The Inferno took his sweet time getting back to Iris, much to her irritation. His texts sporadic, in between hours of silence. A few a day, if she was lucky — and none directly leading her to contacting the head of the Villains.

Why, she had thought about texting him but chickened out, would he reach out only to ghost her? Why dangle the offer of protection in front of her when she was finally ready to take it, then snatch it away before it could be hers?

Unlike before, she wanted to be on the receiving end of notes from the Villains. No longer filled with fear at the idea — she knew that she'd rather align herself with them, than whatever it was the Bolter wanted from her.

Whatever, indeed.

Evan, as everyone else, was under the impression it had been a ransom thing. Just as she'd lied the first time, when the Buzzer had her neck snapped by Brayden.

Not that she had much time to be convening with Supers, with school starting back up three days later. While Iris had braced herself for hounding, the student body was more abuzz with the rapidly approaching Homecoming to pay her more mind than several side eyes and a few whispers.

It wasn't the dance that had snared Iris's attention, though, but rather Wesley's very noticeable absence in all the classes they shared, leaving an uncomfortable, nerd shaped hole in the atmosphere.

She'd sent him a few texts, but she hadn't expected an answer. Still, seeing the delivered status filled her stomach with nervous butterflies, until she was nearly crying in her Russian History class, and had to excuse herself to the bathroom to pull herself together.

She would not cry. Not again. Not over someone who didn't even want her.

She would not cry, she would not—

Iris gave up. Locking herself in a stall and letting it out, she only left the confines when she knew if she let herself dive any deeper into the emotion, she'd have a panic attack.

Splashing water on her face at the sink, she barely noticed as the door swung open, preoccupied with ensuring no one could tell she'd been in tears.

Over a loser — and the only boy she'd ever felt anything other than apathy towards.

It was why she couldn't ask him for help with the Super thing. He mattered, more than she was willing to admit. The knowledge of her powers would only bring judgment.

His dad knew, sure, but she was certain the knowledge hadn't dripped down to him. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it if it had.

"Iris?" A voice said behind her, and she swallowed, spinning around and bracing herself. She'd been intentionally avoiding Helena ever since the day in the dress shop, ignoring the few scattered texts her former friend had sent her and dodging her in the halls.

Now, she had nowhere to run.

"Yeah?" She croaked, then winced. She sounded like a frog with a cold.

"You look like hell." Helena was stepping close to her, until her hands were cupping Iris's cheeks.

She wanted to pull away, but couldn't find the strength. Not when the touch was so gentle, in a way she couldn't recall ever experiencing. Even Wesley had avoided bringing his skin to hers.

Maybe he thought her contaminated.

A stray tear worked its way down her face before she could stop it, landing on Helena's finger.

"Oh, don't cry."

She almost sounded sympathetic.

Iris wouldn't let herself fall for it.

At least this time, she didn't feel like she would pass out. Humiliate herself even further than crying had done.

That was another glaring factor in her avoidance of Helena Haider. The conversation they'd had, the passing out...it made Iris want to crawl out of her skin just thinking about.

Helena tilted her head to the side. "Is this about the Phantom?"

"It's nothing," she sniffed. "I would never cry over a stupid boy."

"It's okay to."

Of course Helena would say that. She probably reveled in Iris's misery, wanted her to cry over things like boys and her best friend and Brayden fucking Berry.

How could she explain that it had both nothing and everything to do with the Phantom?

"I'm just having a bad day. I'm on my period."

She wasn't, and Helena knew that. They'd been friends long enough to know each other's cycles.

The lie went uncontested. "Are you seeing the news?"

"What news?" She'd been intentionally ignoring the internet as best as she could. Knew that, alongside tales of the Phantom, her own name would be spread across every news source in the country. Painting her as pitiful or reckless, depending on the political affiliation of those behind the articles.

"Everyone's digging in on the Phantom."

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Oh."

"The woman recording — she was live streaming. Smashing her phone didn't do a thing. It was already out there."

Iris's eyes squeezed shut. Heart tightened. Oh, Wesley...

"It's not his fault," she said when she opened her eyes again, holding Helena's gaze. "The Bolter...it wasn't the Phantom's fault he got overpowered. The Bolter's ancient, it seems. Has a lot more power and experience."

There was no way of knowing if any of this was true, of course, but Iris wasn't about to let Wesley go down. Not without defending him.

She gave her a small, sad smile. "You really love him, don't you."

It should've been a question, but it wasn't stated as one. More certainty than she had any right to was carried in her tone, echoing through the otherwise empty school bathroom.

