Breathe.

"-and t-that's how the use of metaphor contributes to the overall message of the poem," I switch to the final slide.

You did fine. Smile and look past them.

They're all watching me, Shiloh.

They are not staring at you out of malice. It's just a presentation.

"Excellent job, Will," says Ms. Adana.

I crash back into my desk, and it grinds against the floor, causing several people to look my way. I start drawing to ignore them, sketching out pictures from a not-so-hypothetical comic that Amanda and I will probably have to make as an alibi (we've already told a few people that the webcomic was entirely of our own invention, and they took it well), and with my non-dominant hand, I end up clutching the moonstone, rubbing the lines on its surface over and over until its sheer chill numbs my fingers.

You survived. It's over.

Calm floods my body like an incessant cold.

The bell rings, and I hustle to clean up the papers. Ms. Adana looms over me. "Will Rosenbloom?"

"I-- did I do something wrong?" I ask.

"No," she says. "I just wanted to check that you're doing alright."
Was it that obvious? It was that obvious. I can't believe it was that obvious. I sputter out something that sounds like it was attempting, at some point, to sound like an apology: "I erm-- I uh-- fine, I'm-- used to it, no need to worry?"

Ms. Adana is looking past me at the papers. Is she an artist too? Finally, she says only, "I know how hard it can be to struggle with social pressure. The counseling department is always open to assist you, as am I."

It was so obvious. Usually teachers just give me a sympathetic look and a bad grade. Why couldn't she just fail me and pretend it was my fault like a normal teacher? She's still looking at the pages. I cluster them away and pack them up in my file. "Are you a fan of superheroes?" I ask.

She says, "Recently, I've been gaining more exposure to the genre. You wouldn't happen to be... involved with the genre yourself recently, would you?"

Honestly, I admit, "I haven't been keeping up with much of anything, lately." I suppress a shiver. We're moving from perceptive to unnerving. The icy glare I'm getting snaps back off, and freed from the force of her stare, I scamper out of the classroom. The first portal to the Veins is just down the street from the school, near someone's backyard shed in a house with no fence, and after a quick trespassing stint, I slide into darkness and past that, into a place where no one can hurt me.

Amanda's harassing the others again. By 'harassing', I mean they're practicing, and Amanda has Karen pinned against the wall with some gray goop that looks like the Gak you can purchase from Target and as I walk in, a wall of purple sends Garrett flying at the other wall with unprecedented force. He lands close to me, a yelp of pain dying in his throat, and I just stare blankly at Amanda.

She swings her brush around and taps it lightly, bristle up, on the floor. As I enter, she bows to me. "Like what you see?" she asks, coyly, but there's something meaner in it today.

"I'm sure Ignatius won't," I tell her. I look to her victims. "You two good?"

Karen pulls an arm free, crackling with electricity, and the goop withdraws around it, burning away. "If you use a very liberal definition of 'good', I guess I could pass. Garrett, can you do anything with those portals besides dodge and retreat?"

Garrett frowns. "There's not much else you can do, is there?"

I look sideways at my shield.

"I do have something," Karen folds her arms. "Shiloh, could you create a television in here?"
Shiloh flicks his tail. In the corner of the room none of us had been focusing on appears a full television set, unassuming and waiting to be ruthlessly abused by a gang of hooligans with superpowers. Karen encroaches on it, like a five-year-old trying to catch a pigeon in a public park, and then, with a quick flick of her fingers, the computer illuminates to a blank screen. She turns it off again, then on, several times in rapid succession.

"Oh! That's pretty good," I say. "I bet we could use that if we needed to--"

"Can you do anything that wouldn't be accomplished by turning it on and off again with your fingers?" asks Garrett, dryly.

"Not yet," Karen admits, crossing her arms. "But on principle, I can manipulate more than flow. It's technokinesis, which is an entirely different animal. Within a few weeks, if I could just supplement it with some coding knowledge, I could probably--"

"I could help," Garrett suggests. "Hypothetically. I know some Java, C++, you know." He pauses, trying even harder than Karen is to look like he could not care less. "Some science stuff. Maybe it's a little too close to nerd territory to appease you, but--"

"You're seriously hung up on that," Karen says. "How fragile is your ego?"
Garrett is definitely a little flushed under the mask. "I'm not hung up on anything!"

"Shiloh," I ask. "What do we have to do today?"

Shiloh's tail waves. While he really only seems to be able to animate part of his face at a time, so we either get dead-eyes Shiloh or dead-frown Shiloh, today he seems about as happy as he gets. "There have actually been multiple signals, which means he's wearing himself thin. One is at his house, while the other is at the local park. There is a chance we could corner him--"

"Amanda and I can take the house!" I suggest.

