What does it mean to be yourself?

  Is it the rhythm of your body, the steady beat of your heart, the way your lungs know when to breathe without being told? Or is it something quieter, something you have to decide for yourself, even when the world insists it already knows the answer?

  I'm thinking about that as the bus lurches forward, engine groaning like it resents being awake this early. I hold my backpack tight against my chest, sitting on the bench closest to the door. I like this seat, it's something familiar to orient myself around when the bus inevitably jolts, which it does approximately every thirty seconds because apparently this driver got their license from a cereal box.

  The bus sounds crowded. College students pressed shoulder to shoulder with early-morning workers, all of us swaying together like a single organism that hasn't quite decided where it's going yet. Someone's earbuds leak music I can't quite place. Someone else smells like cheap coffee and peppermint gum, a combination that should be illegal before 8 AM.

  I envy them. Not dramatically. Just quietly, constantly. I envy the ease with which they exist in their bodies, the way they move through space without negotiating with it first. I envy anyone who can walk and text simultaneously like they're performing some kind of sorcery. I envy anyone who isn't me.

  The bus hits a pothole, and someone stumbles into my shoulder. "Oh, sorry," a deep voice murmurs.

  "It's okay," I say automatically, tightening my grip on my cane.

  I can't tell if they're looking at me. I never can. That uncertainty used to bother me when I was younger. Now it's just another fact of my existence, like how my coffee always goes cold before I finish it.

  I've been blind my entire life. Never seen the sun, nor a friendly face. From the moment I was born, I've existed in a world of sound, touch, and darkness.

  Sighted people apologize when they realize. They offer condolences like I've lost something I once had, like I'm mourning a death that never happened. But you can't miss what you've never known. The thing about never having a sense is that you don't gain anything to compensate. Your other senses don't magically sharpen. You just learn to pay attention. You learn to survive in a world that wasn't built for you, that forgot you existed until you remembered it by walking into a door someone left open.

  And if I'm honest, if I let myself be a little arrogant, I think I'm good at it. The way someone sounds when they shift their weight tells me more than their words. The pause before a breath. The scrape of fabric. The rhythm of footsteps approaching from behind. Sound is my map. Space is something I feel in my bones.

  "Next stop, university district," the driver calls out.

  I straighten immediately. This is me.

  I stand as the bus slows, tapping my cane lightly against the floor. The doors hiss open, and cool morning air rushes in, carrying the scent of wet pavement and something fried from a food truck setting up early.

  The campus is already awake. Voices scatter instead of compress, footsteps echo differently against stone and brick. Someone laughs nearby. A bike zips past with a sharp whirr of gears. The soundscape shifts from the compressed chaos of the bus to something wider, more open.

  "Fey!"

  I turn toward the sound of my name, a smile tugging at my mouth before I can stop it.

  Eve's footsteps arrive in a rush of barely-contained energy. She doesn't grab me, which I appreciate, but falls into step beside me like she's always been there.

  "There's my favorite person," she says, bright and breathless.

  "I'm your only person," I reply dryly.

  She laughs. "Details."

  Eve smells like citrus shampoo and sleep she didn't get enough of. There's an energy to her I can't quite explain, she's restless, bright, and constantly in motion. She talks with her hands even though I can't see them, and I know exactly when she's grinning just from the way her voice lifts at the edges.

  "Did you eat?" she asks.

  "Yes."

  "Are you lying?"

  "No. . . . Okay, maybe a little."

  She clicks her tongue. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to physically sit on you until you finish a real breakfast."

  "That would be a crime," I say lightly.

  "For you, maybe. I'd call it a public service."

  We start toward the science building together, my cane tapping out a steady rhythm. Eve matches my pace without comment, adjusting automatically whenever I slow or angle slightly to avoid an obstacle. She's good at this, like she actually sees me instead of just seeing the cane.

  "Big day," she says casually.

  "Is it?" I ask.

  She bumps my shoulder lightly with hers. "You're officially twenty-one. That's big in this world, remember?"

  Right.

  I exhale slowly. "I forgot."

  "You did not."

  "I did," I insist.

  "Fey, I literally reminded you yesterday. And the day before. And probably the day before that."

  "Doesn't ring a bell."

  "I can't believe you forgot your own birthday again," Eve says, sighing with theatrical disappointment.

  "It's not like I had plans anyway."

  "We could make plans?" she says, and there's something almost hurt in her voice. "I could make you a cake. A terrible one, but still."

  "You can't bake."

  "That's why it would be terrible," she says. "But it's the thought that counts, right?"

  I smile despite myself. "The thought of food poisoning?"

  "Rude." She bumps my shoulder again, harder this time. "I'm trying to be a good friend here."

