Even if school hadn't been canceled, Iris wasn't certain she'd be allowed to go, with the crackdown that was occurring in the Crawford household. Doors not allowed to be shut and curfews and consistent monitoring of the app she for the life of her, could not find on her phone to delete — until he'd confiscated that too. For all intents and purposes, Iris was a prisoner in her own home.

Of course, Miles was excluded from this, which she found a way to be bitter about even though she understood the logistics. He was an adult, he was at college, there was no way to monitor him even if he had given Evan reason to believe him a risk like Iris had become.

Still, she was seething at the favoritism shown.

He, she supposed, wasn't mentally ill. Nor had that fact been outed on live television — but she digressed.

Technically, Iris wasn't supposed to text anyone — she was, as Evan put it, 'grounded for her own safety', but after enough complaining, she'd gotten her phone back in her hands, only to find a dozen parental controls littered across the thing. Like she was twelve.

It didn't take long to bypass them, but by the time she had, her anger had reached a tenfold.

Of course, Evan had no reason of knowing the truth — what had happened hadn't, in fact, been a kidnapping attempt. For all he knew, she was a victim. Why was she being punished for that?

She made a mental note to yell at him for that later. Right now, Evan was out of the house, doing an emergency press rally with Jessica fucking Taylor, only adding to Iris's fury.

Logging back into her Instagram, she swiped away a "girl plz reply if ur ok!!!" text from Helena that popped up, opening her chain with Moron instead.

He still hadn't replied to her, but she was desperate enough to break her double texting rule. Missing the moron hadn't been on her predictions list for this year, but it'd felt weird going without communication. At least she'd see him at school otherwise, but the building wasn't opening for another week after what the news, and Evan, were deeming a terrorist attack.

Iris: Hey Moron.

It shouldn't have been as nerve wrecking as it was. Through the blistering headache no amount of ibuprofen had managed to sway, her thoughts broke through the pain — did he think she was annoying? Did he not want to text her?

Surely he did. She was Iris Crawford, and he was...someone she wanted to like her. Someone she wanted the attention of, as physically painful as it was to admit, even in her own subconscious.

The events at the school, and following that, had left her in such a confused state, she wasn't sure what to make of the tirade of emotions that had burrowed themselves in her, refusing to leave.

A Super was dead.

Someone's death was her fault — and through the guilt she wasn't sure she needed to harbor, more questions had followed.

Brayden, for some reason, had tried to save her.

His dad was the head of the Heroes — much like Wesley's with the Villains.

And Wesley himself...

She couldn't get the thought of his skin on hers out of her mind. Rubbed her pointer finger with her thumb as the memory resurfaced yet again, the exact spot he'd touched.

As she waited for a response, she swiped into the search engine, typing in her own name and watching a dozen news articles about the attempted kidnapping pop up — alongside rumors of the Buzzer's death. A day had passed without it being confirmed — to which Iris attributed to the Heroes and Villains trying to get their sides straight.

EVAN CRAWFORD DAUGHTER VICTIM OF SUPER KIDNAPPING ATTEMPT

SUPERS TEAM UP AGAINST EVAN CRAWFORD'S TEENAGE DAUGHTER

HIGH SCHOOL ATTACKED BY ROGUE SUPERS, STUDENT TARGETED

OPINION: SUPERS HAVE NO PLACE IN CIVILIZED SOCIETY

Being the center of attention was nice, but not in propaganda. She was scrolling through the final article, looking for a contact she could send a strongly worded email to in full Karen style, when Moron responded.

Wesley: Iris! Sorry, haven't been on here much.

Iris: You're fine.

Wesley: We should probably exchange numbers sometime.

Iris: Hah. Probably.

She sent her number, and a moment later, a message was popping up declaring the sender to be Wesley. Changing the contact name to Moron, she responded with a quick Cool.

Moron: It's been crazy here.

Iris: Same here. My dad's gone total coup on me. I'm lucky I'm allowed to breathe without permission.

Iris: Are you seeing the news?

Moron: Yeah, unfortunately. It's fucked up, all of what they're saying. As if the actions of two Supers represent all of us. Such bullshit.

Moron: Your dad's feeding into it, too. Did you see what he said about you this morning?

Iris: I try to avoid whatever he says at all costs. Did he call me mentally ill again? Lol.

Moron: He said you're reconsidering your relationship with me after nearly losing your life to Supers.