"Wait," Karen says. "You've been in there before. The dude knows how to get into your head. Garrett and I will take the house, so we can scoot out if this is a trap, and you check out the park, because it'll be easier to portal out of a larger space without Shiloh's help."

"Huh," Garrett says.

"Any problems?" Karen asks.

"No," he says. "Just some interesting pairings, that's all--"

Karen's eyes narrow. "We have a powerhouse and a defensive member in each squad. It only makes sense. Of course, I could take Will, but then you'd be with Amanda--"

"You can just admit you don't mind being in a group with me. No one is asking you to defend yourself," Garrett says. "That's all."

"'Don't mind' is as far as I'm willing to go," Karen says. "Come on, let's go see what he's up to now. Will, Amanda, we'll be in contact through Shiloh. Supposedly." She leers at Shiloh. "You probe his mind. Not all of us are willing to be your pawns."
Shiloh exchanges a nervous glance with Garrett. "I never consented to this," Garrett mumbles.

"You consented a long time ago. I was tackled by Amanda," Karen says. "Seriously. Are we going to dawdle all day? You all might have nothing to do, but I have friends and a mountain of homework. The longer we sit here, doing nothing, the more I have to listen to all of you be indecisive and fret over literally nothing, which I'm sorry, is irritating enough to make me want to pull my hair out. I want the job done. Are you coming?"

"Only you," Garrett says, following Karen doggedly, "Could make being a superhero feel like an office job."

Karen drags him the rest of the way out.

"She likes it more than she lets on," Shiloh promises us.

"Of course she does," I say. "You choose everyone for a reason, right?"

"Make sure she develops that telekinesis," Shiloh tells me. The door before us is a swirling void, but I can swear that after the two of them left the color changed slightly, taking on a greener hue. It's a good an indicator as any that Shiloh's changed the exit point. "Good luck."

Amanda moves through before I can, and we find ourselves in full outfit in the depths of Anderson's Woods. They used to be private property a few decades ago, then, due to some generous donation, they became a park. There's a creek that passes through the whole thing, lined with parks at various intervals, snaking through elevated land for miles. Small as the creek is, it must have been here a while, because it's worn the land down into a crease. It's relieving to be out here, surrounded on all sides by trees, instead of in some civilian area where I might have to come up with an alibi, but the weather's become bitterly cold as fall wraps up, and sure, we got a signal, but we have no idea where Ignatius could be, or where his influence is.

"How close are we to Shady Oaks?" asks Amanda.

"Beats me," I say "Why do you ask?"
"I don't think that we got two different signals. I think that there's another way into his underground.... whatever, and it has to be out here." She's already prowling between trees, looking fierce and determined beneath the mask. I already know I'm not dealing with Amanda, I'm dealing with CMYK (which still doesn't roll off the tongue), and all I can do now is follow behind and stay out of brush range.

I close my eyes and try to summon up someone stronger. "What're you basing the hunch off of?"
"Genre savviness," she mutters. "Base of the hills?" A swing of her brush sends leaves whirling down the riverside, even unsettling some stones. Her mastery over seemingly every element is bordering on excessive. Seriously, Amanda, are there any drawbacks to your powers? Did you just get the best ones because you wanted them, because you knew what to ask for? Do you know yourself well enough that it was that easy to define yourself, to point to the best version of you and say, Yes, that one? That's me, that's who I've always wanted to be, all you need to do is give it to me, and I'll handle it?

She explained, a few days ago, after the Naval Brigade meeting, who she used to be. She was a pirate captain, and Megan was a siren, for a week over the summer, and the two of them fell in love. Then, when the week was over, Amanda was a protagonist and Megan was the mysterious transfer student. Then Megan was a mystic princess with the ability to see the future, and Amanda was her liege. It was so easy for Amanda to become this, because there was nothing to become. She's always changing the mask, but what's underneath, what gives life to it, that never changes, and it's so strong and steady--

"Nothing here."

"How do you deal with people?" I ask.

Amanda looks up at me. "Ones who can't handle you aren't worth your time. Not hard."

She's lying straight to my face and doesn't even know it. "Right," I say. "I was just thinking."

"That's always dangerous," says Amanda.

