[POV: Piper]

My name is Piper Reyes. I'm a journalist and proud member of the school press. Not to brag, but I've got a photographic memory, which makes acing classes a breeze. I remember everything—every word, every face, every event. You'd think that would make life easier, right? But it's more complicated than that. People either get intimidated by it or, worse, they try to get close just to use me. Friends were always temporary, and trust? Well, that's a rare commodity.

That was until I met Rowe Hargrave.

Rowe is... different. She's the kind of person who just says whatever's on her mind, no filter, no sugarcoating. It's refreshing and maddening all at once. She has this unshakable confidence, like she couldn't care less about what people think. And sometimes, like when I broke up with my ex, she could be brutally honest at the worst possible times. "You knew he was a jerk, what were you expecting?" Yeah, thanks, Rowe. Very helpful.

But despite her lack of tact, there's something about her that draws you in. Maybe it's because she's never fake. She doesn't try to manipulate me, doesn't want anything from me except my friendship. And that's something I can respect. It's why we've stuck together for so long.

But lately... lately something feels off.

I've noticed how she's been disappearing at odd hours, coming back like nothing happened. She thinks I don't see it, but I do. She's been quieter, distracted. Her eyes have this distant look, like she's carrying some invisible weight she's not telling me about. I tried to ask her a few days ago, but I chickened out halfway through and ended up asking something dumb like, "Who have you been sneaking off to meet?"

She just laughed it off. But I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she's hiding—it's big.

I keep telling myself she'll share it with me when she's ready. But honestly? I'm tired of waiting. So here I am, alone in her room, rummaging under her bed like a creep. If she ever found out, she'd kill me—metaphorically speaking, of course.

After a few minutes of blindly feeling around, my hand finally brushed against something cold and hard. I pulled it out, my heart racing.

It was a bat. A worn-out red metal bat, covered in scratches and dents.

I frowned, holding it up to the light. What in the world would Rowe need a bat for? And not just any bat—this one had seen use. The edges were scuffed, the metal chipped in places. It wasn't some decorative thing she kept around for fun. This was practical.

This was... dangerous.

I felt a chill run down my spine. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Rowe, my best friend, was tough—way tougher than she let on. But this? This was something else.

What is going on, Rowe?

[POV: Third-Person]

The hum of a lone motorbike echoed through the empty streets of Havendale, cutting through the midnight stillness. Rowe rode, her eyes scanning the quiet surroundings. The night was calm, unusually so, and the familiar weight of unease settled in her gut.

"It's pretty quiet tonight... guess that's a good thing," she muttered to herself, leaning into a left turn. "At least no one's getting hurt."

As she passed through the dimly lit avenues, far above her, a shadow moved. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, a man stood with binoculars in hand, his breath clouding the chilly night air. He watched Rowe's bike closely, the metallic red bat strapped to her side catching the faint glow of streetlights.

"Red Bat spotted at Fifth Avenue," he whispered into his comms, his voice low and tense.

A crackle came through his earpiece. "Affirmative. Moving out."

The man sighed, his breath ragged as he glanced down at the street far below. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the figure on the bike. "Never thought I'd end up hunting down a kid," he muttered, slinging a rope over the edge. He hesitated one last time before jumping over the side, descending swiftly, the look in his eyes conflicted.

Meanwhile, Rowe had been driving for hours, the low rumble of her bike and the cool air the only companions. Her focus wavered as fatigue settled in. "Maybe I should call it a night," she thought aloud. "I've been going in circles... could use some gas anyway."

She coasted into the nearest gas station, the neon lights flickering overhead, illuminating the empty lot. The bike came to a slow stop, and the sudden silence felt jarring after hours on the road. Rowe flipped her visor up, the faint click breaking the stillness as she pulled off her helmet, her hair falling loose. She inhaled deeply, the night air sharp against her skin.

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Something feels... off.

Shrugging off the thought, she swiped her card at the gas pump. Each press of the buttons echoed loudly, the sound unnaturally harsh in the quiet of the night. As the pump clicked into place, Rowe's senses were on alert. The calm had become unsettling, and she couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on her.

SWOOSH!

The air rippled as Rowe barely evaded a vicious punch, her instincts kicking in just in time. She leapt two meters back, her boots skidding on the pavement. "She dodged it?" a woman's voice hissed from the shadows. Rowe's gaze shifted to five figures, all draped in black like wraiths of the night. Their faces were masked, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

Rowe blinked, tilting her head with a casualness that rattled them. "What gives?" she asked, cracking a grin that sliced through the tension. Her nonchalance made their fingers twitch, and without another word, they shifted into fighting stances.

"Get her!" the woman barked, her voice dripping with venom. The others lunged forward, sprinting toward Rowe with bloodlust.

Rowe rolled her neck, ready to strike, but before her muscles could tense, she felt it—a searing shock ripping through her body. Her limbs froze, spasms locking her in place as her knees buckled. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see figures looming from the shadows, their stun guns aimed directly at her.

