Maisie stood frozen over the body, hand clutching the jug suspended in midair. The tips of the woman's blonde ponytail, thrown forward by the force of her fall, brushed the tops of Maisie's shoes. Those spider-silk strands felt crushing.

The woman’s last words played over and over. One of The Five.

Everyone knew the story of The Five. Twenty-six years ago, before the authorities grasped the extent of the problem posed by Flight, a student named David Sloan was given the drug at a rave. He developed incredible pyromantic abilities and, in the process, lost his mind. A quarter of the city burned. Police and firefighters proved helpless in the face of the inferno. The army was called in, but by then David Sloan was encased in a fireball two miles in diameter.

Watched by the world, five young Gifted walked into the blazing streets. When they came out, David Sloan was dead, and The Five were heroes, adored and unimpeachable.

Their names flashed across her mind: Emalia Knight, Zuzanna Kamińska, Alice Waters, Ishaan Balakrishna, and Sterling Arthur. Her father. The world liked messing with her. At least he couldn't be the 'she' behind this mess, but he had to know more than he revealed.

A muscle twinge made her lower her arm.

And still, she couldn’t look away from the hair on her shoe. Her tie to the dead. The small contact made the knowledge of a person dying in front of her more viscerally real than the body itself. She'd seen death before, but this was different. This time, she'd been looking into the woman's eyes, had seen the exact moment life and mockery fled their depths.

Maisie hadn't killed the assailant, but she would have. She'd been fully prepared to bludgeon the woman to the beyond had she failed to lift the airlock. Did that make Maisie like her father?

She shifted her foot, forcing the hair to slither to the floor. The next part she dreaded. Heart sick, she bent to feel the fake nurse’s neck. Clammy skin and bleak nothing. She’d wanted to be like her family so long, but not like this. Nothing here felt grand or heroic. The jug slipped from her fingers with a clatter. She straightened and turned away.

“Bobby?” she said, voice thready.

He made no response, but the machines around him continued to beep as normal. The slumped forms of the police officers lay in the corner next to the door, too still for comfort. She should go check on them.

From this angle, it was impossible to see whether their chests rose and fell. Don’t be dead, she silently begged, dropping to her knees by the side of the nearest fallen officer, the woman whose name she didn't know. The woman lay on her side, eyes closed, weathered face serene.

Basic first aid said to check the airways first. This seemed especially true when they'd been attacked by a Gifted with power over air. Bending to place her ear by the woman’s mouth, Maisie almost cried when she felt an exhale.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Without her there, they might have allowed the counterfeit past, no questions needed. They might be uninjured. But then, Bobby would be dead.

Washed under with guilt and relief, her eyes closed.

A shove took her to the ground. Her body accepted this new assault with feeble protest. Wearily, she considered she should have known better than to expect a break from the universe. Cold linoleum bit her cheek, and the inside of her nose itched from the scent of cleaning product. Something pressed into the small of her back — a knee, from the feel of it.

‘Don't move,’ rasped the woman officer’s voice.

Maisie’s wrists were wrenched up. An involuntary squeak left her throat.

‘Try that air trick a second time, and so help me, you’ll be the one not breathing.’

Mistaken for the fake nurse. At least it wasn’t personal.

‘It's me,’ Maisie croaked, trying to project reassurance. No easy feat into the kiss of the floor. ‘Maisie Arthur — you remember?’ The one who recently blackmailed you. Hopefully that wasn’t prominent in the woman's mind.

Pressure eased, and cautiously, so as not to startle, Maisie pushed herself upright. The woman moved back to make space. Other than a grey-tinged complexion and the trace of purple in her lips, she looked hale for her ordeal, and the regard she latched to Maisie could pierce stone.

‘Where’s the imposter?’ she asked. Fast followed by, ‘Ah,’ as she caught sight of the body over Maisie’s shoulder. While Maisie sat and nursed her aches, she strode to the bed to check Bobby.

Behind them, Officer Stephenson sat up.

‘Ida?’ he said urgently. ‘Are you okay?’

The woman — Ida — breathed a sigh. “Aaron, thank the gods. Yes. So’s Mr Furlong.”

‘Good.’ The hand he lifted to smooth the bald patch on his head shook slightly. ‘And you, kid?’

