"Where's Peter?" A small, blonde girl burst into the room. Simone started from where she stood examining Isaac's latest work.
"Who wants to know?" She kept all interest out of her voice, limiting herself to flat tones.
"I'm…" the girl trailed off uneasily. Simone stepped forward, observing the form in the doorway. The figure slumped her shoulders. "…His niece, I guess."
"Niece?" Simone asked incredulously, a look of shock plastered on her countenance. Upon closer inspection, the girl was most undeniably a Petrelli—was that blood she saw? "Are you alright?" Simone reached out to touch the scratch, but the younger girl flinched away from the contact.
Then a large crash could be heard. They were coming.
Claire grabbed Simone's elbow, running into Isaac's studio apartment, diving under a table as the place where Simone had been standing detonated. CO4 took out the whole front half of it, and Simone wanted to cry for the paintings.
A Petrelli had saved her again, she thought as her mind flickered briefly to how it must feel to fly. Peter couldn't fly.
Simone hadn't realized, but she had let out a small noise of mourning. Claire pinned her with her surprisingly substantial strength. And that small mouth came over hers, silencing. It was like flying as all the air left her lungs. She could feel the sky in Claire's golden locks that spilled over her shoulders and tickled Simone's cheek teasingly; see the clouds in the pale eyes above her.
But I can.