The door closed behind her, and she walked to the bed. The blinds were shut, only a muted glow from the sun permeating the slats. Blocked from the day outside, the room had a stuffy, sterile feel to it.

Bobby's bed lay horizontal to the window and door. Above him, the wall was decorated with a collage of instrumentation that flashed and beeped at various intervals. Maisie recognised a heart rate monitor, but little else. There was an IV stand next to him, a bag of some clear liquid dripping slowly into his veins. He didn't look up as she entered — couldn't, his head immobilised by a neck brace.

She sat in the chair at the end of his bed, where she would be in his line of vision, and took him in. She wanted to hate him, but he looked so wan and sick, it was hard not to feel pity.

His eyes darted over her face, lingering on the bruises, then went back to looking at his covers. After a couple of seconds, he said, ‘Does it hurt?’ The words seemed to drag themselves out of him, filled with an emotion she couldn't quite read.

‘Yes,’ she said, not seeing a reason to lie.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘I want you to know — I'm sorry. About yesterday.’

Was he serious?

‘What?’ she asked.

‘I didn't mean to hurt you.’

She laughed incredulously. ‘You have a funny way of showing it.’

His cheeks flushed guiltily. She stared at him. Was he faking remorse? Hoping she'd put in a good word for him when it came to prosecution? Fat luck with that; even if she felt the slightest inclination to help him, she couldn't wield the influence of her father. But, she decided as she examined his face, the emotion appeared genuine.

‘I don't get it. Last night, you were trying to kill me. You would have bashed my head in, and then stepped over my corpse to get at my brother. But today, you apologise. Why?’

‘I don't remember everything that happened, but you have to know — that wasn't me! I don't hurt people, and I wouldn't have killed you!’

‘Sure, you wouldn't,’ said Maisie sarcastically, unconsciously touching her sternum in memory of his first blow. ‘And I look like this as a fashion statement.’

He winced. ‘I'm sorry.’ He seemed to wilt into the hospital bed.

‘How did you end up with The Gladiators, Bobby?’

Bobby fixedly wouldn’t look up. He fiddled with his I.V. tube, bending it this way and that, the quiet rustling of plastic against sheets joining the chorus beeps and distant clattering of trolleys.

‘You should probably stop doing that.’ She nodded at his wrist.

‘Oh.’ Hastily, he moved his hands apart. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously. ‘I wanted powers, just to try it, you know? And they said they could get Flight. They thought I was a joke at first, mocked me, made me run stupid errands. Maybe that's why I snapped when I took it. I beat up Cary. I've never beaten up anyone before.’

So, he was just the bullied young man on a power trip that she'd pegged him for at first? ‘I bet it did. Made you feel big, did it? You wanted to take down everyone that had made you feel small?’

‘No. Maybe. I don't know. I felt sick after. I’ve had people treat me bad before, and I’ve never been that angry. I’m not like that. I’m a good person — come on, your father was my idol!’

Again, this felt unfeigned.

‘Didn't stop you from beating me to a pulp.’

‘You don't understand,’ he said desperately. ‘In that moment, you stood for everything wrong, everything that I hate—’

Maisie cut him off. Scant minutes, that was all she had. She couldn't afford to waste this time. ‘It doesn't matter. You began resenting my father for being what he is, and the rest of us by extension — got it. Now—’

‘No! I don't hate your father — I want to be him. That's why I took Flight! That’s why I moved here! I never resented him.’ The force of his denial made him look up and meet her gaze. No lie that she could read.

‘You hated him last night.’

‘Yeah, I guess I did. It was strange. I thought — I was certain — he betrayed me or something. Now I can’t remember why. I swear, everything from when I first took Flight is blurry. It wasn't quite my emotion, you know? I've got some dissociating stuff going on, I guess.’

Either he was the greatest liar she'd ever seen, or he was telling the truth. She remembered the look in his eyes before he'd attacked her, so unlike the eyes that watched her imploringly now. Nobody understood what Flight actually did to its users, why some people went mad while others remained completely unaffected. Bobby hadn't been completely insane, but neither had his mind been working as it should. She didn't believe he was a killer under ordinary circumstances.

Something else was going on here. The questions were piling up, and the answers remained elusive.

‘I think I believe you. Look, Bobby, you want to be a hero like my father? Help me understand what's going on. Start with Flight. How did the Gladiators get ten crates out of nowhere?’

