CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Not The Only One

Camille stayed at the party until three in the morning. By then, her mind was so fuzzy from the alcohol that her legs nearly buckled every time she took a step, and every word came out as a laugh or an unintelligible mumble. She couldn't remember where she parked her car, but there was no way she'd be able to drive home in her condition so she didn't worry about it.

What she was worried about, however, was how the hell she would get down the narrow wooden steps that led up to the house party.

A hand gripped her arm just as her foot misjudged the next step. She glanced up and met the sparkling blue eyes of the one person she was hoping not to run into that night.

"Woah, be careful, Cami." Ian chuckled, letting go of her arm but keeping his hand out in case she needed to grab onto him again.

"Camille," she corrected him weakly. He nodded with a small smile and studied her. His smile faltered. Suddenly Camille became hyper-aware of her tangled hair and probably bloodshot eyes. Her eyes dropped to her shoes when his gaze became too much. "Thanks."

Ian snapped himself out of it and gestured to the staggering amount of steps they had yet to ascend. He cleared his throat. "Do you want some help?"

"No." She tried to walk down the steps again, but she only made it two feet before her spinning vision and nonexistent balance made her stop. She gripped the railing hard, maybe a bit too hard—she almost didn't notice the finger-shaped indents she left in the metal. "Yes."

Ian tried not to look too concerned as Camille lightly held onto his arm. Together, they slowly stumbled down the wooden steps.

"Are you okay? I haven't seen you around in a while," he asked. Camille kept her eyes trained on her feet as the world around her spun.

"I'm fine. Just been busy."

"Do you have a ride home?"

"I'm calling a cab."

"Do you want me to stay with you until it gets here?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She suddenly snapped as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. Her sharp eyes flickered up to Ian's. Guilt gripped her stomach as he took his arm back and looked away from her. But she had more to say, and the alcohol made it impossible to keep down. "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight, so you can drop the act."

His eyes flashed with shock. "I, I wasn't—"

"I don't care anymore. Okay? I don't care. Bye." She waved her hand at him and took a step back. He didn't advance on her, just leaned back against the railing of the steps as he ran his hand over his face.

"I've just been worried about you ever since that party two weeks ago," he said, frustrated. "Sorry if that's such a crime."

Camille but her lip and shook her head. "You shouldn't worry about me. I'm actually fucking amazing."

"Camille—"

"No, bye." Camille whipped around and stumbled down the sidewalk. She didn't know which way she was going, just as long as she was going away from Ian and the party. When she heard his footsteps following her, she shouted over her shoulder, "BYE."

His footsteps stopped. Finally.

Camille stumbled around the streets for a while, she didn't know how long. Her mind was reeling with everything she learned about Azure and her dad's secret woman that night. Most of all, though, she felt disgusted with herself for how she treated Ian. He was only being nice but of course she had to push him away.

Of course she had to push him away. Who would want to be with a girl with super-strength? A girl who could kill you with one punch?

Camille sat down on the curb of a busy street and held her head in her hands. She was alone—truly, utterly alone.

★

After his initial run-in with The Flame, Lewis had been training—weight training and hand-to-hand combat training, specifically—for the next time he'd confront the villain. He couldn't live with himself if he let her get away again. Unfortunately, the only time he was free to train was at night, after school and after his mom and David went to bed so as to not raise suspicion about his spontaneous interest in fitness. Fortunately, however, the gym was open 24/7.

Sweat gleamed across Lewis's dark forehead as he threw punch after punch at the punching bag. The dull sound of his taped fists hitting the bag was the only noise in the otherwise barren room. His mind raced with everything he knew about the Flame, and everything he didn't—he thought of the fire the Flame could create with the snap of a finger, of the bomb she was carrying on the news, the way she effortlessly overpowered him and got away.

"Thought I heard someone in here."

Lewis jumped back at the sound of a voice and whipped his head to look over his shoulder. A middle aged man in a cutoff tank top and sweats stood in the doorway, a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. An unreadable look adorned his sharp face. "You call that a punch?"

Lewis just stared at the man as heat gathered in his face. "I—I'm trying my best, sir."

The man nodded and leaned the broom against the wall and the dustpan on the ground. He approached Lewis with his arms crossed, but his face remained neutral. "What's your name, kid?"

"Lewis." His eyes flickered from the punching bag to the man. Lewis hesitated, letting his sore hands rest at his sides. "Lewis Johnson."

The man took a step forward and held out his hand. "Dev Peters. Owner of this gym."

"Oh," Lewis sputtered, "I, uh, really appreciate the late hours you're open."

"Sometimes the best time of day to work out isn't during the day." Dev studied Lewis for a moment, leaving the boy to awkwardly fidget under his gaze. Dev motioned to the punching bag. "Please, don't let me distract you."

"Alright," Lewis muttered under his breath, confused. He brought his hands up and jabbed his fist at the heavy bag.

"Widen your stance."

Lewis glanced back at Dev but did as he was told.

"A strong punch doesn't just come from your upper body, it's starts in your lower body. Do it again, but bend your knees."

Lewis threw another punch at the bag, but Dev stopped him before he could continue.

"Keep your wrist straight with your forearm, and keep this hand close to your face when you're not using it. If you're in a fight, this hand will be your best defense." Dev helped Lewis position his hands correctly, then stepped back to let him try it again. With a fleeting look back at Dev, Lewis struck the bag, making it move more than he'd ever been able to before. He readied for another strike, but he stopped.

"Why are you helping me?" Lewis asked, turning away from the bag.