Shiloh has my throat. I can feel him there, sense the words he might bring from my mouth if I ask, and look down the river. We must have travelled downstream for a quarter mile, following the path of least resistance, and there's nothing. "I'm glad this happened, that's all. I wasn't anything before it, you know, and if I hadn't become so close to you, I'd still be no one-- without Shiloh, I don't think I'd even be handling school right now."
Amanda looks up. I can sense CMYK flickering behind that, Amanda's concern and CMYK's fidgety impatience overlapping like two otherwise lovely colors from entirely different compositions. "It's in you," Amanda says. "You know that, right?"

I look away. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"All the powers. It doesn't work off of logic. It's just what you want, reflected back at you through the mirror. If you want to be powerful, if you can believe in your heart that you're powerful and worthwhile, it'll do that for you. You just give into it a little."

Of course I know. "What if I can't believe that?"

Amanda shrugs. She kicks a pebble down the river. "You're stupid," she says.

I fake laugh. "If it's our desires, then you kind of have to wonder what's up with Ignatius," I say.

"Doesn't matter," Amanda says. "I don't care. If I start caring, I'll get involved, and if I get involved, then I'm right where he wants me. The man can deal with his own demons."

"Harsh."

"Fair."
"I just thought we kinda had to look out for our own. He's a big nerd, like us. Like we'll be when we--"

Amanda cuts me off by brandishing the brush against my face. "He's not one of our anything, Will. He's sick, and he's going to hurt you if you let him, so just stop letting him get inside your head."

I sniff.

Amanda draws the brush away. "You're so sappy."
My eyes burn. "Well, Shiloh chose me for a reason, right? Maybe our weaknesses are useful to him, too. Otherwise, I can't imagine why he would want me."

"Stop that."

"Barely have any powers, you know? Just a shield I can barely use, can't even get out a straight sentence, we go on these missions and I'm basically in the same position Garrett is in, just flinching, flinching, I'm always flinching or hiding and my brother's barely humoring me and I can't even be around the Naval Brigade without you there to handhold and--"

"Shut up!" Amanda says. "You can't just-- tie everything together like that! Will, you're a good person. You're a valuable member of the team. You're one of my best friends, even though we just met a few months ago. I can't listen to you can't talk that way about yourself."

"That's so easy for you to say, isn't it?" I ask. "You're invincible."

"No, I'm not."

"Prove it."

Amanda stares off into the distance, past the splotches of sky between the trees. "There's one color I can't get yet," she admits.

I don't ask.

Mainly because the trees start moving behind us.

Something ancient and sinister looms over us, and then slips into a more agile form, shrinking, becoming a great beast of tangled branches with an extended face and huge, branching antlers, still connected to its roots. With animal mobility and plantlike bulk, the creature steps forwards to stare grimly down at us, as if deciding who to eat first.

CMYK snaps back into gear, and Luna's right at her side. "Bad time to be having a heart-to-heart, I take it."

I nod. "I guess we're going to need to cause some deforestation."

"Terrible," she says, already swinging into action with her paintbrush bared and ready. The two of us run in opposite directions, and it turns to take after me and receives a faceful of shield. I'm glad to get the first hit in, but the shield doesn't deflect off, it just stays there while the beast struggles to shake it out of its head. CMYK hits it from behind with the purple paint, causing it to collapse in my direction, and I withdraw the shield in a cascade of green blood and viscera that shouldn't belong in a plant.

"I'll take the roots?" I say.

Another beast rockets towards us from up on the slope. Leaves still cling to its antlers, but like the first, it is fast, feral, and several times larger than us, about the size of a minivan. Wrestling a tree was not on my to-do list today, but I have to say surprisingly it beats intellectually wrestling a twenty-five year old mad botanokinetic who I empathize with so much that our battles have become several types of painful. As I rush to the roots, the tree-beast antlers me out of the way, and I can't get the shield up in time to stop me from being thrown out of the way against the slope. There are no cuts in my clothing, but the impact hurts, and while winded and reeling, I can feel its footsteps in the earth. Might just be my head pounding.

"I don't have the roots," I call to CMYK. My voice is stronger. Great. Something's kicking in. Now to see if I can put it to use.

"And I don't have this other guy," she calls back. "Wait. I have an idea. Do you think you can throw one into the river?"
I look at the encroaching tree. "No," I answer. "Unless I can believe in myself hard enough to attain superstrength."

"Not a bad idea," CMYK yells.

Yes, bad idea. Terrible idea. "If you have any ideas that aren't jokes, I'd really, really like to hear them right about now?" The tree is right overhead, and because Ignatius is a concept artist, the thing's jaws open sideways, and they do so in graphic detail, exposing a face full of splinters. I try to worm backwards on the grass, my chest heaving with the weight of the fear which is now pressing down upon it, and just as it plunges down I swing my shield upwards, blind and hardly in control of my own actions, and the air heats up. Only once I've moved out of the way do I see the burning face of my adversary as it bucks wildly.