‘I'm fine,’ Maisie said. The side of her face that wasn't hampered by swelling twisted into a wry smile. ‘Or I'm no worse than I was before.’ Another wave of relief swept her, guilt riding its wake. ‘Gods, I was so worried she… I put you in danger by being here. I’m so sorry.’

‘Don't be stupid,’ said the policeman, not unkindly. With a groan, he heaved himself to his feet. ‘We knew something was off about her quick enough. One of us has to be in the room with any medical personnel. It's standard procedure in case of residual Flight effects.’

Ida grimaced. ‘The emergency on C ward. Do you remember?’ she asked her partner. ‘The whole place cleared out. I'd bet money it was a distraction.’

Officer Stephenson nodded grimly. ‘Probably right.’

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‘She was after Bobby,’ Maisie said.

‘She told us as much. When it was clear we weren’t falling for her ruse, she tried to bargain.’ A black scowl. ‘Seemed to think we were in the execution business, him being a criminal anyway.’

‘What else did she say?’

‘I think it’s your turn, kid. Her body’s behind you.’ He didn’t sound accusatory, but the weight in his delivery struck home. Two stares of authority pinned her in place, and she became uncomfortably aware of her seated status.

Before Maisie could work out where to begin, Ida said, ‘Not here, Aaron. We should take her down to the station, get an official statement. I'll call for backup.’ She reached for her radio.

Instinct caught Maisie’s tongue. ‘Wait!’

‘It's too late now,’ said Officer Stephenson on a sigh. ‘Ida's right. We have to face the consequences for you being here. That woman just assaulted two police officers and tried to kill a suspect in custody.’ Misunderstanding her panic, he added, ‘Don’t worry. Even without your connections, you’re covered by self-defence. No, it’ll be us who get it in the neck.’

‘She was sent by one of the Five.’

Her words fell like arrows. In that shattered-glass moment, they stole the air from the room for the second time that day. Ida’s hand dropped from her radio.

Officer Stephenson recovered speech first. ‘What?’

‘That’s what she said before she killed herself. I hit her with the jug, but she crushed something between her teeth before she died. She was covering for one of the Five.’

‘Your father?’

‘She spoke of a woman. Same as the thing in the warehouse.’

‘Your father recognised the circle. He has to know.’

Maisie swallowed. Hearing her suspicions in another’s mouth made the judgement harsher. Betrayal had a bitters — her betrayal for thinking it, and his for his secrets. ‘Yes.’

‘And now you want us to cover for him.’ Ida’s voice was dry as an August wind. ‘We won’t do it.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’ Her mind raced ahead of her, playing out scenarios. If she landed at the police station, only one ending awaited: her marched home by her father, disgraced. Silenced. ‘All you have is my word on what a dead woman said. Take me in now, and my father will fetch me out within the hour. They won’t hear me over him. He’ll sweep it away. If he wanted the authorities to know, he’s had plenty of time to tell them.’

A new intensity entered the older woman’s eyes. ‘Would he retaliate against you?’

Maisie thought of her mother on the couch at home, papery skinned from lack of sunlight, fragile bones protruding because she didn’t eat unless prompted. She thought of the blank expression betraying the broken mind beneath, and the storm that raged when that placid exterior broke and her mother's nightmares were released into the world.

‘No,’ Maisie muttered at last. Her father wouldn’t retaliate against her. He didn’t need to.

She could feel them examining her for a lie and kept her face bland.

Officer Stephenson nodded unhappily. ‘Okay. But we can hardly ignore this. You follow procedure. Even when it’s futile. Especially when it’s futile.’

She was losing them.

‘But it doesn't have to be futile!’ she burst out. ‘If you try to investigate, you'll hit a brick wall within moments of opening the case. If you even get to investigate. If my father doesn’t meddle with your careers. But you have me. I'm part of this world. I can do what you can’t. I know these people — I used to play at Emalia Knight's house when I was little. Let me try to find who’s behind this. Let me get you the evidence that can't be brushed away.’

‘I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly.’ Ida rubbed the crease between her brows.

Officer Stephenson put it more bluntly. ‘Get a kid to catch a Gifted murderer? What kind of operation do you think we're running?’

