Jaylin.

Hev ran away. Again. And you know what? It's starting to piss me off.

Not that I can't track her down again. I'm getting good at that. "Kepler, come on. Kep." I rub the wolf-dog on the head, her cold nose pressed up into my calf. Nat and Poison are still inside, listening to Fallout scheme. But me? I was supposed to bring his son back, and I failed him. Betrayed him. When he says he wants to have me shot, who am I to think he's joking?

I'm still wearing Fallout's jacket, the hood thrown up, the sleeves so long they pool at my wrists. Light spills upon me through a stained glass porthole window, an image the mosaics make of a cross with a little pink heart at its center. I scratch the animal's chin, her fur shorn short and bristly around her snout. She whines. Hungry.

Each faded stair crunches under our steps with a low, painful moan. "Come on girl, find Angel. You're a wolf. You've got a good nose, right? Come on."

I brush a cobweb out of my face from a low-hanging beam. She whines, her tail curling behind her. I couldn't get a leash on her, could barely pry her out of the little girl's grubby gloves. She bounds down the crumbly steps and I follow, my footsteps like squeaks as I follow the click of her nails on the foyer floor.

The whole building has the feel of Old Starlight, before the supers and their super fights. It was a shabby apartment complex, even then. The tile is an ugly mint green, the type you can still find in bathrooms that haven't been renovated since the seventies. 

Wood planks chewed to their crumbling grain panel the walls. The ferns are wilted, have been wilted for years, told by the yellow mold creeping up their ceramic pots. And the whole place smells of must and age like it's sitting on piles of yellow-paged books. In this city of young blood and glittering towers, it's as much of a novelty as supers. Just less dangerous.

The wolf scratches at the door, a dark, ornamental thing framed with even more stained glass, more crosses and hearts. Even in here, the misty aura seems to burn, searing into my skin and with it the memory of falling helplessly in the air. With soft, creeping steps, I glide forward and push the door open, the voices of my friends and enemies a chasing echo.

Outside, the air is a heavy, dead thing. It weighs me down, like liquid lead in my chest, burning all the while. I hug Fallout's stiff nylon jacket tighter around me, the hem of it dragging like a cape on the sidewall. The hoodie thrown up and the cords pulled tight to protect my head and neck, I follow the wolf. She yelps, looking back at me, shifting her weight from paw to paw. Lines shimmer off the sidewalk, and I can only imagine the heat on her poor, fleshy pads.

"Hey, Kep." I slap my thigh and race after her. My throat burns with each breath, But I catch up with her, eventually. She turns around, her head cocked, her golden eyes glowing against the haze of sky Angel created. I catch up, panting, and lock my arms around her back and tummy. She's so heavy that with my super strength flicking on and off, I can barely carry her. Her tail thumps my leg, and with one gentle squeeze I fit her against my chest. The heavy jacket brushes over the wolf like a cloak. She buries her nose into the sleeve of my sweater, cold, twitching and wet against my pulse. I stagger my weight with giant steps to keep from falling over.

"I can find the capitol myself, Kep. I just need you to use that nose of yours to find Angel. I would, but my super senses are so jacked up right now that I'd only really find him if he screamed, and he doesn't seem all that interested in doing that now."

Her tail thumps faster. And I talk to her, all the way to the Capitol. The city is a loop. A whole island, pretty much, of glistening buildings and smooth streets. Hell, it spans four states: Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia. It's the first Megalopolis, that is, a megacity.

Everyone I know is pretty dang proud of us. I think The States are just happy we stopped expanding, or we'd have the Real Capital in our metaphorical clutches.

It's funny to think: we're the bad guys of The States. For having a different identity and a different worldview. I bounce with every step and I don't wait for Fallout and his team to follow. As soon as I save Angel, I'm leaving. I won't give the man a chance to kill me. Maybe I'll stay with Angel, maybe I'll run away. It's hard being a bad guy in a good guy's world. Maybe I'll become an agent of some sort, investigate other villains and flush them out. I don't know. I'm kind of out of options, really. Sixteen with my life already flushed down the toilet, that's what I get for having a locked up supervillain mom and a dead superhero dad. Jeez.

The walk is slow and long, Kepler shifting and squirming so my arms feel as thick and limp as rubber bands under her weight. The streets are empty, though lights are on in most of the apartment buildings. One has the blinds drawn up, and I can see the news on someone's flat screen, flashes of red scrolling across the bottom of the screen along with shaky phone footage of people in black cloaks perched on rooftops. They look a little like witches. That's what you'd think, anyway, if not for their masks. They look directly into the camera. And they wave. Smile.