  "You are a good friend, the best, actually."

  "Oh my god," Eve says immediately, and I can hear the grin in her voice. "Did you just give me a compliment? Are you feeling okay? Should I check you for a fever?"

  "I take it back."

  "Too late!" she says brightly. "It's been said. Witnessed. I'm getting it tattooed."

  "You're ridiculous."

  "And yet, I'm the best," she says, throwing my words back at me. "Your words, not mine."

  I try to suppress a smile and fail. "This is why I don't compliment you."

  "Because I'm too powerful with positive reinforcement?" Eve asks. "Fair. I am pretty unstoppable when properly motivated."

  "Unstoppable at being annoying."

  "That too," she agrees cheerfully. "But you love it."

  "Debatable."

  "Not even a little bit debatable," she says, warmth beneath the teasing. "You're stuck with me, Fey. Accept your fate."

  "My terrible, terrible fate."

  "The worst," she confirms. Then her tone shifts slightly. "So, real talk, are you nervous? About today?"

  "I don't exactly wake up thinking about the Hero-Villain Industrial Complex."

  Eve snorts. "You're lucky. Testing day is all anyone's been talking about in my classes. Like it's the Super Bowl of potentially ruining your life."

  I shrug. "What's the worst that could happen? I sit in a gym for an hour while people panic around me?"

  "You could figure out you have powers," Eve points out.

  "Eve. I'm blind. What am I going to do, echolocate harder? Develop the ability to sense when people are staring at me? That's not a superpower, that's just anxiety."

  Eve sighs, long and dramatic. "Fine. But for the record, I'm sitting with you the whole time."

  "You don't have to."

  "I know I don't have to, but someone needs to narrate all the chaos for you."

  "You mean you want to people-watch and make fun of everyone."

  "Maybe that too," Eve says, bumping her arm against mine. "But mostly the first thing. Probably."

  The sounds shift as we approach the psychology building, there's fewer voices, more open space, and the gradual compression that tells me we're near the entrance. The doors slide open, releasing a wash of familiar sounds: footsteps on tile, distant voices echoing off high ceilings, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

  We're late. Not dramatically late, but late enough that I can hear Professor Calder's voice already echoing from inside the lecture hall. Eve and I slip through the door as quietly as possible. I slide into my usual seat near the aisle, set my backpack at my feet. My laptop hums softly as it boots, screen reader murmuring quietly through my earbuds.

  Professor Calder is mid-sentence. "...which brings us to today's topic. Intelligence."

  A few people groan.

  "Not yours," he adds dryly. "Though I'm sure we could have an interesting discussion about that too. No, today we're talking about artificial intelligence."

  I perk up despite myself.

  "Specifically, we're going to discuss the similarities and differences to what we've studied about animal intelligence." He pauses. "And no, this is not because I caught someone using AI on my last quiz."

  A few nervous laughs ripple through the room.

  "However," he says, voice taking on a pointed edge, "I might have to start checking more carefully."

  Someone shifts uncomfortably.

  "Artificial Intelligence continues to get smarter each year, and from what we've studied of animal intelligence throughout the semester, we can see that the two are not so different. Aren't we but a collection of learned behaviors and conditioned responses?"

  He pauses. I hear him tapping something against his desk.

  "Think about it this way. When you train a dog with treats, you're conditioning a response. Sit, get rewarded. The dog's brain forms neural pathways that reinforce that behavior. Now, when you train an AI with data, you're doing essentially the same thing. Correct output, positive reinforcement through reward functions. The mechanisms are different, but the principle is identical."

  The room's attention is dimming, that particular quality of silence that means people are checking their phones.

  "So here's my question for you all," Calder says, his voice taking on that edge he gets when he's about to say something deliberately uncomfortable. "If an AI can learn and adapt, if it can form something similar to neural pathways, at what point do we stop calling it artificial? At what point does the word 'intelligence' stop needing a qualifier?"

  The room goes quiet. Actually quiet this time.

  "And more importantly, if we can't define what makes intelligence 'real' versus 'artificial,' how do we define what makes us human? Is it consciousness? Free will? Or are those just comforting stories we tell ourselves about our own learned behaviors?"

  The silence stretches. I can practically hear people's discomfort.

  "I see I've lost many of you already," he says with a dry laugh. "Why don't we change the subject to something you'll all find a little more interesting. I might be legally mandated to talk about this today, but that doesn't mean we can't make it interesting."

  The telltale click of a PowerPoint loading.

  "Besides," Calder adds, tone shifting to something almost sardonic, "if we're going to talk about what makes someone human, we might as well discuss the people who wake up one day with the ability to shoot fire from their hands. That seems relevant, doesn't it?"

