I WENT TO THE LIVING ROOM. It was the closest room from the kitchen area I could escape to, though I was on my way to the roof access. There was a shriek of metal on tile at my back before I heard my name.

My muscles threatened to become completely rigid. I needed air, I needed to breathe. If I was confronted yet again, most likely I would truly explode this time. I could feel it in the tension in my shoulders and the pressure between my eyes.

"Remember, we agreed to start communicating," Dick said, somewhere behind me. "Walking out isn't exactly communicating."

With a sigh weighted with dread, I came to a stop and forced myself to turn around, "There's nothing left to say, Dick. It sounds pretty clear to me."

Dick stood just inside the living room, inches outside the kitchen area. Movement in the corner of my eye caused my head to turn to the right. Rachel was slowly opening the guest room door to poke her head out, her eyes shifting between us.

This was not a conversation to have in front of a child. Especially not one going through what Rachel was going through currently. "This doesn't mean I don't love you, Savannah," Dick spoke quietly, in a voice of worry.

His words caused me pause. I tilted my head a little as I thought about his previous words and the ones he'd just spoken—it seemed there was a contradiction. "No. You just don't love me enough to be honest and committed," I replied, as calmly as I could.

My eyes were narrowed as I stared at him skeptically. Dick sighed heavily through his nose and glanced between Rachel and I in indecision, as though he'd just noticed her there. His eyes settled on my face, shifting his weight between his feet.

"Come on, Anna—you know that's not true," he shook his head.

"If you really loved me at all you would stop fucking lying!" I shouted slightly, the anger i'd felt from before rising again in my stomach. "God, do you ever stop?"

"Keeping in contact in college. Being there for you after you escaped Arkham. Taking care of you for three months while you got over the drugs. Getting you help when you cut yourself-"

"What the fuck is your point?" I interrupted, growling the words.

"That is commitment, Savannah. Why would I stick with you for all of that if I didn't love you enough?" he spat the words at me, frustrated. "You were the one who wanted to take a break, not me."

I spoke venomously, "Oh, bullshit! You got tired of me just like everyone else! Admit it—you got bored. I was broken and bruised and I was easy to walk over."

"Why are you so hellbent on making this about you?!" Dick was shouting, too, now.

"Hey!" Hank bellowed from the master bedroom, only moments before he sauntered into the living room. He glared at Dick angrily. "Keep your fucking voice down when you talk to her."

Dick made a face, "Yeah, because you're the perfect example of how a man talks to a woman."

Hank mumbled some obscenities under his breath and made to charge forward. My hand shot out and latched onto his thick bicep, stopping him. Hank Hall was over six feet tall and easily twice my weight in muscle.

Realistically, there was no way I could keep him from breaking Dick over his knee. Not unless he wanted to be stopped. Hank took a step back, staying at my side as I had silently requested.

My eyes remained on Dick. For a moment Dick had flinched and reclined on his heels, preparing to be met with an unstoppable force. But he relaxed with surprise etching his features when Hank didn't make it two steps past my position.

"Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't let him break you in half right now," I told Dick, through clenched teeth.

"Savannah...this was never about me not loving you, or not wanting to commit. We have things to work through together, but I have things I need to work through on my own," Dick explained, calmly.

"That's convenient," Rachel suddenly mumbled, catching my attention.

I raised an eyebrow at her, and her eyes shifted across all the faces in the room—just noticing anyone heard her words at all. Dick narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, turning to her. "What's convenient?" he questioned, already offended.

"You get to do all this hurtful, messed up stuff to Savannah and then blame it on your daddy issues," Rachel shrugged, folding her arms over her chest as she spoke. "It's real convenient for you."

"She's got a point," Hank tipped his head in an expression.

I could feel it again—the anger radiating off him. But, this time, it felt different. This time, most of the anger swirling within me was my own. It was anger and confusion and hurt all at the same time.

"No one asked for your opinion," Dick spat at Hank.

"It's my fucking house—did you forget that already?" Hank spat back.

Dawn quickly joined the hectic mess, standing by the doorway into the master bedroom, "All of you, stop this. There's no need for an apartment-wide argument."

"Especially when it has nothing to do with anyone but me and Savannah," Dick added, pointedly, while giving Hank a stern look.

Hank was fuming beside me. My hand still rested on his arm, but the bubbling chaos made me question why. A heat was in my chest, a pressure between my eyes, a throbbing at the base of my skull. I'd felt this before.

I'd felt it many, many times. It was my body's own call to action given to my conscious mind. The muscles and nerves in my hands begun to shake. With closed eyes, the voices of all in the room combined into one mess of sound.

It was a rubber band ball of nonsense and irritation. The pressure between my eyes intensified as did the shaking of my hands in a steady increase, causing the mess of voices to pool in the center of my mind with a burning heat.

