Heaven.

Heat blasts my lungs. I have no weapon, nothing but my own body to fight with. The others are too weak to give chase, and yet I fly on my feet, so fast gravel dislodges from the empty, open road and whips up against my limbs. My skin smolders, the air shimmery in the heat of the early spring and of the aura draped like a thick, staticky sheet over the city. It has to be Angel's doing. And though I suspect I should be mad at him, I'm more relieved he's well enough to create something like this. At least Owl didn't try to kill him like I thought she would.

Now onto killing her.

I know my way around this city better than anyone. I've flown over it countless times, combed every inch in search of criminals and evidence. The emptiness is so out of place, so wrong, with my everu move I can't help glancing over my shoulder. Waiting. Waiting for someone to jump out and snatch me up, kick down the false backdrop. Everything is too glowy, too glisteny for the violence Owl threatens. And the feeling that my city, my home, is a ghost town makes my heart hurt so much.

I'm starving, and the speed of my sprint sucks u most of my energy. When I arrive at the Capitol building, my legs are like rubber, my chest muscles drawn up so tight I wonder if they'll explode. My guts had to be rearranged in my stern anyway, they must be awful weak. Maybe I should've stayed back. Waited. But this is what I have to do, this is my fight. That Demeter guy was right. I'm terrible at this heroing thing, and I couldn't save him. Couldn't save all the people I'm supposed to. So today, I'm going to do it or die trying, even if my hero's sacrifice is in vain, at least I'll be with my mother and father again. At least I can make them proud.

The capitol building is white and clean in the distance, icy. The porch spreads across the edge of my vision, gleaming like a sheet of frost. Rails shoot up in neat parallel lines and on the steps squat figures in black.

My stomach rumbles, my pulse roaring in my ears. Weaponless, defenseless, I stand alone in the middle of the highway. The air burns my neck and scalp, up and down my arms where the world feels as hot and empty as if it were itself a star.

Nebula's statue is broken, her limbs tossed into the shrubs. Her helmeted head lies at her marble base, staring out at me. I stare back, squarely into those lifeless eyes. Dead. She's dead. Her legacy, too.

And I have to pick up the slack.

I leap up off my feet, stabbing pain tearing through the back of my neck and calves. The heat is now unbearable, like the sun is shining through me rather than upon me. I'm so hungry even the blood that shines on the Capitol steps doesn't curb my appetite. My mouth is so dry, I can feel the wetness shrivel up on my tongue in dry patches.

The henchmen don't stand a chance against me.

Crazed with hunger, with hatred, with the thought of failure, of losing everything that I care about, of failing my poor, dead parents, I land hard on the slippery steps. Cloaks fly up like black angel wings and Angel's wings, the six or so hooded figures grabbing for me all at once. As I dive under them, they form a canopy that blocks out the sun. My leg snaps out and my shin bone connects with the back of someone's knee, knocking them up and over me with a pop. A scream. And yet it all feels like a heat mirage, a dream.

Steel-gripped fingers punch through the skin of my forearm, and I run.

A door is broken, jarred off its hinges. It's beautiful, ornamentally carved with curls that match the columns holding up the roof. I sigh to myself, soft and breezy. A hand yanks a lock of hair out of my scalp, and though I feel the heat of blood on my skin, I don't feel the pain.

Today, I'm a machine.

I race inside, the floor coated thickly with layers of dried blood, brown and crackly underfoot. Air conditioner keeps the room cool, the walls as clean and white here as they were outside. Hostages in matching black uniform take up the crook under the spiral staircase, their forms like lumpy dark shadows in the crisp light.

There are more cloaked figures here, most of them with their hoods down. Faces young and worn peer down at me, matching masks running from either temple over the bridges of their noses. They hide nothing, more fashion statement than true super-villain gear. I shoot up high in the dome of the gilded ceiling, spiraling up, up, up, near the burning oval light. I feel like a moth flying into a torch.

"Alright," I say. "Where's Owl?" The words scrape the insides of my aching throat, coming out ragged. "I don't want to hurt you. Take me to her, and no more blood will be shed." But the words feel half-hearted, especially to me, because I know hostages are here that need my saving. They look up at me, and their eyes glow with something like hope.