  My screen reader reads out the title: the state-created PowerPoint about the Hero System. I've heard variations of this presentation approximately a dozen times since turning twenty-one last week. It's legally required for professors to give a presentation about the Hero System. That meant I had to suffer through a lesson in each of my subjects . . . even art.

  "Let me give you the statistics first," Calder says. "Approximately one in three hundred people awaken with abilities. The awakening window begins on your twenty-first birthday and lasts for roughly six months."

  A hand shoots up somewhere to my left.

  "Yes?" Calder says.

  "Is it true that the majority of Heroes live in the Midwest?" a guy asks. "Like, in the Chicago area?"

  "That's the popular theory," Calder replies. No one has been found with powers outside the United States, with the few exceptions of people who visited the Midwest before returning overseas. However, heroes make up an equal distribution across all races, religions, and social groups we've been able to study."

  I could hear his chair creaking and a puff of air escaping the cushion as Professor Calder sat down.

  "Now, I'm sure you all know Flameshock and the Ice Queen from their movies," Calder continues. "Hollywood's favorite power couple. Box office gold. But let's talk about what actually happens when you awaken, shall we? Because I promise you, it's significantly less glamorous than the movies suggest."

  Another click.

  "If you manifest an ability, you are required by federal law to report it to a state representative within twenty-four hours. You'll be registered, tested, and fitted with a tracking device you can't remove until you complete proper training. If you don't report it, it's a felony. You'll be classified as a villain, which means every hero and government agent in the country will be authorized to use lethal force against you."

  The room shifts. Someone coughs. The energy has changed, gone from bored to uncomfortable.

  "Now, here's something interesting," Calder says. "The testing machines some of you will be using today are designed to draw out any latent powers you might have. For most people who develop powers, maybe about eighty percent, abilities will not manifest by themselves. They remain dormant until triggered by the testing apparatus. The remaining twenty percent figure it out on their own. Sometimes you're eating cereal and suddenly you're breathing fire. Sometimes you're taking a shower and you accidentally flood your apartment building. It varies."

  Another click.

  "Every school has mandatory testing days. Employers are required to screen employees regularly. Police conduct random street checks. Sure, we still have a few villains running around. Darkstorm, for example, has been evading capture for three years now. But they're the exception."

  "Now, before anyone panics," Calder says dryly, "the term 'villain' is reserved for individuals who evade registration, demonstrate clear intent to harm others, or whose abilities are deemed too dangerous for public use."

  "What counts as too dangerous?" a rough voice asks from behind me.

  I recognize it immediately. Peter, an upperclassman who had awakened over winter break with earth-type powers. His voice has always been gravelly, but now it carries an edge of something else. Bitterness, maybe.

  "Excellent question," Professor Calder says. "There's no specific list, but we can infer from precedent. The villain Blindspot, for instance, has the ability to turn themselves or anything they touch completely undetectable. No sight, no sound, no smell, no heat signature. They could be in this room right now and we would have absolutely no idea."

  He lets that sink in. Several people shift uncomfortably.

  "If you do happen to develop powers, you'll be issued a license after completing your training. This license permits you to use your ability in public, but only under specific circumstances, state-sanctioned Hero work, or during approved training sessions for instance. Using your ability outside those parameters, even something as harmless as lighting a cigarette, is a felony."

  "That's stupid," someone mutters behind me.

  "That's the law," Calder replies flatly. "And it's enforced by Heroes who are, functionally, state employees with legal immunity and the authorization to use lethal force. So I'd suggest you follow it."

  I hear him take a sip of something. Coffee, probably.

  People are muttering now. This is always divisive around testing season. There are factions that advocate for the free use of powers, for treating powered people like normal citizens. But those groups don't have much public support. Hard to argue with the government when they have an army of registered Heroes backing them up.

  Professor Calder clears his throat, and I hear the click of him advancing to the next slide.

  "Now, you might think this system is normal," Calder says, tone shifting to something more pointed. "But I want you to remember: this is a recent development. When I was your age, superpowers were something you read about in comic books. They weren't real. The first confirmed case of superhuman abilities was only twenty years ago. Now we have people throwing fire and causing earthquakes."

  A few people groan, clearly remembering Aftershock. During his first official deployment last year, he caused an earthquake that collapsed a building downtown, killing seventeen people. He promptly stepped down as a Hero and the public hasn't seen much of him since.

  "Now," Calder continues, "I remind you all to exercise caution on campus over the next few days. Testing days are high-stress events. If you see someone using an ability without displaying a valid Hero license, you are to alert the nearest state representative immediately and keep your distance. Unless they can produce proof of registration, you are to treat them as a hostile villain."

