Dennie stared at me like he’d just seen a ghost. I didn’t know what else I’d been expecting in all honesty. I came here because I had to tonight. I came back because it’s what I should’ve done way back when I destroyed his place. And now I didn’t have much to say as I faced him in this cramped and stuffy hallway, my mouth dry and not a single word coming from either of us. It hadn’t been hard to find him—he had a sister, a grumpy old lady that he sometimes went to see, and I guessed this would be the only place he’d otherwise be, and I guess we have a winner.

  “Hey, D,” I said quietly, hands in my hoodie pockets, palms sweaty. “You look as great as ever.”

  I didn’t know if that was contempt on his face or because of the strange smells seeping out from the broken pipes in the walls. It wasn’t a great place to be. Barely any heating and the power throughout the city kept going on and off because the grid had been screwed with so much recently. The stink of kerosine lanterns hung in the air, and I figured people were getting ready for the inevitable blackouts later tonight. Hell, I almost wished the lights would go off right now so I wouldn’t have to see the look on his face. But I stood there, silent, waiting for a response.

  He tensed his jaw and gripped harder onto the doorknob. “Everything I had,” he said quietly, his voice low and raspy, rattling up his throat, “was in that building. Everything I owned and everything I’d sold my soul for.” I didn’t say anything. Didn’t even move when he took a step toward me, looking me in the eyes. He shook his head slowly, and the pang of guilt that had been sitting inside of me swelled. I bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste hot liquid iron, and kept chewing to make sure I didn’t choke on the emotion in my throat. “Go away, Rylee.”

  “I didn’t…” I sighed, not even able to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can fix this, but I’m sorry. I fucked up. Really fucked up.” A kid ran down the hallway, stumbling over his feet and nearly dropping everything in his hands if I hadn’t gotten him the right way up before he even hit the floor. He stumbled, looked over his shoulder, a little confused, then kept running, stacks of books in his arms. “But I’m trying to do better.”

  “Your guilt isn’t gonna buy me a new home, Rylee,” he said. “Your guilt isn’t gonna make it come back.”

  “I—”

  “If you’re gonna give me excuses, I don’t wanna hear ‘em,” he said flatly.

  “I wasn’t going to give you one,” I said. “I messed up as Rylee a long time ago and I shouldn’t have gotten you involved with Olympia either, because neither of us is any good at keeping our lives on track. I came to say sorry, and that I’ll get out of your hair completely. You took me in when you didn’t have to and gave me a job even if I was really bad at it. Without you… Without you, D, I probably wouldn’t have made it this far into the year.” I smiled a little, but not enough to reach my eyes. “You deserve a lot better than me. You deserve a lot more from me than getting everything destroyed. I don’t know how I can pay you, but I will. I’ll try. Anything I get, I’ll make—”

  “You ain’t got a dime to your name,” he said, gripping harder onto the handle. There was anger in his voice, a quiet kind that heated his words. “How do you expect to pay me back? I’ll be long dead before that.”

  “I’ve got a friend—”

  “The tv superhero,” he said, scoffing quietly. “Usin’ someone else to pay your debts? I thought you knew by now that your problems can’t get fixed by other people. You gotta take responsibility and stop these things from happening, or else you’ll just keep getting stuck in the same fucking loop that you’ve been in for months!” Then he grabbed his chest, panting hard. I reached for him. He smacked my hands away. “I’m fine. I just…I don’t need to talk to you right now, kid, and I ain’t in the mind for you, either. You keep standing there and I’ll say something neither of us are gonna want to hear.” He looked at me, his hooded eyelids low and his mouth thin. “Leave, buck.”

  “I would,” I said, “but I really don’t have anywhere to go tonight. Crime rate dropped and that new me is all over the news, and being out there right now feels a little tiring. But…stay safe, Dennie.” I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket and handed it to him. He looked at it, brows furrowed, then at me. “It’s my Olympia line. I know you’re probably never gonna call it, because I doubt I’d ever really be much help to you now, but if you want to call sometime, then my phone’s always on.” I stepped back and adjusted my beanie, because tonight had been a lot colder than the previous ones, and I guess it was about time I found something to do. “I really hope I get to talk to you one day, because you were one of the only good people who cared about me, y’know. I’ll try not to end up like Lucas. And I’ll try to eat as much as I can. I don’t draw anymore, but when I get the time, I’ll slide you a sheet.”

