Regretfully, Sunray let her bow melt into the air and turned to face the questioning crowd. Their curious murmurings quickly changed to shouts when they realized they had her attention.

"Where's Night?!" at least a dozen voices burst out.

"Is he okay?"

"Did he just leave early or did Preciser do something to him?"

Staring distantly into the sea of faces, Sunray lifted her hand and waited for the chaos to settle down. When it finally did, she said simply, "He's gone."

Stunned expressions gazed back at her. Someone asked in disbelief, "Is he dead?!" which set off another furious crescendo of questions. She had to raise her voice and yell, "He's fine!" in order to quiet them down again. "He's not dead," she clarified after they'd calmed down. "He's okay. Preciser just . . ." She swallowed slowly. ". . . took him."

As she explained, she saw shock and terror creep into the civilians' faces. Several began whispering in alarm to each other, and a few of the younger children even started crying.

The people were still talking among themselves when she turned to leave. Even though it'd been over an hour since Night had been taken, a part of her still hadn't comprehended the fact that he wasn't safely at home, wherever that was. He wasn't in Milan. She wouldn't see him next Monday, and even if they could still contact each other, she might never see him face-to-face again.

In the hundreds of times they'd fought together, she'd always fought as a half of the whole— them. Both could fight well on their own, but they were strongest as a duo. Over the years, they'd learned to anticipate each other's move and act accordingly alongside their partner, communicate plans to each other without a word, and fight as one. But now that he was gone, it felt like a major part of her was missing. Her other half was gone, and it hurt terribly.

She landed on her balcony through a beam of light, detransformed, and walked quietly inside. Nothing met her as she entered; just more horrid silence.

Moaning sadly, she flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. First her mother, then Night . . . Was Preciser trying to take away everyone she cared about?

He hasn't taken away everyone, she reminded herself, taking her phone out of her pocket. She turned it on, pulled up her chat with her second-best friend, and sent, Alex?

He was a fast texter and always responded within seconds, so she kept her phone on and stared expectantly at the screen. Her eyebrows slowly furrowed, however, when he didn't reply for over a minute. She waited almost ten more empty minutes before adding, R u there?

Still, there was no answer for a strangely long time, especially for him.

Remembering the last she'd seen of him at school, she decided to call him instead. But when she tried, she only got his voicemail. When his recorded message ended and the automatic voice told her to leave a message, she exhaled, then ventured, "Hey Alex . . . this is Jak. I don't know why you're not answering your phone . . . but uh, I wanted to check on you, and see if you wanted to get together today . . . ? Only if you're feeling up to it, I mean." She paused. "So . . . yeah. Hopefully see you soon . . . Bye."

After saving her message, Jakira set her phone on the coffee table, curled up on the couch, and tightly squeezed her eyes shut. With all these sudden losses, it was hard to get rid of the rock in her throat, and it was even harder not to cry. She felt immature and selfish wanting her mother and partner back so badly just to enjoy close companionship with them again.

She must've fallen asleep lying there, but she jerked awake again at her phone ringing some time later. Hope briefly filled her; she grabbed it without checking what time it was or who was calling and answered enthusiastically with, "Alex?!"

". . . Uh . . . no, this is Mrs. Sameron," the female voice on the other end replied, and she deflated, disappointed in spite of herself. She slowly noticed the blackness outside her windows as her friend's mother went on in a worried tone, "Actually, I called to ask—is Alex with you?"

Caught off guard, Jakira hesitated before responding, "No, he's not . . . Why, is he not at home?!"

There was such a long pause after her words that alarm started creeping into her. "What's going on?" she added, straightening.

"He's not home," Mrs. Sameron replied at last, panic rising in her voice. "And no one has seen him since 1:30 this afternoon."

Immediately she stiffened in shock, eyes huge. "No . . ." she whispered under her breath as her friend's adoptive mother shakily explained.

"I-I called his teacher already, and she told me that he had a severe panic attack in his last class and ran out of the classroom. The school's security cameras have a few videos of when he was running through the halls after that, but none of them show where he went, and no one knows where he is now . . . ! I called the police about ten minutes ago, but so far they haven't even found a trace of him anywhere in the school." She paused, taking a long, deep breath. "I tried calling and texting him, but then I found his phone in his room. He must've forgotten it this morning."

By then, she'd heard enough to have gotten up and started putting her shoes on. "I'll be right there," she said quickly, then hung up, muttered, "Not you, too . . . !" and raced out the door.

The flashing lights of sirens and police cars quickly became visible in the darkness of night as she sprinted towards her friend's house. The scene was far too familiar; it was like a replay of earlier that very week with her mother's disappearance.

Panting and wide-eyed, she moved hastily past the officers and burst through the door. Both of Alex's adoptive parents were standing by the couch; his mother was in tears, and his father was trying to comfort her, although he looked in shock.

When they saw Jakira standing there, Mrs. Sameron gently pulled away from her husband, stepped closer, and embraced her tightly. Jakira tentatively returned it, unsure of who was comforting who and still trying to take in what was really happening.

"I should've seen something like this coming," Alex's mother murmured at last, moving back slightly. Jakira's eyes grew round with horror as she went on, "For two weeks now—he kept saying he felt anxious but didn't know why. His insomnia just kept getting worse, but whenever he slept, he'd have these awful nightmares . . . I'd get up to check on him in the middle of the night and find him thrashing around in his sleep, yelling out things that didn't make any sense. But whenever I asked him about it, he would just give me this terrified look and say he couldn't remember. I . . . I tried checking on him as much as possible. He just wasn't himself at all. He's always been distant, but during this time, even more so." Tears were running freely down her face by then. "I thought he was losing his mind," she whispered.

At that point, Jakira's complexion had gone ashen with shock and fear as she realized just how terrible Alex's situation had been. Based on what his mother had just told her, to them, it would seem he could've lost it and run away, gone delirious from lack of proper rest and ventured off somewhere in the city, or even committed suicide.

She swallowed hard, never wishing more that he hadn't felt the need to keep all his problems to himself. At a loss for words, her mind blank with grief, she slipped past her friend's parents, wandered down the hall, and entered his vacant room. His desk and bed were both a mess: a definite sign he'd been stressed out and sidetracked, since he always used to keep everything so neat.

His phone was sitting on his nightstand. She slowly say down on his bed, picked it up, and read the texts she'd sent to him earlier.

The fact finally began to sink in as she set it down again, and the tears started to come.

First her mother . . .

Then Night . . .

And now Alex . . .

She'd lost everyone close to her.

Her only wish now was that there would have been an easier way to discover just what the price was for giving away her identity to a villain.