Iris: Oh, trust, I'm more committed than ever. After all, it was my charming shadow boyfriend that saved me from being kidnapped. How could I do anything but swoon?

Moron: And your ex.

Moron: Speaking of which, a picture of us all at that pizza place is going viral. I think that one TikTok guy with the pink hair is saying we're all your boyfriends. Like a poly thing going on.

Iris: Omg I saw that. Like yeah, I'm totally dating the guy who cheated on me and his literal fossil sperm donor.

Moron: More opposed to the specific men than a poly relationship as a whole?

Iris: I mean, if they were hot and loyal and obsessed with me, why wouldn't I want more than one boyfriend?

Iris: I could have one for every day of the week. One to do my homework for me and one to take me to restaurants I like and one to beat up my dad when I'm mad at him. I see no downsides.

Moron: Never change, Iris.

Iris: xoxo

Moron: Can I call you?

She didn't text an answer back, instead, clicked on the call button and brought her phone up to her ear. Rolling onto her back and placing her head on her pillow, she was half buried in her fluffy pink blankets when Wesley answered.

"Hey."

"Hey, Moron."

Through the phone, she could practically hear him smiling, though the words that followed were more somber. "Are you doing okay?"

"Fine," she said. She was, surprisingly, fine, all things considered. The headache she'd been battling for the past five hours had distracted her from ruminating to an unhealthy degree on the events from the day prior. They took turns cycling within her, rather than her mind's typical habit of experiencing fifty tidal waves of emotions at once.

Tucking one of her stray pillows beneath her arm, she asked, "How are you?"

"It's rough here, but I'm hanging in there," he admitted, just as he'd said over their Instagram messages. "We're still in talks with Heroes R Us to figure out what to do about the Buzzer situation."

"Like, how to fight the Bolter?"

"No. Like, who's taking the fall for her death. The Heroes want it to be me. They say it'd be more beneficial for everyone's reputation to say it was me who killed her. My dad doesn't agree with that — says not telling the truth is risky long term, especially since the Bolter saw it all. It's a whole mess. And until we come up with what we're going to say, I'm not allowed to interact with any of the Villains here."

"They'd be told the lie?"

"Yeah." A shuffling sound, like Wesley was moving. "Probably for the best. Dad thinks it could boost my reputation here. I'd thought they'd hate me if they thought I'd killed her, but...I don't know. Something about loyalty. And hey, maybe it'd make me seem more evil."

"I still find it amusing that being evil is a goal for you."

"Why, because I'm nice?"

"Because most villains in like, books and movies and stuff — the compelling ones, anyways, don't become evil for the sake of being evil. Their goals make more sense."

"Maybe we just like chaos."

"Fair enough." Iris laughed into the phone, though it died away shortly after it was formed. Hearing Wesley's voice was different than seeing it on a screen — images of the school, the fight, flashing across her vision as his mere presence had her recalling them.

"Iris?" He began when she went quiet. "Are you there?"

"It wasn't my fault, was it?"

"What?" He paused, but when she didn't clarify, he concluded, "The Buzzer, you mean?"

"Yeah." She'd lowered her voice to a whisper. "Was it my fault she died?"

"No." He was more firm in his denial than she'd been anticipating, hand tightening around her phone as she took in his words. "No, it wasn't your fault. They tried to kidnap you, what happened was all self defense — and not even that. Brayden did it, not you."

She hummed beneath her breath. It certainly felt like her fault.

Self defense, it was a thin workaround, when she had no reason to stop herself from being killed. She'd wanted to die before, what right did she have to someone else's life in exchange for her own? After taking life for granted, she still couldn't find it in her to feel relief at her own survival — not when another life had been taken.

"Did Brayden say anything about why he did? Save me, I mean."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone as Wesley considered this. "He said he felt bad. That he was a bad Hero for being such a dick to you."

This had amusement returning to her, alongside relief at something to distract her. "Of course his newfound heroism was to soothe his own ego." She clicked her tongue, trying not to wonder why that felt like a self dig rather than an insult at her ex. "There's an evil lesson for you, Moron. Everything you do has to be to make yourself feel better."

Through the phone, he let out an airy laugh. "I'll be needing more lessons soon. And we should probably confirm to the world that we're still a couple." He coughed. "I mean, the Phantom and you. Not me."

"I'm still under solitary confinement," Iris said, picking at her nails until one of them began to bleed. "And it'd be fun to keep people guessing for a few days. But we can totally have a new selfie posted. Maybe next week?"