  I was halfway down the hallway when he said, “Where are you sleeping now?”

  I turned and shrugged. “Don’t really do that anymore. Don’t need to.”

  “Where’d you get your food from?” he asked, thumbing the piece of paper. “The spare clothes and the toothpaste and all the rest of it?” He stood in the doorway, half his body inside the apartment, not fully out yet.

  “Sometimes I find someone nice enough to buy me a hotdog,” I said. “And I don’t really need clothes if I wear a costume all day long, and everything else…” I shrugged again. “I’m a fighter. I'll figure stuff out eventually.”

  He sighed through his nose, then turned around and went back inside the apartment without shutting the door. I stood frozen for a moment, partially confused, until I heard him say, “Well, you’re letting all the heat out, kid, hurry up in here.” Did I want to go in there? Being truthful, no, I didn’t. I had my emotions in check now. Ever since the coffee shop accident, Rylee and her soup of feelings had been dumped deep, deep into the back of my brain. Like I said, there’s no reason to over complicate anything anymore. But right then, as I took a hesitant step through the doorway and quietly shut the door behind me, one of those emotions lurched into my stomach, hot and lashing and filling. I slid out of my hoodie and walked deeper into the apartment. Nothing big and nothing special. A washing machine near the kitchen sink and a bed in the corner alongside an air mattress leaning on the wall.

  Dennie’s sister was sitting near the radiator, cupping a mug of something hot, watching some kind of late night talk show that was way more interesting than I’d ever be. Dennie himself was rummaging through a small box in the corner of the room, right underneath a hanging line of damp clothes. He’s not meant to be living like this. But he came back to me with a pair of clothes, my clothes, and handed them to me—socks, sweatpants, t-shirt and everything. The t-shirt was a little singed, and so were the socks, but… Dennie grunted as he took my old jacket.

  “Gotta take that thing off, too,” he said, jerking his chin at my costume underneath. “It smells like sweat and blood and I’ve got half a mind to know that you don’t like the design of the thing, either. I’ll get her washed and you can make yourself something warm to drink. I was gonna make some soup, but these old hands aren’t as steady as they used to be. If you wanna start paying me back, you’ll cut up some carrots and onions for me, Ry.”

  “Why do you have these?” I asked him. “I thought you’d throw them out or something.”

  He waved off the question as he gestured for me to follow him into the bathroom. He pointed to a bar of soap and some shampoo, told me how to get the shower hot before it gets frigid, and told me he’d be waiting outside for my costume. I tried to protest. He didn’t really care. He’d stood there staring at me, his hand out and waiting for my costume. Eventually, I relented—he left and I changed out of the thing, and maybe, between you and me, he was right. The thing reeked of sweat and blood and bodily build up from days and nights of not taking it off. I stood in front of the cracked mirror, seeing the filth under my eyes and the gunk darkening my hair. I looked like a corpse with a couple of scars and some blood under her nails, and I smelt terrible. Like I’d taken a bath in the bay after that other younger version of myself had left the Kaiju to pour its guts into the waters for a few days.

  I kept the belt of my belongings and hung it off a hook behind the bathroom door, right alongside the necklace Cleopatra gave me. Once I’d handed him the costume, I’d washed, and scrubbed, and made very sure that my skin was smooth and the gunk in my hair didn’t keep clogging the tiny slurping drain. Once I was done, I didn’t feel any better about being here, now dressed in new clothes and finding my way into the kitchen, my hair still dripping wet as I watched Dennie work the washing machine. The old thing started jumping and rattling and shaking, and he walked past me without a word, heading for the kettle and the pair of mugs beside the thing.

  “Well?” he said, his back facing me as he turned it on. “Gonna make some soup or what?”

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  “I…actually don’t think I even know how to make that.”

  He turned around, an eyebrow raised. “Ronnie never taught you?”

  “My mom’s best cooking came out of the microwave.”

