Malory felt true fear for the first time in her life the moment everything started going according to plan.

The dark figure was standing exactly on the painted X, right where Malory wanted it. She was precisely six metres away, right where she had planned to be. And it was five fifty-nine on the dot.

Everything was perfect.

And it terrified her.

The figure shifted slightly, glancing down at the crude X under their feet, then cocking their head to the side in a silent invitation. Malory realized with a sick feeling that the other person wasn't going to move until she did—after all, she had been the one to make contact. The villain standing exactly six metres in front of Malory hadn't appeared to anyone for most of a decade, and she had only been half-sure of their existence until eight seconds ago.

"Lucid," she said.

The shadows falling across the figure's face gave Malory the impression that behind the mask, she was being assessed with cold precision. Silky tendrils of uncertainty wove through her mind, and her speech altogether forgotten, she found herself stepping forward.

Five and a half metres between Malory Weber and the object of her obsession for the last three months.

And finally, they spoke.

"Lucid," the villain repeated.

The voice was low, distorted by the mask. Even in the spotlight Malory had rigged up, the figure could have been male or female. Anyone else would have looked at the supervillain and read nothing from their stance.

But Malory knew everything. She lifted her chin, revelling in her advantage. It was time to take control.

"I know who you are," she announced into the expectant silence.

Lucid's head dipped sideways again. "So you've said."

She hesitated, unsure if she was expecting more of a reaction. When the figure did not offer anything else, Malory squared her shoulders.

"And I'm not the only one," she continued, growing bolder. "You faked your own death, you've been hiding for years, but you won't get away this time. I've seen your face. I know where you're hiding now. I know everything about you, and I know you've been lying to everyone."

Her eyes had been fixed on the faceless mask, trying in vain to make out the person behind it. Startled, she realized her feet had carried her forward again as she spoke.

Three metres between them. Malory had to keep control.

A tiny sigh escaped the figure. Black-gloved fingers caught the light as they were spread in supplication.

"Is it so hard to believe I meant no harm?" Lucid's distorted voice sounded almost sympathetic. "Give a super a break, huh?"

"You're a villain," she spouted. "There were so many times you could have asked for a second chance. I've read all the old articles, police reports, everything on the internet there is to know about you. And you've never worked for anyone but yourself. Maybe you can ask the courts to give you a break."

And suddenly, she was nose-to-nose with the masked villain. Malory drew in a shaky breath, lurching backwards. She was too close, her control slipping, and yet the subject had barely said anything. Paranoia was taking over again—though it had been her best asset during the relentless, wild-goose-chase of a mystery she had pursued for the past few months, now she had to stay on her feet.

The super caught her arm.

Malory hesitated, surprised by the light grip. She wobbled on the twelve-centimetre heels she'd just bought. Her mind wandered back to the crazy instinct that told her to go shopping for sandals in November, grey leather with pointed toes and wicked-sharp stiletto heels. They had made her feel confident, like the self-made reporter she saw in the mirror, but now they felt as flimsy as her sanity.

"The courts don't give breaks," Lucid said in a ragged whisper. "Not even for me. You know justice means the death penalty."

Malory was strangely light-headed. The instant she heard the raw fear in the supervillain's voice, it was like her own fear had vanished. She'd been struggling for control, and in a single desperate plea Lucid had thrown it at her feet.

"Yes," she said wonderingly. "I know."

"Then this is your last chance."

It was incredible, how a supervillain who had successfully evaded capture for years, who had laughingly led law enforcement up and down in an impossible search, who should be completely secure in their ability to get away with anything, could make a simple phrase like this is your last chance sound like this is my last chance. Malory almost laughed out loud.

Lucid's sentence wasn't finished. "Let this go," the distorted voice insisted. "Forget everything you know, and nothing will happen. I swear I mean no harm to anyone."

"Of course not!" Malory couldn't hold back any longer. "I'm sure you meant no harm to Aidan Weber."

The figure visibly took the intended blow. Their fingers slipped from Malory's arm, half-outstretched and trembling in a silent plea.

"You probably don't remember—" Malory's voice suddenly lost its defiance.

The supervillain was reaching up, slowly pulling off the mask.

Lucid's hair and skin were darker than Malory's, but not by much. Her eyes were brown and surprisingly innocent as she stared, the black headpiece cradled in her gloved hands. Her gaze didn't leave the reporter's face.

"Malory?"

Her voice was faint. "Don't talk to me."

"I didn't mean to hurt your brother," Lucid said.

"He's dead," the reporter said savagely, taking another step away. A metre and a half between them, and Lucid hadn't moved from the painted X. "You'll be charged for murder, if nothing else. And he's not the only one you've killed. I know everything. I know enough to have you convicted a hundred times over."

"I think once will be enough." There was humour in Lucid's voice, but not in the clench of gloved fists.

"Oh, it will be." Malory was smiling now. She'd won. "There's someone coming through that door in thirty seconds. He's a cop. He's also my boyfriend. And when we're done taking you in, we're going out for dinner. The last few months have been... eventful, and I think I deserve a break."

The dark figure slowly lowered herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged in the centre of the X. She looked toward the ceiling of the dusty room, muttering something inaudible except for the tail end: "...give breaks."

"What was that?" The reporter leaned forward.

Lucid let out a defeated sigh, letting her gaze drop to the floor. "I'm sorry I'm ruining your night," the villain said, regret clinging to every word.

"You didn't," Malory assured the pitiful figure. She glanced back at the door. Maybe twelve more seconds, if she'd timed it right.

There was silence for a moment, then a faint huff of laughter.

"I'm sorry," Lucid said again.

Malory looked down.

Zero metres between her and the supervillain. Zero metres between the self-made reporter and the defeated figure on the floor. Zero metres between her new grey high-heels and the empty syringe in Lucid's gloved fingers.

Malory hadn't felt the prick between her toes. She didn't feel a thing as the ex-supervillain squeezed air into her veins. But she felt the pain in her chest, the cold cement against her sweaty hands, the faint breath against her cheek as the dark figure again whispered "I'm sorry," and then she felt nothing at all.