Bobby twitched what might have been a shrug, then winced. ‘I don't know much. I haven't been around them very long. It was new, and they were excited to be breaking into the big leagues, I could tell that much. I don't know where it came from.’

‘Why put it in the Kista warehouse?’ It was a question that had been plaguing her. Everyone knew the old industrial estate attracted trouble. Why risk your merchandise by keeping it in the most obvious place?

‘I don't know that, either. I wasn't too keen on the idea, but no one listened to me.’ Old bitterness etched the words. ‘Simon seemed convinced we were in the clear. He didn't even punish Charlie when he started bragging to his mates about what we had. I'll tell you this: when I asked Simon about it, before he told me to butt out, he said that our backer had friends in high enough places to pull us out of an inferno.’

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Nothing good. Still, there wasn’t much Maisie could do about it; there were lots of powerful men and women in the country, and she could hardly chase down every one.

Changing the subject, she said, ‘How many people were inside the warehouse with the crates?’

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. ‘Why? Did you forget to count?’

‘When we arrived, no one was there.’

‘What do you mean, no one was there? Everyone was there: Simon, Keith, Eliza, all of them. I heard when you attacked them. The others didn't, but I'd already taken Flight. The first things that changed were my senses. I listened to the fight.’ He seemed to look inward, eyes screwing up. ‘I didn't help them,’ he said, confusion colouring his voice. ‘Why didn't I help them? I like Keith and Eliza. They were always nice to me.’

Maisie leant forward. ‘Bobby, I need you to tell me exactly what you heard.’

‘You want me to replay their deaths! You killed them!’

Killed? She felt a frisson of shock run through her. The Gladiators had been a peripheral part of her life for so many years, and for half of them to be dead... But she couldn't think of that now. She needed to calm Bobby and get some answers.

‘No,’ she said, willing him to meet her gaze. ‘It wasn't us. They were killed, you say? Think: where were the bodies? When you attacked us, there was nobody else around. Whoever hurt those people did so before we arrived.’

‘I—’ he began. ‘I don't know. I wasn't thinking too clearly.’

‘I think your timeline is skewed. You must have heard Samson break in — anyone in a mile radius could hear it. The fighting was before, right? You might have been distracted by Alfred around then, but the only action we met was Samson hitting the same barrier that caused your injuries.’

He hesitated, then moved his head a fraction of a millimetre, which she took as a nod. ‘It was before Alfred. Before the bang. But how could anyone else get past us?’

Maisie had her suspicions. ‘I’m not sure whoever got there first needed a physical entrance.’

Bobby released a sharp exhale. ‘You mean that it was another Gifted?’

‘Yes.’ They could possibly be someone on Flight, but she leant away from that theory. There was something about the voice that made Maisie certain the being was no part-time power, and anybody controlling her must be formidable themselves.

Bobby opened his mouth to say more, but sounds from corridor made her hold up a hand. The door handle began to turn down. Maisie’s time was up.

Raised voices. The handle snapped up again, like the person turning it had been pulled away. She couldn't make out words, but she caught the tone: angry. How long could the officers outside delay?

Her eyes swung wildly from wall to wall, searching for an escape.

Bobby watched her with confusion. ‘What?’

‘Shhh,’ she hissed.

The window. She rushed to it, tugging on the cord to pull up the blind. It stuck. The more she tugged on it, the more obstinately it jammed, until it broke off in her hand. She tossed it aside.

The sounds beyond the door built, before slicing to silence. She barely had time to notice as she grabbed the bottom of the blinds, shoving them up and out of the way. The plastic slats clattered together, surprisingly heavy to lift.

She tried the window latch. Locked. Of course they wouldn't leave the window unlocked in the room of a criminal — even if he was hardly in any state to run away. Stupid.

She turned, getting ready to face whoever was coming. Excuses ran through her head, each more absurd than the last. Hi, ma'am, I just wandered into this guarded room by accident. Please don't tell anybody I was here. Like that would work.

The door swung open.

Maisie caught her breath. A woman in a nurse’s tunic backed into the room, bent over to accommodate the two bodies she dragged after her. Aaron Stephenson and his partner. They jammed in the doorframe and she grunted, letting go of the woman officer's collar to use both hands on the man.

Someone had pumped ice water into Maisie’s veins. She could do nothing but stand motionless. This wasn't a shift change, or a medical check-up. This person had nothing so benevolent in mind.

Bobby emitted a squeak.