  He snorted and laughed a little. “Cut the veggies first and grab the sachets in the cupboard. We’ll do it the fancy way and skip half a dozen steps.” And, for the next hour of my life, that’s all I did—take orders from Dennie and learn how to cut a carrot into chunks that wouldn’t choke an elderly person, how much water I should put in the pot to boil, and when exactly the soup would be ready. I said nothing the entire time. I felt like I didn’t deserve to say anything in the first place. And for once, deep down, it felt kinda good to just take orders. Simple orders that didn’t mean bad consequences, because all I had to do, according to Dennie, was stir, taste, season, and wait.

  Just stand beside the boiling pot, listening to the rattling washing machine, and wait.

  “Dennie,” I said. He’d been humming to himself as he mixed sugar into the tea. “I should get going.”

  He handed me a mug. “I put some chamomile in there for you. Heard from the web it’s good for relaxing.”

  “D—”

  “Soup’s ready,” he said, turning off the stove. He grabbed a ladle and filled three bowls with the stuff. He took one on a tray and set it beside his sister. I didn’t feel how hot they were, anyway, so I took the two remaining ones and set them on a small table in front of the couch. “Smells great, kid,” he said, sitting down. “Real winner.”

  I stood there beside the couch, a little awkward, holding my bowl. “Why’re you being so nice?”

  He ate for a while, saying nothing until he cleaned his mouth and shrugged. “Got half a mind to not want you around, and another half a mind to know that your ma woulda wanted you indoors, fed, and clean at least.”

  “My mum kicked me out in the middle of the night right before supper.”

  “And by the time I’d made you pasta that night, I’d already gotten your room sorted for you.” He looked at me and patted the couch. “Might be eighteen, but that’s got no meaning to me if you’re going hungry and cold.”

  “I thought you’d hate me,” I said, sitting on the edge of the couch. “You told me to leave a minute ago.”

  He waved his hand through the air. “Had a long day and you caught me off guard. You get old enough and your mind starts jumping around all crazy like without you even knowing it.” He ate some more soup, then said, “I gotta ask you a question, though, kid, and I need you to tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, alright?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Anything you want.”

  Dennie jerked his thumb at the washing machine. “Who designed that ugly thing?”

  I laughed. “You wouldn’t believe it—Lucas’ sister did.”

  He blanked. “You’re tellin’ me that she’s back?”

  I nodded, turning the spoon through the soup. “Came back a while ago to take a burden off my shoulders. I guess she’s doing her part, and I guess I can trust her a little more after you told me she put Luas through the dirt.”

  Dennie sat back on the couch, dragging his fingers through thinning hair. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, as the studio audience on the tv barked out some laughter. “Never thought she’d actually come back here. Never thought you’d be the reason she does, but I guess there’s small joys in odd places.” He shook his head slowly, staring at nothing in particular. Then he looked at me. “But what about him?” he asked. “Seen him around yet?”

  I stopped turning the soup and shook my head. “Not yet. I don’t think I want to right now.”

  “Hm,” he said, not meaning anything by it—just nodding along. “I musta scared him off.”

  “Don’t mess with Dennie Heart,” I said. He chuckled.

  Then his sister stopped rocking in her chair the very same moment something plucked my attention. I froze and slowly stood up, putting down the bowl of soup. I rolled my shoulders and swallowed. I looked left and then right, then walked toward the singular window and fingered aside the curtains. Nothing on the street below. Nothing in the sky. Why do I feel like I’ve got ice in my gut? My skin prickled and so did my scalp, like I was panicking about something I didn’t know about. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek, cold and wet and seeping into my collar. My senses were screaming at me all at once, nearly so badly it almost made me feel nauseous.

  “Buck?” Dennie asked me, heading to his sister. “What’s the matter? Is someone here?”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly, looking at the ceiling and straining to listen. “But I don’t know where.”

  It smelt like smoke and gunpowder, alcohol and aftershave. It stung my nose. Strung a chord in my brain that hadn’t felt this way for months. Scared. I hadn’t felt terrified since the sewers, trying to kill the Kaiju before Cadaver got to my cousin and her friends. I listened to the pipes in the building, tried to pick up the stink of dead flesh that clung to that god-forsaken creature. But it wasn’t that kind of smell. It was something older. Something I’d grown up smelling. My mouth bittered. My heartbeat quickened as I stared outside the window, eyes narrow.