Her lips parted, then closed again, the no she was about to shoot out lodging in her throat.

"It's okay," Helena said again when Iris was silent. "It's okay to love someone, Iris. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I don't love him," she managed, barely above a whisper. "I don't love anyone."

"That's not true."

"Yeah?" A flash of anger, let go the moment it slipped into Iris. It took too much energy, when the night prior had been spent tossing and turning, checking her phone for a response from Moron that she never got.

Resignation took its place. "Who do you think I loved, then? Brayden?"

"Me."

A sharp inhale gave the answer away. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Iris," Helena sighed. "You don't need to do that."

Her brows lifted, this time her confusion genuine. "I'm not doing anything."

"I know I hurt you, okay?" She removed her hands from Iris's face, the absence causing an involuntary shudder to run through her. It took everything in her to continue holding eye contact. "With Brayden, I know."

She thought about hitting her.

Instead, Iris countered the bullshit being spewed with a demand. "Then why did you do it?"

Helena didn't answer her. Of course she didn't — what was there to say? Instead, with a sad smile, she pushed around her, moving towards the sink Iris had her back to.

Leaning down, she stuck her hands beneath the water, scrubbing away at her skin that had touched Iris. She used the mirror's reflection to hold onto her friend's gaze, something hardened in her eye. "You should check on the Phantom. See how he's doing with all of this."

"I..." It wasn't even an insult, so Iris couldn't be mad. Helena had no way of knowing the silence that Wesley had subjected her to.

Just as she had no way of knowing how deeply it was impacting her.

She wanted to hear his voice. Feel that touch on her, in the rare case it occurred. She wanted to listen to him go on about things that didn't matter. She wanted to call him a Moron and watch as he blushed.

"You said it's going viral?" Iris confirmed.

Through the mirror, Helena nodded.

Iris pried her phone out of her back pocket, gracing the internet that, up until that moment, she'd been avoiding like the plague. Part of her knew, deep down, this had gotten out in one way or another — the Phantom's failings, Iris's involvement, the Bolter's fixation on her...

A shudder ran through her. The Bolter's intentions were clear, now more so than ever with the Buzzer's death.

He would get Iris on his side. Even if he had to force her, showing up places she went, hurting the people she cared about, attempting to kidnap her, where there was no telling what would happen.

He'd have to gag her. Or cut out her tongue. Whatever means kept her from using her power to force him to let her go.

Or perhaps even worse — use the few people she cared about against her.

A month ago, it would've been Helena who the Bolter could use against her. One threat towards the pretty girl, and she'd have bent the knee and done whatever he wanted.

Now, it was Wesley Moran. The Phantom. One in the same.

She banished the thought before it could grow too discomforting. Focused on her phone with a sinking stomach.

Just as Helena said, it was everywhere. The livestream the woman had done, up until the very moment her phone was smashed by one of the Villains.

Every other headline discussed in great detail the Phantom's first ever public failing, dissecting every movement and how he could've saved himself.

It was a repost of the video on a Reddit forum dedicated to Villains that drew Iris's attention, scrolling through the comments.

PHANTOMLVR69: anyone notice how freaked out iris looks when the bolter struck the phantom? maybe the relationship is more genuine than we thought...who's gonna tell this bitch he's MINE?

tafftastic: @PHANTOMLVR69 quit being parasocial.

PHANTOMLVR69: i'm just saying. we all thought it was a publicity stunt for the villains. guess not. ugh! as if she deserves all that.

tafftastic: big talk for someone obsessed with a villain who just lost all his aura, lol.

1nfernoakgae: No, no, you're right @PHANTOMLVR69. Look at her face. Crawford looks heartbroken. She probably thought he was dead.

PHANTOMLVR69: why does that ugly bitch get MY MAN?

1nfernoakgae: Whatever lol. I totally ship #darkflower

Tafftastic: @1nfernoakgae totally agree. phantom might be a loser now, but I love me a forbidden romance.

Iris clicked her phone off. Helena, who'd been peering over her shoulder, wore a smirk as they made eye contact. "I guess you're the target of some teen girl's ire."

All she could manage was a half hearted shrug. It wasn't the weird threats that bothered her. That came with the territory of Reddit. Even the sting of insults at her appearance didn't matter as much as they might have even a few weeks ago.

What had her mind spinning with worry was the fact that people thought she cared about Wesley...and the fact that they were right. There was no denying what she felt so prominently, it almost hurt.

She did care, and it was ruining her life.

"I have to go."

"You have Gym, right?" Helena asked, scurrying behind her as Iris strode towards the exit. "We could skip. Maybe hit up a movie?"

