I woke up just after sunrise, around six AM. I’d slept in the Dallons’ backyard overnight. Their house had a high privacy fence, so I wasn’t too worried about anyone seeing me and wondering what was going on. Not to mention, it wasn’t exactly a secret to their neighbors that the Dallons were superheroes.

  Amy was bundled up in layers and sitting on the picnic table. She was bleary-eyed and sipping on a steaming cup of coffee. Staring at me, but in a sort of spacey way. The coffee smelled amazing.

  I stirred, and she blinked, snapping out of her daze.

  “It’s hard to tell when you’re awake and when you’re sleeping, with your eyes the way they are,” she said quietly.

  I covered my mouth with one big hand and yawned. “Mm. Morning. What are you doing up and out here?”

  She brushed some frizzy brown hair out of her face and smiled. “I told you I was going to start taking training seriously, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I nodded.

  “Although… between the two of us, I’m sure there’s a way we could cheat or hack our way around all this and still get the same results.”

  Hm. Hadn’t thought about that, but she’s probably right. But–

  “I’m sure we could,” I said slowly, “but training and gym time is only partly–”

  I was interrupted by the back door opening. A second person stepped outside: Taylor.

  “Okay, now this is just getting weird,” I commented dryly.

  Taylor had a sheepish look on her face and was wearing some borrowed sweats. They were a touch short on her, but not too bad.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I heard you two talking, and I usually go for runs around this time every day.”

  I grinned, and both Amy and Taylor winced. I sighed. “It’s just not the same, is it?”

  “No, no, it absolutely is not,” Taylor said.

  “Well, that’s the spirit, Taylor.” I turned back to Amy. “What I was going to say is that the physical work is only part of the point of training and gym time. A big part of it is mental. Being willing to put yourself through the wringer, then go back and do it all over again the next day? It builds tenacity. Fortitude. Up here.”

  I clicked a claw off the side of my armored head.

  Taylor cleared her throat. “It’s true.” She rubbed her arms, then added—reluctantly, “I think I might start lifting weights, like you were saying.”

  “Imagine I’m grinning from ear to ear, without actually grinning from ear to ear right now.”

  “Yes, please,” Amy said.

  “You know,” I said, “since you two have actually met now, maybe we could work as a group on that armor prototype I was talking about yesterday afternoon.”

  Amy perked up. “What’s this?”

  I gestured at Taylor. “Her costume is—and I’m not underselling it here— fucking amazing. And she made it all herself. It’s practically tinkertech, but with bugs.”

  Amy blinked rapidly and looked over at Taylor. Taylor’s cheeks turned pink, and it wasn’t from the morning chill.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “she’s got some off-the-rack sports armor inserts in there that really don’t do the work she’s done justice. I was telling her I might try and grow her some proper hard armor inserts. If I can figure out how.”

  Amy’s expression flickered through about two dozen different looks in the span of fifteen seconds. “That is… a super interesting idea, come to think of it. You know…” She looked at me, studying my not-face. “You and I might be able to do some really wild things if we wanted to.”

  I nodded in agreement with her. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too. Your whole rebranding.”

  I got up on all fours and stretched out similarly to how a dog might. A really weird-looking dog.

  “What say you two, shall I get changed and we’ll all go for a run?”

  Taylor looked off to the side, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  Amy also looked bashful and uncertain.

  “Amy,” I told her. “Neither of us is going to judge your fitness. And I honestly don’t know that exercise does anything at all for me anymore, but I enjoy the routine.”

  “It helps me clear my head and think,” Taylor added.

  Amy sighed and nodded. “Fine.”

  So I changed and got dressed, and the three of us went out for a jog around the neighborhood. This part of town had been basically untouched by both the ABB and the more recent E88 attacks. It was surreal that this quiet, beautiful neighborhood existed in the same city as what we’d seen yesterday.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” I asked Taylor.

  “Hmm?”

  I waved a hand around. “Seeing this, and then flying a few miles, and seeing what we’re more used to seeing. In the same city. The same people.”

  “Yeah. It is. I hope people here… don’t take it for granted,” she replied.

  “Some do,” Amy wheezed. “Not everyone.” She gasped; she was being a trooper right now, but she was struggling. “Can we… take a break?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” I looked over at her. “Just one more block."

  She groaned.

  I stopped with Amy, while Taylor continued. She picked back up with us when she circled the block.

  It was a bit after seven when we got back. Amy collapsed on the table outside, soaked in sweat, with her hair matted. I sat on top of the table above her and massaged her shoulders. “You’re kicking ass. It’s hard. It sucks. But it gets easier, I promise.”

  Taylor was wiping down her face with the bottom of her sweatshirt. It looked like she’d burned off some of the belly fat that she’d been so concerned about earlier. She wasn’t washboard, but she’d be getting there soon enough if she kept up at the rate she’d been going. I had to give it to her; she was in pretty good shape, as far as cardio went.

  She desperately needed more muscle mass, though.