The fake nurse didn't look up, continuing to arrange the police officers’ bodies.

Move! Maisie's hand went to the small of her back, where her hidden sheath would usually sit. But her fingers brushed clammy skin. She'd left it at home. The policewoman's feet cleared the threshold, and for a second, she saw her opening. If she could pass the intruder now, she could get help, raise the alarm. Who cared if they asked why she'd been there?

Her joints unfroze, and she dashed for the exit. A couple of metres stretched into a dozen, the universe playing a dolly zoom. Maisie felt each millimetre of progress.

She was so close. A couple more steps…

Something yanked at her shirt. She teetered on the edge of escape, reaching for the doorframe to claw her way through, but missed, her fingers grazing the trim as she went down.

She landed on her bottom, sending needles of pain up her back. More bruises.

The door closed.

Maisie opened her mouth to scream, and the air constricted, only a silent gasp came out. What on Earth?

The fake nurse looked down at her. ‘You shouldn't be here,’ she said.

Maisie clawed at her throat, choking for breath, but her lungs stayed achingly empty. She gagged, bit her teeth into void. For a second, all thoughts cut off as her body went into survival mode.

Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

Panicking wasn't working. With superhuman effort, she forced herself to relax, hands falling to her sides. Her eyes cleared enough to see Bobby gaping at the intruder.

‘You're not a nurse,’ said Bobby.

‘I’m not. I thought I had the disguise down pat, but your guards thought otherwise.’ The not-nurse eyed the bodies at her feet with mild irritation.

‘Are they...? Did you...?’

‘Not dead. I don’t kill bystanders if I can help it. I would have preferred to get in and out without being noticed, but I suppose one must adapt to the circumstances.’

She approached the bed, stepping past Maisie.

‘What do you want?’ Bobby choked.

‘I want to prevent the end of the world as we know it. And for that cause to be realised, unfortunately, you must die.’

Bobby jerked, a squeak that may have been building to a scream dying between his lips. Strain tightened the tendons of his face. Eyes bugged, veins pulsed. He began to thrash against his restraints. The covers slipped to his waist, and Maisie could see the frantic heaving of his chest as oxygen absented itself. Their attacker obviously had some kind of control over air.

Think, Maisie told herself. Her vision was losing focus at the edges. On the trolley next to Bobby's cot sat a jug of water. She tested her muscles. Weak, but they still had the reserves for one last-ditch attempt at survival.

She lunged to her feet, fingers closing on the jug’s handle. The intruder half-turned, but Maisie was already caught in an overhand swing. She pushed every ounce of strength and resolve behind her arm, desperation bolstering the oxygen-starved fibres. Water droplets traced its arc, awaiting gravity’s pull.

The jug connected, thick glass bottom to skull. Impact jarred Maisie’s shoulder.

The fake nurse continued to turn, shocked eyes meeting Maisie's, before her legs buckled, collapsing her to her knees.

For a second, the air lock broke and Maisie gasped in a breath. Then it was back in place. The woman's expression twisted with pained fury.

‘You dare!’

‘I dare,’ Maisie mouthed.

‘Foolish girl.’ Watering eyes blinked malevolence. ‘Young, bruised, and where you shouldn’t be. You’re the girl who got through the circle. She knows about you.’

But that single breath had reinvigorated Maisie, and she hefted the jug again, holding it threateningly above the woman's crown. Maisie pointed to her throat, eyes broadcasting a threat. Suffocate me, and I’ll brain you.

Bobby was barely moving. Her fingers tightened in resolve.

She saw the moment the other woman surrendered, the drop in her gaze and sag of her shoulders, before the pressure in the room released, and sweet air soothed Maisie’s airway.

Her chest filled, strength rushing to limbs in a dam-burst flood. It was difficult not to buckle from relief. Not yet.

Two attacks on the Gladiators in so many days. Add in the circle and the mysterious 'she' mentioned at both, and Maisie had to assume this woman worked for the same people who had beaten her family to the warehouse.

When her breathing settled enough to speak, she asked the one question she most wanted the answer to. ‘Who's she?’

The fake nurse sneered. Blood mapped a lightning fork from her hairline.

‘She's one of the Five.’ Maisie glimpsed a flash of colour between teeth before the woman bit down on something.

‘Wait—’

Too late. Foam pushed from the woman’s lips. Her eyes remained gloating until they rolled back in her head, and she fell, face first, onto the hospital floor.