  The first lights to go off died two blocks away before a shroud of darkness fell over several more. The lights hummed and flickered and vanished, and then came that long, dull silence that sat in Lower Olympus’ air whenever something bad was about to happen. Deathly silence in the streets, so quiet that the snow was the loudest thing in this half of the city. Dogs barked, their sharp declaration of panic echoing through the night. Nothing but silence, nothing but darkness. I narrowed my eyes and opened the window, sticking my head outside to see what—

  I landed on the pavement so hard that I cratered it, rubble and dust flush in the air. I panted, my fist planted deep into the concrete. I saw you. I unclenched my hand, and instead of the throat I’d gone for, it was just a feather.

  Singed, black, and just like all the others.

  The electricity on my palm turned it to ash as I stood, the bitter wind sweeping it out of my hand. I looked around, my saliva thick and my breaths heavy. “Where are you?” I whispered. Coils of heated air seeped from my skin. Snow that fell on me melted and evaporated all in the same second, filling half the street with steam. My hair dried and so did my mouth. Then a shock of blonde hair was in an alleyway, and I was there a second later. Nothing. A feather and nothing more, right alongside a cigarette butt still smoldering in an oily puddle. I swore and looked around, then leaped into the sky, cracking the pavement and stopping above Dennie’s apartment building. I stared at the streets, at the darkness that shrouded Lower Olympus. Barely a single light bulb turned on. Garbage fires surrounded by the homeless was all that lit up the night as the Upper West cast an even deeper shadow of L.O.

  “Nearly had my throat,” I heard a voice say—his voice. I spun. Not up here. Down there. I skimmed over rooftops, blitzing through the night, electricity coating my body. “But I guess without my training, you’re still so slow, so weak, and still don’t know how to use your powers properly.” I stopped mid-air so suddenly that a clap of gusting wind swept my hair into a wild mess as I spun around, breathing hard, glared, and shot back to the building.

  I flew between power lines and around streetlights, underneath archways and fire escapes trying to find the voice that was filling my head and drowning out the world. I stopped again, skidding to a halt. I heard a chuckle, a disappointed muttering of words, then I was in the air again, leaping off the ledge of a building and using a water tank to spin me around when his voice came from behind me. Then I stopped again. He’s fucking with me. He enjoys watching me chase him. That’s what he wants because he’s gone to the one place that I should be at right now.

  It didn’t take long for me to get to Dennie’s apartment. Barely a minute.

  And there he was, standing in the window, with a gun to Dennie’s head.

  Lucas didn’t smile. He didn’t waver. He was an outline in a black coat and a clean white suit, his stubble gone and his messy hair a thing of the past. For once, his eyes were clear, but like always, they held onto a rage and sickness that seeped right out of his pores. I hovered closer toward the window, stopping right on the other side of the glass. He didn’t flinch. The gun’s butt was jammed deep into the flesh of Dennie’s throat now, a finger on the trigger and his forearm muscles taught and tense and ready for me to even look like I was going to make a move.

  “What’s the matter, kid?” he asked me, chewing on the end of a cigarette. “No more threats this time?”

  A burst of electricity crackled around my fists, surging with light. I fought to find my words. To get my tongue working and under control. I clenched my teeth, then snarled, “Dennie, you’ve got to stay perfectly still.”

  Lucas’ lips turned upward, a ghost of a smile spreading on his face. “You don’t have that kind of precision, Rylee, so here’s what’s going to happen—you come with me peacefully and quietly, or I take this old bastard’s life and make you do what I say when you emotionally fall apart like you always end up doing, and nobody wants the water works, Ry. Not now.” Dennie winced as Lucas forced the gun harder against the base of his skull. “Choose.”

  Neither.

  It was never going to be anything except neither of them.

  And he knew that. He saw it on my face, in my eyes—he saw it because he was probably the one person on this planet who knew me better than I knew myself. “Well,” Lucas said. “Let’s see how good of a hero you are now, Ry.”