The burning throbbed and stung and it was utterly painful. It was too much anymore—I'd had enough. "Stop!" I shouted the word. I felt the pressure between my eyes shift to my forehead as my shaking hand was lifted by my arm.

It all happened in a second. I lifted my hand, the pressure shifted, and the heat in my mind ripped through the muscles in my arms and in my hands, bursting from my palms. The energy the heat possessed seemed to possess me.

Whatever it was grabbed hold of Dick and shoved him backward rather forcefully, his feet ghosting the ground as his body was flung into the wall a few feet behind him. The loud smack echoing off the wall from the impact startled me out of my possession.

Gasps filled the room, along with Dick's groans of pain as he writhed on the floor at the base of the wall. Rachel and Dawn rushed forward to get to him. A sickening guilt was pooling in my gut but I could not move. I could only blink at the scene before me.

Hank immediately turned to me, his eyes lingering on the scene in shock a second longer before moving to my face. His arms encircled me and he angled himself in front of me. "Come on, let's go," he spoke quietly, though I could tell he was a bit panicked.

I went with him, however in shock I was. He guided me to the roof access and up the stairs to the door, through it out onto the roof and across the gravel to the bench. I'd sat slowly, my mind working its way through the images of what had just happened.

There was nothing in my memory of what exactly had come from my hand, if anything at all. But whatever it was left a numbing in my palm. My body felt worn, fatigued, eyelids weighted down as though I might actually be tired.

Hank remained on his feet, pacing loosely in front of the bench as he inhaled and exhaled heavily. It was obvious he was trying to process what he'd seen as well. I looked down at my hands in my lap and fingered my numb palm.

Nothing like that had every happened before. The mild feelings prior to the heat in my mind were all too familiar—I felt them anytime I needed to kill someone. I could recognize it anywhere. Then the feelings got stronger and I did something much worse than killing.

Suddenly my heart lurched, and my eyes snapped up to Hank, following him as he paced, "Is Dick okay? Is he hurt?"

"I don't know, alright? Just...focus on calming down."

It all swirled around in my head, the thoughts of worry and the realization of my own fear. I began to wring my hands nervously, as my view of the gravel at my feet began to blur rapidly, a pain hitting my chest as though it were a brick.

I was angry, I was so angry—but I would never hurt him. Not intentionally. And yet, there I was, feeling the pain of a strangled sob from the raw horror mixing with my guilt of doing just that. My lungs burned like I'd been running all afternoon.

A nausea in my gut was making me physically ill. "Hank..." I sat back on the bench, looking up at him through the tears burning my eyes. "What have I done?"

He stopped his pace to glance in my direction, but his gaze held at the sight of me. Another sob was bubbling its way out of me and I had to look away. I was disgusted with myself above all else. The one person I swore never to hurt, had been hurt.

The bench shifted beneath me as Hank eased his weight onto the metal beside me. A second following, his hand gently slid onto my shoulder. He didn't speak. I didn't blame him. Comforting people wasn't his strong suit, especially when he was this far out of his element.

We sat there on the bench like that for a long time. Eventually, Hank needed to go find Dawn so they could prepare for their mission later that night. He stood to leave, and in the few steps he'd taken from the bench I stood as well.

"I'm going in, too," I announced, in a weak voice.

Hank stopped, turning to see me, "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I need to see him."

He sighed, but didn't try to stop me. I trailed behind him into the apartment as the night sky was beginning to meld with that of the day. My hands were still shaking from earlier, but for a different reason now.

Rachel was in the guest room on the bed with the door open, and she perked up when Hank and I reentered the apartment. Hank made an immediate turn for the master bedroom upon not seeing Dawn in the living room.

I took slow steps onward, getting slower by the second. Rachel jutted her chin, moving her eyes, obviously trying to get my attention on something specific. It drew my eyes down and to the right—straight to the couch.

It was where Dick lay stretched along the length of the piece of furniture, an arm draped over the ice packs on his torso. Whatever I'd done had been worse, yet still better, than I had anticipated.

His eyes were gently closed, his breathing slow and calm, giving him the appearance of slumber. I took slow, careful steps around the side of the couch, moving between the couch and the coffee table, and lowered myself atop the coffee table.

There was nothing I could've said that would justify what I'd done to him, or validate it in any way. At least, not in my mind. So I said nothing. I extended a trembling hand and brushed my fingertips through the tousled locks of hair on his forehead.

Instinctively his eyelids fluttered up, his brown irises shifting up to my face. His features were washed with an instant reaction of what appeared to be guilt. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"For what?" I questioned, knitting my brows in confusion.

"I shouldn't have pushed you."

My head found itself leaning in a slight tilt to the left as my dry eyes searched his tired ones. "Richard John Grayson..." I whispered, unable to speak any louder. "How the fuck would I live without you?"