CMYK gasps, "I had to do something."

Right. So, the problem with fire is that fire creates embers, and the problem with embers is that they are contagious. As the tree-beast jerks about, it only spreads the flames. CMYK dispatches her own tree-beast, but as soon as it's severed from its roots, she ends up watching helplessly.

I ask, stomping out leaves, "That one color wouldn't happen to be 'blue', would it? Blue like water...?"

No response.

"We need to go," I say. The beast is a giant torch, as if the flame was born to devour it, and the fire only grows stronger as it spreads. Why shouldn't it? It's magical fire. Of course it's going to keep going until there's nothing else for it to eat. Amanda stands in the path of the blaze. As embers burn like little stars around her in the air, and I contemplate how much water I'd need to throw up there to get to suddenly douse the flame, or where civilians are, or what I need to say, I realize the only way I know to get answers on any of these questions is to talk to Shiloh.

I don't need that itch at the back of my neck I get in civilian form to lure me back in. There are so, so many different ways to skin a cat. As I, with whatever strength I can pretend to possess, throw Amanda into a nearby portal I can feel Shiloh nudging us towards, I look back at the forest beginning to alight and jump into the darkness, feeling guilt and fear swirl through me.

Shiloh's purple eyes are wide. Karen and Garrett aren't back yet. He must still be monitoring them. I grab him. "Shiloh. What do we do?"

Shiloh's head does not turn, but his squared pupils turn in his eyes to catch my panicked face within their dark abysses. "Let it run its course."

"You're kidding," I say, almost dropping him right there.

"There you go," Amanda says. "You know where my weaknesses are, now." She disappears into the Veins with her fists clenched tight and her whole body stiff with anger, and I can feel my innards twisting up inside me like angry worms.

Shiloh continues, after a substantial pause, "It will not get far. There will be no casualties, one injury, wildlife losses negligible."

"You just know that?" I ask, not bothering to mention that there's no such thing as negligible when you're razing a forest to the ground. I can still smell the smoke and panic stuffed up my nose.

Shiloh nods. "Like I knew how to find you, Will."

"Then you knew we wouldn't find anything," I say. "Then you knew she was going to set the forest on fire-- trying to save me!"

"Small chance of finding anything. Not zero."

"How far can you look ahead?" I ask. "Why haven't you been warning us?"

Shiloh says, "Will."
I didn't realize how much it hurt for him to say my name. It feels like something has clenched around my chest, not in my lungs or heart, but something more nebulous, like, as much as I hate to insinuate this, my soul. I'm shaking now.

"Please don't say my name," I tell him.

"Luna," he corrects himself. "I am taking us down the most opportune path, at all times. I know it's a lot to trust in an alien, and I know I give you few reasons to trust me. I know you are resentful, in part, because you've come to lean on me. Know you're stronger than you think, and that I send you down these paths because they are the paths that, at least to my limited knowledge, will eventually get us where we need to be. I can't promise you'll never fail, because I can't prevent that without stopping us from going on any missions. I take gambles, too. I can only tell you that in any future, I know that you'll get back up, and if someone's down, you'll extend your hand. That's why I chose you. It's true for you no matter who you are, Will."

He can't see me crying. "Where's Amanda?"

"Home."

"The other two will be okay?" I ask.

"They're already home," Shiloh says. "No luck with them, either."

"That's what we get for splitting the party," I say, bitterly. "I'm going home." Shiloh looks despondent when I put him down, or as despondent as his limited set of expressions will allow him to look. He stares after me with empty eyes, and I walk a little faster to the door. "And thank you."

As soon as I'm out, I throw my bag off and grab my phone.

Thank you, I text Amanda. For not letting me die.

Read. Great, now I'm getting the Adam treatment.

You just panicked to protect me! It's fine! Shiloh says everything will be fine. No one will die.

How do you know that?

I look up. There's a soft drizzle beginning to pour down from the silk-smooth, silver sky, but it's picking up at an alarming rate. Look outside.

I'm a wildfire, Amanda texts back, after a long pause. But there's no rain anymore.

I've got you, I promise, my shirt soaking through as I stand in the rain. I will water you with my tears. I cry that much. Will put out any fire in seconds. Pinkie swear.

Stop.

You first.

She starts typing, pauses, then I hear the phone ring.

"Do you want to... play video games? I don't really want to be by myself right now."