  He pauses.

  "Any questions?"

  Silence.

  "Good. Class dismissed. And for those of you testing today, good luck. Try not to accidentally destroy anything."

  The room explodes into chatter. Chairs scrape back. Someone jokes loudly about hoping for telekinesis. Someone else says their cousin got classified as a villain and now isn't allowed on campus without an armed escort.

  I close my laptop carefully, letting the screen reader fall silent. I grip my cane in one hand while holding Eve's shoulder with my other as we navigate toward the exit.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Eve waits until we're out in the hall before she speaks.

  "It's going to suck listening to people scream when their eyes turn into flowers or whatever," I say.

  Eve makes a sound of disgust. "I hate the flower thing. Why do powered people's eyes even turn into petals? It's so weird."

  "You've never even seen it."

  "Wrong!" Eve says, interjecting excitedly. "I saw Peter when we were walking into class. You were too busy looking at your feet to notice."

  "Eve, I'm blind. It doesn't matter where I look," I say with a small laugh, tapping her leg with my cane.

  "Okay, fair point," Eve says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. "But it was super creepy. His eyes are literally flower petals now. Like someone stretched out his pupils, turned them brown, and made them petal shaped. Its creepy."

  I smile a little, despite myself. "Everything is creepy to you."

  "That is not true," she says quickly. "You're not creepy."

  I almost trip. My brain catches on what she said like a snagged thread, and for a second I forget how to walk.

  Eve clears her throat. "I mean, uh, you know what I mean."

  I keep walking, face warm, grateful nobody can see it. "Thank you," I say, aiming for neutral.

  Eve bumps my shoulder again, softer this time. "Come on. Lunch. Before I start eating your notes out of desperation."

  "You wouldn't understand them."

  "Rude," she says, offended in the way she always is when she isn't actually offended. "I could absolutely understand them if I wanted to."

  "You don't want to."

  "Correct," she says cheerfully. "But I support your nerd lifestyle from a safe distance."

  We head toward the student center. The sounds shift as we move across campus, there's fewer hard echoes from buildings, and more open air. Wind threads between structures, carrying the smell of cut grass and something floral. Somewhere a fountain runs, a constant rush of water I use as a landmark.

  I'm halfway relaxed when a voice cuts through the general noise. Sharp, amplified, too loud to belong to any human throat.

  "TESTING REMINDER," a speaker blares. "ALL STUDENTS AGED TWENTY-ONE AND ABOVE MUST REPORT TO THE STADIUM BETWEEN 11:00 AM AND 2:00 PM FOR MANDATORY EVALUATION. FAILURE TO COMPLY MAY RESULT IN CRIMINAL CHARGES."

  Eve swears under her breath. "They love scaring people."

  "It's effective," I say.

  We reach the student center, and the smell of food hits me immediately. Fried, sugary, warm. My stomach twists with sudden hunger.

  We get in line, and Eve narrates the options like she always does. "Chicken sandwiches that look aggressively mediocre. Salad that looks sad and possibly sentient. Fries that look less sad. Pasta that might be edible. Mystery soup that I wouldn't trust even if you paid me. And, oh, there's a new dessert bar."

  "Describe," I demand.

  Eve leans closer. "Brownies that look fudgy. Cookies that look crispy. And something that might be cheesecake but could also be a very convincing lie."

  "I'll take the lie," I decide.

  She laughs, bright and open. "Of course you will."

  When we sit, we end up at a corner table like always. My cane rests against my chair. My backpack stays pressed against my leg. The table is small, round, and I can reach across it easily.

  Eve talks while she eats, words spilling out in a way that makes the world feel less tight. She complains about her gen-ed professor who doesn't believe in technology and makes them write everything by hand like it's the 1800s. She tells me about a girl in her class who tried to flirt with a teaching assistant and got shut down so hard the whole room went quiet.

  And every so often, she checks on me without making it obvious.

  "You okay?" she asks casually.

  I take a bite of my sandwich. "Fine."

  She hums, not convinced. "You're doing the thing where you go quiet when you're thinking too hard."

  "I always go quiet."

  "No," she says. "You go Fey quiet. It's different."

  My throat tightens. "I'm just thinking."

  "About what?" Eve asks.

  "About people who can kill you by accident," I say. "People who turn into something else. Something monstrous."

  Eve's fork stills.

  Monsters are what appear at random, crawling out of abandoned homes and deep woods. Monsters are what the news shows with blurred footage and warning banners. Monsters are what heroes fight on live-streams while people cheer and donate like it's entertainment. I've never seen one, obviously, but I've heard them. Once, on a video Eve showed me. The sound of a monster when it screams doesn't sound like an animal.

