October 13th, 2014

  Timber Hollow, United States

  Old Town was a strange pce. Alien, almost. It sat north of where I lived and was once the encve of the rich, back when Timber Hollow was known only for shipping lumber.

  I’d been here before, years ago, and hadn’t been back since. I remembered it being weird and altogether boring, but back then, I was too young to realize why.

  It was because Old Town wasn’t like the rest of Timber Hollow. Honestly, it felt like a different city entirely. It wasn’t just the obvious stuff, like the stark cleanliness or the ck of things broken. It was the people, too.

  They were different in a way that felt insulting. They stood different, walked different, even freaking smiled different. When they casually strolled on the lustrous sidewalks, they didn’t avoid eye contact or refuse to engage in conversations. Their steps weren’t hurried, and their forms weren’t huddled. When they smiled, it wasn’t just an awkward raise of their lips. It was rexed, almost cocky in how comfortable they were. It was like, here, the thought of someone jumping them just wasn’t even there.

  But, out of everything they did differently, the strangest part to me was how they reacted to me. I was in full costume, mask on and everything, and yet the people who saw me barely even cared. Most just gnced at me and scoffed or smirked as if there was something amusing, their stride not even breaking. Anywhere else, seeing a cape meant you looked the other way and hurried up to get as far as possible. At the very least, there’d be someone stupid enough to start recording them. But no one bothered to even do that.

  “Ignore this.”

  I stepped forward, out from the edge of an alley and towards the street with my fist clenched and ready to make some noise.

  Before I could take a second step, I heard a barely audible thud behind me, and suddenly, I couldn’t move. My eyes still had the freedom to frantically dart around, allowing me to see the amused snorts of passerbies, but the rest of my body felt like it was stuck in concrete.

  “Thanks for making it easy, dipshit.”

  The voice came from behind me, familiar and annoyed. I felt a hand grip the back of my leather jacket, and stuck like a statue, I was yanked downwards. But, instead of smming into concrete, I fell through the floor and into inky darkness for a split second.

  Jarringly instant, light returned to my eyes. I was no longer on the street, I was somewhere else entirely.

  A small, suffocating room.

  The air was stale, heavy with the mix of overdone air fresheners and something metallic beneath it—blood, maybe. The four walls were pristine but lifeless, sterile in a way that made them feel more menacing. A single light fixture buzzed overhead, its dim glow casting shadows in the corners of the room.

  In the center sat a metal chair, the only furniture in the room. The concrete beneath it bore faint scuff marks—signs of struggle, of someone else dragged here before me. Below the chair, a rust-rimmed drain stared up like a waiting mouth. There was no sink. No pipes. No reason for it to be there.

  A flex of my fingers told me I could move again, but there was nowhere to go. No windows. No doors. Not even a clock.

  Just silence. The only sound was the distant hum of a ventition fan, somewhere beyond these walls. This was the kind of pce you only ever saw once.

  I blinked.

  When my eyes opened, she was there.

  Lady Nyx stood before me, her presence as abrupt as if the shadows had spat her out.

  “Cuff yourself,” she ordered, pointing at the chair. A metallic jingle followed as handcuffs cttered onto my chest.

  Confused, but too scared to try anything, I sat down and began to as she said–

  Only to be interrupted by a sharp, exasperated sigh.

  “To the chair, dumbass.”

  “...Oh.”

  Heat crept up my neck as I corrected my mistake, securing one wrist against the chair’s cold metal arm.

  Lady Nyx leaned against the wall, a dagger rolling idly between her fingers. Not quite a threat, but not idle either.

  “Alright, two questions,” she drawled, tilting her head in a way that was somehow threatening instead of curious. “Why are you here? And why shouldn’t I cut off a few fingers and do a happy jig?”

  This wasn’t like st time. Back then, I had an exit. A sliver of control. Now, I was in her territory. If she wanted me gone, I’d be slush in a barrel before sunrise. And with these cuffs? Fighting back wasn’t even a fantasy.

  And yet, now that she was in front of me, I wasn’t nearly as scared. Anxious, sure—I was wired like a frayed cable at that moment—but not scared. Not like before. Because this time, I had a reason to be here. Even if it wasn’t my own.

  “I wanna join your gang.”

  She stilled. A flicker of surprise crossed her posture—just for a moment—before she let out a sharp, mocking ugh.