I duck my head, suddenly conscious of how Fallout's jacket must make me look, the thick black fabric draping down my arms and waist. Swish. Swish. I shuffle my feet faster. "We're almost there, Kep. Then I'll put you down. You're real, real heavy. You know that?"

She licks the inside of my arm, and I remember just how much I love animals. They're better than people, anyway. At least they love you whether you wear a mask or not. And usually, you're not contracted to kidnap them and hurt their cute little friends. "If Angel dies, screw what Hev said, I'm taking you with me. You'd like me better than that little girl anyway. I can steal you meat. You'd like that, girly, wouldn't you? And I wouldn't name you after a scientist dude, I'd give you a real name. Something with a wolf pun in it. Like...like McWolf. With two fs. McWolff."

She whines, and I can't tell if it's from my naming skills or the thought of Angel dying. I shake my head, refusing to believe the former, and squeeze Kep tighter, her fur a thick cushion that muffles her pulse. Her tail wags.

"I guess you already like your master, huh? He's okay. But what is that Shakespeare saying, that one from a Midsummer's Night Dream, the one with the love potions and fairies and stuff? Ladies are meant to be wooed, not to woo. I don't know about other ladies, I'm no wooer. But I did what I did because it was my job. So I'm a little rough. But see, Kep? I'm being nice. You like me, right?" My voice hurts. I can't believe I want this animal's approval, but sometimes I want someone's approval. The key is stopping others' hatred from getting under your skin, because then it gets into your blood, and then, your heart. But at that, I'm failing.

I glance up at the capitol building. All white and glowy, as per usual. Yet there's blood on the steps, and Nebula's statue has been defaced. De-limbed, more like it, her arms thrown into the prim green shrubs, her head at the base. The flesh sizzles on the back of my neck and I creep backward on the heels of my sneakers, worn near threadbare.

They're borrowed, Heaven's. So is the cat-sweater, actually. And honestly? I hope I'm not wearing a dead girl's clothes.

There are people in black milling in front of the door, so I push back into an alley. It's trim, brick and metal fused together, so clean it shimmers. Kepler squirms, her toenails catching in the thread of my jeans. I make little coo sounds, but she howls. Long and loud and low. It makes my blood run cold in my veins. She kicks again, batting the jacket away, her nails cutting along my hip. I drop her, suddenly aware of her long snout and pointy yellow teeth. 

And off she races, tail shot straight out behind her, fur spiked straight up like quills. I clench the sleeve of Fallout's jacket and tie it over and over into a string of thick, sweaty knots. What if someone catches her? What if she's hurt? "Kep!" My legs are so achy from hiking the couple or so miles of central city, they feel as blubbery and useless as fins. Each step is more of a stumble, heat building behind my eyes and searing into my skin. The wolf whines at the side of the Capitol, her nose stuck in a sheet of broken glass on the sidewalk. I raise an eyebrow, her poky ribs showing from behind her coat.

There's a window, broken in, on the first floor. Kepler scratches at the side of the building, her claws catching on the sill. Her tail wags so hard she pushes a breeze my way. "Ah." I hobble up. "You smart girl, you." I rub her behind the ears. The side of the capitol is smooth and white, cool against my body. There are no outward security measures, no guards or drones or laser tags, a relic from the age of superheroes. What dummies these guys are.

My senses are still muted. Groggy-like, like I have a cold. Stupid Angel and his stupid, leechy powers. I might take another month for me to come back to full strength, and in this world where my friends are attacked as soon as they hop out of their apartments, that's like a couple of years. Maybe I should've used that healing aura on myself. Hev would've died, sure, but she seems awful keen on that fate anyway. At least I would fight. Her? I don't know what's up with her. And to think she had all the potential in the world. A real superhero.

The usual easy ebb of breathing and ba-bum ba-bum of pounding hearts has long faded from my hearing, and it's almost a relief. Instead, I hear the usual: sobs, screams, and a barrage of angry quips.

So I know I've found my Master Trio of Emotional Angst.