"What, so we can get attacked by some Super freaks who want to use me? No thanks."

Helena paused, the moment Iris knew she'd said something wrong. Through the bright bathroom light, her pale skin seemed to glow and her eyes shine as they fixed in on Iris. "Use you?"

"I misspoke."

"I thought they were after you for ransom. And probably revenge — with what happened with the Buzzer."

"I said I misspoke." Her voice had tightened like the strings of a guitar, playing an off-key note that failed to solidify her lie.

When Helena spoke, it was with the cruelty she wore as sword and shield. "Obviously. I mean, what use could you possibly be?"

Iris thought about hitting her.

She knew nothing. Nothing of what she could do, of what her mere words were capable of—

The door swung open. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

With a yelp, Iris spun around once more, watching as Brayden sauntered into the women's bathroom without an ounce of hesitation, the casual way of speaking implying he thought he would be addressing Helena. Instead, it was Iris who he first noticed, expression souring upon their reunion.

"Iris," he greeted lowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking a shit," she spat. "This is the women's restroom. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for my girlfriend." He nudged a chin towards Helena, before glancing back down at the phone he balanced in his hand.

"Couldn't you text her?"

"I tried," Brayden said, this time with a buried accusation thrust towards Helena. "Didn't get a response — they weren't even read, and I know you don't have a problem with texting in class."

She pulled her device out of her pocket, waving it about. "My phone's dead, Bray."

"So you felt the need to barge into the women's bathrooms because your girlfriend took too long to respond?" Iris spat, more and more grateful for the breakup by the moment, no matter how messy it had been.

"It couldn't wait," Brayden said, clicking his own phone on, the screen lighting up against his freckled face. "Look at this."

He jammed it in between the three so they could all get a good look at the headline.

RUMOR: INSIDE SOURCE SAYS PHANTOM QUITS

*

"Is this true?"

Nursing a headache, Wesley had been buried beneath his Star Wars comforter for the entirety of the day, rousing for the first time at the sound of his door swinging open, and Martin's accusatory voice following.

The door slammed shut, just as Wesley rolled onto his back. The boy who for so many years had been his best friend, now looked down his nose at Wesley like he were a stranger in familiar clothes.

"Wes," Martin urged when he was silent. "Talk to me. Is it true?"

Wesley was silent. Didn't care enough to ask. Whatever it was he wanted answers for, he probably already had them.

If he had to guess, it was about the virality he was facing. He'd not checked himself, but he knew it to be true — the Phantom's failure was on every news source in the country. That video the woman at the front desk had taken had somehow landed in the hands of the general public, who now knew Wesley to be what he'd been hiding for years.

A fool. A fraud.

Between the two friends, a pause passed. Then he took a long step across his room, until he was positioned as close to the bed as he would dare get, hovered next to the painted on window. A ever-blue sky decorated the concrete, almost uncanny-valley in its realism to the outdoors SuperHQ was buried beneath.

A shaky breath shook through his childhood friend. "Some news reporter got their hands on a leak — probably the Taffy Twins, if I had to place a bet on it. They said the Phantom's retired."

He thought about bringing the pillow he lounged on to his face and suffocating himself with it.

Instead, he rolled onto his side.

It was easier this way, refusing to meet disappointment head on. Keeping his chin down and gaze fixed on whatever best distracted him from the truth — he had no other option.

"I am," Wesley said, face towards the wall, back to Martin. "Not that they have any way of knowing that."

"You're not retiring." Martin's response was firm. Final, the kind only a best friend could be comfortable using towards him.

"Yeah, because you can stop me." He rolled his eyes, even though Martin couldn't see them.

He braced himself for an argument. For shouting, the kind that August had broken into when Wesley had come to him with the news the moment he'd left the Healing Wing.

He'd never seen his dad upset like that. Closed his eyes, banishing the memory — August red faced, frightened. Furious.

"You can't," August had cried, angry tears running down his burning cheeks. "You can't quit being the Phantom, not now. I won't allow it."

"Why not?" He'd shot back. He'd made his request simple — stop having the Phantom show up. They could fake his death, if they wanted. Say there were complications with the Bolter's attack.

"We need you!" It was what he'd grown up hearing from everyone around him. They needed him — to be greater, stronger, more evil.

Couldn't the world see he'd given it his all? That all there was left to do was give up?

August had, until the moment Wesley breached death by electricity like a fucking Sim, seemed to understand this. Now, it was like a switch had flipped inside the man. He stared at the life he'd consented to create with a hardened, flat expression, he spoke callous words, and his voice...

The August of before never would've yelled.

