Poison.

"Sucks for you," Ceres says, a guy with a true gift for understatement. I grab at a crumbling wall and press my face into it as people ebb and flow around us, rivers of criminals moving past in a loud, boisterous current. My head feels like it'll explode if I so much as think another thought. I lost Luce. I lost him. How did I freaking lose him? How does he even move that fast?

My knuckles bulge. Breathing quick and arms trembling, I start to swing. Crack. The hook-shot smashes a hole into the wall and my fist stings. The pain is nothing compared to the pressure in my head. 

"Poison..." Ceres warns. Shocks of impact seer my balled fingers as I throw another. And another.  And another. Crack, crack, CRACK!  I hardly feel my arm sink into the drywall or the cut of the  seams as they meet my torn-up skin. "Why can't you just stay put!" I shout into the yellow plaster, my throat raw from screaming and my fists ragged from punching. Gasps leave me in short wheezes, my lungs shuddering in my chest. "Why can't you just play along! You freaking—"

"Poison... "

"I hate him." My voice wavers. "I hate him."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"If he had never been born..." I start, but I never finish. Ceres knows what I will say. I roll my head back, pressure still mounting. A corner would be nice to curl up in right now. I think I've said it a hundred or so times, to myself, to him, to my journal. If I were the only son, if this human weapon had never been created, if Dad thought about me half as much as he did about this 'Angel'...

"Relax." Ceres rests his hand lightly on my shoulder. "We'll find him, He can't run away, at least, not for long anyway."

I clutch my head. "Of course. Any hunches, Ceres? I'm open to suggestions."

"The worst place he could possibly go. He's just unlucky like that." I drop my hands and glance to the side. Ceres smirks, his green eyes glinting. Mischief.  That's what Dad calls the stuff Ceres does when he isn't being watched. There are so many sides to this guy, a panicked side that shows in those moments when he's sobbing in a corner, a calm side that spews wisdom and builds plans, and a strange side that makes him seem like a kid. 

It's true, what he says about Luce. We found him last time by asking Dingo, one of the alliance-less guys, to track him down, since Dingo had the power to sort of "feel" his presence. Usually, Dingo hangs at the Super Supply in the mall. Coincidentally, that's where Luce went for God knows why. Probably for tips on his precious Catsby. Pathetic.

I nod, though the gesture is slow and aches at the base of the neck. "Okay. We'll set up. And I'm sure we'll see him again."

Ceres smirks, his shoulders quaking. I snap my hands to my sides. "What?" He holds out a clenched fist to me, and I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "What's this?"

Ceres smiles, throwing his fluffy brown bangs out of his face. He opens his hand and shows me a bundle of silvery-gray chips and wires, sloppily strung together. Pieces are duct-taped in, and a  red light flashes near the end. Beep. Beep. Beep beep. For a second, the pressure subsides, and a flutter of hope lifts through my chest. It could be too much to ask for, but maybe, maybe . . . 

"A tracker?"

"I was rereading this Trinity comic a while back, and in this one scene, Batman slipped this tracker into Wonder Woman's hair. And I thought it was a really interesting idea. Like, how do you slip a tracker into someone's hair without them noticing? And what if it falls out or whatever, and—"

"You're not Batman." If only I had patience. Ceres actually looks down at his feet for a second, as if ashamed by his non-Batmanness, but then he just powers up again, his face cut by a wicked grin.

"I'm not, so when I caught your brother back in the mall I had to stuff the thing in his pocket before throwing him to the ground. It all took less than a second, really." He pouts at the wall. "Still mad I couldn't use the hair trick—"

My heart stops. "It? Are you . . . do you have a signal on him?"

He smiles gracefully, like someone hosting a tea party, and pulls out his phone. I just stand there, shivering with anticipation. Could it . . . no way . . . what luck would that take . . ."Heading southwest," he says.

The pressure zips away. A new lightness takes over my chest. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay. I grab Ceres'  shoulders, my bleeding knuckles splattering his shirt red. He looks up, wide-eyed like a dumb deer when in all reality he's the smartest guy I know, and I squeeze him into a whopper of a hug.

"I knew you'd come through!"

He chokes. I let go and he falls flat against the plaster column. His smile is crooked now and wipes the sweat off his forehead. "I know you want him and that Galaxy girl, but chill out, okay? Promise me you won't hurt them, at least, not any more than we already have."

I feel my smile falter. "Why?"

He holds up his phone, and the glow in his unnaturally bright eyes saps away. "Promise," he snaps.

"Galaxy." I cross my arms. "I promise I won't hurt her. That enough?"

Ceres shakes his head and sighs. "He's just a kid, Poison."

"And the bane of my existence." I feel myself bristle. Part of me is aware I'm acting like a child, and the other part doesn't want to care. I want to destroy the guy who destroyed my life. An eye for an eye, if you will. A life of captivity for a life of captivity. There's nothing wrong with that.

Ceres shrinks up against the crumbly wall. "Listen to me." The phone dangles in his grasp an inch above my head. Luce's whereabouts. My fists clench instinctively. "He didn't ask to—"

"Give it up, Ceres."

He shakes his head, flicking the tracker in his other hand to the floor. It makes another beep.  My jaw tightens. I'll do anything to get that phone, and by the flash of fear in his eye, it's clear Ceres knows that just as well as I do. I'm already sizing him up. He glares, nearly shaking. His face is even a shade of pink. 

"Don't even think about it." Ceres coolly lifts his foot over the transmitter. "You aren't as strong as you think you are. Anytime you try something without me, you fail."