"Good idea." He coughed again, the sound muffled by what she presumed was his elbow. "Hopefully your dad doesn't call you...well, bring out your personal issues again."

Iris felt her mood flatline.

"Nothing to worry about. They're not personal issues because they're not true. There's nothing wrong with me like that, he was just pulling shit out of his ass."

"If there was—"

"There isn't," she cut him off.

He took a deep breath. "Iris, come on. Let me talk."

"Fine." She didn't want to hear him out, but short of hanging up the phone, she was pretty sure wiggling out of the topic would be impossible. Maybe if she brought up her period she could shock him enough—

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, for anything mental health related. It's none of my business, if you're struggling, or if you've struggled in the past. But you can tell me, if you want to. I won't judge, no matter what it is."

"What if I was a sociopath?" Iris shot back, grasping at every straw she could find. "That's a mental health thing, isn't it? Surely you'd judge that."

"Nope." He spoke with a firm determination. A finality in it that she knew there would be no going against. "That's just as worthy of care and understanding as anything else."

An ache formed in her throat, unexpected and prominent. It took several deep breaths to banish it, before Iris could goad herself into speaking further. "I'm not a sociopath. I just had some issues when I was younger. Just...don't worry about it, okay? I'm not even like that anymore, so it doesn't matter."

A flinch followed her regret, as though in physical pain. Her body couldn't tell the difference, between a punch in the gut and deep, unrelenting self-condemnation that soaked into her skin.

Those were cards she'd held so close to her chest, no one had ever been able to see she had them at all, let alone what they read.

Until now. Until there was ammunition able to be used against her. Until she could be judged, looked down upon rather than up.

The pedestal she commanded was lonely, but at least it was at an untouchable height. Now, she felt herself lowered to the ground — able to be hurt. Have her moment of weakness turned into a weapon the moment they caught her off guard.

"It matters," Moron argued. "And I'm going to worry about you, unrelated to that. If you need anything—"

"I don't. Why would I need anything from you?"

It'd been cruel, and she'd known that the moment she voiced it. Wesley didn't mask his hurt, either, spitting back a thick, "God, Iris, I'm just trying to be nice."

And wasn't that the problem? When had she ever deserved kindness? When had she ever wanted it?

She liked what she had. Wesley scrambling for pieces of the puzzle she was, never able to complete the picture.

The picture was ugly. Knowing he wanted to see it was enough.

"Well don't. I don't want you pitying me."

"It's not pity. Why would you think that?"

She was silent. Knew whatever answer she gave would be easy to dispute, and wasn't about to surrender her pride for the final word.

"Listen," Moron cleared his throat. "I don't know why you're like this. And if you ever want to tell me, that's fine. But you can't just...you can't just act like I'm some sort of inconvenience to you. After everything that's happened, I know I'm not nothing."

She rolled her eyes, before she realized he couldn't see her. No need for the pretend nonchalance, a mask to her guilt. "Where'd you get this backbone from?"

"Probably from spending time with you," he admitted, and though she couldn't see him, she could sense a lightening of his expression. "You're contagious."

"So you do benefit from this," Iris said, smiling too. A mood shift, which Moron didn't protest. "Here I was convinced I was dragging you kicking and screaming into our arrangement."

"Oh, whatever. Besides, aren't you supposed to be being nice?"

"What?"

"The vow you made, after saving Brayden when you went out to eat with Jessica," he pressed. "Didn't you make a vow of kindness? I don't think how you've been recently reflects that."

Right. She had. She'd forgotten about that.

Of course she had.

"To be fair, I was nearly kidnapped by a group of Supers when I should be focusing on, you know, homecoming or makeup or boys. Forgive me if I'm a bit too shaken to play nice."

"Fair enough." If he was still brooding about her poor behavior towards him, he didn't push it. Her words, as it seemed, were enough. "Are you going to homecoming? I totally forgot that was coming up — I thought that was on hold after the whole Brayden thing."

"I'll go stag," was her answer, then, "It'd be a power move. Chic, if you will. Well, if my dad lets me."

"I'm surprised you'd consider letting him get in the way."

Her lips pressed together, but she didn't manage a response.

He was right — she'd never let Evan alone come between her and something she wanted.

It was Helena and Brayden that had her unsure if she could go to the rapidly approaching homecoming. Going without a date would only add to her scorn.

Luckily, Moron didn't further force the topic. "My dad wants to meet you, speaking of. I obviously said you're my actual girlfriend, and he's interested."

