I left the Palanquin a couple of hours after lunch with a few new toys in hand. A very fancy, very expensive phone loaded with security features, meant strictly for cape business. I forwarded updated contact information with a note—good line to contact me on for work matters—to the people who needed it.

  I also had a bank card now, linked to my Spook account. I could use it to make purchases or withdraw cash without tying anything back to Morgan Rivera.

  Faultline had walked me through a few topics I was already familiar with, but from a villain’s perspective. Things like information security, which I already took pretty seriously. The next steps for building soft power, which included having backups, a better base of operations, and a long-term plan.

  We covered cape politics, too. She made it clear that many villains operate a lot like independents. Networking is everything, but trust is rare. She encouraged me to follow a version of what she did. I’d already started, without realizing it. Avoid political games. Don’t overpromise. Learn to say no. Understand your lane and stick to it.

  There was a whole section on people and reputations. Contacts, legal firms, villain-friendly lawyers. A vetted list of reliable muscle-for-hire with little notes on each. Faultline made one point very clear: never screw over hired help. Not on pay, not on word, not on expectations. She said the people in that circle talk, and it’s easy to poison the well.

  Lastly, she gave me something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with—but she insisted. A compact, military-styled handgun. A few spare mags, ammo boxes, a secure case, and several concealed holsters.

  I argued with her about it, but she wasn’t having it. She told me I needed to get in the habit of carrying a weapon whenever I was out as Morgan Rivera. No exceptions.

  She gave me a crash course with the handgun—then followed it up with a crash course on two other weapons: a rifle and a compact machine gun.

  I’d told her I wasn’t planning to put myself in situations where I’d need a gun. After all, my civilian life was basically a disguise. Her counterpoint was hard to argue with. I’d already been caught off-guard more than once, and no matter how careful I was, I couldn’t control when or where danger might find me.

  As for the other weapons? The ABB packed serious firepower. We were heading into battle with them. Knowing how to safely handle a firearm—even if I didn’t intend to use one—was just common sense.

  Everything got stuffed into a backpack. Files, folders, and the gun case. All of it.

  I stopped at home, stashed the gear, changed into my own clothes, and caught up on calls and texts. It was Monday. School had already let out. I emailed the school saying my attendance would be spotty for the foreseeable future, citing the ongoing city issues.

  I figured I wasn’t the only student going off-grid lately.

  I had a million things on my plate, but there was one I’d been putting off for way too long. Time to stop avoiding it.

  High-waisted leggings, sneakers, a loud graphic tee from some rock band I liked, and a sports bra. Nothing fancy. I grabbed a loose jacket, pulled out the gun case, loaded it, and picked a holster I could tuck into the back of my waistband.

  One last mirror check confirmed that my not-makeup game was still on point.

  Earbuds in, I stepped outside and started walking. My destination: a place I hadn’t been in weeks.

  Home.

  I had to pass a checkpoint on the edge of the neighborhood. Nerve-wracking for a second, but they waved me straight through. No issues. They weren’t stopping people on foot unless they looked suspicious or had stuff to smuggle.

  I wasn’t sure if I got waved through because I looked like I belonged in the area, or if it was the form-fitting clothing and lack of a bag or what. I wasn’t going to question it.

  I felt a touch nervous walking up the sidewalk, unlocking the door, and stepping inside. The chime gave a familiar dong as I opened it.

  I didn’t think Mom and Dad would be home just yet, but Melody probably was.

  Thumping footsteps from upstairs and the rapid clatter down the stairs were all the warnings I got before she half-tackled me into a hug. She buried her face in my shoulder, I did the same, and I wrapped my arms around her in return.

  She was squeezing me tightly and breathing hard, but not saying anything. I couldn’t help but smile.

  Her hands drifted across my back. I stiffened for a second when they brushed against the gun, but she just moved her hand and didn’t say anything.

  Finally, she let go. She wiped her eyes and leaned in close, peering at my face.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You look different,” she said, like it was a sudden realization.

  I blinked. “I do?”

  She reached up, touched my lips with one fingertip, then cocked her head to the side.

  Grinning like an idiot, I opened my mouth and nibbled on the tip of her finger. She laughed and yanked it back.

  “Let’s go upstairs?” I nodded.

  I figured she was going to lead us into her room, but she went to mine instead. It was pretty much the same as how I’d left it. I’d taken a good chunk of my stuff, but the furniture was all there, some extra outfits, and decor.

  She closed and locked the door while I took a seat on the bed.

  “So,” she started, “no deflecting. What’s with the makeup and your big butt bulge?”

  I groaned at the phrasing. “You make it sound like I have a fucking tumor or something.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against my desk, facing me.

  “Fine, but no freaking out,” I relented. She rolled her eyes.

  “The makeup is my power. I was in a hurry this morning, and… did my hair with my power. I didn’t even mean to do the makeup part, it just sort of… happened. Weird side effect, I guess.”

  Melody’s brows rose, but her voice betrayed her excitement. “That’s awesome, Morg! Do you know how much time and money you’re going to be able to save with that? And like…” she trailed off a moment. “Holy crap, you’re getting way better at using it! What gives?”

