My afternoon meditation sessions were the only time of day I could fall asleep and not get scolded for it. My body was a wreck, like Lucian just put me through five layers of concrete and nearly killed me all over again, kind of wreck. I woke up every morning groaning and wincing, then limped to the canteen for an awesome breakfast of slimy oats and pasty nutrient mash that’ll, according to the eggheads, give me every last bit of strength my high-octane body needs to heal and feel great! Sometimes I want to strangle them, because it’s not like they’re eating this slop, either. Oh, no, they get eggs and bacon and fancy, sugary paestries I can only saliva over.

  But I can’t really complain, not as I sit alone in the canteen, scooping that shit into my mouth, pinching my nose and hoping it stays down long enough to slide down my throat, because it was food, and it was free food, which was something I hadn’t had since I was in high school. I couldn't complain as I rubbed my hands together at four in the morning, standing outside the training hangar, waiting for Valor to finish helping me stretch and get loose for the day. I had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t sleep. Like, ever. Because who woke up that excited every single damn morning just to go on a twenty mile jog, quickly followed by light sparring, stretching, heavier sparring, some more stretching, and then free time—by free time, I mean analyzing my old fights and picking them apart until I knew each one of them inside and out. Turns out I’m a pretty shit fighter, who figured? Not me, because I get shit done.

  According to the oldies and the brainiacs, though, I was inefficient, slow, and could be better.

  That’s what they liked saying these days: “Yeah, but you could do this way better, too.”

  Defensive or not, I thought I wasn’t shit at everything, but who am I to say, right?

  I stopped arguing with them a while ago, maybe days, maybe weeks. No idea how long it’s been. Nobody was allowed to tell me what day it was anymore, and mom said it was because Kincaid didn’t want me stressed out about when the Arkathians might be coming to rip Earth a new one. So day-by-day, they rolled on past in this weird perpetual bout of pain and dull training. I ran with Em every evening and snuck away to drink with Grant; Michael hung out more with the doctors and the physios, training more on his own than he ever did with us. Mom would sit with me outside every other day with chocolate tucked into her sleeve, stolen from the nerds who didn’t let me have it, and…fuck I hated this so much. My mind was sludge. My body constantly ached. I trained and I got faster, and sometimes I couldn’t lift the weights I had the day before, and other times I’d triple what I could squat for no reason.

  And I wouldn’t feel a single thing about it. Heck, drinking with Grant was more exciting now. I knew my body wouldn’t let me get drunk, but because of his powers, he could make it froth to the point that it felt like I was downing an entire bottle of liquid gasoline. I’d get slammed for at least thirty minutes before I came crashing back.

  I’d usually have to sneak Grant, headache, vomit, moaning and all, back into Em’s room on my own.

  She asked me if I was doing fine the other day, stopped me in the doorway and poked me.

  I shrugged and said yeah, I was—same shit, different day, just like back home, right?

  Em hadn’t looked convinced. She probably knew me well enough to know otherwise. But she didn’t push it, because her boyfriend had chosen to wake up and start reciting his old casting call lines at the top of his lungs.

  I’d sat on the roof that day and cried into my own hands, feeling like the biggest fucking loser.

  Because Jesus, you know? It’s not like I was in agony or anything. It’s a miracle that I didn’t cry way back when life was putting me through the ringer almost every single day. But on the other hand, I guess there was nothing for me to distract myself with. Back home, everyday would be a new problem. Sometimes yesterday’s problem became an entire month's worth of them. Keeping active was how I stayed sane. Not here. Here, I had things happening to me that I needed to do. In Lower Olympus, I had things to do every other day, sometimes for days on end. And the worst part? Ava was right. A part of me was built to always be on the go, always going head-first into whatever problem cropped up. But now that I didn’t technically have that challenge, then…I was kinda stuck now.

  Recovering physically wasn’t the hard part. My shoulder wasn’t perfect but it was better. I was lighter on my feet. I was quicker with my jabs and kicks. I still wasn’t flying as fast as I used to, but the docs said I was on track to breaking five-hundred miles per hour for more than five seconds before the end of the month. Everyone here was…happy, I guess, with my progress. On course to be better, just keep hitting your marks, atta girl. Gods, I wanted to barf sometimes. Maybe I was fucked up, but maybe I also kinda liked it when people made me try.