  "Sorry," I say quietly. "That was heavy."

  "No," Eve interrupts. "You're right. It's just a lot to think about."

  We eat in silence for a while after that. The cafeteria noise continues around us, trays clattering, conversations overlapping, someone laughing too loud at a nearby table.

  I finish my sandwich. Eve finishes hers.

  "Ready?" she asks.

  I nod, standing carefully. My cane finds the floor, and I grip my backpack strap. We dump our trays together, the clatter of dishes loud, and then we're moving back into the flow of campus.

  The air outside is cooler now, sharper. The wind has picked up, carrying the smell of cut grass and something metallic. A storm is coming, maybe.

  As we walk toward the stadium, the soundscape begins to change. More voices, layered and tense. Nervous laughter that doesn't sound genuine. Sharp, clipped conversations that cut off abruptly. Someone is crying, muffled, like they're trying to hide it.

  And then I hear it.

  Boots.

  Not sneakers or dress shoes. Boots. Heavy, military-grade boots that make a distinct sound against pavement.

  "There are soldiers," Eve says quietly, and her voice has gone flat. "A lot of them."

  I can hear them now, stationed at intervals along the path. The boots shift weight, leather creaking. Radios crackle with static. One of them coughs, and the sound is sharp and close enough that I flinch.

  "How many?" I ask.

  "At least twenty," she says. "Maybe more. They're just standing there. Watching everyone."

  "This is dumb," Eve mutters. "It's a college stadium, not a war zone."

  We reach the entrance. People gather in clusters outside the doors, some laughing too loudly, some quiet and pale. A few are talking about powers like it's content for their social media instead of something that could fundamentally alter their lives.

  I hate it.

  The doors open, and we step inside. The temperature drops immediately, that particular chill of a large indoor space with too much air conditioning. The gym is massive, I can tell from the way sound behaves, from the way voices echo and footsteps ring hollow.

  "Stairs," Eve says, and I feel her hand on my elbow.

  We descend carefully. My cane taps against each metal step, the sound ringing hollow. The steps creak under our weight.

  Eve stops, and I feel her shift beside me.

  "Here," she says, and I lower myself onto the bench.

  The wood is hard, unforgiving. I set my backpack at my feet and rest my cane against my leg. Eve sits close enough that our shoulders touch, and I'm grateful for it. The contact grounds me, reminds me I'm not alone in this.

  The gym buzzes with nervous energy. Voices overlap in waves. Someone laughs too sharply. Someone else cries, muffled, trying to hide it.

  "There's got to be two hundred people in here," Eve murmurs. "Maybe more. The bleachers are almost full."

  I nod, listening. The gym feels smaller than it should, packed tight with bodies and fear.

  "What's it look like?" I ask.

  "Testing stations on the floor. Each one has that metal block thing with the hole through the middle. Soldiers everywhere. No heroes, they must not expect anyone to get powers today."

  "Comforting."

  Then a name is called.

  Footsteps cross the gym floor, and after a moment the crowd erupts. Gasping. Applause. Like this person just won something instead of having their entire life fundamentally altered without consent. "We have a hero!" A female voice shouted over the loudspeaker, causing me to wince and cover my ears.

  "I can see their eyes," Eve whispers, awed. "They're yellow flower petals."

  I open my mouth to respond, but then something happens.

  I blink, and there's something.

  Not darkness. Something else.

  Two small points of something other than the void.

  I've never had words for this because I've never experienced anything like it. They're there, in the darkness, impossibly there. Two points of something that isn't nothing.

  They disappear and reappear at random. I rub my eyes. I've seen things before, flashes, pulses, spots doctors told me were just hallucinations. But these keep appearing. Faint enough to miss if I wasn't paying attention, but bright enough to be noticed against the void.

  "Eve," I gasp, gripping her hand. "I. . ."

  "FEY!"

  My name echoes through the gym, amplified, official.

  The two points are moving. Getting closer. Someone is walking, the person who just awakened, and those two points are coming with them as they leave the stadium. I can't breathe because I'm tracking them. I'm actually perceiving their movement through space.

  "Fey, that's you," Eve says, distant.

  I stand on autopilot, legs shaking. My cane finds the floor. I start moving down the bleachers, and the points are getting closer, brighter, and I can't look away.

  They're moving toward me.

  Eyes.

  The word surfaces from memory. But none of those explanations prepared me for this.

  They're not flat. They have depth. They exist in space in a way I've never perceived anything before. I can sense that they're set into something, part of something larger I can't quite perceive because the void is still there, surrounding everything except these two impossible points.