Dev uncrossed his arms and crossed them again. "You're in a gym past midnight throwing crappy punches. You need help."

Lewis normally would have taken offense to that, but honestly, he was glad he had someone to show him how to fight, if only for just tonight. He gave Dev a short smile.

"Thank you."

Dev didn't answer directly, but Lewis didn't wait to see his reaction. He wanted to fight—he needed to, if he was going to save Elton from the Flame. He positioned his hands the way he'd been told and hit the bag.

After a while, Dev moved to sit on the side of an empty boxing ring facing Lewis, where he shouted out corrections and, very rarely, praises. By the time Lewis's hands were so sore he couldn't feel them and the muscles in his legs felt like jelly, Dev decided the young boy had had enough.

"Let's call it a night," Dev announced. He pushed himself off the boxing ring and landed on his feet. "C'mon, kid."

Lewis shook his wrists out and bounced on his toes. He felt amazing—physically drained and sore, but amazing nonetheless. Is this why people play sports?

Lewis caught the water bottle Dev tossed his way and downed half of it. "Thanks again, you really didn't have to help me."

"It's no problem, that's why I opened a gym in the first place." Dev waved him off as they walked to the exit. He glanced at the boy beside him, noticing a glimmer in his eyes despite the sweat coating his face and his labored breaths. "You've got an impressively quick right hook, by the way. Use that to your advantage."

Lewis's breath caught in his throat. Shit, he wasn't even thinking about slowing down to conceal his identity. Dev didn't seem to notice anything peculiar, though. Maybe he'd just keep his super-speed in check next time. "I will."

"Good."

Dev and Lewis waved to each other as they parted ways in the dark city. According to his phone, it was 3:30 in the morning, which gave Lewis a good three hours to get home before his mom woke up and found him missing.

Lewis slipped on his mask and blue hoodie and started running home, relishing in the feel of the night breeze running through his short hair, when faint crying met his ears. As soon as his brain registered what he heard, he screeched to a stop and looked around. He was in a small neighborhood now. The distant thump of music from a dwindling party sounded in the distance.

Lewis backtracked a few yards, eyes searching for the source of the crying. His gaze froze on a girl sitting on the curb, her head in her hands. Lewis gulped. Was this something superheroes dealt with? Or were they just supposed to worry about the super villains, like the Flame?

Superheroes aren't real, Lewis reminded himself. I am though. So if Lewis thought that checking up on a random crying girl on the street was his duty as a hero, then it was, because there were no other real superheroes to compare himself with.

"Excuse me, miss?" Lewis spoke into the dark. She whipped her head up and narrowed her eyes at him. Lewis knew that look, he knew that face. It was Camille. "Oh, hi."

Camille watched him with sharp eyes as he sat down beside her on the curb. "What do you want?"

Lewis shrugged. He wasn't exactly excited to console a crying girl, but having to talk to Camille while she's in a bad mood was probably way worse.

"I just wanted to see if you're okay. I heard you crying when I ran by," he explained. Camille's eyes dropped and she sniffed harshly.

"Wasn't me." She wasn't trying to cry, but everything was just too much all at once. Plus, she wasn't in the best state of mind anyway with the added alcohol, which is why she had the courage to say exactly what she thought. "You're Azure, aren't you? You've got the blue jacket and the mask."

Lewis hesitated. "Yeah."

Camille forced an exaggerated smile and threw her arms up. "Yay, another strong man to save the weak little girl." She leaned towards Lewis, getting all up in his face. Her eyes flickered between his, and for a moment Lewis was scared she'd recognize him. "Guess what, Superhero," she whispered in a stony tone, "You aren't the only one with powers."

Lewis scooted away from her slightly. "How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"What are you, a cop?" Camille snapped. She wiped her arm under her nose and sniffled.

"Do you need help getting home?"

Camille laughed humorlessly. "I'm not going home."

"Well do you need a place to sta—"

"I don't need anything from you."

Lewis sighed and glanced up at the dark starless sky, exasperated. She was making helping her too hard, especially after his long night. She must've had a long night, too, though. He'd never seen Camille show any kind of emotion before, besides anger, so the fact that she was crying cracked the little bitterness Lewis was feeling towards her.

"Do you at least have a friend I could call for you?" he asked.

One name popped up in Camille's head, but even though she was wasted she knew it wasn't a great idea. "Maybe, but I doubt he'd pick up."

"If he's your friend he'll pick up."

Camille met Lewis's steady gaze. How could he be so sure?

Lewis, sensing Camille's hesitation, picked up her phone from where it sat beside her on the ground and put it in her hand. She shook her head and pushed the phone to him with a pleading look.

"It's the first contact in my messages," Camille mumbled. Lewis took the phone and found the contact. His eyes widened in surprise at the name she wanted to call. He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice anything odd as he held the phone to his ear. It rang three times before it connected.

"Camille?" the teenage boy's groggy voice spoke through the speaker. "Everything okay?"

Lewis tightened his grip on the phone. "Ross, this is Azure."

"What the hell?" Ross hissed into the phone. Lewis heard shuffling, then Ross's voice was back and much clearer. "Where's Camille? What happened?"

"She's here, she's fine, just drunk. Could you come pick her up?"

A small pebble hit Lewis's shoulder and ricocheted to the ground. Lewis looked up and met Camille's glare. He brought a hand up to touch his shoulder where he'd been hit, surprised at how much that little rock hurt, even through his hoodie.

Ross sighed into the phone, bringing Lewis's attention back to the phone. "Yeah, of course. Where are you?"

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