  I tongued the inside of my cheek and debated on saying something on my mind, but I wasn’t sure if she’d take it the way it was intended or not, or turtle up as she so often did. It was like taking shots in the dark with her at times. The girl lacked confidence in her civilian life. She had it in spades in costume.

  Skitter was downright menacing as fuck.

  This could backfire. She could distance herself if I mess this up.

  Fuck it.

  “Hey, Taylor?”

  She wiped her hands on her pants and looked up. “Yeah?”

  Carefully…

  “Your mom was beautiful in those photos I saw yesterday.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up—just slightly—and she nodded, tight and controlled.

  I squeezed Amy’s shoulders as I spoke. “You know… that you are too… right?”

  She scoffed and gave me a dirty look.

  I took it on the jaw and didn’t even blink. I held her gaze. She stared at me, eyes hard—squinting, confrontational. And maybe something else, behind a veritable fortress of defenses.

  “I’m dead serious,” I told her, matching tone to message.

  She clenched her jaw and looked like she was going to refute me, but I could see the gears turning behind her eyes. Sharp eyes. This girl, Taylor, had a wicked intellect that stood in stark contrast to how little she spoke when she wasn’t pissed off.

  Her words had bite when she did speak. “What are you trying to get at, Morgan? The more I get to know you, the more I realize it’s rarely just surface-level with you. You’re always wrapped up in some deeper plot, just like L—” She caught herself. “Tattletale.”

  Taylor took a step back as she spoke.

  Amy went still, and I licked my lips.

  “You’re not wrong. Would you prefer the cerebral take instead of the emotional one?”

  “Sure.”

  “I was struck by how much presence and confidence you have as Skitter.”

  “I do not,” she said.

  “No, Morgan’s right. You do, Taylor. You’re not just terrifying, which you are, but there’s something in the way you move and act.” Amy cleared her throat and continued, her voice firmer than usual. “I... hated the other you. You just... commanded everyone in the bank. Effortlessly.”

  Amy paused a moment, then added, “I hated how effective you were. It wasn’t just being scary; you made the people inside feel powerless.”

  “I was scared out of my mind,” Taylor replied.

  “Performers, fighters, actors, they all get stage fright and performance anxiety too, you know. Doesn’t stop them from giving an amazing performance or a hell of a fight.” I argued.

  Taylor crossed her arms. She looked like she was about to shut down the conversation, but stayed engaged. “What does the way I look have to do with how others see me as Skitter? I’m in a full-body costume, my face and eyes hidden.”

  “You’re not, though,” I said. “You have your hair out and without a wig on or anything. That’s an interesting choice, for someone who goes to lengths otherwise to cover themselves fully.”

  “I like my hair, so what?” She was defensive now.

  I took a beat before replying. “You are Skitter. And Skitter is you, yes?”

  She rolled one hand, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

  “So why is there such a huge disconnect between the way Skitter moves, acts, orders, and fights, and the way you move and act out of costume?”

  She frowned.

  I continued. “I can see small areas where the two overlap. But only when I’m looking for them, or when you’re visibly emotional. Like when you’re pissed off.”

  Amy nodded slightly.

  Taylor didn’t respond. Still in a defensive posture. It reminded me of Amy at school.

  Is it all just self-esteem issues?

  She can’t see it when she looks in the mirror. She sees something else. Something different from what we see.

  “Why’d you look upset when I gave you a gift last night? Why are you getting irritated right now, when all I’m doing is complimenting you?”

  Her frown deepened.

  “I’ll make this about me instead,” I said, speaking softly. “I was in therapy. I probably still should be. My powers fucked my head up—bad. Not in the literal way, like Labyrinth. But the part of me that recognizes myself as me? That got broken. I had to learn techniques to manage it. Breathing helps. But how I think about myself, too.”

  Amy looked up at me when I mentioned being in therapy. She seemed surprised by the admission.

  I took my hands off Amy’s shoulders and dragged my claws through my hair.

  “Imagine how bad that gets when your body is transmutable. We’ve talked about that. You remember.”

  Her posture loosened a bit, and she nodded.

  “What I’m trying to say, and trying to get you to think about for yourself, is just… really simple. Simple concept, tricky execution.”

  Amy was silent, and Taylor shifted her stance. Still unwinding, slowly. “I think there’s a really pretty young woman in you, Taylor. One who’s as confident out of costume as she is in it. Someone strong, funny, bold, and attractive. But the person keeping her from showing that to the world? Is the same one who gets angry when someone compliments her.”

  Taylor took a huge breath, then sighed. She dropped her gaze to the grass.

  I stood up and hopped off the table, walking over to stand in front of Taylor. I placed my hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  Her head hung low.

  I spoke softly. “Is the reason why you blew me off the first time I talked about going to the gym with me because you didn’t have the time, money, or desire to do it? Or was it because you couldn’t see a future for yourself where you were fit and strong?”

  “I’m running, aren’t I?” she murmured.

  “Hey. Look at me. Connect with me for a second. I know you don’t want to. Do it anyway. Get mad if you have to.”

  She looked up at me. Which was funny, because I had to slightly look up at her .