  Lucas was a piece of shit who deserved what he got and then some, but…

  “Gods,” I muttered to myself, sitting down at the base of a tree, “don’t start missing him now, Ry.”

  I might feel like shit right now, but I wasn’t down and out so hard that I was going to miss him, too.

  Anyway, right, meditation sessions: they sucked. Founder usually spoke me through them, and all due respect to one of the coolest Silver Age Capes, but the guy’s voice was so leary and old it always knocked me out.

  He kinda reminds me of my old chemistry teacher, Mr. What’s-His-Name who turned himself into a bomb.

  Long story.

  I killed him and pretended to be totally shocked when we had a substitute the rest of junior year.

  I leaned my head against the tree bark, foot bouncing as I plucked grass out from underneath my leg. Shorts and a red t-shirt, hair tied back into a knot, and a new series of wristbands Em had woven for me just last night. She had made matching ones for all of us. Purple for her, scarlet for Grant, light blue for Michael, and golden for me with a tiny red lightning bolt dangling off it. I told her it was stupid and looked weird, then stayed up all night angling it toward the ceiling, trying not to cry again. As per usual, though, Founder took his sweet time getting here. He sometimes found me half-asleep and drooling on my own chest, soft beams of sunlight working through the tree canopy above me, making the grass golden and the air just warm enough to feel like a big blanket.

  I fiddled with the woven bracelet, thumbing the tiny red lightning bolt, trying not to fall asleep.

  He liked this spot for some reason, slap-bang in the middle of the woods, where it was so silent that even I could barely hear what was going on back at base. Just deer and birds and…things (whatever lived in the woods) kept me company. Animals had never liked me. Maybe it was because my blood smelt weird to them, which, sure, that made sense to why I once got chased by a pack of stray dogs in Lower Olympus before I’d gotten my powers.

  Or maybe I just looked tasty, like an easy target for the things with sharp teeth and claws.

  I had too big of a soft spot for those mutts and alley cats to ever retaliate, anyway.

  Sighing, I folded my arms and slid down against the tree until my back was on the grass and my head was resting on a thick, knotted root. I wished I could tell the time, but early evening was the best I could do. All I knew was that the air was a lot cleaner here than back home. It actually got into your lungs and didn’t line your throat with gunk and bile. Bianca would love this place. She’s the nature type. Kayaking and snowboarding and all that shit every time she’s on holiday. She’d sent me dozens of pictures of her trekking through some forest with her dad, smiling like there wasn’t the biggest freaking insect I’d ever seen crawling across her neck. I shook my head and quietly snorted. She’s nuts. Supervillains? Easy. Kaiju? Ha. Clones of myself and my own dad? Oh, please. I stop at weird crawly things, because most people don’t have the eyes to actually see their ugly little alien bug-faces either. Or their weird creaky legs. Or their gross bodies that they hide under their shells. I shuddered and scratched myself.

  “Peaceful, isn’t it?” I turned my head to my right and saw Founder leaning on his wooden cane, looking up at the sky, strands of light catching his silver combed-back hair. “As if the world stops spinning here sometimes.”

  “You’re late, old man,” I muttered, sliding my hands behind my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Founder smiled a little. “You seem to always be in a rush, Miss Addams.”

  “I’ve got shit I want to do later, and trying not to fall asleep isn’t exactly exciting.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, slowly moving closer. “Your late-night drinking escapades with Poseidon’s son.”

  My foot stopped bouncing on the ground. I glanced at him. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, everyone knows,” he said, chuckling softly. “Teenagers are ruckus beings, youthful and excitable.” His eyes almost glittered as he grunted his way onto the ground beside me. He massaged his right knee, kneading it like lumpy dough. He sighed and leaned his back against the tree, smelling like lavender and cinnamon. “Your mother made the decision not to make it bigger than it seemed. At the end of the day, you’ve probably had more experience than many of them ever will.” He smiled at me. I narrowed my eyes. What’s your game here, old timer?

