Flicking on my bedroom light one last time to see if there’s anything I forgot, I run through my mental checklist again.

Toiletries, check.

Duffel bag, check.

Menageries pouch, check.

I pour out all the little trinkets I've been shuffling away into the dimensional pouch onto my bed, ensuring the compass and earring are both still there.

Okay. Good. I'm sure there’s something I've forgotten, but it's not anything literally life or death, so I’ll get over it.

“Brooke, honey, are you finished packing? This is the kind of thing you can’t be late for,” I hear from downstairs, my mother’s voice comically muffled.

I crack my door open so I don't have to shout quite as loud. “Yeah! Just finished double checkin—”

“You took your toothbrush back out.” Roosevelt supplies, reminding me now that I’ve packed everything away already.

“Ugh, one second, actually!”

I don't need to hear her to know the exact groan she's making right now, though I am sad to miss it.

Clicking the protective casing around the top of my toothbrush, I shove it in my toiletry pouch and start waddling sideways down the stairs with my far-too-wide bag.

“Your father and brother are already in the car; vamoose, my child!”

She considers being on time as late, and being late as a cataclysmic event, so we must be fine on time if this is the limit of her panic. Her hands grab my shoulders, holding them in order to inspect my stationary form.

“Private Brooke, reporting for duty!” I announce, straightening my spine and giving her a faux salute as she manhandles me.

A weary sigh preludes her response, aging her expression a few years. “My darling daughter, that joke may have found its mark had you not literally enlisted yourself. Do you have your toothbrush?”

My smile turns sheepish, both at the enlistment comment and the fact that I did nearly forget my toothbrush. “It's in my bag.”

“Did your eldritch friend have to remind you?”

“I plead the fifth.” I repond, resolutely.

Her unimpressed gaze flattens my spirit as she speaks, “Without a federal government, you’re going to have a hard time enforcing any convenient amendments for yourself. I got the answer I needed, regardless. Thank you for taking care of my foolish daughter, Mr. Roosevelt.”

I feel the sapient cephalopod stir within my mind: “Thank her for all her work so far; it must have been incredibly difficult.”

“You're out of my mind if you think I'm gonna let you insult me and then tell my own mother for you.”

Curious, as anyone would be at this point, my mother asks, “Does he have something to say to me?” Though I sense smugness behind her innocent question.

I'm surrounded by sadists. Is there no way out of this hell?

“...He wanted to thank you as well,” I reply carefully, shifting my bag to a less sore part of my shoulder.

All she does is hum knowingly, but honestly, that might be worse than anything she could have said. I walk out the door at her urging, though the van I expected to see is missing. And so is the rest of my family.

“Did they leave without...” I start, interrupted by the familiar lowering of a car window into a car that otherwise is not there.

My dad's head pokes out, looking positively giddy about the situation.

“Hurry and get in! No one else is awake right now, but we shouldn't take any chances,” he shout-whispers.

I try not to think about the implications of him knowing whether our neighbors are awake or not, and toss my luggage into the now visible open trunk.

“You're certainly gung-ho about using your abilities now that we know about them,” I comment, sliding into the back seat next to my brother.

“Of course I am! Do you know how hard it is to not show off all the cool stuff you can do to your kids?” he says, enthused. “If I knew I'd be spilling the beans anyway, I wish I'd shown you guys when you were younger and still full of wonder.”

Victor looks through the seat in front of him at my dad in disbelief. “It's fuckin magic, dad. I don't think there’s a point you don’t feel awe towards it.”

“And I’m still plenty young and full of wonder.” I tack on, glad to see my dad smiling so genuinely.

He shifts into reverse, backing out onto the street with our invisible SUV before letting out a sniffle.

“I've got such good kids.”

***

My skin tingles as Dad uncloaks the van; the warping chthonic energy much easier for me to notice than it would have been a month ago.

The two soldiers manning the checkpoint nearly jump out of their skins as we regain visibility, though they regain their composure faster than I'd expect and pass us through.

I guess you really can get used to anything after a while.

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We stop before we reach the black and yellow lines painted on the ground—a restricted zone within a restricted zone—and pull into one of the designated parking spots.

“The people here are all audited and considered trustworthy, but I've never been the type to rely on recommendations,” my father says, turning to look at me. “So I'll be heading out first to check on the airship. You're welcome to join me, but I figured saying your goodbyes as yourself would be more important to you than your identity.”

He activates his ascendant form as he talks to me, hundreds of bright blue lines spreading from the center of his chest and solidifying into sharp-looking pieces of plate.

“I'd like to avoid spreading my identity more than necessary, but you're right that I wouldn’t give up my proper goodbyes for it.”

His smile turns soft, giving him a sentimental look as his helmet finishes forming around his head. ”Then I'll be needing my hug a little earlier than everyone else.”