  “Running is tricky. You said it helps you relax and clear your head. You love reading. Have you ever thought about the metaphors there?”

  Her expression softened, just for a moment, before it darkened again.

  “You’re saying I feel better because I’m running away from things.”

  I tilted my head in the faintest nod.

  She glanced off to the side. I took one hand off her shoulder and gently guided her face back towards mine.

  In a voice low enough for just the two of us, I said: “Therapy, the good kind? It can suck, Taylor. It hurts. But it’s a good pain. Soreness from a good workout, but for your mind and self. It’s not easy. Confronting truths about yourself never is. You instinctively want to protect yourself.”

  Amy had gone silent behind us. Maybe contemplating things herself, I suspected that no small part of the things that Taylor and I both struggled with were present in her, too.

  Taylor’s jaw muscles were twitching at the edge of my vision, but I didn’t look away. I kept my gaze locked on hers.

  She argued, but the words were weak. Hollow.

  “I’m gangly.”

  “You’re tall.”

  “Flat.”

  “Sleek.”

  “My mouth is too big.”

  “Expressive. And perfect for kissing.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop.

  “Awkward.”

  “Growing.”

  “Twiggy.”

  I bared my teeth in a grin, sharp and wolfish.

  “Told you, Strength training, break your metabolism, hard work–easy fix.”

  She clenched her jaw hard.

  “This is semantics. It’s stupid. A waste of time.”

  “Everything is semantics. Framing is everything. You’re building your castle…” I tapped her on the temple. “…out of twigs. And a wolf’s going to blow it down.” I poked her in the chest. “Build strength. Inside and out. Mind and body. You need both. You’re taking baby steps forward, Taylor—but you’re still limiting yourself.”

  She stared into my eyes, fierce and maybe a little angry.

  “I hate you,” she said. Her voice was tight, but there wasn’t fire behind her words. They bounced clean off my armor.

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “You hate yourself. And you’re mad at me because I’m pointing that out.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head. “The anger can be good, Taylor. It’s motivating. But use that motivation constructively to help yourself. It’s okay to hate yourself. I think everyone does, to some extent. But you have to balance that with loving yourself, too. And everything I’ve seen? You don’t give yourself an inch of slack.”

  I squeezed her shoulders and gave her a firm shake.

  “That makes you a badass who pushes herself to her limits. A girl who beat Lung twice, with bugs. But you’re like a machine that’s out of balance. Not too bad in normal situations, but if shit hits the fan, and you get really spun up? You’re liable to fly apart and hurt someone. Hurt the people around you. Don’t let that happen.”

  Her eyes welled up, and I wanted to finish this while I still had her open.

  “You think I’m talking about stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. The way you look. Self-esteem. Semantics. But it’s all connected. Fix those things, and I promise you, you’ll see changes in the places you do think matter.”

  I stepped back and let go.

  “Okay, now you can hit me if you want.”

  I grinned a little as I said it.

  “You’d probably just grab me and tie me into a knot,” she muttered. “If what Brian says is any indication.”

  “I might,” I laughed. “But only if I thought you’d benefit from it.”

  She shot me a look. One part wary, one part amused.

  “You’re serious.”

  I nodded, solemn.

  “Yep. Do you want to?”

  She chewed her lip, then gave me a slow nod.

  I tilted my chin up and stuck my chest out.

  She slapped me square across the cheek—and hoo, it was a good one. A sharp crack, full contact.

  Her arms dropped to her sides, and I rubbed my cheek. Whew. That smarted.

  Before I could react, she lunged.

  She threw her arms around me and clung tight, face pressed to my shoulder, her body trembling.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispered through sniffles.

  I hugged her back, just as tightly. “Don’t apologize, Taylor. This shit’s ugly. I know exactly how it feels. What matters is that you’re feeling just a bit better now, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, burying her face in my neck. I cradled her with one arm and gently rubbed her head with the other.

  She cried her heart out.

  Amy caught my eye and nodded once to me before slipping in the back door to the house. I figured she was cleaning up or making breakfast.

  I just held Taylor and let her fall apart in my arms.

  Long minutes passed, and she started to put herself back together. She stood up more on her own.

  Her hands shifted, going from hugging me to… exploring.

  I was really trying not to read into it. Finally, she pulled away, and her hand dropped down and squeezed my bicep.

  Ah, okay. Good. Good!

  “You’re like… how are you like this? Is it because of your power?”

  I smiled warmly and pulled off my shirt. I had a sports bra on under it. Taylor blinked rapidly and averted her gaze.

  "No, Taylor. Look, if you want to train properly, you need to learn the body. This is only twenty-five percent ego preening, seventy-five percent instructional, I swear.” I snickered a little, and her eyes came back to wander.

  I curled my arm and flexed, the muscles popping into sharp definition. Taylor’s gaze locked onto the movement.

  “This isn’t from my power. Not at all, as far as I can tell. This is just… years of hard work. Discipline.”

  “Do you think…I could ever be like this?” She asked quietly.

  I pulled my shirt back on.