  “Let’s just do this already,” I groaned. “Breathe in, breathe out, center myself or whatever, right?”

  He chuckled. “Not today. Today, all we’ll do is talk.”

  Oh, just great! Like I need another life lesson!

  I slowly sat upright. “Can you, like, log that I was here so I can leave?”

  “Are you happy, Rylee?” he asked.

  A forceful gust of wind shook the trees, throwing leaves into the air around us.

  I made a face and shifted a little. “Yeah, I guess so. I’d be happier knowing what was happening outside.”

  “Interesting,” he mused. “Or would you say you’d be more comfortable with that knowledge?”

  “Comfort, happiness, same freaking thing, man. Can I go now?”

  Founder tilted his head, still gently smiling the way old men do. “You don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “In the middle of the woods, wasting time?” I shrugged. “Dunno, you said it, not me.”

  “And you become deflective when annoyed.”

  “I do not become…” I folded my arms as he smiled some more. “Whatever. Yeah, sure, I’m unhappy.”

  Founder unbuttoned his wool cardigan and laced his fingers over his stomach, waiting and silent.

  Which usually meant it was my turn to keep speaking.

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked him, spreading my hands. “This place blows. Everyone looks at me like I’m some kind of weird thing that needs to be kept to a schedule and constant surveillance. I mean, where was all this when I was trying to save Lower Olympus every day? I guess it only counts when the world is in trouble and not the little guys who, by the way, are part of the world, too. I guess all the rich folk in the Upper West got scared the day Gayne put me halfway through the asphalt right at the foot of their fancy apartment buildings, you know?”

  He nodded slowly. “Problems often become louder when the rich are suddenly involved, don’t they?”

  “Tell me about it,” I scoffed. “Half the city was literally on freaking fire, and all the Supes did was make sure it didn’t spread into Greater Olympus. The devil is lurking around, but since he’s only down there, who cares?”

  “Injustices,” he said, picking lint off his beige pants. “But, if I can ask, why Lower Olympus?”

  I leaned my back against the tree, hands still resting behind my head. “Dunno, why not?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You simply chose to be their protector because…that’s just so?”

  I blew a strand of hair from my face. “I wouldn’t say I’m a protector. More like a hammer that loves to find nails to bend.” Another shrug. “Besides, if I did half the shit I do but in the Upper West, they’d actually kill me.”

  Founder chuckled. “Like I said, the rich are often louder when it’s their turn to feel scared.” “Because they can afford to be louder,” I muttered. “People back home grit their teeth almost every single day and barely say a word. I’ve seen grown men hold their dying kids in their arms after some turf war got messier than it should’ve been, and all they’d do was stare at them and barely shed a tear, because they’re probably going to have to clock in at work tomorrow because they’ve got five other mouths to feed and a roof with holes to keep over all their heads, and it’s just…annoying. I dunno. It pisses me off sometimes. All those superheroes in the Olympiad, and not a single freaking one comes down there to help, and when they do, it’s because of something valuable.”

  I’m not stupid. That night during the Ambrosia and weapon highjacking only got that big because of what was involved and who was gonna benefit. Cassie filled her pockets with guns and expensive drugs, and at the end of the day, when the fires had torn through the city, nobody had cared, not at all. Not enough to try to help, either. Thoughts and prayers and hashtags on the internet, like God is gonna get off his ass and un-burn all those bodies.

  “Maybe…” I sighed and drummed my fingers against the back of my head, staring at the sky. “It just sucks. People die a lot down there, you know? They suffer, too. And it’s not like all of them are great people, but come on. All these Capes on the morning news or television shows, and nobody wants to help out any of them down there?”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Founder nodded again. “I suppose not everyone is a superhero at heart. Power does not a hero make.”

  “You got that right, old timer,” I muttered. “Which is bullshit, because I’m still trying.”

  Founder tilted his head and thought for a moment. Wind, slow and lazy, drifted through the trees around us, making the grass sway and carrying the sickly sweet scent of wild berries down my throat. “Miss Addams,” he said softly. I turned my head to glance at him. “If I can ask, do you not think you were born to be a superhero?”