I pull the hood down so low I only see streaks of black in my peripherals. Perfect. My fingers find purchase on the sill on the hard curls of trim. One ragged black shoe after the other, I balance up against the window. Bits of plastic dig into my soles. Kep whines, bouncing as she sniffs for a cool place to sit. My heart aches, and I tug free the tight cords at my neck. I peek in, my motions slow and soundless in a way they can only be after a childhood of training. Maybe I can settle on being a thief. As long as Angel doesn't find out, that would be the perfect mix of Not Kidnapping People For a Living and Still Committing Enough Crime to Land Myself Locked Away For Good.I curl flat against the edge where the window used to be attached, now a cool, gaping square.

I free myself of the villain's jacket and toss it onto the ground, spread flat like a picnic blanket. Kepler settles on it, the heat of the low aura burning like acid on my exposed neck.

Henchmen press against the walls, soft, peeling sheets of green wallpaper falling apart in their bored hands. I flick my eyes around the room, shifting the threat level every so often, searching for a weapon of any sort. One of the chairs, perhaps. Or maybe I can flip the whole, stupid table. Or steal it. It's an expensive thing carved of old, polished wood.

Focus, damn it. Henchmen, schmancy furniture, and Owl. My heart catches in my chest..My idol. My hero. Used to be, anyway. Before I became friends with my prey. Before I betrayed my family and my identity for a vague sense of "it's the right the thing to do" and a cute winged boy.
Her armor glitters like a second sun in Angel's glow. He's frozen, wings spread behind him, shimmering. Breaking probably, as per usual. If only true love's kiss would fix that. Then I'd be in serious business. Hev is making a begging gesture at Owl. Gats is strewn on the floor, curled into an itty-bitty ball. What a damsel.

I peer down. His face is splashed pink, a web of veins showing under his shut eyelids, so thick I can make them out from here. Now, he's become so pale his skin almost glows, as translucent as a ghost's. To me, he's always been beautiful. The way his features meet, his usual coy smirk, the way he tips his head, flushes, lights up. So expressive. But now? He just looks tired, and an awfully delicate thing. Something weak. In need of protection.

Hev's wearing her usual makeup of blood and dirt, a determined grimace cutting a hard line in her dark, pretty face. Her eyes still have a glow to them, her chin held up with a haughty sort of grit. "Yes." She hold her hands out flat, as if in a pleading gesture. It doesn't match the rest of her. Her hard-set face, hey eyes like flint. A hip popped out, her hand probably itching to join it. "My parents are dead. Sometimes I miss them. And there's a lot of responsibility here, a lot of failure. I can't save the people I'm supposed to, not even my own friends. Dying, again and again, to come to in a weaker state, shrieking in agony? It sucks, sometimes."

She eyes something Owl's holding, something I didn't notice before: a sword. It's a giant thing, the hilt glinting, the blade silvery and glossy, catching the light at a thousand different angles to glitter like a sort of diamond. I decide I should steal that, too. My back and thighs itch from sitting still for so long, and I grip a length of velvet drape, ready to swing my way in like a small, villain Tarzan. Kepler drools on my shoe, batting the laces like a kitten. Her nails slash the plastic tips. Curse thrifty Heaven and her thrifty shoes, the kid's loaded and she couldn't even buy herself a decent pair of combat boots to withstand everyday wolf contact.

Hev's eyelashes flutter at Owl's expert grip on the sword, as if she's flirting with fate. It makes my jaw clench.

"Oh?" Owl says, and her voice is as smooth and hypnotic as a siren's. I almost fall from the window. "Poor child. I suppose I'll have to take you out of your plight."

Hev looks up. Steps toward the sword Owl draws through the carpet. She monologues, gone so batty she's using the script of the wrong archetype. "I can't sleep. Death is the closest I've come to rest." She raises her hands and balls them up by her face in a guard. "I don't know if you've ever felt that before, ma'am, as an immortal being." Her words are smooth and low, and I know her to be the girl on the magazine covers, the girl I wanted to be nemeses with. I grip the whip so hard the blood drains from my hands, leather scales cutting a pattern into my skin.

"I'm going to count to three." Heaven lifts her quivering chin. "If you don't back away from Gats, I'm going to hurt you."

"Alright, little girl," Owl says through a chuckle. "I'll play." She arches the sword up over Gats' sleeping form, the shimmering tip above his throat.

I snap up the whip, cast it back like a fishing rod and arch it toward Owl's arm. Miss. Heaven was wrong about a whip being like a lasso. You use a lasso to restrain, you use a whip to shred a person's flesh or scare the bejeezus out of a horse. Not my style either way.

So, I do what any sensible person would. I dive through the window and drop kick Owl in the shins.