  I locked eyes with her. “Blunt truth? Yes and no. Yes, you can. Genetics plays a role, sure—but time, effort, and pain matter more. The no part? You probably wouldn’t reach this level without using shortcuts or committing ten to fifteen hours a week for the next few years.”

  She nodded slowly, and I smiled, big and bright. “But! There’s very good news for you.”

  “Mm, what?”

  “You get your best results early on. Your body adapts fast to new strain, especially at the start. So if you train smart, with realistic expectations, you’ll see huge progress quickly. After that? It’s all about consistency.”

  She settled back on her heels. “I was reading a little about that last night before I could fall asleep. You’re right, that book really is good.”

  I stretched overhead, working through a few yoga poses.

  Once I was done, I cleared my throat and turned back to Taylor. “You know, I originally suggested it to you before I knew you were a cape, but now that I know you’re a cape, that really does change the context of the conversation quite a bit.”

  “Working out?”

  “Yeah. I’ll give you a fast and totally relevant example, c’mere.”

  I helped her into position and scooped her up into a fireman’s carry. Light as a feather. I strolled around the backyard with her slung over my shoulder. “Now, two things. One, you’re stronger than you think, but only if you use good technique. Ever tried dragging someone heavier than you?”

  “Oof—yeah. Brian. I tried. Couldn’t budge him.”

  I set her down and helped her steady herself.

  She gave her limbs a shake after she was upright. “You’re freakishly strong,” she said after a long look.

  I shook my head. “No, Apex is freakishly strong. I’m just a meathead, as my sister would say. But just like with fighting, it’s not just strength, it’s application and technique. You can be strong and still not utilize it correctly.”

  I stretched my arm across my chest, then continued.

  “Brian’s too heavy for you right now, even with good technique. That brings us to point two: mechanics will only get you so far. Sometimes you just need raw strength.”

  She was watching me closely, absorbing everything.

  “And here’s the big one people forget: carrying capacity. Being light helps with mobility, sure. But more muscle mass raises your baseline carrying ability. You can haul more without losing agility.”

  “With me so far?” I checked in on her, and she nodded quickly.

  “You pack light, and your materials are incredible. Strong and light. But if you wanted to add blunt force or projectile protection like we talked about? Muscle matters. It cushions and soaks up blows. And armor? Armor’s just heavy. Part of that protection is just plain old mass.”

  “Ah… yeah, that makes perfect sense.” She looked at me, cocking her head slightly.

  “You know, for a big sea monster that tore apart a building yesterday, you’re awfully smart.”

  I put on my best Tattletale grin. “Why, Taylor… if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were making jokes.”

  The back door opened, and Victoria poked her head out. “Breakfast is ready!”

  “Oh, thank god. I’m starving,” I groaned.

  Vicky nodded and closed the door.

  I started to head inside, but Taylor stopped me.

  “Morgan?” she asked, voice quiet. I turned to look back at her with a grin.

  “Mmyes?”

  “I um. Thank you.” She was doing the staring at the ground thing again.

  I stepped closer to her, and she glanced up. I got hands-on with her, grinning, supportive, but firm. Adjusting her posture. Shoulders back, back straight, head up, legs spaced just a little.

  She didn’t resist, but she did get a confused look on her face.

  “It’s just stupid semantics, remember? But semantics do matter. You need to adjust your body language, too. Now, once more!”

  I took two steps back, planted my hands on my hips, and beamed.

  She made eye contact and held it.

  I snapped my fingers and pointed at her.

  “There she is. There’s the girl who only shows herself when the costume is on.”

  She blushed, rolled her eyes, then made eye contact again and said: “Thank you.”

  I nodded firmly. I was proud of her.

  There was something else; I could see it in her body language. I waited her out.

  “I… need to go home after breakfast. Talk to my dad, show him some of these documents Carol gave me. Things… didn’t go well last time I was home.”

  She chewed her lower lip. I stayed quiet, still smiling, but softer now.

  “Will you… Come with me? I don’t think anyth–”

  I raised a hand to cut her off. “You don’t need to say anything else, Taylor. I’d be happy to.” My smile dropped off, and I grew serious. “I can check on my apartment after, too.”

  “I do need to ask something first, just to make sure nothing unfortunate happens,” I added.

  She held her gaze.

  “Does he know?” I asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “Alright. Don’t sweat it. Let’s go eat, yeah?”

  We headed inside. She borrowed my phone to call her dad at work and ask if he could meet her at home. He said he’d be there well before we could get there. It was just the five of us girls.

  Carol had left for work already, and Mark was… somewhere.

  I made an absolutely disgusting-looking double-layer waffle sandwich stuffed with scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, jam, butter, and a dusting of powdered sugar.

  Taylor’s eyes looked like they’d pop out of her head when I started tearing into it. Melody, in a noticeably better mood after a good night’s rest, elbowed her.

  Taylor turned to look at her.

  “She’s such a pig, it’s embarrassing to be related to her,” Melody said.

  I licked some sugar off my upper lip and went, “Oink oink. Happy piggy.”

  Victoria looked over at Melody and chimed in: “Your sister crushed two Fugly Bob’s Challengers like they were sliders.”