Her body seized up.

"Your dad...like the head of the Villains?"

"Yeah. But he's a nice guy, really. Probably a bit too nice, that might be the problem."

She said something — an agreement she couldn't hear over the sound of her heart thundering in her ears.

She'd almost forgotten about the note the Villains had left in her underwear drawer — the one she'd attributed to Wesley, until she'd figured better. He had no idea what she could do, how would he? From her understanding, he wasn't in the know about the depths of the Villain headquarters.

His dad, on the other hand.

She had no reason to believe he wasn't the one who'd left that note, who wanted her recruited.

She'd only just escaped the Buzzer and the Bolter. Wormed herself out of what she knew she had no right to participate in. Was she about to be ensnared in a trap no less suffocating?

Being a Super was one thing. She'd accepted what she could do, knew its worth.

Aligning herself with a political party, having people's hopes on her shoulder was another. She could handle being popular at school, having her name in the news due to her association with the Phantom. But people putting ideas onto her, hopes and dreams and wishes, having responsibility—

She'd let enough people down as it was.

Her mom, for one.

Finding Marina Crawford's dead body and being unable to revive her.

How could she have anything expected of her, when she couldn't even save her own mom. She had no excuse, not when she had literal superpowers.

And yet...Wesley seemed in the dark about what she could do. Hadn't so much as hinted in their direction.

She didn't know him as well as she could, but she was certain she'd be able to sniff out a lie of that caliber in him.

No, whatever his father knew, the knowledge hadn't trickled down to his son.

"Iris? Are you there?"

"I...I can't meet your dad. That's too far."

"You met Brayden's dad," Moron pointed out. "Heroes and Villains aren't that different, at the end of the day. My dad's normal, I promise. I know it sounds scary, but—"

"It's not happening, Moron. So don't push it."

Through the phone, he took a deep breath. "I think it'd mean a lot to him if you were to meet. I know it'd mean a lot to me."

"No, you don't get to guilt trip me about that."

"I'm not guilt tripping you."

"Then why do I feel guilty?!"

She expected an answer — it'd been a genuine question, after all, but instead, a roaring laugh boomed from the device she held to her ear. "My God, you're really developing a conscience. It's a miracle"

"I've always had a conscience!"

The silence lingered between them, saying enough in its wordless presence.

"If you don't want to meet my dad," Wesley eventually said, his tone transforming into something almost somber. "That's fine. But like I said, it'd mean a lot to me if you did. And I know he'd appreciate it — meeting my fake girlfriend."

Oh, that just wasn't fair.

"Why would it mean anything to you?"

"Because you're not my girlfriend, but you are my friend. Like it or not, Iris, we qualify as friends."

"Secret friends," she corrected. "We can't go shouting it from the rooftops — for more than one reason. Setting my reputation aside, it might lead to eyes on you, and connecting the dots to you being the Phantom — we're lucky as it is Brayden and his dad didn't push on you outing yourself. I'm not about to have that mess on my shoulders."

"Secret friends," he agreed, and though she couldn't see him, Iris was certain he was smiling. "And no one's going to be outing me. As the Phantom, I mean. I'm not gay. Nothing wrong with it, of course, but I'm not."

She nearly choked on her tongue. "If you were gay, you could tell me. I wouldn't judge you. Or tell anyone."

"No, you bully equally," he agreed.

"Not a bully."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Iris laughed again, though there was a newfound sadness to it that she couldn't fully mask — she didn't want him to see her as what he was projecting. Her value rested on the shoulders of her perception, she knew that. And Wesley, for the little she proclaimed him to be worth, had a stake in her own self image that she'd never handed to him.

Stolen without her permission. Taken in a way she didn't even know if he realized.

Surely he had to. There was no way he couldn't understand the power he held in this moment, having her words resorted to stammering as they came out of her, mood taken a nosedive. "Wesley, am I a bad person?"

His silence was the answer she'd been dreading, and the answer she knew she'd earned.

When he did speak, it wasn't a yes or no, but it didn't need to be. She knew exactly what his words meant for her, and for him. "I think that's the first time you've used my actual name."

"I'm sorry," she sniffed.

"Enough to change?"

"Into what?" She nearly laughed, her voice shaking. "What could I possibly become? I'm stuck like this."

Once again, he didn't have an answer for her. Didn't bother trying to come up with one, simply exhaled into the phone.

That was enough. She could handle judgment from the world around her as they tuned in to the chaos her mere existence concocted, from the articles about her dad, from Brayden and Adonis Berry, from her classmates.