  “Uh-huh. You want to join the ‘gang,’ is that it? Remind me what you told me when you wasted my time.”

  “I changed my mind,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “Turns out heroism isn’t what I thought it was.”

  “Truth, justice, and the American way?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, that’s just great to hear. But I didn’t ask if you changed your mind,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, humorless thing. “I asked you to tell me what you said. I remember it being a little anathema to gang life.”

  I exhaled, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the power py. “...I said I wasn’t going to join a gang."

  “Hmm? What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  My jaw clenched involuntarily, the urge to punch her taking over me, but a quick look at my cuffs disabused me of that notion.

  “I told you I wasn’t going to join a gang,” I repeated, sharper this time.

  “You did, didn’t you?” She took a slow step forward, bending just enough to press her dagger under my chin. The bde was cool against my skin—almost refreshing, if not for the fact that it could open my throat in an instant. “So why should I believe you’ve had a change of heart? Especially when, if you knew anything about the ‘gang, ’ you’d know to never call it that. It’s crude.” A beat. “It’s insulting.”

  “Then I apologize,” I conceded. “But I’m serious. Hoplite, the armored guy that showed up? He tried to recruit me—wanted me to join the Hardliners and spy on them. You know, go undercover. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, either,” I lied, reciting the story Hoplite told me to tell.

  “And he just…let you go? Just like that? How stupid do you think I am?”

  “He didn’t just ‘let me go.’ I said I’d do it. He told me he’d be in touch. Had to give him my number, but yeah, he let me leave after that.”

  “And that made your morals do a nice little flip. Uh-huh.” She backed away, but not before tracing the tip of her dagger along my neck, just enough to pierce the skin. A bead of warmth trickled down my throat. “Either your morals are hiriously loose, or you lied to me—one way or the other.”

  “And that made your morals do a nice little flip. Sure.” The vilin backed away, but not before tracing a small line on my neck with her dagger, just enough to pierce the skin. “Either your morals are hiriously loose, or you’re lying.”

  “I already told you, circumstances changed. It wasn’t like I was going to be a government puppet hero anyway.”

  I raised my uncuffed hand, pressing my middle finger hard against my thumb. Lady Nyx tensed, her grip tight on her dagger, but she didn’t move—just watched, waiting for me to do something stupid.

  “And you seem to be forgetting something important.” I let my thumb slip out of the way.

  A concentrated burst of wind shot from my fingertip, smming into the wall. The impact bsted out a fist-sized hole, the debris scattering across the floor.

  “I’m not just some wannabe thug off the street. I’m a cape.”

  I met her gaze, unwavering. “I know what I’m worth, Lady Nyx. And I know I deserve a chance. Nobody else would pass up an opportunity like this.”

  Silence stretched. Her unreadable gaze locked onto mine, calcuting, weighing. I refused to look away. My adamance wasn’t born from something as noble as steely resolve. I was annoyed. Very annoyed.

  I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want this. Mom and Violet would kill me if they knew. And they’d be right to do so. Joining a gang was stupid–not worth it. This was stupid.

  And yet, Lady Nyx was acting like I should be grateful. Like I owed her.

  Bullcrap. If anything, they were lucky to have me. I should have been welcomed with open arms as soon as I said I’d join. Heck, a signing bonus wouldn’t have been unreasonable.

  She let out a long breath, then shrugged.

  “Fine.”

  For once, her voice cked that insufferable, patronizing edge.

  “I’ll take you to the boss. He decides if you’re in.” She smirked, slow and sharp.

  “If not?” She shrugged helplessly. “Welp.”

  I nodded and gestured to the cuffs still chaining me to the chair. Her expression flickered—like she was annoyed I’d remembered—but she tossed me the key anyway. The metal clicked as I freed myself, rubbing at my wrist before rising to my feet.

  Then she spoke again.

  “Oh, and if you’re serious about joining, take off that fucking wig. It’s ridiculous.”

  I froze.

  A silence settled between us, awkward and heavy.

  “Uh… I can’t really… do that,” I said, sheepish.

  She tilted her head, confusion crossing her face before she slumped, muttering some sort of curse under her breath. Then, with a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her mask like she was physically holding back regret.

  “It’s not a wig, is it?”

  “It’s not a wig,” I confirmed.

  A pause.

  “...You’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?”

  Yes, yes, I was.