  I see layers. That's the first thing I understand. Layers upon layers, each one distinct, stacked in a way that creates depth and dimension and complexity that makes my head spin.

  Flower Petals.

  That's what Eve called them.

  The points shift, rotating fractionally, and suddenly they're pointed directly at me. Focused on me.

  Looking at me.

  I've never been looked at before. Not like this. Not in a way I could perceive.

  "What are you looking at?"

  The voice is male, sharp, irritated.

  I can't respond. I can't move.

  I'm still staring, still frozen. They're right there, so close, and I can sense the way the layers overlap, the way they shift when he blinks. He blinks, and the points disappear for a fraction of a second, and then they're back, and I...

  "Seriously, got a problem?"

  "Fey." Eve's hand is on my arm, pulling gently. "Come on."

  I let her guide me, but I can't stop turning my head, can't stop tracking those two points as they move away.

  "Fey? Are you okay?"

  "I... it... petals," I stammer, whipping my head around, but they've disappeared into the crowd.

  "Oh yeah, I think that was Marcus. I'm impressed you could tell."

  "No, Eve, you don't understand. . ."

  My name is called again, sharper this time.

  "We'll talk about it after," Eve says firmly, pulling me forward. "Right now you need to get tested so we can get out of here."

  I want to scream. I want to grab her shoulders and make her understand that I perceived something, really perceived it in a way I never have before, and it's the most significant thing that's ever happened to me and she thinks I'm just anxious about putting my arm in a machine.

  "This is the testing apparatus," a woman says, high-pitched, nasal. She's close, clearly in front of me.

  "Eve, seriously, I need to tell you something."

  The woman makes an impatient sound. "We don't have all day. Your hand. Now."

  I sigh, figuring I can wait ten seconds to share my life-altering news.

  The woman's gloved fingers wrap around my wrist, guiding my hand forward until my palm meets cold metal. Smooth. Industrial. The metal is seamless, perfectly smooth.

  It's big. A block, maybe waist-high, rectangular.

  My fingers find an edge, then nothing. Empty space.

  "There's a hole," the woman says. "Goes straight through. You'll need to put your arm through it for the test."

  I reach forward, finding the opening. Circular, smooth-edged. I slide my hand in, then my forearm, feeling the metal encircle me. It's cold all around, and there's a faint hum I can feel through the metal, a vibration that travels up my arm.

  I push until my elbow is past the entrance, my arm fully extended.

  Then nothing.

  Silence.

  I wait, counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  "Fail," the official says.

  "Just like that?" I say, giving my best approximation of a confused expression toward where I think the woman is standing.

  "Yes," she says, a heavy sigh in her voice. "Just like that. Next."

  I exhale shakily, relief flooding through me.

  "Let's go," Eve says, handing me my cane.

  "Will you finally listen to..." I start when I hear a shout from the entrance. Panicked, terrified, screaming in a tone reserved for life-or-death situations.

  "GET DOWN!"

  CRACK.

  The sound is enormous, violent, like thunder breaking directly overhead.

  And I perceive it.

  Brilliance. Searing, overwhelming brilliance that cuts through the void like a knife through fabric. It's different from the points I saw before. This is blinding, all-consuming, and it carries heat I can feel from across the room.

  I scream.

  It's too much. Too sudden. My brain feels like it's burning, like someone has pressed hot coals directly against something inside my skull. I drop to my knees, hands flying to my face, and the sensation vanishes as quickly as it came.

  Void again.

  But the chaos doesn't stop.

  More people are screaming now. Real screaming. I hear bodies colliding, chairs toppling, the heavy thud of boots on hardwood. Someone falls near me, their shoulder slamming into mine, and I nearly go down too.

  "Fey!" Eve's voice, sharp with panic, and her hands are on me, gripping my shoulders. "Fey, we have to move!"

  I can't respond. I'm gasping, disoriented, my hands still pressed to my face.

  "Villain!" a soldier shouts. "Everyone down! Get to cover!"

  CRACK.

  Another explosion, and another burst of that overwhelming sensation.

  This time I perceive more.

  Not just the brilliance, but shapes. Blurred, indistinct, but there. Silhouettes against brightness. The high ceiling. The bleachers. And near the entrance, something bright and violent, something that pulses and writhes.

  Then void.

  "Villain at the north entrance!" someone shouts into a radio. "Multiple casualties! We need backup now!"

  "Fey, move!" Eve hauls me to my feet, her grip iron-hard on my wrist. "We have to go, now!"

  I stumble forward, my cane forgotten. Eve is pulling me, dragging me through the crowd, and I can hear people shoving past us, elbows and shoulders and panic.