But from Wesley Moran, it mattered. It was a mirror she couldn't bear to look into, a reflection she'd hated since the first time she'd noticed her excess stomach rolls and the chub on her upper arms, where they ran into her shoulders.

Unlike the fat, she couldn't starve herself or thrust her fingers down her throat to lose her personality. She couldn't morph into something new.

She'd vowed to be nice, and it hadn't worked. All it got her was sitting on her bed with a bitter taste in her mouth, like she'd thrown something particularly nasty up. Bitter and acidic — something like acceptance for what she was — ugliness and all.

Her old therapist would've been proud, she. That's all she wanted for Iris — to see herself, and all the bad parts. To accept them, and not work herself mad trying to change them.

She could change her body, if she tried hard enough.

But was it worth the effort, changing her mind? Changing who she was, when everything she had was because of it? Even Wesley was in her clutches, the odd way he was, because of how she'd treated him. It'd drawn him in, the circumstances in which she behaved in regards to him.

If she grew kind, soft, what then? The world she'd crafted would crumble. The world around her, they'd see who she was without the mask — how scared she was. How small.

No one would want to stay if they didn't have anything to fear. If they saw who Iris really was, pathetic and frightened and desperate, they'd leave her. Just like Helena had.

She couldn't do another heartbreak. She refused — refused to be anyone who got left. She'd do the leaving herself, if it came down to that. Make people prove their worth in her life by fighting for their roles.

"I have to go."

"Iris," Wesley sighed, but it was too late. She'd already hung up the phone.

˙⋆✮

Iris E. Crawford,

You evaded our first attempt to connect.

Do not make the same mistake again.

Perhaps you need more time to consider our offer. We understand. Meet us Villains at midnight, the night before your homecoming dance, at Mom & Pop's Ice Cream.

We can offer you protection — and we can also ensure you never feel safe again.

Burn after reading

- Villains

This time, the note had been placed in her mailbox, with a mailing address simply reading hell.

Evan hadn't noticed — the envelope with her name written in bold lettering slid beneath her door without a mention.

Nor had it been acknowledged by Iris as she went into the bathroom with Helena's lighter and burned it in the sink.

˙⋆✮

The week waned away in a monotonous blur, in which Iris barely left her bed. Her phone remained atop her pillow, silenced with various YouTube videos playing as she drifted in and out of sleep. She wasn't sure where her sudden surge of exhaustion had come from, nor did she bother trying to fix it with excessive caffeine or begging her father for fresh air via a walk outside.

All she knew is everything hurt. Her body, her mind, and whatever there was in between, a consistent ache she couldn't bathe or sleep off, no matter how hard she tried.

People had tried to contact her. Not just the Villains, but ones without threats to communicate. She knew that for a fact, from the occasional time she'd slid through her turned-off notifications to validate the part of her that wanted everyone to be missing her. She had texts from Miles checking in on how she was doing (ignored), Moron asking to hang out and remind the world of their coupling (ignored) and Jessica, with another half assed apology that read more like a business email than someone who had wanted to be Iris's friend (ignored).

Iris had better things to do than engage with people who only made her feel bad. Like paint her nails — something she was doing every day now, a new shade applied over the last. Like watch the same episodes of Friends on repeat, trying to pretend to herself that she didn't know every single plot beat coming. Like ignoring her dad trying to coax her into a family meal or a TV night.

She was perfectly content in her room, her own mind for company.

Until a tapping on her door on Friday afternoon had her groaning, rolling out of the half-nap state she'd been in — a dream in which the Buzzer had sent a flurry of ghost bees to chase her around with their translucent stingers.

Still wearing a pair of pink pajamas, when rising to her feet and padding across her bedroom, Iris had a scolding prepared for her father for the crime of waking her when she'd not wanted to be.

Instead, she was face to face with Helena Haider.

Her face flushed, the current state of herself in contrast with her perfectly put together kind-of-friend causing shame to burn into her.

Still, Helena didn't make a comment on the elephant in the room as her eyes scalded the length of Iris. "Your dad let me in. Hope that's alright."

"Uh, yeah. Of course that's fine." Iris rubbed the back of her neck, making a mental note to scream at him next time they were alone. "Is there a reason you're here, or...?"

"I missed you," she said with a small lift of her shoulders. Even through what should've been an admission of defeat, she managed to radiate confidence. "It's been like, forever since we hung out."

