CLAIRE

As soon as I felt like I could breathe again, I realized that Renegade and the Sentinel were bleeding out all over my carpet.

"Shit," I muttered. I repeated it again, in an almost sing-song pattern detached from the situation unfolding in front of me. "Shit, shit, shit—"

I tore a bit of the fabric of my cape away from the bundle Renegade was holding and gave it to the Sentinel.

"Thank you." Her voice was more like a fluttering gasp. She pressed it to the wounds around her chest, but there were so many, staining her costume a darker shade of red—

"So do we give them stitches?" I looked to Warlock, desperate fro help. "Oh God, I don't know how to sew up a human—oh God, they're going to die—"

"No one's going to die." Warlock's voice was weary. "Stabilize the blood pressure on him, just a minute."

He then pressed his hands to the Sentinel's shoulders. Tension released in her shoulders as her skin knitted together, the blood coagulated, as if time itself had been reversed.

She sat up as soon as he was done and looked up to Warlock with obvious admiration.

"Thanks."

"It's no problem." Warlock turned to Renegade and winced. "I'll do my best. I—I wasn't ready to use this much."

He planted his hands on Renegade's chest, and the same healing magic happened to him. Bleeding stopped, wounds closed, the whole shebang.

Renegade's eyes flew open and his limbs jerked around for a second, as if he'd been electrocuted. Then he fell limply back onto my bedroom carpet. But he was breathing.

He sucked in a large breath as he slowly opened his eyes, wincing as he sat up.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Is it still hurting?"

"Not exactly," Renegade said. "It's hard to explain—- I made a large jump. I'm sorry— we lost because of me."

He then looked to Warlock, who was swaying on his knees. "I'm sorry—thanks, man—"

Warlock nodded, right before he collapsed to the floor.

"Oh my God, we killed him!" My hands flew to my mouth.

The Sentinel crawled over to Warlock and felt his pulse. "No, he's just unconscious. But he strained his powers. And I can't carry him out like this."

I surveyed my room. There was blood all over the carpet, and us. We were a hot mess.

"I should have grabbed the bags, we're going to need them." Renegade shook as he stood up. I dashed to support him.

"Are you crazy, you clearly can't do it—"

There was a stubborn glint in his eyes. "I think I can do this. Besides, it's evidence that could be tied to our civilian identities."

"Wait," I protested— but then he was gone.

Just as quickly, he stumbled back with the two backpacks and my messenger bag, face planting on the carpet. I realized with horror that he had a nosebleed as yet more blood stained the place.

"You idiot," I chided as I helped him sit down, and tore a bit off of my tunic. The costume was already ruined anyway from all the blood.

"I'm sorry. All of this is my fault." His eyes were nearly a thousand miles away.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Oh.

I reached out a hand to his shoulder, letting my anger melt away. "It's alright. It's no one's fault, what happened—except for Tenebrous's."

"I should've been able to fight him."

"We all should have." The Sentinel had been the one to speak up. "We all failed—for now. But we can regroup and fight again."

"We?" I couldn't help myself.

"We're all in this together now," the Sentinel insisted. "We're stuck together until we're all well enough to walk out the door, Claire."

"Why does everyone know who I am and I don't?" I whined.

"We've met before—I didn't realize it till we were here." The Sentinel glanced around. Then she pulled the red mask from her face. "I don't know if you remember me—"

"You're Mira," I interrupted. My voice was as flat as the road outside—mostly because I was struggling to process it. I'd given clothes to a Sentinel—but then there was the story Henry gave about an abusive family and emancipation.

I wondered how much truth there was to that.

But then my eyes locked onto Warlock. I hadn't noticed the resemblance before, but now that we were closer, I had the time to observe—

"That's Henry, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is." Renegade was the one who had spoken, removing the cloth from his nose.

"How do you know that?" I frowned.

He blinked, as if unsure of what to say. "We once bumped into each other coming in and out of our apartment building."

Wait a minute. . .

I knew who else lived in the Silver Spires. . .

He sighed and undid the latches around his red mask.

I felt like an idiot when it tumbled to the floor, revealing the face of none other than Tristan Turner.

"Huh," was all I could say in the face of this unholy revelation in front of me. "Shit— that means—"

"Tenebrous isn't my father," Tristan said, his eyes drifting off to some distant point in my room. "I remember the funeral— I saw the body, I know it was embalmed, it was Dad in there."

I hadn't been so sure back there, in the fight. But if there was one thing I knew, it was that Tristan had learned everything he could at the time about what had happened to his father. He'd roped me into the research about the cancers, the radioactivity of New Kingsbury's water supply, and eventually the death industry.

While I'd preferred not to think about Mom or her death, Tristan had chosen to embrace his father's. And a part of me had always admired him for that, that he was able to be unafraid.

"That wasn't what I was going to say," I said quietly as I removed my own mask.

"What were you going to say, then?" Tristan's eyes flicked back to me.

"I—"

There were so many answers.

That means my childhood best friend held me at knifepoint.

That means that you were making a real difference beyond high school politics all along.

That means you knew all along what I was going through, just like you always do.

That means I was in love with a super anti-hero.

"I don't know," I finally said. "I guess this doesn't really change all that much, does it?"

"I'd like to think it wouldn't," Tristan said. "I'd hoped it wouldn't. That was part of it, I think, why we weren't all that close for a while. Being a student and a crime-fighter, that takes up most of your time."

I nodded, knowing how that felt. But then it hit me— Renegade had done some bad things. Stealing, vandalism—

"Why did you do it?" I asked. "All those crimes— I can't fathom— was being a hero not enough for you?"

Tristan sat up straight, his expression deathly serious— so much so that he looked as if he were going to faint or be sick all over the floor.

Great, more to clean up.

"You have to believe me." He reached out a hand for mine. "I never did those things— any of it. I don't know who did them, I never did— but I don't think I was the only one."

"Then who did it, Tristan?" I pulled my hand away in disgust. "Who would be able to copy your suits so quickly, be able to replicate your power set? Who would even want to frame all of the heroes—"

"I think you know that we both know," Tristan said quietly. "There's only one figure this all goes back to. It always has in New Kingsbury."

The spring of 1979. When Old Kingsbury was evacuated because of a mistake, a leak in the factory of Atomic Energy.

The reason for the cancers, the Mutated, the Sentinels—

And I had to admit that this was far more likely. Because even despite my belief that Renegade had done everything— I knew my best friend.

I didn't know every single thing about him. But I knew his heart, I knew which way he would go when the wind blows north.

And he never would have done the crimes that Renegade had done, not without purpose, a cause.

"Why would they frame heroes?" I asked.

"Because they want us all dead."

We turned our heads to see Mira sitting there, looking as if she'd seen a ghost. She shook her head slightly, a more determined look returning to her face.

"There's a reason I've left them behind," she said. "I didn't know the truth—but now I do. And I'm not going to let them hurt anybody else."

She then looked at the carpet. "But I guess we need to make a plan and clean up, don't we?"

"Stay here, I'll get food, and clean up," I said. "Just rest. We'll figure out what to do, when—"

Then it caught my eye— a green flash of light outside my window. I approached the window, and even Tristan craned his neck to see a large translucent green energy field create a dome surrounding the city of New Kingsbury.

Screams and the smell of smoke came in— from the surrounding city.

In an impulse, I raced over to my computer, and the default page, a local news site, revealed all we needed to know.

A broadcast, a manifesto was being played live of Tenebrous, declaring his rule over the city.