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The house was silent when I unlocked the door and stepped inside, which was all for the better. My face was streaked with tears and my hands were shaking. If my parents had come in at that moment, they may have suspected I'd been mugged or something.

"Mom? Dad?" I called, just to be sure I really was alone.

I had a feeling my mother was currently at a showing, and Dad was probably either out grocery shopping or over watching a baseball game at a friend's house. I made my way upstairs and into my room, shutting the door resolutely behind me and breathing a sigh of relief.

I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and massaged my scalp, needing something to do to keep my mind occupied. My mind was a jumbled mess, and I could hardly string together a coherent thought. It had been hard enough accepting the fact there was a man on this earth capable of defying gravity, but knowing he lived next door to me? Knowing I'd grown up with him?

I supposed the clues did make sense, if you examined them closely. He had a shady past, he was adopted, and he skipped school a lot. It explained the way he made it to class on time even when it should have been impossible. It explained his long absences and the way he was hardly ever home. But somehow it still seemed surreal.

"Violet."

I screamed and stood up from the bed quickly, turning to the window. In my confusion, I'd forgotten to close the window all the way. Idiot!

I shook my head and stepped back. "I told you to stay away from me."

"Just listen to me!" he cried. "It's not how you think!"

He still wasn't wearing his mask, but he was in his costume. I spun around and ran for the door. I pressed against it and jiggled the knob to get it open. It had opened maybe three inches when a gloved hand appeared beside my face and pressed it closed. His lean body pressed against mine, and I leaned my forehead against the white door and breathed in, trying not to cry. Trying not to pass out or hyperventilate.

"Please don't hurt me," I whispered.

I knew it was irrational to be thinking that way, but I didn't know what else to do. Everything I'd known was a lie. Colton wasn't just a boy who used to play soccer and who spoke to me occasionally through the windows of our facing rooms. He could fly and run and compel people and see through solid objects!

"I would never hurt you, Violet," he whispered. I could feel his cool breath stirring the hairs at the nape of my neck. "Please don't be afraid of me. Please."

I spun around and pressed against the door. He was so close to me I could see every freckle dusting his nose. I could see the wide azure of his eyes and feel his breath fanning my face. I could feel the body heat coming off of him.

"You can't be him," I whispered. "Not you."

He shook his head. "Just let me explain it. Please. Please don't be scared of me."

His hands were on either side of my head, his body pressed against mine. I felt my stomach curdle. I felt my throat clogging and the need to cry coming on. I needed to get away.

I ducked under his boxed arms and sprinted for the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind me with shaky fingers. I leaned against it for extra weight, even though I subconsciously knew it was a futile effort. If he wanted, he could kick the door down and exert no effort. I threw my back against it and felt my eyes sting with tears. I slid down to the ground and let out a sob.

"Violet, please," he murmured, and I could hear him pressed against the other side. "Open the door. Just let me in. Please."

"I need you to leave," I whispered. "If you care about me—if you ever cared about me—I need you to go. Please, Colton, please, let me go."

I heard him stand up, and soft footsteps padded towards the window. "I'd never hurt you, Violet," he whispered.

I heard the window open and close behind him, and I held my breath and listened for any noise from the other side of the room. I heard nothing but the ticking of a clock and the low hum of a refrigerator downstairs. I was alone. And somehow I knew Colton wouldn't come back.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and drew them to my chest, feeling the deluge of tears coming on like an avalanche. A sob tore from my throat, and I cried hard and loudly for at least an hour. I let all of my fears and pent-up frustrations out, and cried so hard I was gasping for breath. My head ached and my body trembled.

All I could think the whole time was that it couldn't be true. People like Colton didn't secretly have a double life where they dressed up in leather and fought crime. People like Colton didn't keep huge secrets. They didn't fly or run fast or protect people from muggers and bullets. People like Colton were simple. They had uncomplicated lives filled with normal teen angst. They didn't bear the burden of bad guys and scientific experiments.