What was once a love Wesley had never deserved had flipped itself around, morphed into what everyone else had displayed.

"We all need you," August continued. "The Inferno still wants this position!"

"Since when do you give a damn about the Inferno?"

"Since the Bolter has been taking a more aggressive stand! We need to be stable, a united front! We can't have infighting! Wesley, this organization is relying on you right now!"

"This organization would be better if I were dead!" He'd shouted, loud enough that he was certain anyone in neighboring rooms could hear.

No words would form in the leader of SuperHQ. Not a denial, an explanation, a word of advice.

So much for unconditional love.

It'd solidified his choice, August's silence. There'd been a sliver left in him, willing to work it out.

But something had changed in his father. In the time Wesley had been nursed back to health, a sickness had infected the man. Something cold and frightening. Something that told Wesley he was no longer the son who could do no wrong, the son who would always be loved.

"Fine," he'd nearly choked on his own self pity. "I'm done, Dad."

How could he not be? His own inability to act had nearly gotten Iris killed. He'd needed his daddy's rescue when he was supposed to be the one calling the shots. Fighting the battles.

He wasn't a Hero, but he still wanted to save the day when it came to Iris. He wasn't a Hero, but he could be hers — and he'd thrown the towel both times.

What else was there to do but quit before he could fall any further?

Wesley had stormed out of his father's office, run up to his bedroom, and not come out since. His stomach was aching from the lack of food, and he was pretty sure he was going to pee himself sooner or later, but it didn't matter. What counted was preserving the microscopic amount of pride he had left.

Which was why his phone remained unanswered, even though he'd seen the flurry of texts Iris had spammed him with. Why he'd ignored the tapping on his door the night prior — his dad, who he drove away by pretending to be asleep.

And now, why he couldn't look his best friend in the eye.

"I can't stop you," Martin agreed, drawing Wesley's attention back to the present. His manner of speaking had taken an eerily slow cadence, and on the mattress Wesley was situated on, he felt a sagging behind him.

A hand fell to his back. A rigid touch that went up his spine and landed on his shoulder, squeezing down tight. "But I can urge you to."

"Why would you do that?"

A sharp inhale, that had him bracing for impact. "Because I don't have powers, Wes. I wasn't born lucky like you."

A million different emotions eclipsed themselves in his mind, the final of them pure, utter fury.

How dare he. How fucking dare he.

"You think I'm lucky?" Wesley sat up, shoving Martin's hand off of him in the process. His entire body had begun to shake with the efforts of his rage, and the energy it took not to scream, to hit him, to do anything but take it.

All he'd ever done was taken it. Judgments, misunderstandings. Brayden fucking Berry picking on him until he was afraid to go to school. His father, forcing him into a position he had no desire for, then retracting promises of unconditional love when he fumbled the steps he'd never wanted to take.

"You want my powers so bad? Take them. Rip them out of my body however you can. I don't want them. There's no point in it — in any of it!"

He wished it were possible. The anger had little to do with the truth of his words, that he'd do it in a heartbeat. Rip out his shadows and throw them at whoever could catch best.

Martin's nose twitched, but unlike his opponent, his temper was kept well in check. "Of course there's a point. You just don't pay enough attention to think it through. It's always you with your head in the clouds, focusing on this and that instead of what matters. Your dad — this organization, we need you more than ever."

"I'm the one unfocused? Look at yourself! You've never given a damn! Never! Since when do you give a shit about any of this?"

"I don't know, Wesley?! Maybe since two Supers broke free from what we're supposed to do and invaded my fucking school? You're not the only one freaked out right now!"

"No, but I'm the only one expected to do anything about it! Don't you understand, dude, I can't! I quit — I'm going to quit, and I don't know how those news sites know already, but I'm putting out a formal statement after school, on whatever day I'm allowed back."

Martin inhaled a sharp breath, bringing his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I spoke to the boss myself about it. He's...stressed, okay? And he knows he yelled at you, and he feels bad about it. I know he does, and deep down, so do you."

Unable to help himself, Wesley rolled his eyes. If only to mask the depth in which he'd been hurt, and his reluctance to accept an apology he'd not even been delivered himself.

Was this how Iris felt?

The thought came entirely out of nowhere, slamming into with the weight of a ton of bricks. The need to push away her father, as he did the same to her, in his unique, cruel way. The kind he could deny at the end of the day.

August had been a fumble. As Wesley calmed, the image of Iris soothing his inner frustrations, he could rationalize this. He'd made one error in the years of a net good.

And yet, even as he considered the idea that he'd perhaps not meant to yell, he wasn't sure he was ready to face him just yet. Not when there'd been such a severe shift in demeanor.