It's times like these I wish I knew what I was doing. What my purpose is, even. Save the civilian now, or chase after Owl so she can't hurt any more of them. My heart hurts looking at them,  because I can't save them with all the henchmen around. I have to leave them for now.

The henchmen are silent. I cross my arms, the skin scaly now and scarred from the above aura shield. Below, two thin figures in black slip inside through the open doors.

"Follow us," one says, and her voice is soft. Softer than I'd expect from a henchman. She holds up a single hand toward me, her sleeve drooping into a hollow shape around her wrist. Her friend glides across the floor, ghost-quiet, their footfalls silent as they stride toward a door on the far side of the room. I watch their heads sink behind a statue in the middle of the floor, one of all the all heroes. I can feel the hostages' eyes on me, and yet, I follow. I fly, my pulse pounding in my wrist, loud like the punch of drum. You're supposed to save people. The words haunt me as I plop my feet on the ground. I can imagine the hope fizzling out of the hostages' eyes, can imagine them wondering why their savior turned their back on them. My head hurts, and I don't want to think about it.

"I'm going to save you guys," I whisper, digging my balled up hands into my pockets. Smarting pain sears between my eyes. I promised the same thing to Ceres, said that I'd kick Fallout's butt and rescue him. These are promises I have to keep.

Their cloaks kick up behind them with a wisp of an artificial breeze. My heart throbs. Gats is here, with Owl, and so is Angel. I need a weapon. I should've taken that whip off Jaylin when I had the chance, even if the thought of using it gives me shivers.

The door creaks open, and my sneakers squeak on the marble. I want to kick off my shoes and peel off my socks to feel the coolness of the floor sink into my skin. A hallway winds deeper into the capitol, round lights in the ceiling giving the floor a glossy glow. Portraits and plaques of the heroes hang on the wall; there's even a plaque on me. A quick read through calls me a new "millennial" hero. I had no idea I was so hip.

A henchman takes my elbow. The other flanks my shoulder. I'm about to knock them both out when one says, "Play along. We have one shot at getting Owl. Do you have any weapons?"

I shake my head and she sighs. I have no reason to trust the henchman, so I don't, but if she's going to help me get Owl, then I will play her game. With each step, my heart pushes harder against my chest. "Do you have a plan?" I ask.

"There's only way to kill an immortal with their healing factor intact."

The henchman at my shoulder cups her hands together into a heart. I think I get it. I've heard the theory before, that you kill the super the same way you kill a vampire. Except a sword will do instead of a stake since a stake has a pretty hard time getting through all that reinforced bone and gristle.

"So how are we going to do it?"

The henchmen signs. I can't read sign language, not at all. The other henchman, the one with the sweet voice, points at a door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. I bite my lip, thinking I get that, too. Owl's so close, and I'll have to steal a sword. She usually carries one, but her chest's all protected by thick sheets of heavy armor. Not to mention she has the hostages to hold over my head. I can't give her that chance. We'll have to get in, kill her, and free them. Then I'll find Angel and take down that barrier. Army storms in, they arrest the rest of the henchmen, and in the midst of the chaos, I'll escape back to Poison.

Easy.

Steel-toed shoes click behind us, and I glance back just long enough to make out the shapes of encroaching henchmen. The woman at my shoulder grabs my forearm, and the other does the same on my opposite side. She shoots me a wink, and her eyes are the softest shade of green I've ever seen. This, I catch on to too. "Let go!" I cry. My legs flail out in front of me. "You'll pay for this, I swear!"

And to think Romeo and Juliet auditions are next week. I could literally be the lead of the school play, and instead, I'm wasting my acting talent on Owl. I should've found a way to kill her back at the mall instead of letting it come to this. Heck, I should've been a better hero in general. This, now, this is how I pay. I fall limp to my knees, my growling stomach adding to the agony as the door draws closer and closer. The lights blur as sweat drips into my eyes, and yet, I can't help the smallest of smiles.

At last, we arrive, and one figure in black shoulders it open for me. She glances in my direction and winks, too. "Owl." The other woman makes her voice husky and thick. Purple splashes the floor, soft words murky in my ears. "We have a prisoner for you."

The two push me in, dropping me so fast I hit the ground in a tumble. Laughter quakes in my ears, purple light spilling into my vision in bands.

My hands ball up into fists one last time. It's show time.