  Her energy was infectious, and I grinned sheepishly. “I’ve just… been using it way more. I guess I finally got over my fear. I’ve been learning all sorts of things about it. I was—”

  My voice faltered. Sadness welled up.

  “I was so stupid. Sabotaged myself for so long. Obsessing about what others thought and prioritizing it over what I thought.”

  I sighed.

  She sat on the bed next to me and gave me a side hug. “You weren’t being stupid. You were learning. Growing, yeah? Maybe you needed to go slow. Who’s to say the other way wouldn’t have been worse?”

  I rested my head against hers and murmured, “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m growing too much. What happens if… my power grows faster than I am? What if I got all twisted up, and I didn’t notice until it was too late?”

  She was quiet for a moment, then pulled me in against her, her voice soft.

  “Then we deal with that if it happens, huh? You’re still you, Morgan. No matter what happens. I believe that.”

  She held me a moment longer, then let go and poked me in the thigh.

  “Mmh?”

  “No dancing around the subject. The other thing.” She prodded.

  “Right…” I reached around with my right hand and pulled the gun from the holster with a soft rasp. I removed the magazine and checked the chamber—just like Faultline taught me. The gun wasn’t large, but it felt heavier than it should in my hand. I bit my lower lip and handed it to Melody.

  She inspected it with a surprising familiarity, running her fingertip over the manufacturer’s markings on the slide. After a moment, she handed it back.

  I slid the magazine back in and returned the gun to its holster at the small of my back.

  She turned to look at me, her face serious. I braced for a lecture.

  “Good. You’re being smart for once.” She popped me lightly on the shoulder with a fist.

  “...What?” I asked, incredulous.

  “What, what? Do you think I give a shit you have an illegal gun? Do you know how relieved I am that you’re carrying one?”

  I blinked rapidly. “I- I had a mentor basically strongarm me into taking it and carrying it. I wouldn’t have, otherwise.”

  “Good!”

  “Mel, I have powers, I don’t want to carry around or use a gun. It just feels… I don’t know, wrong.”

  She took my face in both hands and stared at me, expression hard as stone.

  “I’m glad you have powers. I’m glad you’ve decided to use them to make things better. But your powers didn’t stop you from getting gunned down by ABB thugs and nearly dying .”

  I clenched my jaw. She shook her head, firm.

  “No. You listen. It’s dangerous out there. Dozens dead. Hundreds missing. Morgan, they’re killing people. Parts of the city are a war zone. If you see thugs in red and green roll up on you, you fucking shoot them. You hear me?”

  I took her hands in mine, gently pulling them down from my face.

  “Melody… this isn’t like you.”

  She squeezed my hands tighter, her voice taut. “I might not understand everything about your powers or your secret nighttime avenger life, but there are things you don’t understand, too.”

  I nodded slowly. “So tell me.”

  “A bomb went off two buildings down from Dad’s office. People and part of the building interior turned to crystal. Everyone inside? Dead. Just like that. A member of Mom’s software team went home, and now there’s no home. The ABB torched it to distract the army and PRT.”

  She stared into my eyes. “People are dying, people we know, who are close to our family, having their lives destroyed. Sirens in the middle of the night. Arcadia? Less than half the students are attending. It’s creepier with school like that than it is with everyone pretending things are normal.”

  And I haven’t been there for any of them in all of this.

  A pair of tears slipped down my cheek. I looked down at my lap, shame blooming in my chest like rot.

  “Hey. No. Quit that. Come here.”

  She pulled me into a tight hug. I let out a quiet, broken sob against her shoulder.

  “I–I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty sister during all of this. I just… There’s so much going on, I never have time. I’m spinning 50 plates while trying not to eat shit…” I coughed.

  “Listen. Are you doing what you can to help?”

  I nodded. “Yes. For days now. Training. Meeting people. Coordinating. Getting information on where and when to hit them.”

  She took me by the shoulders, pushed me back firmly, and gave me a shake. “Good. Then you have nothing at all to feel bad about. We’re all doing what we can, however we can.”

  I sniffed and laughed. She grinned and teased me: “Besides, weren’t you the one complaining about a lack of growth last time we talked?”

  “Oh my god shut up!” I threw a pillow at her. We chatted for about an hour. Mom and Dad came home, and we had a big, dumb reunion even though I’d only been gone a few weeks. While we were catching up, my phone buzzed. The important one.

  I excused myself to the restroom and checked it.

  It’s Coil.

  Freestyle Logistics: Available for potentially risky delivery work?

  Me: Timetable? Who’s involved? Are any hazard bonuses available?

  Freestyle Logistics: Need to deliver the package within an hour. You and a couple of hourly couriers to help offload. Couple of routes are available. Sizeable bonuses available for the very bad routes.

  I thought for a moment. All the shit I needed to buy. Getting a property. Everything that entailed. Then, the fear that had taken hold of my family.

  This needs to stop. It’s gone on too long already. And I’m already running out the clock on holding this shape.

  A heat boiled up in my chest, and a steely resolve settled over me. I was angry about everything that had happened in the past two days. And I was going to do something about it.

  My phone buzzed again.

  Freestyle Logistics: Time is of the essence. Need a decision.

  Me: Give me the absolute worst route you can find. No holds barred. I’ve got bills to pay.