Everything in my world seemed different, and I viewed life with a new light. Was Alexi his sidekick? Was that why it seemed like they always had their own little secret club?

Colton had always talked about preferring to be lonely, but what if that was because he didn't want to share the secrets of his powers? Could he really be the little boy who had been injected with the serum? Could he really be the target of something so dangerous?

Did his foster parents know? Or did they just think their son was naturally reclusive and kept odd hours? Surely they had to know. Even a son with bulletproof skin had to show scars and signs of a different kind, right? Did anyone else know his identity? How had he coped with the pressures his whole life?

The more I dwelled on the subject, the more questions I had about it, like how he had ended up in New York and how he had found his powers. Was the only reason he was talking to me because he knew who I was in his other life? Why had he only popped up a few months ago?

Was Colton really the bad guy everyone had him painted to be? I'd always been on The Black Phoenix's side from day one, but knowing that he had lived next door to me this whole time changed things. I realized how little I really knew about Colton and The Black Phoenix. What if he really was the villain and I was allowing my partiality to cloud my judgment? Rule number one of journalism was to always be objective. But I'd lost a tight grip on that the day he saved me.

Why had he even approached me in the first place? He had Alexi, and it was very clear he never wanted to reveal his identity to me (probably because he knew I'd react like this). So why bother getting to know me, anyway?

I stayed in that bathroom for a long time, reflecting on everything I knew and everything I didn't know. Colton never came back, and even after a few hours of mulling over everything I'd learned, I was still turning up more questions than answers.

Somehow I fell asleep on the bathroom floor, dry tears making my face sticky and an unusual lethargy setting into my bones. I didn't want to face life at the moment, and I felt like opening that door would be inviting in all the ghosts I was trying to desperately suppress.

~ * ~

The next three days passed in the same fashion. I faked sick and pretended to have the flu, which wasn't hard to convince my mother considering my perpetually red-rimmed eyes and crackling voice, and kept my windows and curtains drawn so as not to invite in the sunlight or anything else. I stayed in bed researching articles on the hero and rereading my story, trying to discern clues in there somewhere. But he was good at covering his tracks, and nothing made me feel better or comforted the fears. Nothing even made me sure he was innocent and a good man. Everything I thought I'd known was being challenged.

I knew it wouldn't be long before the intrusion came, and on Wednesday afternoon Chloe barged into my room, two coffees in hand and a bag full of donuts in the other.

"I wouldn't come in," I warned from underneath my pile of blankets. "I'm sick. Don't want you to catch it, too."

"Sweetie, I'm a reporter," Chloe told me, kicking the door shut behind her and making her way to my bed. "You know as well as I do that I can sniff out a lie like it's a chocolate brownie. I don't think you're sick; I just think you need a friend."

"I'm not really in the mood for talking," I replied as she set down the donuts and pushed a latte into my hands.

She ignored me and walked over to the curtains, going to pull them back. "No!" I cried, before I could stop myself. "Keep them closed, please!"

She sighed and shut them, before wheeling on me with her hands pressed to her hips. "Okay, Vi. What the hell is wrong with you?"

I sighed and pressed back into the pillows, wishing for the comfort of solitude again. "I told you. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Does this have anything to do with what Keeley was telling me in economics yesterday?"

I peeked over the covers. "What was she telling you yesterday?"

She smirked and took a long sip of coffee, gratified at having piqued my interest. "She said you approached her about starting a column on our resident vigilante. And Keeley doesn't lie. Did you really?"

I groaned. Keeley was counting on me to ferret out the identity of The Black Phoenix. What the hell was I supposed to do now that I actually knew who was behind that leather mask? "Oh, God. I forgot."

"I think it's a great idea," Chloe told me, patting my leg from on top of the covers and pulling herself up to lie next to me. "I mean, if anyone's got the scoop, it's you, right? And it could open up so many awesome opportunities for you! I thought you'd be ecstatic to start this."

