MIRA

I was shaking beneath Claire's bed, I realized when I saw my own hands trembling in front of me. That was close—too close. I'd had to trust Claire and Tristan, because Henry did and because we were indeed all in this together.

But I had to be smarter than I'd been. If I wanted to evade Atomic Energy, I couldn't keep relying on others to shield me from them. Who knew what Claire's father would do if he knew I was here, after all?

I wouldn't blame him for cracking in the face of Atomic. Energy. Especially now that the whole city knew what they were capable of.

I wondered what Lora thought about all of this. I squirmed, thinking of her worrying about where I was, why I wasn't with the Reagans.

I glanced at the dressing screen where Henry was still hiding. His parents had to be out of their minds with worry. I'd caused him to get in trouble again.

My stomach sank.

That was all I brought for him. More trouble, more scrutiny.

Why he hadn't tried to leave me behind yet, I didn't know. I wouldn't blame him, not at this point.

That did it. When I got back to the Reagans, I would take my stuff and leave, arrangements with Lora or no. Henry needed me out of his life, and as soon as possible.

I heard footsteps coming from the hallway beneath us. I braced myself. Maybe it was Claire returning.

Or it could just as easily be someone else. Someone who wasn't supposed to know about us.

I waited, every muscle tense as I prepared myself to fight or run.

The door flew wide open. Claire stood in the threshold, breathless.

"They know you're here," she declared. "Tristan, your mom's here."

He paled visibly as I reluctantly crawled out from under her bed and Henry emerged from behind the dressing screen.

"I guess they don't know about you guys," Claire admitted, looking at me and Henry. "But I think you should still come down anyway."

I shook my head. "It's not a good idea, not with—"

"It's alright, Mira." Henry took my hand. "I know Mr. Browning—he's a good person. So is Mrs. Turner—"

Tristan shook his head. "She's Mrs. Lee now."

"Oh." Henry blinked. "That's right, I forgot. . . "

"It doesn't matter, they won't turn you in—or any of us." Claire surveyed us. "At least, I don't think they will."

I hesitated.

Another leap of faith. More witnesses to me. More people who I was roping into helping me.

And yet. . .

Their earnest faces convinced me. I didn't want to be alone. It was selfish of me, to want the help, to want these connections.

I was just going to have to get used to being a little more selfish.

"Alright."

We descended the main staircase where the adults were waiting, most of whom I'd never seen before.

On the couch was a young man in his early twenties, wearing with a loose sarcastic slogan t-shirt with sweatpants from Kingsbury College with the same eyes as Claire's stepmother watching us with what I discerned was a guarded suspicion.

Standing around the door and staircase were Ms. Browning-Ward, and a man I realized had to be her father. He wore large glasses and a business-casual style of clothing that was often required in the tech companies downtown.

The third woman there was quite tall and resembled Tristan strongly in their facial features. She had a cold, hard look about her too that he too easily took on as Renegade.

That had to be his mother.

The door was within my reach, if things went wrong—

My thoughts of escape were interrupted when I glanced back at the adults and was forced to look again.

For there was recognition and horror, dawning in their faces.

Did they know to look for me?

"She's the one on the news," the college-age one mumbled with a frown. "The escaped Sentinel."

Ice ran through my veins—and like the day Verity died, I was frozen to the steps. I knew I needed to flee or fight—but I could only freeze.

"What's your name?" Claire's father gave me a kindly look—I couldn't lie or keep my mouth shut.

"Mira."

He and Tristan's mother flinched.

"We need to talk—all of us," Ms. Browning-Ward said. "Now. To the kitchen. That includes you, Julien."

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And so we marched to their dining table in an area that connected directly with the kitchen. I couldn't help but feel dread, like something was about to go terribly wrong.

We were silent as we sat down—it was a small eternity before Claire's father broke the silence.

"I guess we should start, shouldn't we?" He laughed awkwardly. "I knew what happened, Claire, as soon as I saw that your mom's costume was missing from my office. Or at least, I suspected—I wasn't sure until you ended up on TV, claiming to be her."

"You knew, then." Claire avoided looking at him—likely because she did have to throw it away. "That she was. . . Super. Mutated."

"Of course I did." He and Tristan's mother shared a look. "We were on the same team, back in college."

"And so was your mother," Tristan's mother added, looking directly at me.

"My mother?" I frowned. "How do you know—"

"Come on, you're a dead ringer for Lora." Tristan's mother snorted. She then tilted her head. "You already knew who she was, didn't you?"

"It's complicated," Henry said in a very small voice.

"I imagine." Claire's father pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before facing us again. "There were six Crusaders."

"Psyche, Timeline, Nimbus, World Jumper, Crucible, and Argent," Claire listened them off, counting on her fingers. "Mom was Psyche, so you—"

"I was Nimbus." Claire's father placed a hand over his heart.

"And I was World Jumper," Tristan's mother added. A look of nostalgia crossed over her place.

"My mother was Argent, and my father was a hero—Timeline, then, wasn't he?" I tried to recall what Heretic had told me.

"He was." Nimbus look as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Then there was Crucible, who's now Tenebrous," Tristan added. "And he's claiming to be my father, which is ridiculous—"

"Not quite." World Jumper's face turned a little green.

Tristan grew solemn, almost angry. "What do you mean? I remember the funeral, I remember that Dad definitely went under the ground—"

"Well, that part's complicated, but we'll get there." World Jumper shook her head, her ponytail tossing this way and that. "We're getting ahead of ourselves—I don't even know where to start."