  Taylor’s jaw dropped.

  “To be fair, it was other-me,” I said, snorting. “And other-me loves things packed to the eyeballs with calories and protein.”

  I glanced at Melody, a wicked grin spreading.

  “If you think this is bad…”—I gave the monstrous sandwich a little shake—“Sister, you ain’t seen nothin’. I’m used to eating out of five-gallon buckets. And the contents? Would make you barf just looking at them.”

  “Stop,” Melody groaned. “I’m trying to eat here. Don’t say another word.”

  Amy was giving me a look from my side. I leaned over to her and whispered in her ear: “Buckets of meat processing byproducts most people won’t touch. It’s ghastly. Tastes amazing to me.”

  She giggled and stuffed a bite of waffle in her mouth.

  Melody squinted suspiciously at Amy, then looked over at Victoria. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Amy lately, but I like it.”

  Vicky just shrugged. “Tell you a bit about it later, but I think she’s feeling a lot less burdened by some things lately.”

  Amy just nodded a little and tried, poorly, to hide a smile.

  After breakfast, we got cleaned up, changed, and got ready to split up.

  Taylor and I were going to her house.

  Amy, Vicky, and Melody were heading over to my parents’ house. They’d taken the day off, and there was going to be some big discussions about Melody’s new look.

  I wanted to be there, but I also had a ton of my own shit I had to do. Helping Taylor was priority number one right now.

  We said our goodbyes and headed out.

  Turns out Taylor lived in one of the older neighborhoods of the city. It wasn’t bad, just brushing up against the parts of town starting to go downhill.

  Taylor had been largely quiet on the walk and bus ride over.

  We walked up to a two-story home. It probably used to be nice, but time and neglect had left their marks.

  A fresh coat of paint and some basic repairs would bring it back to life. We walked up the staircase leading to the front porch. Taylor stepped over one of the steps. I didn’t. It squeaked loudly beneath my foot—and now I knew why.

  The door opened before we could knock.

  Her father stood in the doorway. The resemblance between him and Taylor was immediate. He was tall and very thin. Dark hair, big green eyes, and glasses with a strong prescription that made them look even larger. I also picked up on where Taylor got some of her awkwardness.

  “Taylor,” he looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced over at me instead. “Who’s this?” he asked.

  She cleared her throat. “Dad, this is Morgan. Morgan, this is my dad, Danny.”

  I smiled and stuck my hand forward. He took it, and we shook. I had a firm grip, and he commented on it: “Hah, you don’t work down at the dockyards, do you?”

  Almost absent-mindedly, he stepped back from the doorway and held the door open. “Please, come in, both of you.”

  I followed Taylor in. It was a very typical sort of house layout. The interior matched the exterior. A little dusty, a little messy, a little neglected. It would also benefit from a good cleaning and some TLC. Taylor walked over to a dilapidated sofa, and I took a seat on it next to her. She sat in the middle. Danny sat in an armchair to the side of the sofa.

  I debated whether I wanted to sit on her side between the two of them or behind her. I decided I’d support her from behind. This was her house, even if she didn’t look super comfortable to be here right now.

  I took a seat, and she slipped her backpack off and carefully pulled out the big folder and envelope that Carol gave her. Taylor ran her thumbs over the envelope, remaining silent for a long moment.

  Danny was also silent, watching her.

  I want to shake the piss out of both of them. Just. Talk to each other.

  Taylor broke the silence. “Morgan is someone I met through school.”

  I was still in the same casual clothes I’d worn to the picnic—nothing special.

  “Do you… Go to school at Winslow with her?” He asked me while gesturing vaguely.

  “Dad, I–” Taylor interrupted. “I need to talk about some things.”

  He turned back to Taylor. His lips thinned, but he nodded.

  “Morgan doesn’t go to school with me. She used to work with the PRT. I met her on a class trip. But that’s not the point right now.” Danny blinked rapidly and seemed to be taking me in a different light now.

  “Her sister got hurt yesterday, in the Empire attacks. I was with her when it happened, and we helped take her sister to friends of Morgan's for treatment.” Taylor turned and looked at me. My cue.

  I smiled at Danny, and he relaxed just a bit. “I presume you are familiar with New Wave?”

  His brows drew together, and he nodded slowly. Recognition dawning on his face.

  “I’m close friends with the Dallon family. I took my sister to Panacea, who healed her using her abilities.”

  “Ah, okay. I’m glad she was seen by someone. Is she doing better now?”

  I smiled warmly at him. “Yes, she is. She’s home with my parents right now. She gained powers yesterday when she nearly died. She’s there with Glorly Girl and Panacea, who are going to be helping her adjust.”

  I saw his shoulders slightly tense. He looked uncertain, then went with the safe bet: “Well, I’m happy to hear she’s doing better.”

  Taylor stepped back in. “Because I went with Morgan, I got to meet them. Got to know them a little better. It’s… It’s a small world, because it turns out their mom already knew me.” She sniffed. “Knew our family.”

