose and shakes out his hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." It's my fault, if anything. "You came when you could." You came when I called. Maybe I should have called you sooner. "I just...I just wish none of this happened."

A strange expression crosses his face, twisting his mouth in a half, sad smile and filling his eyes with loss. Remorse, even. "Me too." He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

We lapse into silence, our thoughts loud against the background thrum of the hovercar. With a soft sigh, I lean my head on the window, the glass cool against my skin, and gaze at my faded reflection.

Red streaks down my neck, crusted and flaking, and covers my chin. The scrapes responsible for the mess of blood are shallow and raw—stinging fiercely as I move my jaw around—but not as bad as the amount of blood would usually entail. Over my left eyebrow, just peeking out from my mess of hair, is a purpling bruise.

Reaching up, I touch the bruise. Purple for royalty. Purple for what a royal mess I'm in. My lip quirks, tugged by bitter exhaustion and a thread of amusement muddled by the pounding of my head.

"Denizen, your fingers are white!"

Lightning jolts my nerves and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from blanking everything. Sparks leap from my chest, scorching my throat, and I stuff my hand out of sight, turning on him. "David, don't do that to me!"

David raises a hand. "Sorry. But your fingers were completely white."

"It's nothing." Megabytes. Now I have to deal with this?

"Can you still feel them? Is your circulation cut off?"

"No. I mean, yes. No—it's not—my fingers are fine! It's not anything like that."

David frowns, looking me over with a concerned look. "Then what is it?" Something flits past his eyes. "Is it...a power?"

Winter bites straight through my fingers, gnawing on my bones. I clench my jaw so tight tears prick my eyes. "David, please." Ow, ow, ow! It fills my mind, blasting the static and all rational, plausible answers into smithereens. "I—I'm a one, okay?" A curse hisses through the static battling my headache in a screaming match. Why did I say that?

"You are? How—why did you never tell me?"

Because telling you basically equals death. "It's weak and doesn't do anything useful. It wasn't worth mentioning."

Something in his features soften, the crinkles around his eyes almost growing sad. "Every power is useful, no matter how weak it is."

My lip twitches, sour, half-amusement fermenting in my stomach. "You'd be surprised."

Quiet. Then, "I know we don't really know each other well and a lot has been going on, but we—Storm Cell—are here for you. I am here for you, Denizen. We'll figure out this mess together. But to do that, we need to be honest with each other. I—"

"Save the speech. I understand."

David closes his mouth, eyebrows furrowed. "Denizen..." he starts, but doesn't finish. He stares at me, a decision warring in his eyes, then sighs and draws back, letting the conversation drop.

With a huff, I angle myself away from him, resting my head against the window once more. I don't want to hear it. Not now, when I can barely think through the pounding in my head. Not now, when loose threads, implications, and fragments of memories so small and out of context I can't place them, clutter my mind. Not now, not ever.

I can't handle this now. I am too tired, too full of aches and pains, too scattered and up to my neck in patchy lies to tell the heroes to listen to a mushy, meaningful pep talk. It has too much probability of working. Too much probability of changing me, just a little.

I sigh, closing my eyes and facing my back to David. Later, I'll think about it. Later, I'll deal with the things Cyclone said. Later, I'll logic out some answers for myself. All of it—all of everything else—I'll do later.

Right now, I have to focus on smoothing out this mess. Right now, I have to focus on not drowning.

●↽—01000010—⇁●

"Absolutely not."

Citizen shakes his head, lips pressed into a hard line and holographic eyebrows lowering. "This is not an option, Denizen."

"But—"

He holds up a hand, spearing me with a stern look. "Blank Slate almost got you. Evidently, he knew where you were and has who knows what planned for you. You are no longer safe in your apartment or out of it. For your safety, placing you in a safe house is best."

"But don't you want him to find me so you can trap him?" I can't let them move me. If they do, they might search my apartment and find what I found a few days back: Blank Slate's costume and a highly illegal atomic energy knife—two extremely incriminating, definitely not explainable, don't-let-the-heroes-see items.

Citizen's eyes narrow to slits, dark brown eyes turning into lumps of charcoal and embers, and his voice drops to a low, steely tone as frigid as metal door knobs in minus forty temperatures. "I will never use citizens as bait."

A shiver cascades down my spine, ice stabbing at my fingers, screaming to be let out, and, with a sharp breath, I curl my fingers into fists. His words come with such conviction and bitter bite, my protests die in my throat.

Anger curves the arches of his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth, radiating through his stiff shoulders. It's not anger at my words but something deeper, something rooted to the core of his motivations, and it is strong.

It's the platinum in his bones, the brace to his spine, the same dark fire I saw in his eyes when he reversed what I had blanked. And this fire, this steel, turns him dark. Formidable. Deadly.

It strikes me, then. I know why he looks familiar to me. It's not his features—though they do bear some resemblance to mine—but, in his eyes are sharpened embers and face carved out of ebony, I see myself. My younger, twelve-year-old self. Not the one I remember, but the one which I must have become: tainted, corrupted, and angry.

Sharp shadows fizzle through my veins, weaving around my ribs, down my arms, and burrowing into the ice in my hands. Is it so easy to slip into darkness that even one of the best heroes stands on the line?

"Citizen." David's words cut through the rising tide of static and panic in my mind, sharp and loaded with unsaid words.

Citizen blinks and the dangerous fire is gone. "It's final. Formic, take Denizen back to get his stuff. Meet me at safe house seven." He glances at me one last time, a hint of the fire smoldering in his eyes, and walks away, passing the desks of holograms and disappearing behind the temporary teleporter.

I stare after him, heart thundering in my chest. Just who is he really? A hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch so badly, I nearly blank my clothes as I stumble. Whirling around, I snap my gaze to David, a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue.

David's eyes are hard, coated in shadows of hidden intent.

The words shrivel and I look away, shoulders dropping. Shadows. Secrets. Mysteries. I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. Who are these people? What are they doing and why? What am I doing in this mess?

Who am I in all of this? Where do I stand? Why—why does this have to be SO HARD? Tears burn behind my eyes, scratching at the corners, and I swallow hard, gritting my teeth. Why did I do this to myself? What purpose is there?

I don't know! I don't know any of it—not about the heroes, not about my situation, not about myself! I am drowning and there's no one I can call for help.

I am a villain.

No one helps a villain.

Not even David.

A scream builds in my throat like a ball of fire, pressing at my ear canals and straining against my jaw muscles until something inside of me snaps.

I'm done not knowing. I'm done playing it safe. I'm done fishing around, waiting for understanding to drop into my lap. If they catch me because of that, fine. Maybe they'll explain some things before they kill me. Or maybe I'll just die not knowing.

"Let's go." Spinning on my heel, I stalk towards the exit of the hero's temporary headquarters, bitter heat burning my ears. I am going to get my stuff and go to the safe house. And when I am there, the first thing I am going to do is activate the bug.

Screw the dangers. Screw the consequences. Screw heroes. I am going to get answers. Now.