"Neither do I, but I'll try." Nimbus sighed again. "I guess it all started back in college, when we were just kids who wanted to make a difference and had too much power to do so.

"That was when we became the Crusaders, we fought against crime and became heroes in the Titan War." He shook his head. "That was so long ago. And the Titan War—it was a different time. It changed all of us, to live through that."

"It really starts in the aftermath, if we're being honest," World Jumper said. "That was when Atomic Energy started enacting their schemes. For decades, they were unable to make the Mutated go away like they did the legal consequences, and they weren't able to pay it off like they did the cancer victims with all their studies."

"They thought we'd kill each other and there would be no one left, and it almost did go that way in the Titan War," Nimbus admitted. "Very few of us were left after that. And the city wasn't too keen on heroes after that. But that wasn't enough for Atomic Energy."

"Why?" Henry asked. "I don't understand."

"Because it's genetic—usually," I answered. "Once it spawns, it doesn't go away. So generations will only get more powerful and those without will diminish over time. It's a problem that won't go away."

"Unless you cut it off at the head," World Jumper finished.

"They took Argent, when she was expecting Timeline's child, they took many women who were going to have Mutated children," Nimbus continued. "But you learned about that on the TV. Argent was the only woman to return, and that was because Timeline cut a deal with Mayor McQueen."

"How was he able to do that?" Tristan tilted his head.

"He was the mayor's brother," I answered, remembering what Heretic had told me. "And he paid a big price for it. He's a prisoner in the mansion."

"Except for special events, when the McQueens need him around," World Jumper snarled. "But otherwise, yes."

"It's really no wonder that Sam and Lora became who they did." Nimbus looked down at his shaking hands. "It's no wonder Ophelia tried to help them. If she was still around, well maybe things might not have gotten to this point."

"What happened?" Claire's voice cracked.

Nimbus looked his daughter directly in the eye. "She helped destroy City Hall so that Atomic Energy couldn't track down any of the Mutated, and they couldn't hurt her daughter or her best friends' son like they had her other best friend's daughter."

"It was because of us." Tristan blanched.

"She died the way she wanted to, Claire." Nimbus's voice was gentle. "She died a hero, one last time. Sam and Lora succeeded in destroying the records. But her death was the final straw, it sent them both on the wrong path."

"Wait, Lora— she was there—then—"

"Heretic and Argent are one and the same," I answered. "And I've seen the proof—she didn't kill your mother. Atomic Energy did."

She blinked, eyes wide like an owl. Her lip trembled. "I blamed Heretic and the superheroes all this time—but I never knew the truth."

"There wasn't a right time, and we were trying to keep you safe." Nimbus reached out and took her hand. "But that's why we're telling you now. Because you're ready to know the truth."

Claire nodded, swiping at her eyes with her hand.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I don't understand what this has to do with my father being Tenebrous, somehow?" Tristan looked his mother straight-on. It surprised me, how direct and almost aggressive it was.

World Jumper crossed her arms over her chest. "We were getting there, but fine. Let's talk about Sam Stryker."

There was so much bitterness there, in her voice that I flinched.

"I don't know how else to tell you this—I loved Tobias Turner, and I wanted him to be your father, that was why I married him," World Jumper said. "There's more to the story—but Sam is the man who you got your second set of powers from. The proof's there. I broke up with him, before he really knew—the Titan War twisted him enough, before what happened to Lora and Ophelia."

"He was telling the truth?" Tristan looked down to his hands, stretching and curling his fingers. "I—how could you not tell me this? I—I was so scared, when I first developed both of the powers. I needed to know all of this! Do you know how many times Atomic Energy almost caught me, that my own father apparently tried to kill me?"

Claire placed her hand on Tristan's, a silent reassurance. That seemed to bring him back a few paces from the metaphorical ledge.

"I knew you were Renegade, I know my own powers." World Jumper examined the skin on the back of her hand. "But I didn't have any right to stop you. And I figured you knew enough, if you were avoiding Atomic Energy and even I didn't know what was going on until that point."

"So you're not sorry, that you didn't tell me?" He raised his eyebrows.

"No. I won't apologize for keeping you safe from the truth."

"I don't see how any of this involves me, I already knew a lot of this, from back when I worked with Heretic," Julien said.

"You worked with Heretic?" Claire cried.

"I helped her create that chip Tenebrous used, it was a few years ago." Julien shrugged. "I told you I used to be worse, Claire. I wasn't exaggerating."

"We've all made mistakes in this room," Ms. Browning-Ward finally said. "But that doesn't matter now. We need to figure out how to stop Sam, now. And in order to do that, we all need to get our secrets out in the open, and that includes secret identities."

"You're Renegade." World Jumper pointed at her son. "You're Psyche, and based on the news, he's Warlock."

Henry blushed beside me and nodded.

"And obviously you're Mercury."

She then looked to Julien. "You want to enlighten them?"

"Fine." Julien sighed. "I'm Tech Wizard. Hero, villain, and everything in-between."

"What about you, Holly?" Claire looked to her step-mother.

"I don't have any powers or secret identities." She paused, thoughtful. "Unless you want to call me a super mom."

I found myself laughing, as did everyone around the table. It wasn't funny—but I think we all just needed to laugh.

When it subsided, Nimbus surveyed us. "I'm guessing it's too late, curfew started, so we'll have to let you stay the night. We can talk strategy in the morning."