  “Is anyone born to be anything?” I asked him. “I mean, would I want to be born to constantly suffer?”

  “I suppose,” he said, running his fingers through his wispy beard, “that a better way to think about it, is that some people are born with more resilience than others, more grit, more willingness to fight. A hero is something you become through these things, but isn’t always what you have to become, despite having these things, correct?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Yet you believe the path of any hero is one of constant suffering.”

  “Yep,” I muttered. “When you’re little and watch cartoons of some Cape getting punched in the face, it looks like it doesn’t hurt, ‘cause they always get back up, knuckle on a smile, spit out some cheesy line about never giving up, then try again. But when it happens enough times to you, and to everyone around you, it’s a shitty cycle, y’know? Superheroes were just way cooler when they were only in comic books and movies, and now they’re…”

  Well, I guess the state of the world right now practically answers what your average Cape usually is.

  “And before that, if I may ask?”

  “We didn’t exactly have Dennie writing comics for kids back on Arkath,” I said. Founder smiled a little. “The idea that these people with all kinds of powers could just save people because that was the right thing to do was pretty crazy to me. We’ve got folk stories, I guess that’s what the humans would call them, right? But they’re mostly about Arkathians who’ve done pretty wild things, like this one guy, Borax the Hungry, who once ate an entire Gaxan Fleet out of pure rage.” Founder nodded, confusion and intrigue battling it out on his face. “Or my great grandma, or just grandma? I dunno. I forget sometimes. Great Conqueror Leona, that was her name. I never found out what she’d gotten up to, but she was seemingly so important that everyone who knows her keeps saying her name. But that’s all it is for them: stories. Down here, it’s…real. Comics are like history books. I mean, you are in about a dozen of them, and I read nearly all of them, too, and when I was little, it was just so freaking awesome. And then I grew up, and found out that it was all a little polished, because everyone sucks and wants to kill each other.”

  “Ah,” Founder said. “Now I understand. Your expectations outweighed fact.”

  “Hope,” I said quietly. “I guess that’s what I wanted, and just not what I got.”

  “Was your father not that symbol of hope you’re talking about?”

  “Zeus was nothing but a lying piece of shit,” I said, tensing my jaw.

  Founder let the silence last long enough for my heart to slow down and the tension in my shoulders to bleed slowly away. By the time he spoke again, my gut wasn’t a coil. “I think,” he said, “you love Lower Olympus so much because you see yourself in it.” I shut my eyes. “You needed your own hero growing up, but you were forced to imagine what that would be instead of experiencing what it felt like. When the opportunity arose, you chose to be the kind of superhero only you knew how to be, to the people who needed someone to save them.” I pulled my arms away from my head and folded them, eyes still shut, forcing myself to breathe slowly. “You want so badly to save that city because you want so badly to prove that you are more than able to save yourself, Rylee.”

  Silence. Wind. Cooling sunlight sliding past leaves and warmly pressing against my face.

  “Yeah?” I muttered. “So what?”

  “And I find that quite heroic,” he said softly. “In my day, many of us had incentives. We were maybe not paid as highly as those who came after us, but we were comfortable. There was camaraderie. There was adventure. There was a country worth fighting for standing behind us. There was a present evil, of which we could attack and outline and describe with so much as a finger pointing toward it.” I slowly opened my eyes, now staring at my lap. “For you, dear girl, your evil is everywhere. Your country, both here and out there, despise you, yet crave you, and you are ultimately alone. Superheroes are not solitary creatures. We thrive off connection, off balance and love and togetherness, that we often forget that you are still so, so young. Miss Addams, if there is one thing I can give you, it’ll be a medal, and also a very well deserved break.” I snorted and almost smiled. Almost. “Take pride, dear girl.”

  “I’ve not done a hell of a lot to ‘take pride’ in anything, old man.”

  Founder paused, then said, “Ah.” I looked at him weirdly. He pulled on his beard. “Strange.”

  “What is it this time?” I asked him.