  She took the envelope and held it out like it was a sacred object to Danny. I suppose, in some ways, it was.

  Danny was frowning as he took the envelope, and he opened it and pulled out a stack of photographs.

  One glance—and it was like someone drained the life from him. Taylor reached over and gently squeezed his knee. He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, scanning photo after photo. He was devastated. But he was smiling, too.

  Taylor smiled with him.

  “This is… incredible, Taylor. Are these for us?” He asked, looking up from the photos at her.

  “All ours. There aren’t many, but there are two copies of each. Carol Dallon went to university with Mom. I guess Mom tried to get her to teach at BBU.”

  Danny slumped into the chair. He wiped his eyes again and slid the photos back into the envelope.

  Glasses on. A long breath out. “That’s… yeah. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

  “There’s more, Dad.” He looked over at Taylor.

  “I talked with Carol for… a long time last night. About stuff that happened to me. At school,” she stressed.

  Danny’s face flushed red, and quickly. “Taylor, I’m… honestly surprised you were willing to talk to her about it.”

  She held her chest and gave a dry cough. “Well… I kind of stuck my foot in my mouth, and it came up. She pressed and wouldn’t let it go. I was mad about it at first. But now I get why she pushed. And… I’m glad we talked.”

  I spoke up, but just briefly. “Carol’s kind of a big-deal prosecutor. Amazing record. And that’s not even counting the fact she’s living the parahuman life herself.”

  Danny frowned, tilting his head and thinking about something. Then, after a pause, he looked at me. “Are you…”

  “Dad, that’s not something you can as–”

  I placed a hand on Taylor’s shoulder, and she stopped mid-sentence.

  I met Danny’s eyes.

  “Am I a parahuman? Yes. I am.”

  Taylor flinched a little, side-eyeing me.

  I kept going: “But that’s not why Taylor’s here. It’s not what matters.”

  I looked to her again, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then dropped my hand.

  Taylor picked the thread back up. “After we had that conversation, I sat in her office with her–her home office–and we talked a little. This… is what came of that discussion.” She fidgeted a little with the folder on her lap.

  She toyed with the folder for a moment, not moving. Then she straightened up, shoulders back, chin lifted. Took a breath.

  You learn fast, Taylor. Good job.

  She picked the folder up and handed it to Danny. Inside, there were several bundles of paperwork clipped together.

  Danny took it apprehensively, turned it around on his lap, then glanced at Taylor. She nodded.

  He opened the folder and started reading. Cover pages on each of the bundles. His eyes flicked over the lines quickly, and his cheeks flushed once again. He flipped one clipped set of documents over, started reading the next.

  We sat in silence like that for some ten or fifteen minutes as Danny read through what seemed like half a dozen dense cover letters. His face ran through all sorts of expressions as he read. Confusion, anger…guilt. Not just guilt. Recognition. Like he was seeing things he should’ve seen long ago.

  Finally, he flipped the documents over and closed the folder.

  “Is this… what you want, Taylor?”

  She nodded without hesitation. “Yes, it is. It’s everything I want.”

  He studied her face for a long time. “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Dad.” She sounded it, too.

  He rested his back against the chair, took his glasses off, and set them on the folder. Then he rubbed his face with his palms. He took a deep breath. Let it out.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll get started on the paperwork. Most of this is stuff I need to fill out as your father.”

  Taylor stood, leaned over the chair, and wrapped her arms around Danny, squeezing him tightly. He looked stunned. Frozen. Out of place.

  What are you waiting for, you–

  Then he wrapped his arms around her and embraced her back.

  Taylor let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

  When they separated, she returned to the sofa beside me.

  I was in the dark here. Whatever this was, it was big. Deep. Important. And I was just… a witness.

  She turned to me, her eyes were wet, and she reached out for my hand. I blinked, but didn’t hesitate. I took it.

  She started talking. Slowly at first, but gaining confidence as she went. It was painful for her, but I think it was like a mountain of boulders coming off her shoulders.

  She told me about her experiences at Winslow. The things the three girls had been doing to her. Who the girls were. Things started lining up and clicking into place in my head as she spoke.

  I kept myself neutral the best that I could, and did my best to support her through this. I learned about how Taylor was hospitalized.

  My outward self was calm, collected, maybe a bit flushed. But inside? My blood was boiling. Apex stirred. All claws, teeth, armor, muscle, and fury. My fingernails itched. The claws wanted desperately to come out in all their wicked glory.

  But this wasn’t about me. This wasn’t my time, or my place.

  This was Taylor’s moment. And I was determined as hell to let her have it without interruption.

  Danny sat silent in the background. He seemed to know some things, most things, but not everything. There were times when he went beet red, and his veins were sticking out on his neck. I worried about his blood pressure. I was also starting to get an idea where Taylor got some of her genes from.

  Taylor finished the story. I just sat there and held her hand. Then she started talking about how Danny and she had gone to the school board not much more than a week ago, and everything that happened there.