  CRACK. BOOM.

  Two sounds, overlapping, and the burst is longer, more intense.

  In the flash, I perceive the attacker.

  Two points first. But not like Marcus's. These are brighter, sharper, almost painful to look at.

  And then the figure itself, but only for a heartbeat.

  Arms outstretched. A silhouette against the sudden brightness. And from their hands, something is pouring out, something that moves through space. Spheres, bright, impossibly fast, arcing through the space between the attacker and...

  Void.

  But I can still hear it. The crackle of energy. The hiss of something burning.

  CRACK.

  Another flash. The attacker is perceptible again for just a moment. Those two burning points where their eyes should be. The spheres launching from their hands. I sense one impact the wall, and where it hits, there's an explosion of sensation and something that splinters and breaks.

  Void.

  I can't track them. Can't follow. I only perceive in these stuttering bursts when they attack, when the light illuminates them for a fraction of a second before plunging everything back into nothing.

  CRACK.

  Another blast, and this one is close.

  Too close.

  The sound is deafening, a physical force that slams into my chest. Heat follows immediately, a wave of scorching air. I feel the impact through the floor, and something crashes nearby, heavy, metallic.

  The flash shows me debris falling. Pieces of the ceiling. Chunks of concrete. A section of bleacher collapsing.

  Void.

  "Fey!" Eve screams, pulling me sideways, away from where that blast hit. I can smell it now. Burning plastic, ozone, and something acrid that makes my throat close.

  I'm terrified.

  I can't orient. Can't think. Every flash disorients me more, the brief bursts of perception too much, too fast, too overwhelming.

  CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

  Three blasts in rapid succession, and the flashes come faster now, strobing.

  People pressed against the walls, hands over their heads.

  Soldiers with weapons raised, firing back.

  The attacker moving deeper into the gym, destroying everything in their path.

  Eve beside me, her face a blur of features I don't understand. I can see her, really see her. Yet I couldn't let myself be lost in the fact that I could see my best friend for the first time in my life. I had to go with Eve, I had to find the exit. . . any exit.

  Gunfire erupts, sharp cracks that echo off the walls. I hear bullets ricocheting, people screaming, someone shouting orders I can't make out.

  And then CRACK.

  A blast hits me.

  A wall of force and heat slams into my chest and sends me flying backwards. I don't have time to scream. One second I'm standing, Eve's hand on my wrist, and the next I'm airborne, weightless, and then I hit the ground hard enough that all the air explodes from my lungs.

  The world goes silent. Not void. I can still sense the afterimage of that blast burned into my perception. But silent, like my ears have shut down.

  Panic floods through me, cold and sharp, and I'm gasping, choking, my mouth open but nothing coming in. And then finally, air rushes back in a painful, ragged gasp that makes my ribs scream.

  I'm on my back.

  The floor is hard beneath me, cold.

  My clothes.

  Something is wrong with my clothes.

  I reach up with shaking hands, and my fingers find fabric that's rough, brittle, still hot. The front of my jacket is burned. The material crumbles slightly under my touch, and beneath it I can feel my shirt, also damaged, and my skin.

  My skin is burned, yet I feel no pain. I felt a warmth, a heat, radiating out from where I was hit.

  I silently thank the gods of adrenaline when I hear my name being shouted.

  "Fey!"

  Eve's voice, distant, muffled.

  I try to respond, but my throat won't work.

  The heat shifts, growing into a burning sensation that spreads outward like someone has poured molten metal directly into my ribcage. Not the burn from the blast. That's external. This is deeper. Internal. Like something inside me is on fire, consuming me from the inside out.

  My stomach lurches. The nausea hits me like a second blast, sudden and overwhelming, and I roll onto my side, retching. Nothing comes up. But my body doesn't care. It heaves anyway, dry and painful.

  The burning in my chest intensifies.

  It's spreading now. Down into my stomach, up into my throat, radiating outward into my arms, my shoulders. It feels like my entire torso is being consumed by invisible flames.

  "Fey!" Eve's hands are on me, rolling me onto my back. "Fey, talk to me! Are you okay?"

  I'm not okay. I'm dying. I have to be dying.

  My muscles seize. All of them, at once. My back arches off the floor, my body going rigid, every muscle locking up in a cramp so intense I can't even scream. My jaw clenches. My hands curl into claws.

  The cramp releases and I collapse back onto the floor, gasping, sobbing. But immediately another one hits. My left leg this time. The muscle in my calf contracts so hard I feel something pop, and I do scream now, a raw, animal sound.

  "What's happening to her?" Eve is shouting, but not at me. At someone else.

