Lucid's thoughts were twisted, garbled like they were coming through her voice distortion device, like even her own mind wouldn't let her see clearly.

It had been twenty-three hours since her rebirth.

A single day had gone by, not quite one full rotation of the earth, since the world had rediscovered the villain's existence. It was worse than she'd expected, and yet not as bad as it could have been.

Yes, they knew she was there—but they didn't know where to find her.

It wasn't the people that scared Lucid. It wasn't the police, or even the government's personal super-army. No, it was because of the other villains that she was cowering in an empty hotel room, flinching at every set of footsteps that went past her door.

The villains could, and would, find anyone. The only question was how long it would take them.

The supervillain was sitting awkwardly in the middle of the floor, as though afraid to go near any furniture. As though this was the first time she was trespassing, the first time she'd entered through a window, locked the door, and holed up for as long as the hotel room remained unclaimed.

It wasn't. It wasn't even the first time in eight years. Even though she'd quit her old ways—it was a matter of sanity that every so often she step into an empty room and just breathe. Alone. Someplace unfamiliar, with the thrill of danger in her footsteps and the alertness that only came when she was doing something illegal. It was harmless, she told herself. It wasn't like she was going out and murdering other people like in the old days.

There it was again.

Lucid's thoughts couldn't run for more than a few seconds before circling back around. She had tried brushing it off—it wasn't the first time someone had died because they were in her way.

And yet it was worse than the first time.

It was worse, because she knew she was wrong. When that idiot reporter had called her, she should have run. She should have put down the phone, left the room, and started a new life far, far away from anyone who had ever known her. It wouldn't be hard to just disappear and let the consequences fall on someone else.

It was hard to logically suggest doing anything else.

By the laws of the land, Lucid was guilty, and her mind knew it. It had taken only a few words to convict her. She didn't deserve the life she was living, she didn't deserve another start where no one knew about her past. She deserved anything and everything that reporter could convict her of. No one could escape justice forever.

But her heart wanted another chance. Lucid was better now, she'd left the old ways behind her, she didn't kill innocent people because they got in her way anymore—

And that's exactly what she'd done.

The first hint of trouble, a single moment of doubt, and she'd reacted like her old self, the one whose instinct was to kill. She couldn't afford for anyone to know about her past, she couldn't lose everything she'd worked for. She was at her most desperate.

So the obvious solution was to do the exact thing she had hated herself for doing.

"Yeah, you're a real genius," she said out loud.

Lucid had thought her biggest fear was people finding out what she used to be—but it wasn't, not anymore. She was afraid of returning to what she used to be.

The worst part was hearing Malory's voice again. Over the phone, she hadn't recognized her—it had been eight years and Lucid had only met her once—but the moment she had said Aidan's name, it had all come flooding back.

The night she disappeared, she had sworn never to look for him. Aidan Weber couldn't know where she was. No one could. If anyone had even the slightest idea of where to find her, the villains would come, like they always did, and they would get what they wanted. She told herself it was to protect Aidan, to protect everyone who had known her. It had nothing to do with protecting herself.

Maybe, if she'd been the one to tell him the truth...

When she had met Aidan, Lucid hadn't been much more than a freelancer. She stayed out of trouble, served her own purposes. If she tried, she could get away with anything—but why bother? She had anything she wanted. And then she had Aidan.

It wasn't a big deal at first. She just didn't tell him the truth. About who she was, where she went, it didn't matter. But he was always so honest with her, so trusting... part of her wanted to just tell him everything, though the rest of her knew it would break him.

And if nothing else, she couldn't be the one to do that.

It had all come crashing down that night, and this time it hadn't been her fault. Lucid was starting to have doubts already about her part in the scheme. Maybe she would change for Aidan, maybe she would try, for once, to find out what a normal life was. But first she had to finish the mission.

She had already forgotten the name of the man she was talking to that night. It hadn't mattered—she'd killed him like all the others who had seen her face. No loose ends, that's why she was so good.

It was Vortex who brought Aidan Weber into the scene. Lucid's hands clenched into fists at the memory of the only person she cared about tied up, helpless to do anything but see the truth. And she was standing there, wearing Lucid's suit, unmasked. Hiding and lying were the two things she was best at, and suddenly she could do neither.

"You're getting attached," Vortex had told her, all too calmly. "He's not exactly the accepting type. Look at him. Hurt, betrayed, lied to—there's no way he'll forgive you for this. He's too good for you, baby."

Lucid had said nothing in her own defense. "Let him go. I swear I'll never speak to him again."

Vortex regarded her. "No."

"What?" She felt her breath catch, knew she had to stay as calm as Vortex seemed or all hope was lost. "What exactly do you plan on doing with a random civilian? He's not useful. He doesn't know anything. I just kept him around because..."

"Because?"

She could feel Aidan's eyes on her. He had the softest hazel eyes, innocent and kind and completely trusting. And she knew if she looked up, she would see something different in the way he looked at her, and she couldn't do that to herself.

Because he's the only normal person I know. Because he cares about me and it feels good. Because he's safe, because he's good, because I love him.

She shook her head, silent.

"Hm." Vortex gestured to the suited men who had brought Aidan in. "Don't worry about it, then."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them leading him out the door. For eight years, Lucid held on to that moment, the last she ever saw of Aidan Weber, and told herself that he was fine. She convinced herself that Vortex had let him go, that he was out there living without her, and was reassured that she had made the right choice. He was better off without her.

That was the last she ever saw of Vortex, too. Or at least, the last Vortex saw of Lucid.

She hadn't said a word to Vortex on her way out. She had smiled a farewell, left calmly, and made her plans. Within twenty-four hours, Lucid would cease to exist.

Eight years. Eight years of maybe-things-will-be-okay. Eight years of putting the past behind her—and here she was again.

Lucid was right here. Eyes closed, sitting cross-legged in a dark hotel room, just waiting for the worst to be over. It was only a matter of time before the villains came.

She figured she was as ready as she had ever been.

So when the dark figure slipped in through the window she had left open, Lucid didn't flinch. Letting the other person make the first move was her signature—it threw them off, got them nervous. It was like a power move, and it made her feel more in control.

The other person hesitated just inside the window. He was wearing a suit almost the same as Lucid's, black where hers was silver-grey, with fewer unnecessary pockets, straps, and buckles. She felt suddenly outdated, like this new villain was fitted with the latest, sleekest tech and she was still wearing an iPhone 3.

"Lucid?"

His voice was distorted through the mask, like hers, but sounded somehow different. He stood menacingly in the shadows for only a moment before striding quickly across the room.

She rose immediately. "The door's locked. It's fine."

"Yeah, yeah." He stepped behind her, flicked on the lights, and hopped up on the bed. Pulling off his mask, he shook out curly dark hair with a sigh of relief. "Man, it's hot in here."

Standing frozen in the middle of the room, she stared. The boy couldn't be older than sixteen—he was lounging on the hotel furniture, unmasked, in full light. Who on earth—

"You are Lucid, right?" He glanced up.

She nodded mutely.

A wry grin crossed his face. "Oh, Mom is going to kill you."