  “I…” He shook his head. “It’s not my intention to pry, but your soul—”

  “Long story,” I sighed. “Something, something, weird god-thing that wants me dead, or whatever.”

  Founder stared at me like I’d just slapped him across the face. “Dear girl,” he said. “I beg your pardon?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude. I nearly died and some supervillain sold my soul.”

  He blinked. “And this…’god-thing’ that you speak of, it hounds you?”

  “Yeah. Well, it did, until I punched it. I think I pissed it off. Why, is it talking shit about me?”

  Founder barked out laughter so suddenly I flinched. It quickly ended in a coughing fit, his mouth covered with a white handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. He cleared his throat and said, “My apologies, I just…my goodness, you punched an Elder God and haven’t perished yet? Or been struck with sickness and death and pain?”

  I plucked some more grass out from the soil and let the wind sweep them off my fingers. “It pissed me off.”

  And if I was gonna get struck with all those things, it better not miss, because I will fuck it up some more.

  Elder God my fucking ass, like I gave a shit, making my life more miserable because you wanted my soul.

  Bite me.

  I knew it could hear my thoughts, I knew it was somewhere still watching—and I hoped it hated me.

  Just so we were on equal grounds in that department.

  Founder shifted, facing me a little more. “With your consent, may I show you your soul, dear girl?”

  I frowned and looked at him. “That sounds like it’s gonna hurt.”

  “On the contrary!” he said, grinning. “It’s quite the fun experience, but only with your utmost allowance.”

  I thought for a moment, then shrugged. I figured there wasn’t much to see in there, anyway. That thing must’ve been chewing on it for nearly a year now, or Witchling took most of it, according to the creature as well. I didn’t like thinking about my soul situation, mostly because it gave me a headache. “Sure, but if it hurts, I will hit you, trust me on that. And don’t take it personally if I do, because I warned you beforehand, so don’t get mad.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Founder said. “Your hand, Miss Addams?”

  I let him take my right hand, bony fingers working my palm the same way he’d done with his knee. It was weird at first, watching him stare at the creases and the cuts, the old callouses and the peeling skin, until a quiet buzz of warmth started to dance on my fingertips and spread down my arm. I rolled my shoulder and massaged the back of my neck, chuckled a little and shifted in the grass to cross my legs underneath me. The breeze was softer now, almost physical as it pushed and shoved and prodded against my skin. Then, ever so slowly, Founder looked at me, meeting my eyes, and plucked a golden lace of light right out of my hand. He pulled, and pulled, and hot, exhilarating warmth sprung into my chest like someone had just doused me in cold water. Finally, the spool of gold hung in the air around us, floating in the breeze, shading the glade with hues of sparkling golden light. I gaped, mouth open, as he slowly stood up and offered me a hand. I took it and spun around in the air, because holy shit.

  It was one thread, thick enough to look like rope, light enough to slither and move on its own.

  But it pulsed and glowed, right alongside my heartbeat.

  “It’s a peaceful thing, isn’t it?” Founder said, an arm behind his back, the other clutching the cane.

  I carefully went to touch it. It moved away from my finger. “I always thought it would be more…”

  “Fiery, perhaps?”

  I chuckled quietly. “Yeah,” I whispered. “That.”

  “The fire is there,” he said softly. “Or, it was.”

  I slowly turned around. “Meaning?”

  He smiled. “Oh, dear girl, you don’t even recognize your own importance.” He walked closer, spreading his hand and making the spool of golden light curl around his fingers. “Our souls bind us to the universe, because through the universe, all things are bound. The stars and their elements are inside our very own hearts and minds. Isn’t that exciting?” His eyes sparkled, teeth shined. “And yours, oh, child, yours is…different. Tell me, when you met the Elder God, it must’ve told you something quite strange, about your fate, about how it had waited for you.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah,” I said. The trees were slower, the breeze lazier—the world almost felt like it wasn’t moving anymore. “Something about being a God Butcher, or some kind of Goddess of War or something.”

  Founder shook his head slowly and toyed with the golden thread. “Your soul is irreplaceable.”

  “And what does that mean? Aren’t most people’s souls like that?”