  I wanted to be mad, but I couldn’t summon it up within me. It was too similar to my own experiences and things I knew entirely too well already. Broken systems. People more interested in covering their own asses and their careers than doing the obvious and correct thing. A microcosm of the same bureaucratic rot I dealt with at the PRT.

  That brought us to the folder.

  Carol had offered her legal services.

  Pro bono.

  The folder contained lawsuits. Multiple names.

  Emma Barnes.

  Madison Clements.

  Sophia Hess.

  Alan Barnes.

  Principal Blackwell & The Winslow School Board.

  It also included a mandatory and immediate transfer order of one Taylor Hebert. If not Immaculata or Arcadia, then a state-accredited online program.

  Good for Taylor.

  Carol might be a gigantic bitch and a bad mom sometimes, but she gives a shit about some of the right things.

  I’ll have to find a way to thank her. No good deed goes unpunished, blah blah blah.

  Danny placed the folder and envelope on the end table between us. He started to rise, then thought better of it and sat back down. His eyes settled on me.

  “Morgan, I’m not sure what your role in all of this has been, but thank you.”

  The kind of gratitude I rarely get from people. I almost don’t know what to do with it.

  I smiled, warm and sincere. “It’s a long, complicated, and ugly story about how I got involved in all of this, but I’m glad that I am. I’m used to fighting my battles in a ring or on the streets. This is a new kind of battleground for me, and I think I’m doing okay.”

  His gaze sharpened. I saw his posture shift.

  Ah. Here it is.

  “I would like…” His jaw tensed. “...to know what your relationship is to my daughter, and a bit more about you.” He glanced over at Taylor. “I have been very worried about her, she’s been distant, more than usual, hardly comes home, and has stopped going to school. I hope you understand my concern.”

  I bobbed my head. “Yeah. I do.”

  “We’re friends,” Taylor told Danny.

  She looked back at me. I smiled at her. I was genuinely happy to hear her say it, even if she might have been lying to save face.

  “Taylor?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “Could I be a bother and ask you for something to drink?”

  She studied my face for a moment, then she nodded. “Do you like tea?”

  “Love it! Hot or cold, doesn’t matter to me!” Her hand slipped from mine, and she left for the kitchen.

  I leaned back into the sofa and rubbed the back of my neck. Then I turned to Danny. I wasn’t going to mince words.

  “Are you familiar with the Wards here in Brocton Bay?”

  “Yes, it’s–sort of hard not to know about the members of the Wards and Protectorate,” he said.

  I crossed one leg over the other and folded my hands on top. “I was a Ward. I graduated when I aged out and when my contract renewal came up. You might have known me by my Wards alias, Phoenix Strike.”

  He tilted his head.

  I mean, I know I wasn’t popular, but throw me a bone here.

  “Of course. All-white outfit, strange helmet. You did martial arts, right?”

  Holy shit. I get to meet my one fan.

  I nodded. “Intellectual property is tricky with the Wards. You keep a partial stake, get royalties, all that. But I’ve basically abandoned the identity.”

  Danny frowned, crossed his arms, and shifted in his seat. “That seems like a bad decision. IP is hard to claw back once it’s gone. Same with labor rights. But… and pardon me if this is rude, are you just… retiring? I haven’t heard anything about you in weeks. Maybe months.”

  I wet my lips. “Effectively, I was fired. Graduated, with no follow-up invitation to the adult organization. Told to look elsewhere, Brockton Bay wasn’t for me.”

  He blinked, and his frown deepened. I decided to get ahead of the questions. “My performance wasn’t considered strong enough for Brockton Bay’s cape scene. They’ve got new blood coming later this year. I left on good terms.”

  That seemed to ease him a bit.

  “I’m trying to be a bit more open about my identity and representing myself. It’s been a learning experience for me. I’ll be straight with you, Danny.”

  He tilted his head.

  “Legally? Technically? I am a supervillain now.”

  Dishes clattered in the kitchen. Danny didn’t move. Still seated. But his face went uncertain, processing.

  The gears were clearly turning.

  “Didn’t you say you were close with the Dallons? With New Wave?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sure did. Still am, although they certainly weren’t happy hearing about it either. But they’ve known me and my sister for years.”

  A teakettle started to whistle. Taylor took it off the heat.

  “An ice cube in mine, please, if it’s hot!” I called out to her.

  I turned back to Danny, and he was squeezing his hands together. Something was eating at him. I had a few guesses. I waited. Let him ask.

  “You’re not… involved with those people in the news the past few days, are you?”

  Yikes. But a fair question.

  “Dad!” Taylor shouted from the other room.

  He didn’t look away. Held my gaze.

  I was about to speak when Taylor practically rushed into the room with three teacups and re-inserted herself into things. We each took our tea.

  I chose another angle.

  “What do you do, Danny?” I asked him after taking a sip of my tea.

  He frowned at the subject change, but played along. “I’m with the Dockworkers’ Union.”

  Oh. That’s perfect.

  “You are just carrying a card, or like, you work for the union itself?”

  “The latter,” he said.

  “Then you know how people split into little tribes with their own demands and identities, right? That negotiations get ugly? Never clean?”