The center console stabs into my gut as I lean over it to hug him, and his pointy armor only makes the experience worse overall.

I still wouldn't trade it for anything.

“Stay safe, Buttercup.”

I squeeze him harder, able to use much more of my strength on him than I could a normal person. It's an incredibly comforting feeling.

“I will. I promise.”

We break apart, much to the relief of my gut, but it also feels like all the confidence I’ve scrounged up goes with him as he disappears. The door opens and closes on its own, marking his otherwise traceless departure.

“It's about time for us to go too, Brooke,” Mom says, putting her hand on my knee. “Go ahead and see the other Vanguard first; we'll be waiting for you by the docks.”

Hooking my fingers into the door handle, I start to open it before pausing, having thought of an idea.

“Actually, I was thinking about introducing Victor to them; would that be alright?”

My brother whips around so quickly that I hear one of his bones pop, though I'm not sure which one.

Probably his back; he's got garbage posture.

“Are you for real?” he asks, a sort of subdued excitement peeking out from his normally apathetic shell.

I feel a bit of guilt for thinking of this as a way to regain the older sister points I lost yesterday, but we all do what we must in times of struggle.

“I don't see them having any problems with it. Who's your favorite?” I ask, catching my mother's subtle thumbs up as she gets out of the car.

“If we're only talking about our cities Vanguard, then it's obviously Revision. Do you know each other?”

“The correct answer was me, but yeah, he's probably the one I know second-best after Catherine,” I say, stepping out of the car myself.

I spot the targets of our conversation congregating together, chatting outside the open door of a massive hangar. Or at least they seemed to be chatting; is that Duff hiding behind Catherine?

Picking up the pace, I lead my brother to the gaggle of superhumans I’ve grown frighteningly close to in this short time.

It's Menagerie who notices me first as I walk up, only slightly shifting her head as she sits comfortably on Revision's shoulder. With her umbrella out and covering both of their heads from the sun, I can't help but think they'd make an incredible statue together.

“Oh, good. Maybe now that you're here, they'll stop this revolting display,” she spits, venomously.

Duff looks shocked to be included in that generalization, stamping his prosthetic leg. “Could ye naot suggest tha’ I, in any wae, want ta be involved with this woman?”

I cover my—nearly eighteen-year-old—brother's ears, having a bad feeling despite not understanding the situation at all.

“That's- not the tune you were singing last time we met, Duffin.”

The word “duffin” hits me like a physical blow, staggering me backward.

“I dinnae ken ya tae be this aff yer fockin heid!” he shouts back, brandishing his arm dramatically.

Her smile is predatory as she responds, “I like you most when I can't understand a damn word you're saying. Now enjoy your goodbyes; just know I'm not heading back to New R'lyeh without a taste.”

It takes an enormous amount of willpower to not actively retch at the way her gravelly voice said that word, and I'm really just glad I saved Victor from it.

“That was super gross. I can't believe I have a poster of her.” He says, destroying my twinkle of hope.

Duff looks positively hopeless as well; his complexion paler than when he was forced to fight after cutting his own leg off.

“So who's the Brooke-a-like?” Revision asks, brushing the awkward silence away like it’s nothing.

“Ah, that's—I'm Victor, Brooke's sister. Brother. She’s my sister. Shit.” He blurts, turning redder with every word.

Nobody laughs outwardly, but a few grins are shared, including my own.

“I heard from your sister that you're a fan; how would you like a signed picture? I'd planned on taking one before she left anyway,” Catherine suggests, neon green light erupting from her fingers and forming a rectangle.

He takes a second to respond, his hesitance serving as the brakes for his anxiety. “Would that really be okay? I wouldn't want a special picture like this to have someone you don't know in it.”

Revision snags my brother by the back of his shirt, hoisting him up onto his other armored shoulder like he's some sort of lion cub.

“Nonsense! If you're Brooke's family, that makes you our family. You’re right where you belong.”

His words hit me like a stray shot, settling comfortably in my heart like they were meant for me and not my brother. Does that apply to me too?

Am I right where I belong?

“C’mon lass, get tae changin an’ squeeze yerself in here.” Duff demands, pulling my arm with the crook of his cane.

I guess I must be.

I activate my ascendant form as he asks, the thin black threads sealing my vital areas away snugly as I slide my way between him and Catherine.

“Could you hold the camera up, Brooke? There’s too much height difference between us all to take it like a selfie,” Catherine asks, handing me the tablet she conjured up.

I wrap my tendrils around its corners, securing it in place. “My pictures always end in disaster, but I'll give it a shot. Sorry if I cut your head off, Menagerie,” I apologize, glancing up at her.

Her boot lightly taps my beret in admonishment. “Only if you're prepared to lose your own, squidling.”

“Squidling!?” I scoff, raising some of my tentacles. “I'll show you a squidling!”