  And hadn’t Thirteen said something about dad’s soul, too? And mine?

  “It means,” he said gently, “that it’s best you keep fighting, because the universe, for whatever reason, has chosen you to protect it, to bear its weight and fight its battles and hold a fist of flame toward its lasting darkness.” I tensed. Founder must’ve seen it. He lowered his hand, then let the spool of gold slide onto my palm. It felt…heavy. So painfully heavy I was forced to use both my hands to hold it up. “Hope is fleeting, like any flame in a storm. But you cannot let go, dear girl. Some days will be long, others terrible, but I assure you, that your fate remains right.”

  I stared at the thread, felt it shift and slide on my hands, then looked at him. “Is that a good thing?”

  “In some ways,” he said with a small shrug. “Ultimately, it will be up to you to decide.”

  “So…” I swallowed, throat feeling dry. “I wasn’t crazy, the universe is doing this on purpose.”

  “Would you like to ask it?”

  I stared at him. “I’m sorry?”

  Founder smiled. “Well, I suppose it’s too soon for that.” He snapped his fingers, and the thread poured through my skin and back into my hands and arms. I gasped, the warmth vanishing as soon as the breeze picked up and the trees started dancing again. He dabbed sweat off his forehead and waved toward base. “Your friends are waiting for you, and Rylee, dear girl”—his eyes shimmered in the early nighttime shadows, like galaxies had carved themselves into his mind—“don’t ever stop believing in your quest for a better tomorrow, one of which you can finally rest and not have to be the hero which you always dreamt would one day save you. I think it will be best that you go and rest for a few days. There will always be time to train. There won’t always be time for Rylee Addams to not have to be Olympia. One day you might even forget your own name!” He chuckled and patted my shoulder. He limped past me, the forest almost parting as he walked. “When you return to your room tonight, there will be a shadow in your wardrobe that’ll take you wherever it is that you want. Live, dear girl, because so often, not many people want you to do just that. I know the weight of responsibility and how easily it crushes those who bear it, but…” He stopped and looked over his shoulders at me, and…where was his cardigan? Didn’t he— Oh. No wonder I wasn’t cold, I was wearing it. “And please forgive my language, fuck them. You’ll save us, you’ll save yourself, with or without our pestering schedules or overbearing protocols. Be proud, Torchbearer. And go see Bianca.”

  I had a lot to say, even more to ask, but the words jumped out of me: “Why, is she OK? What’s—”

  “The girl is fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Unless you don’t want to see her, then I can always—”

  “Shadow in my wardrobe, got it,” I said, trying not to grin. “But what if they find out I left?”

  “So what if they do?” he asked. “Shed your skin and find yourself first. When you leave, be Rylee Addams, not the daughter, not the hero, not the Heir to a lost throne, and not the Universe’s Conduit. Be her, yourself, OK?”

  “Hey, old timer,” I asked. He raised an eyebrow. “Why do any of this? Why help me out?”

  He smiled one more time. “It breaks my heart listening to you cry. I have a daughter of my own, non-powered, but very intelligent—also very young, and I can’t imagine her being forced to endure all of this on her own for so long. A good father protects, but also guides, and if we’re all relying on you to save us, then we can’t possibly shatter you first. Besides, a little bit of rest won’t ever hurt anybody, especially not you, Miss Addams.”

  “Is this some kind of trick?” I asked him quietly. “Is it bad that I wanna leave so easily?”

  Founder’s face softened. “Oh, I wish so many hadn’t broken your trust. Take my word, this is no trick.”

  “Then what is it, really?”

  He shrugged. “A vacation, one that your mother spoke to me about giving you.”

  “My mom wants me to leave this place? The same mom who lives and breathes schedules and objectives?”

  “Yes, imagine that. She didn’t particularly enjoy the way you were being spoken to or treated, so…”

  Huh.

  Well…

  “Go,” Founder said, jerking his head, eyes sparkling. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

  I hovered, lifted into the air, then lowered and got closer to him. I almost spread my arms, then pulled back, cleared my throat, and offered my hand. It would’ve been weird hugging him. At least, it felt that way. At the end, he smiled and shook my hand, and I was in the sky barely a heartbeat later, then inside my room, through the window, stopping when I found two duffel bags already packed full, a change of clothes, and a note from mom.

