Heroes and their captured criminal stop feet from Thea. Waylon breaks eye contact with her; his face is motionless, carved of stone. An unchanging sculpture that stares forward in apathy, guilt, anger, or resolution. Thea can't tell which.

Heart beating and knife twisting, she clutches at her chest. Not again. Not now. Breathe.

The strongman grabs Waylon by his forearm and leads him forward. Past Thea. "Gary! Benjamin! Great to see you two. Is the ambulance free or are you attending to Miss Thea there?"

He... he knows who I am; I'm done for. They'll take me to jail, I'll get sucked into a gang, and then I'll have to murder people to prove myself. Or some prison chapel priest will pit me against the other inmates and—

Ben stammers somewhere behind her. "B-Barclay! You remember me?"

Barclay claps him on the shoulder. "Of course I do! I'd never forget a proud man of our emergency response services, no matter how recently you started. Enjoying your work so far? Gary's been treating you well, right?"

Thea twists at her hip to better see the four men. From her seat upon the asphalt, Barclay eclipses her. His bald head blots out the moon and his frame casts a shadow that could stretch to the aquarium far behind her. She shivers. Not from cold: from fear rampaging through her veins.

Snapping his feet together, Ben docks a flattened palm at eyebrow level in salute. "Y-yes sir! Most rewarding work I've ever been a part of!"

Gary grabs Ben's saluting hand and yanks it down. "Come on, Benjamin. Be cool: you're making him uncomfortable. He's just doing his job like the rest of us." Gary looks over Waylon. His eyes travel from a clearly favored foot to cuffed, blood-stained hands. Then he spares a glance for Thea. "As for the young lady there, she's refused to go with us despite our insistence. So we have room; we can take him."

"Wonderful!" Barclay nudges Waylon forward — too hard. Waylon stumbles into Gary and the grizzled EMT catches him, keeping him upright. Barclay rings one twirl of his mustache around a finger and tugs. "Whoops! Sorry about that: don't know my own strength."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Thea's heart seizes up; she claws at her chest, trying to relieve the building pressure. Chewn nails run useless over the weave of her cassock. He'll kill me. He'll shove me, I'll fall, and he'll lose his patience and beat me to death. Or that helmet woman will. Or Waylon will turn around and do it himself. Or—

"Oof." Gary struggles under Waylon's weight. "You've got to be more careful, Barclay. Sorry, sir: just lean on me." He leads Waylon to the stretcher and helps him up. "You all really shouldn't have made him walk. Umph — didn't you see his leg?"

After a series of well-practiced movements, both EMTs slide the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and lock it in place. Waylon stares out; his eyes flow over the sea of people with a thousand league stare.

Thea catches a moment of his attention, but just that: a moment. His eyes dart away the next. Whatever emotions they harbor, it's scary. Terrifying. Like an encounter with the ocean's vast, unyielding darkness.

Shivers thrum through her bones and the earth itself shakes. Barclay steps toward her. She stares ahead, unblinking and frozen. Terror claws at her insides; it rips her thoughts to shreds and leaves behind a desolate creature that can do nothing but exist.

He squats in front of her, beaming a smile from beneath his curly, oiled mustache. "Wonderful to meet you, Thea! I've been dying to talk with you." He juts a palm out toward her. "Barclay, if you didn't hear."

Before she can stop, she's raising her hand to meet his. That's what she's supposed to do right? That's what's proper? The hand clutching at her heart goes limp, only staying in place due to the fabric tangled between her fingers.

Barclay doesn't wait for her tepid approach. He clasps his hand over hers and drags her in tight for—? He abandons the handshake and wraps his arms around her, squeezing the life out of her. "T-Thank you so m-much!" His words are garbled; snotty and wet. "Avery having such a good friend... t-thank y-you!"

What?

That's what surfaces between the chimes of her brain's low-oxygen warning bells. Barclay's shoulder digs into her throat; embers tingle throughout her lungs. Yet, all she can feel is relief. Really? I'm okay?

Barclay tightens his grip, sobs racking his shoulders. "T-thank you. Thank you. I'm so glad she's okay and that she had you and—"

The helmeted lady tugs on Barclay's shoulder. "You're going to strangle her if you don't let up."

Thea barley hears what they're saying. I... I have a future again?