Iris tried not to let her disbelief show. She wasn't foolish enough to fall for the words, the bare minimum if trying to win her back over. While she'd never outright called Helena out for what she'd done — and as further time passed, she doubted she ever would, neither of the girls were stupid. They were dancing on a tightrope that would snap sooner or later, sending them toppling to the ground stories below.

Whatever this was, it wouldn't last.

And for once, Iris didn't know if she wanted it to. In the past few days of isolation, she'd grown used to her own inner monologue for company — something that, as she listened to it more, sounded distinctly like the girl in front of her. Scolding her for her poor appearance and terrible clothing choices and everything in between, the makeup looks she produced in spite of having nowhere to go and the clashing colors she would coat over her nails.

What part of Iris was herself, she'd come to wonder, and what parts were Helena? How had the girl before her wormed herself into her mind so deeply, her voice had become how Iris spoke to herself in.

When with Moron, it was different. She didn't hear Helena in her self speech. She barely heard herself, either, until those moments she overpowered the distraction Moron provided.

Those times were worse. The whiplash.

The reminder that, in spite of their positions, Moron was a good person, and Iris never could be.

She dug her nails into her palms, banishing the thought of the boy before it could further cement inside her. Before they could start to matter.

"I've been busy," Iris eventually said as Helena stared at her expectantly. "My dad's not really been wanting me to, you know..."

"Leave the house?" She filled. "I can't blame him."

"Yeah. After what happened at school, I'm under house arrest."

She smiled — something Iris didn't know the purpose of, but found admiring anyways. Helena's smile was the kind that made you want to smile along, like you'd be demoted to an outsider if you didn't join her in whatever had her grinning. She'd plastered ruby red lipstick over those beautiful lips of hers, something Iris had admired for so long in the girl, and her silky black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that she drew her fingers through the end of as she spoke.

"You need to fill me in on everything. I mean, I heard from Brayden, but I'd want to hear your perspective. Like, Brayden told me that the Phantom killed the Buzzer. Is that true? Did you see it all?"

"Uh..." Iris recalled her previous conversation with Moron, in which he'd informed her of the discrepancies happening between the Heroes and the Villains, and the story they wanted told. If they had landed on a tale to tell the public, it was one she'd not been informed of.

"It was kind of a mess," she settled on, playing it safe. "And it was dark. I didn't really see what happened. But, uh, yeah, that sounds about right."

"Huh." Her arms crossed, shoulder leaning into the door frame. With a glance behind her, she said, "And you didn't talk to your boyfriend about it after the fact?"

"He's busy," Iris snapped, momentarily unconcerned with maintaining a passive exterior. "When we talk, it's mostly...well, not talking. You know what I mean."

Through a weird, fluttering sensation that had wormed into her stomach at the prospect of not talking with Moron, she watched as Helena stiffened. That smile of hers faltered, before being replaced with something more smug. "Trust me, I know."

Iris coughed into her elbow.

"Anyways," Helena began picking at her nails. "Your dad said he's going somewhere soon. Some politics thing, I think. I think he mentioned that Jessica Taylor girl? Whatever. We could sneak out. He won't notice if he's gone."

Unless he checked the mysterious tracker on her phone, but Iris didn't particularly care for whatever punishment he might inflict.

Nor did she want to go out with Helena, but denying her was a disaster waiting to happen. She was still keeping her head above water in the ecosystem that was Hamilton High's student body, but removing herself entirely from Helena's side?

That was an unknown she wasn't ready to brace. There was surely gossip going on about her as it was, considering what had happened.

It could boost her, she considered. This might be the lift she needed to cut Helena off entirely, display herself as better, to anyone willing to believe the lie.

Or, it could isolate her from the one reason she was looked up to in the first place. Kicking a ladder she was still climbing would only cast her back to the bottom.

No matter the way it tugged at her insides, she wasn't willing to risk it. Even if it meant appeasing Helena fucking Haider, and swallowing down her own pride in the process.

"You know what?" She forced a grin, watching it mirror on the girl stood before her. "Give me a bit to get ready. Then, let's raid the stores downtown. I'll tell you everything you want to know there."

AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋆ updates will be going from twice a week to every other day, as i've finished writing phantom! she capped out at 29 chapters and 143k words! i'm so so so excited for you guys to get to read the rest! let me know what you think and thank you as always for reading, i love you all so much <3

i intend to enter phantom into the wattys since that's coming up, though this might change...we'll see! :)