  Hey, Ry. I slung the bags over my shoulders after I’d changed, a baseball cap put on backwards, the letter folded and tucked into my back pocket. So, saving the world, all before your nineteenth birthday. God, look at you, all grown up now. I snuck out of my room and went down the hallway, found Em and Grant halfway undressed and making out—they both startled; I told them to shut up, get packed, and to meet me in my room when they found Michael. I’ve been terrified lately. I waited in my room so long I started sweating. Barely even sleep at night, too. Em came in first, confused and trying to hide the hickie on her neck. I keep having this terrible dream that this is all going to end so badly. Grant next, smelling like vodka and a wild night, hair messy, nervously smoking a cigarette as he asked what I was planning. But I guess that’s just me, being a mother for the first time in my life. Michael came in, eyes sharp, saw the bags, then almost headed back out, if I didn’t grab his wrist and stop him. I just need my little girl to be little again. I need you to breathe. I learnt something the other day about Blue Angel, about the government, and I just…it’s not your concern, I don’t want it to be, not yet. A girl your age shouldn’t be doubting everything. Michael argued. I tried to shush him. He froze my fingers in retaliation. Footsteps down the hall, someone wondering why I was breaking curfew. Take some time off. Read comics and draw characters and daydream and fly and just be you. For one second, Rylee, be you—not Olympia, because how pathetic are we that after all this time, none of us adults with oh-so-much experience can save the world on our own without relying on a teenager to save us. We’ll figure it out. They’ll be angry, but they’ve never not been anything else with you, and I just don’t like that. Not at all, Ry. When you're ready, you'll come back. For now, learn, live, know what you really want past just being a superhero and saving people. What do you want, Rylee? What would you love so much you'd put everything on the line for it?

  Or...who?

  “We’ve got to go. Now,” I hissed. I tugged Michael’s arm. Someone knocked hard on the door.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Em whispered. “Ry, when did you even pack all this stuff?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Wardrope. Now. Go go go, dude, before we’re all screwed!”

  And, at the end of the day, you’re eighteen.

  “Rylee!” The door shook again, even harder now. “Curfew is broken, what’s going on in there?”

  Grant slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth.

  Make bad decisions, kiss girls, drink and party, and come back and save the world.

  Michael bit his brother. Grant cursed and shot a tiny flare of fire at him.

  You’ve always done things your way, so I just don’t get why they want you to fix everything their way, when their way never worked in the first place. I’ll be here when you get back. Take your time, and live, alright?

  Oh, and remember to brush your teeth and drink plenty of water. There’s pain killers in there, too.

  I yanked the wardrobe open, and there it was, an inky, wispy shadow darker than one should be.

  They all looked over my shoulder as the pounding on the door got even louder.

  “Well,” I said quietly, “who wants to go first?”

  That was rhetorical—I shoved Michael in before he could retaliate, then Grant jumped in willingly, whooping like he was having the time of his life, and finally Em, who glanced at the shuddering door, then at me, and finally at the golden wristband I was wearing.

  “Told you it looks nice,” she said. “And they’re going to kill us for this.”

  “Probably,” I said, shrugging. “But so what? It’s not like the world hasn’t already failed at that.”

  “This is so irresponsibly stupid.”

  “And it’s gonna be so irresponsibly fun.”

  “Remind me why I spoke to you in Spanish class when we were little again?”

  I grinned and gently punched her shoulder. “Because, Sparky, what’s life without a little peril?”

  Stay safe, Rylee. I…love you. I love you a lot, even if I’m only getting better at showing it now.

  Em leaped in. The door crashed open. I didn’t bother looking over my shoulder.

  P.S. It’s an Addams’ thing, being this way—so be this way.

  Your costume is in there somewhere. You’ll find it if you need it. If you don’t, then…

  Well, it’ll always fit you and nobody else, like it always has.

  Love, Ronnie.