Cshht

The camera's click surprises us both, yet it's still not as surprising as the floating eel who apparently took the picture.

“Hannibal, you missed your calling. This is a wonderful picture.” Catherine compliments, scratching her contractor's smooth head as she examines the tablet.

She then turns it toward us, and admittedly, that eel has an eye for photography.

Both Catherine and Duff are wearing their normal good-natured smiles, Revision is cheesing—still is—and Menagerie and I look like opposite sides of an absurdist painting. Best of all? Victor looks to be the happiest I think I've ever seen him.

“Could I get one of these before I go too?” I ask, not altogether sure how they plan on printing them out here.

“Did you think I'd exclude you for some reason?” She replies, and I notice her already passing out copies and a couple of Sharpies to the others. How did she even make those?

Duff passes me the sharpie and signing copy, only the directors and my own names missing from it. “Are you sure you want your sister's name on this?” I ask, mostly just hesitant to autograph something for the first time. It makes me feel... pompous, or something.

He does his best to slide off Revision’s massive pauldron, bending his knees with a grunt as he hits the ground. “You’re a—oomph—a Vanguard, aren’t you? I’m not gonna get picky about this sort of thing.”

Right. Fair. No way around it then.

I scribble the only letters I remember how to write in cursive, covering part of my chest and Revision’s gut with black. “No take-backsies, this shit is now p e r m a n e n t,” I state, passing it full circle back to Catherine.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” he responds, but his snarky comment sounds soft as he fondly looks at his prize. “Thanks, B. I’ll head back over to Mom so you can say goodbye properly. Just don’t leave without coming to see me; I have something to give you before you go.”

He thanks the rest of the Vanguard, getting slightly too excited when Revision offers him a fist bump, and walks away down the tarmac.

“Good lad. Got ‘imself a vice oar two, but tha’s tae be expected.” Duff states, leaning on his cane. It’s hard to pick up his expressions through the mutton chops, but right now, he seems particularly pensive. “...Ya bes bide through this, aye? Ah'm Afeared how tha lot a us sook'n bastarts'll fare if ya goat done-in.”

The meaning of “sook'n” aside, I grasp the majority of what he's saying pretty quick. Don't die, or everyone here is gonna have a major breakdown. Which isn’t surprising; they were all kind of toeing the edge to begin with.

“Don't worry so much; I've become pretty capable, right? Besides, you know the guys you're sending with me.” I give him a light smack on the back with some tendrils. “We’ve got a secret weapon anyway; have some faith.”

His brows furrow, disconcerted. “Wha the hell kinda weapon are ye dodderin about? I didnae approve o’ that."

“A Vanguard, what else?” I respond with a smirk, throwing the words he told me at the funeral back at him.

He reels back a bit and Catherine barks out a laugh, sliding the sergeant out of the way. “The worst part of parting has got to be the fact that I won't have anyone to make fun of the old man with.” She jibes, opening her arms for a hug.

I, of course, leap at the chance and squeeze her as tight as I’m able. “I’ll be with his old war buddies the whole time, think of this as a chance for us to gain new material on him.”

Duff’s mutton chops shift about as he scowls, grumbling about getting back his wasted emotions.

“That’s true, this is quite an unprecedented opportunity, isn’t it?” She hums, brushing some of my hair to the side. It moves right back where it was on its own, earning me a chortle.

“You guys have barely been in my life for any time at all, yet you’ve become so intrinsically important to me out of nowhere,” I lament, reluctantly separating myself from Catherine. “Isn’t this that suspension bridge thing?”

A deep crimson claw holds its palm up, serving as a step down for Menagerie as she comes down to my level. “Not as such; that theory was firmly disproven some time ago. Though we are rather known for our impact.”

“For better or for worse,” Revision chips in, unhelpfully.

I’m a bit surprised when she takes my hands, very lightly squeezing them with each of hers like I’m some thin sculpture made of ice; prone to shattering. It’s clear this is something outside of the comfort zone she normally mandates of the world around her, but I’m hardly in any position to stop her if it’s a choice she’s made for herself.

An uncommon sign escapes her lips, leaving her expression in weary contrast with the striking nature of her cosmetics. “You mentioned that this intrinsic importance came out of nowhere, but that is a... misnomer. The other Vanguard’s, and reluctantly, my own affections, are born from the terrifying combination of tenacious empathy and the single-minded passion in which you—for whatever reason—do everything.”

The words she’s saying are so incredibly kind, but why do I feel so uncomfortable? It’s not overwhelming or anything, and I’m not particularly embarrassed.

Her hands clasp mine harder, eliciting the tiniest bit of pain as I watch a deep, personal sadness flood the eyes staring back at mine.

“Unfortunately, those wondrous traits that have drawn us all in... are what’s going to kill you.”

Oh. I see.

They’ve all done this before.