  I glanced over at Taylor. She looked very uncomfortable with the topic of this discussion.

  “That’s… accurate. But I’m not sure I like where this is heading,” he said. His tone was cautious, with a touch of heat.

  “Keep that in mind. To answer your question, no, I’m not a member of the Empire. I think they’re disgusting people.”

  That seemed to ease him a bit, but he stayed sharply focused. “Is there a but?”

  I nodded. “I want to be honest. I’ve worked alongside them before. Only because of the extreme circumstances of the ABB uprising. There was a citywide truce. Everyone against the ABB. They were the exception.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I get it now. I’m… relieved, honestly.”

  We all took a drink during the pause.

  “I consider myself a hero, Danny. My goal is to help people, save lives, and try and make the city a less miserable place. But I’m a villain because of the way things have been structured. Like industry is anti-labor, the PRT is anti-independent. They want things their way. And they have the power of the Federal Government to make sure they can get it.”

  He nodded along, then asked me: “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you telling me this?”

  Taylor shot her dad one hell of a look.

  “Because,” I said, “it’s important to the larger conversation we’re having here.”

  “Okay,” he said simply and sat back.

  “You asked who I am, because you’re worried about Taylor. What I’m saying is… some of the so-called good guys aren’t. And some of the bad guys aren’t what they seem.”

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “I know. I–” he looked over at Taylor, swallowed.

  “She’s been through some shit, Danny. I think she can hear about whatever it might be,” I told him.

  He scratched his cheek, then nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. She’s growing up, becoming an adult.”

  He looked back at me. “I get what you’re saying. There’s a lot of organized crime, direct and indirect, tied to the docks and shipping. It was… something, hearing that Medhall had been one of our longtime clients. Solid business. And they were… Nazis.”

  Taylor was chewing on her lower lip, and she smoothed some hair behind her ear. “Why haven’t you ever talked about that before, Dad? The organized crime, I mean.”

  Danny looked down into his tea. “It’s not polite conversation, and the less you talk or think about them, the better. But they’re out there. And in our line of work? It’s impossible not to bump into them.”

  “Well, I think the point’s been made, I guess. I’d like to introduce myself properly, I suppose.”

  I stood up and stepped over to where Danny was sitting. He stood as well. He was really tall, and though rail-thin, I got the impression he was the wiry-strong type. The so-called sleeper build.

  I held my hand out, and he took it. We shook.

  “My name is Apex. The person you see, the one whose hand you are holding, isn’t the real me. To be blunt, I’m wearing a person costume. What I actually look like tends to make people uncomfortable.”

  Credit where it’s due—Danny’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t let go. That meant more than I could say. And it proved something. The man had guts.

  We released the handshake and both sat back down. He followed it up with several long pulls from his teacup.

  Danny broke the silence. “Some of the dockworkers saw you clearing out the old mill. Said it sounded like a war.” He looked up at me. “Said there were explosions and machine guns, and a big blue creature breathing smoke and fire, just shrugged it off and took all those people out. They needed buses to transport all the people afterward.”

  I smiled. “That’s mostly accurate. I don’t breathe fire. I used a smoke screen to obstruct their vision.”

  “Did you… kill anyone?” He asked me.

  I blinked, then shook my head. “No, and I wouldn’t. Not unless it was some kind of really extreme circumstances. Like I said, I still consider myself a hero. I try and fight crime and put the pressure on the bad sorts around the city, mostly in the north side.”

  “So…” he tapped a finger against his mug. “…why are you a villain, then?”

  “Do you want the full, brutally honest version?”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  I locked eyes with him. “I went to a big villain summit to discuss and plan how to mount a response to the ABB. And then I went for a swim in the Bay to try and relax after a day of pure hell. People at the meeting ratted out the fact I was there, and when I came back out of the water, the Protectorate tried to arrest me.”

  “What?” he asked, incredulous.

  “That’s it,” I said dryly.

  “I was also seen talking to villains at The Palanquin—a public club. And aside from risking my life to save people? That’s the extent of my ‘criminal’ activity.” Bitterness crept into my voice despite my best efforts. I drained the last of my tea.

  “That’s stupid. Why would they do that? Wouldn’t it be smarter to work with you? Help you set up?” Danny’s voice rose a bit.

  Taylor finally spoke. “They don’t care, Dad. There are a lot of people like Morgan out there. People who aren’t bad people. They’re just trying to get by. They have powers, and if they don’t want to work for the government, their options are to join a corporate cape team, or just… get blacklisted.”

  I nodded and piggybacked off what Taylor had said. “They use villain status as a recruiting tool and as leverage. Behave, or else. Join, or else. Do as we say, or else. And the laws are kept broad on purpose.”

  I leaned back on the sofa. It was very comfy. “A lot of people with powers are just trying to get by. And the government doesn’t give a shit about them and their problems unless you’re willing to make them sit up and pay attention. For some, it’s joining a team of villains. For others, it’s going corporate.”

  Danny stopped tapping his finger on his mug, and he looked between Taylor and me.

  “Yeah. Or like joining a union and threatening to strike.”