But the trash talk doesn't intimidate me. I need to get Luce. My wings snap out. Ceres slams his foot down, but he's a second too late. I shove my hands into his chest so hard we smash right through the wall. Superstrength. Dust and shards of plaster and drywall explode around us as we tumble right on through and into, supposedly, a clothing store. The place smells of decay and must. Racks of hanging clothes stand like wilting flowers in the middle of the store, saggy with knock-off shirts. A lot of people sell knock-offs here. It's almost funny. 

Ceres cries out, his eyes huge and watering,  his face as pale as a vanilla wafer. He hits the ground with a hardly suppressed cry, his back arching and shoulders jolting from impact. I land on him and try to hold him down, to talk reasonably. "Ceres," I start.

"You!" He slashes his fingers down the upper side of my cheek, poking my eye so I have to blink a few times to see straight. "You're—"

I crack my elbow across the side of his face, my arm swept under his shoulders to hold him close so he can't get in any upper-body blows. He cries out and kicks my waist, the hit swift it knocks my breath away. It's adrenalizing to fight someone who poses something of a threat. The pain is as refreshing as it is a jarring shock to the system. I punch him, once, twice, my breathing shallow and my heart whirring faster and faster like a stuck engine in my chest. We roll. We slur and kick and scream. The phone goes skidding across the floor, but we're both too caught up in our struggling to make a grab for it. People watch. He slams me to the bottom, his wrists on mine and his bodyweight smothering. I collapse hard on the cold wood floor, his face a scowl, me panting, lungs surging and falling. My whole body aches, my muscles tender and throbbing. There's even blood on the side of my jaw and it tastes like salt and metal.

Ceres gives me a haughty glance, flicking his eyes up to the ceiling. "You know what your problem is?"

"Enlighten me." The ceiling lights are blurry, my vision cut into triangles and something like a smudged kaleidoscope. Nothing stops moving. At this point, even Ceres is looking a little unicorn-esque, his face blurred and elongated at the chin and cheekbones.

Ceres smirks down at me, the color returned to his cheeks. He sinks his nails harder into my wrists, so much so I nearly wince, not that I'm the wincing-type. "It's your type. You're one of those guys that rule everything and then decides, hey! Let's invade Russia." He leans in so closely I feel his breath on my ear, his voice so deep and father-like it's like he's giving me the advice the world should hear. "Don't be Napolean." His eyes bug out, his voice a whisper. "You never invade Russia. Some people, you just shouldn't mess with."

And through this whole spiel, all I can think about is how Luce is getting away. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the flash of Ceres' transmitter. Luce is so close, just out of my grasp. I can almost feel his wing in my hand and hear his stupid little squeal.

I'm so close to crushing him.

And all the while, Ceres drones on. Sure, we're in a shop, but here, fights are common and little is done about them except for the formation of a few cheering crowds.

"Your dad has me watch you because he knows that." Ceres digs his knees into the floor. "You're invading a crap-ton of Russias and I'm taking you home. Understood?"

I nod dumbly. Of course, he betrayed me. My fists ball up, but I smile agreeably. "Good." He smiles back at me, and it's so sincere I have to admit it's a little sickening. "I didn't want this to get messy," he adds, his voice as smooth as a pot of Dad's coffee. Not that coffee has a voice, but if it did, it would talk like Ceres: smooth and deep.

He peels his weight off mine, and that's when I pop him one.

The punch lands in his throat. It's a sloppy blow, thrown quickly and without much thought, but it does its job. Ceres grabs at his neck, his mouth parted in a silent scream. It lasts a second. He hits the ground, still clutching at his neck and gasping to breathe. I feel a touch on my shoulder and glance back at a doe-eyed girl in red flannel and high-tops. Her eyes are a dark sort of brown, like chocolate or leather or whatever else little boys and girls describe their love's eyes to be like when they write their Valentine's day cards. To me, they're all the same. Piercing, brilliant, bright, warm, rich: who cares? They all react to my powers the same way. I grin at her.

Ceres struggles to get up and is still gasping like a beached fish when I bring my knee back and bash the raised heel of my expertly-sewn, French-crafted boot into his stomach. He falls back with  a 'thump!' like a full coffin. He snatches his phone and shoots a message before I bat it away from him. The information is still all there, and I shove the phone in my pocket to absorb it later. Ceres growls and flings himself to his feet, hands up and feet in a fighting stance. But I'm prepared.

He swings. I react. Another elbow to the throat. A slash to the face. A kick to the waist. It's like a dance. And here, I am the victor. My fists are pulpy and raw, so I shove them into my pockets. Ceres doesn't take the hits gracefully, falling to the ground hard and skidding on his butt. Lying there like that, holding his neck, his whole face drained of color, he looks like prey. "Katris."

I chamber my leg and let fly one last kick. Ceres flails to get up, but my boot connects with his chin and in that instant, his body crumples like a moth's wings. The girl's still looking on, and I flip my hair back, wiping the rest of the blood off my face with my sleeve. Ceres lies at my feet, his breathing regular. He'll be okay. "Hey," I tell the girl. The audience shuffles away, having had its fill of blood and blows and now bored. She catches my eye. I pull out my wallet and with it a crisp fifty. "You mind holding onto him for a while?" I purr, and by purr, I do mean purr. My arm's behind my back, my back crooked into a gentlemanly bow. "He isn't as high maintenance as he seems, I promise." 

She stiffens. "Uh..."

I straighten and walk by. "Great. I knew you'd come through." I pat her on the head and stick the fifty in her hand.

"Uh... "

I draw a long breath and sidestep an overturned coatrack. My fist clenches around the phone.

I have him. I finally have him. 

And when I get to him, I can finally make game on my plans.

I can destroy him.