It was frightening, in a way he'd never known his father to be.

Iris, on the other hand, had been dealt those cards long ago. Built up walls due to the man who was meant to protect her.

And here he was, ignoring her too. The one good he had left.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thought away, only for a new one to emerge. One that nearly had him falling over with the strength in which it came to him.

When he opened his eyes again, Martin was staring at him with a deep intensity, head shifted to the side and hand positioned on the bed, only inches from his own. "Are you okay? You like, totally zoned out."

"I think I know what I need to do," Wesley said.

His emotions had depleted, frustration towards Martin's callous misunderstanding, hurt from his father, embarrassment every time Iris came to mind.

All he could focus on was the singular thought shaking through his mind. It was all that mattered — a solution so simple, he was shamefully surprised it took him this long to realize.

Martin blinked. "Stay in SuperHQ?"

"No," he denied as he shifted towards the end of the bed, pushing himself up onto his feet. Martin did the same, standing with a hand balanced on his hip. "I'm still quitting. No one can stop me. But I'll go out with a bang."

"You're not going to kill yourself." It was a horrified plea, to which Wesley shook his head.

"Obviously not, dude."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Quitting while I'm ahead."

Confusion crossed his expression, amplified as Wesley began to strip down, pulling off his t-shirt before making his way to his dresser and searching for his Phantom attire.

"Dude, seriously, you have to tell me what you're doing."

"The Inferno still wants the leadership position."

"Obviously," Martin scoffed. His arms folded neatly in front of his chest. "What's that got to do with quitting? Isn't that handing him what he wants?"

He didn't respond until he had his striped shirt pulled over his body.

Iris was right, he thought as he took a moment to look down at his clothes. He really did look like the Hamburgler.

Spinning back towards his friend, he now maneuvered to his bedside table, where his eye mask was situated. "He wants me to kill Evan Crawford to keep my dad in charge. I'll complete the task — my last act as a Villain."

"Wesley..."

"Don't talk me out of it. If I kill this guy, I did my task. I have all the power. I have the bargaining chip that I can do whatever I want with. Including yielding control — letting my father pick whoever he wants to succeed him."

"I wasn't going to talk you out of it," Martin said.

"You weren't?"

"No. You know I want Crawford dead."

"I don't know that, actually." Wesley paused. "But you were the one to suggest a task in the first place, when the mutiny happened."

Though it'd been nothing more than an observation, Martin's face burned red. "I was pulling at strings. Throwing shit at the wall to see what would stick."

Wesley hummed. "Guess so."

"And it worked," he added. Positioned at Wesley's side, he used his elbow to nudge him in the side. "If you ask me, anyways. It got your dad back into power — for now. And if it gets Evan Crawford knocked off the playing board, then...it's a net win for all of us."

His brows bent, but the question that balanced on his tongue was forced to be swallowed down as Martin continued, "If you want to kill that guy tonight, go for it. You'll have nothing but my support."

"Why?"

It was a simple question, one that should have an equally simple answer.

Martin didn't bother with one. Phone buzzing in his pocket, he retracted the device, tilting his screen at just an angle where Wesley couldn't see whatever it was going down via text. With quick fingers dancing atop the layer of glass stuck to it for protection, Martin returned his attention to Wesley with a smile. "I don't support you leaving the Phantom behind. But maybe, killing Evan will encourage you to stay."

He shook his head. It was all he could, as words failed him.

Martin gave him a look. "I saw you, when you gave that speech. After the attack at the school, and what happened to Dana. You had the respect of every Villain in that room."

"And it's gone now."

"It's not," he denied. "Just needs another kick in the right direction. I saw how...how proud you were. How powerful you felt."

"I'm not powerful, though."

"No," Martin agreed. "Not with that attitude. But I know you. You care about yourself and your standing. Your pride. More so, this organization as a whole. You care about your father, and your mother's legacy, and the Villains in general — and why we do what we do."

Wesley paused. Head carefully moved towards Martin, eyes scaling him. "That's the thing, dude. I don't know why we do what we do. I don't know the point of any of this."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Your dad...he never told you?"

"No," he said, slow, deliberate. "No, Martin, he never told me a thing."

"I—"

"I don't care." It was petulance that had him speaking and nothing more, outweighing even his own curiosity.

He did care. He cared more than he'd ever admit.

But the fact that this knowledge had been omitted from him, and not from Martin, from someone who wasn't even a Super in the first place...

Evan Crawford's death would be the final thing he did with the mask he currently pulled over his eyes.

Then, he'd be free.