"Let's just say my mind has been changed," I said evasively.

She pulled out a cinnamon donut and held it up, knowing I was unable to resist that doughy goodness. I reached for it, and she held it out of my grip. "I don't think so, Vi. Not until you tell me what's gotten into you. Last time I checked you were his biggest cheerleader. So what's changed?"

I sighed, knowing I needed to dump on someone. I couldn't reveal his true identity to her—I wasn't that compromised yet—but I did need to tell someone my traitorous thoughts.

"I think I was wrong about him, Chlo," I confided. "I'm not so sure he's the good guy now."

She handed me the donut for fessing up, and stared at me. "What do you mean? Has something happened?"

"My whole view has been changed," I admitted, biting into the donut. "Do you ever see something that totally changes your world forever?"

"I once walked in to find my dad and Jennifer very much enjoying our new hot tub, but I have a feeling that's not what you're talking about. Violet, I am your best friend. I am with you through everything. Tell me what's going on."

"I found out something about him," I told her. "And it's changed how I think about him. I think I jumped in too quickly and got in way over my head."

"Violet, are you in danger?" Chloe whispered, and I could tell any playful tension was gone from the conversation.

I breathed out. "I don't know."

"Violet, please tell me what's going on," Chloe whispered, setting down her coffee. "This has gone past some kind of fun teenage obsession about the paranormal. If you're in trouble, then this is getting serious. I need to know what's going on. Do you know who he is?"

"I can't tell you," I whispered. "I can't tell you any more than I have."

"The minute you start worrying for your life is the minute that this stops being a secret you have to keep. Let me help you, Vi."

I shook my head. "I don't even know yet, Chlo. There are some things I need to figure out; some questions I need answered. But if I really feel like something is going to go wrong, I'll tell you, okay?"

"I don't like this, Vi," Chloe admitted. "I think it's gotten serious now. I don't like you being on the warpath. You need to tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help you."

"You can't help me," I told her. "No one can. No one but him."

"But if he's dangerous, I don't want you talking to him anymore," Chloe argued logically. "It's okay to run the other way. I don't want you getting hurt."

I hugged her. "Thank you for being there for me. But I'll be fine. There are just some things I have to do."

I stood up and walked over to my closet, knowing I needed to get dressed and make myself decent. Being a slob with greasy hair was not going to do me any favors. And I couldn't hide from this anymore. I had to face it head-on if I was ever going to get anywhere with my life.

"Violet?" Chloe asked.

I pulled out a pair of neatly folded jeans from my drawer and turned to her. "Yeah?"

"I'm not gonna ask you to tell me who he is, because I know you won't tell me," Chloe told me, standing up and fixing her hair. "But I know you. And I know that you always wanna do the right thing. But sometimes it's okay not to be noble and brave. Sometimes it's okay to be scared. If this gets too much, it's okay to run away. To take the easy way out. No one's bulletproof."

"What are you talking about, Chlo?" I whispered.

She sighed. "I mean that this is serious. And for as long as I've known you, you have been brave no matter what happens. But sometimes it's okay not to be brave. You're a fighter, but sometimes it's okay to just run the other way. It's okay to admit defeat. It's okay to admit you can't do this alone."

"Thank you," I whispered.

She nodded. "I'm gonna go. But just remember; no one becomes a hero without admitting defeat a few times."

She left a few minutes after, leaving me alone. I showered and fixed my hair, before getting dressed. For the first time in a few days, I opened my curtains and the windows, before stepping out into the brisk evening air and sitting on the edge of the roof tiles. I sighed and fiddled with my fingers.

A few minutes later I heard Colton's window open with a creak, and he started making his way over roof tiles. He jumped onto my roof and joined me, sitting beside me.

"To be honest, I didn't think you'd ever willingly come out here again," he told me.

I turned to him. "Colton, I think it's time we talked."