  The burning intensifies. It's concentrating. Right in the center of my chest, behind my sternum, a point of heat so intense it feels like a star is being born inside me. And it's growing. Expanding. Pressing outward against my ribs, against my lungs, against everything.

  My back arches again, and this time I can't come back down. I'm suspended, only my heels and the back of my head touching the floor, my spine curved. The pressure in my chest is building, building, building.

  I'm being split in two. Like something is reaching into my chest and pulling me apart from the inside, tearing me down the middle, and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming.

  And then it tears.

  The sound is like nothing I've ever heard. A deep, resonant noise that I feel in my bones.

  The air splits in front of me.

  I can see it. Like an eye opening after a long sleep, the space before me stretches to accommodate something impossible. A perfect circle, maybe four feet across, hanging in the air a foot off the ground like a wound cut into reality itself.

  The edges are sharp and defined, composed of a color I had no name for. Something around them is moving. They were glowing symbols, intricate, interconnected and layered in such a way that made them look like a mess of characters and depictions with no clear end or beginning. They rotate around the edge of the opening, each one flowing into the next in a continuous loop.

  The opening emitted light that filled the stadium, casting deep shadows as if someone had lit a candle in a dark room. I can see Eve, kneeling next to me, an expression I did not recognize on her face. Her eyebrows were narrowed, her lips were tight. I could see a tear run down her cheek. She was staring at the opening . . . at the portal . . . with her mouth open.

  I can see soldiers nearby, frozen, their weapons half-raised. They had surrounded Eve and I, staring in shock at the portal hanging open in front of them as if someone just confirmed the existence of God.

  And through the portal, through the hole in reality, I can see something else.

  Trees.

  Tall structures with thick bases and branches that spread wide, covered in something that moves slightly in a breeze I can't feel.

  It's a forest.

  I'm seeing it, actually seeing it, and for a moment the pain recedes.

  And then I feel it.

  It starts as a gentle tug, barely noticeable.

  I lurch forward, tumbling from my position on the floor. I yelp, trying to steady myself as I'm pulled again. Eve reaches for me, barely missing my hand as I'm tugged again and again toward the portal.

  I see a piece of paper on the floor nearby, but it doesn't move. Eve isn't pulled, nor are the soldiers.

  "No!" I gasp, trying to dig my fingers into the floor, but the surface is too smooth, and I'm too weak, and the pull is too strong.

  "Fey!" Eve lunges for me, her hands finally grabbing mine, and she's pulling back, trying to anchor me. But the force doesn't stop.

  I slide another foot. Then another.

  The light from the portal is brighter now, and I can see the symbols rotating faster, the pull strengthening.

  I scrambled on the floor, trying to stop myself from sliding forward. The smooth floor working against me as I found no handholds or objects to slow me down.

  "Help!" Eve screams. "Someone help!"

  A soldier moves toward us, but CRACK. Another blast from the attacker slams into the floor between us, sending up a spray of debris. The soldier stumbles back.

  But no one can reach us. The attacker is still firing, still destroying, and the blasts are getting closer. It seems the one person not transfixed by the portal . . . was the villain.

  I'm still sliding. Eve is being dragged with me now, her feet scrabbling against the floor.

  "Fey, hold on!" she sobs. "Please, just hold on!"

  "I'm trying!" I gasp, but my voice is weak, and my body is still burning, still cramping, and I don't have the strength to fight this.

  Another blast hits so close I feel the heat.

  Eve screams.

  I'm sliding faster now.

  I can see the forest so clearly now, I can see the way light filters through the trees.

  CRACK.

  A blast hits right next to us, and the impact sends Eve sprawling. Her hands slip from my arms.

  "No!" I scream, reaching for her, but the pull intensifies, and I'm sliding faster, faster. She's scrambling to her feet, lunging for me again.

  Her fingers catch my jacket. She holds. For one second, she holds.

  But the pull is too strong. I'm dragging her with me now, both of us sliding toward the portal.

  Eve's grip is slipping. I can feel it. Her fingers sliding through the burned fabric of my jacket.

  "Eve!" I sob, reaching for her, my hand finding hers, gripping tight.

  "I've got you," she gasps, and I can sense her face so close. "I've got you, I won't let..."

  Her fingers grasp air as my burned jacket tears in her hands with an audible snap.

  I'm yanked backward, and the world blurs, and the last thing I see is Eve's form, her hand outstretched, her mouth open in a scream I can't hear.

  And then the portal swallows me.

  The glow vanishes. The stadium fades, and Eve disappears.

  There's a moment of absolute cold, absolute silence, and then I'm falling through void, through nothing, through everything.

  And then I hit something solid, and the world goes black.