They were right. But so was she. ‘The kind of operation my father runs. I'm already in this, whether you help me or not. This is my life. Please.’ She thought of the voice in the circle calling her a 'Vessel'; of the thing that watched her out of Bobby the giant's eyes, old and malevolent; of the pull of the Flight. I'm so deep in this that I can barely see above the surface.

The radio squawked. ‘Detectives Smith and Caulson, coming to relieve you of your post in five minutes.’ A crackle, and then someone said in a different voice, ‘Sorry we're late. Caulson got tied down on the bog.’

And she was out of time. Her heart sank. The desperate part of her wanted to beg, but she knew her only chance was to look strong, so she stood firm, lips sealed. Their eyes scoured her. She jutted her chin.

Ida swore. ‘I'm going to regret this. Aaron?’

He sighed. It was the sigh of Atlas releasing the sky. ‘What the hell. Fine, kid, we'll try to keep this under wraps. If we can. Going by the books now means losing our jobs anyway,’ he added with fatalistic shrug. ‘Might as well see if we can catch the bad guys before we're all tossed out on our arses.’

Maisie tried not to let her relief show.

Officer Stephenson moved behind her to lift the jug. ‘You say you hit her with this?’ He rubbed his fingers over the handle, then let it drop to the floor. Glass shattered in a starburst across the floor. ‘That should hinder fingerprints. Ida, go lie down in the corner like you haven't got up yet. I'll pretend I fought off the attacker before she killed herself.’

‘Why do you get to be the hero that fought off the attacker?’

‘Because I thought to touch the jug first. Snooze you loose. Maybe try a snore for believability’

Ida bared her teeth. ‘Laugh while still can. You’re buying beers for the next month. The next year, even.’

Despite herself, Maisie found she liked them. They had kept their sense of humour — not an easy thing to do in a world full of Flight, politics and Gifted.

Without further protest, Ida sank into the corner, propping herself against the wall like she needed to borrow strength from it.

Officer Stephenson was suddenly serious. He tugged a notebook out of his pocket and scribbled something down, tearing off the bottom of the page. ‘My number. Call me when you find anything. Anything. And if you need help, go down to the precinct and ask for me or Ida Webb. You better go now, kid, before we call this in.’

Maisie folded the number and shoved it deep into her pocket.

She reached the door, and was just about to pull down the handle, when the sound of footsteps and a trolley wheeling down the corridor made her stop. Apparently whatever distraction put into place for the attack had ended. She was trapped.

She looked at the bed. The sheets and blankets didn't reach to the floor, so hiding underneath was out of the question. Maybe if she clung to the underside like a spider monkey... That was a stupid idea.

Officer Stephenson had taken his radio out. He paused. ‘What's wrong?’

‘There are people out there. I'll be seen.’

‘Go out the window.’ He said it like it was the obvious option.

‘I tried. Before the assailant came into the room, I tried to get out. It's locked. For Bobby, I assume.’

‘No, it's not. How would he escape in his condition? It's against fire safety regulations to lock the windows unless entirely necessary.’

‘It's locked,’ Maisie insisted.

Officer Stephenson went to the window. He reached for the cord to the blinds that was no longer there, and when he couldn't find it, checked the other side.

‘I pulled it off,’ Maisie said. She walked over to join him. ‘It's on the floor over there.’

‘Oh.’ He pushed up the slats and took hold of the latch.

Maisie waited.

The latch moved up easily. Maisie flushed with embarrassment.

Officer Stephenson shrugged, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. ‘Maybe you loosened it.’

Sure she had.

‘Go now,’ he said more urgently. ‘If our replacements arrive to find us awake without having called for backup, this whole ruse will be blown.’

The window's mechanism didn't allow it to open wide, and it took some undignified and painful wiggling on Maisie's part to get through. The second she cleared the gap, it was slammed closed and the blinds dropped back into place.

Still, she kept a low profile until she was next to solid brick, where there was no chance of a silhouette raising suspicions.

She looked up at the blue sky, where the linings of the clouds were beginning to catch traces of yellow as the afternoon turned to early evening. Now she had to deliver on her promise and stay alive.

Right. Easy.