Zap! Zap! More volts surged through her, pinning her to the spot.

"ARGH!" Rowe screamed, the agony painting her vision red. The woman approached, her eyes narrowing behind the mask, lips curling in sadistic delight. "Did you think we'd just run at you like idiots?" she sneered, looming over Rowe like a predator.

Rowe gritted her teeth, forcing her body to obey despite the waves of pain wracking her. Slowly, she raised both hands, fingers trembling as they formed two clear middle fingers. A hoarse chuckle escaped her, a mocking laugh that sliced through the woman's smugness like a knife.

STOMP!

"BRAT!" the woman shrieked, driving her boot into Rowe's hand with bone-crushing force. A sickening crack echoed as Rowe howled in pain, her fingers bending in ways they shouldn't.

"Hey! She's just a kid!" one of the men, clearly uneasy, grabbed the woman's arm, trying to yank her back. "Enough!"

"Let go of me!" the woman spat, turning back, but she never finished her sentence.

CRACK!

An electrified fist slammed into her chin, sending her body flying through the air like a ragdoll. Rowe stood over her, eyes blazing with fury, clutching the sparking wires she'd ripped from the stun guns. Her knuckles smoked from the impact, her whole body trembling with pent-up rage.

"How the hell—?!" one of the mercenaries gasped, scrambling for a gun, hands shaking as panic set in. His wild eyes locked on Rowe as he fumbled with the trigger. "The contract said dead or alive, right?!"

"Yeah... good luck with that," Rowe growled, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she moved, faster than any of them could follow. Her fist shot out, colliding with the man's throat. He gurgled, his windpipe crushed in an instant, dropping to the ground clutching at his neck, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

The others froze, the fight draining from their bodies as terror took over. "W-we surrender!" the man who had tried to restrain the woman yelled, raising his hands high. The others followed, too scared to even meet Rowe's eyes.

Rowe stood there for a moment, chest heaving as she stared them down, her face grim. She stalked forward, the darkness swallowing her steps, until she stood toe to toe with the man. "Who sent you?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick night air like a blade. Even though he was taller, the man shrank beneath her glare.

"We're just mercenaries! There's a bounty on your head—worth hundreds of thousands!" he stammered, desperation leaking into his words.

Rowe's eyes narrowed. "Who posted the bounty?" she demanded, her voice low, vibrating with barely contained fury.

"It was posted anonymously," the man admitted, his tone terrified yet sincere. "Through a secret site."

Rowe felt her stomach twist. The idea that someone—anyone—was gunning for her made her blood run cold, though she kept her face impassive. She took a step back, letting her gaze rake over them one last time.

"Fine," she spat, her voice still laced with anger. "Go. But if I see any of you again... you won't be so lucky next time."

She stuck her tongue out at them, a taunt more infuriating than anything else. The mercenaries scrambled away, humiliated and terrified, exchanging anxious glances.

As they piled into their car, one of the younger ones yanked off his mask, seething. "Why'd you surrender?! We outnumbered her, and she didn't even have her weapon!"

The leader sighed deeply, staring ahead as if haunted. "She's a superhuman... you wouldn't stand a chance."

The weight of those words fell over them like a suffocating blanket. Silence filled the car, and no one dared question him again.

Back at the gas station, Rowe dusted off her clothes, wincing at the bruises forming beneath her skin. She picked up her helmet, slipping it back on as if nothing had happened. Revving the engine of her bike, she sped off into the night, the cool air hitting her face through the visor.

But hidden in the shadows, Piper stood inside the gas station convenience store, her hands trembling. The phone in her grip still recording, she pressed save on the video, her breath shaky.

"Rowe..." Piper whispered, her mind reeling as she stared at the footage of her best friend doing things she never thought possible.

[POV: Rowe]

I made it back safely, though my hand was still a mess. I stopped by a store for some bandages, but the damn thing's taking its sweet time to heal. I could fix it instantly—if I killed myself. The thought crossed my mind, but... that's never easy. Besides, I heal fast enough on my own. A couple of days, no big deal.

When I got back to my dorm, the night was deep, the campus silent. I unlocked the door, ready to crash and put this day behind me. But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze.

Piper was sitting at the table, waiting. Her usual sass was nowhere to be found—only tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes. She looked up at me, her lips trembling.

"Rowe..." she whispered, her voice cracked with sadness and something else I couldn't quite place. She held up her phone, her hands shaking. On the screen, a video played.

It was me.

The fight with those mercs. Every punch, every reckless move, all of it—caught on camera.

I stood there, staring at the video, unable to breathe, my mind racing. She had seen it all.

"Piper... I—" The words caught in my throat.

She wiped her eyes, her expression torn between concern and hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice barely holding together.

I had no idea what to say, but I knew, after tonight, nothing would ever be the same.