The ghost of a smirk met Dick's lips, "Probably the same way I'd live without you—I wouldn't."

"Where were you hurt?" I asked, righting myself to glance over the ice packs.

Dick shifted, letting out a groan as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, easing his legs off the side of the couch. "My ribs and back, mostly," he answered, once upright.

He removed the ice packs and set them aside before unbuttoning his dark blue dress shirt. The skin that was revealed with every button's release was splattered with purple marks. I inhaled sharply, "Fuck, Dick."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he tried to reassure, lifting his head to give me a confident look. He reached out and grasped my hand, then guided the pads of my fingers to the purple marks just below his chest. "See? It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"I'm so sorry," I slowly shook my head.

"Well, I...I kind of deserved it."

"That doesn't make it right."

With a light exhale, Dick's shoulders loosened. The hand not holding mine came to rest on my cheek a moment before sliding to the back of my neck. He tugged gently as his upper body tilted forward. I could see it coming like a train crash.

It was loud, and bright, and obvious. But I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. After the emotional roller coaster of the day, all I craved was his touch—I craved to be close to him. So my lips parted as they met his, deepening the kiss before it'd truly begun.

I pulled away after a short moment, but our faces remained inches apart as I spoke quietly, "We agreed to work on this. So we'll work on it. If you try to stay honest, I'll try not to make it about me. We're going to slip up and make mistakes. But we'll give it all we have."

"We'll make it work," he agreed, just as quietly.

"Sorry to interrupt your face sucking session," Hank's voice echoed into my ears at a seemingly loud volume, causing me to lift my head for my eyes to find him. He was taking steps toward the end of the couch, coming to a stand there.

He was dressed to leave, Dawn dressed and ready as well behind him. I knew what he was going to ask. He would not open his mouth to voice it, but the question was in his eyes—are you coming?

I sat back in my spot on the coffee table and gave a small shake of my head, "You guys go ahead."

"Alright. I'll try to save some ass for you in case you change your mind," Hank said, as Dawn came to stand beside him.

"That's very thoughtful of you."

He grumbled a little as he turned to walk toward the door, but I could see the threat of a smile clearly on his lips before he turned away. It wasn't hard to detect his disappointment. After all, we hadn't fought together in almost four years.

Every time thus far had been an enjoyable experience. I didn't know quite what it was, but something about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, drew me into it. Our dynamic has always been one I adored.

Dawn gave Dick and I each a look before following Hank to the front door of the apartment. My eyes followed along as well, before a tightness on my hand brought them back to Dick's face. His lips were upturned in a minor grin, "Go with them."

"Why?" I raised a brow at him.

"I can tell you want to. It's okay, Anna. You can't be someone you're not—I get it. You don't have to pretend anymore," he explained, genuine and gentle.

I pushed on the coffee table to lean forward again, pressing my lips to his in a quick kiss, "I love you."

"I love you, too. Watch them."

I'd given a singular nod before standing. Dick knew better than anyone that I was not at risk when walking into the line of fire. Dawn and Hank, however—Hank especially—were not invulnerable. My hood was stashed at the bottom of my duffel.

It only took me a moment to grab the bag before running after Hank and Dawn. They'd just reached the elevator when I exited the apartment. Hank noticed me first, acknowledging me with a warm and proud smile.

"Look who's had a change of heart," he said, as I quickly approached.

I readjusted the duffel's strap on my shoulder just as I arrived at Hank and Dawn's position, moments before Dawn turned to see me. She, too, smiled at me. "Glad to have your help," she nodded once. "It'll make this a lot easier."

"As long as Dick's not going, put me wherever you want me," I nodded back.

Hank grinned, "Sounds like a party."

I had never been one for a mask. The idea of concealing my identity seemed ridiculous when you factored it all in. No one was looking for me anymore, as those who saw my face typically found themselves in a very dark, cold place.

There was no need for a mask. My hair was pulled back and held behind my neck with a holder, keeping it tucked out of my way beneath the red hood atop my head. I made sure my knives were in their usual places as I followed Hawk and Dove.

We were inside the warehouse, getting in position to take out the gunmen at the back of a van. A very small handful of men stood around it or performed various tasks in the immediate vicinity. Just by looking, I could tell which ones were going to die.

It was a certain vibration in my chest, an instinct deep within my gut—I knew. We waited behind a line of crates and supplies a moment to watch and time our entrance. In that moment, I counted. Six men. It didn't seem like enough to me.

They were shorthanded. It made me curious as to what crime syndicate really would have this little security. Suddenly Hawk gave the signal before tackling one of the men just around the corner of our hiding space.

"Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shi-!"

Dove jumped out next, but I waited a moment longer. Something didn't feel right. It was a tightness in my chest, a souring in my gut—something, or someone, was wrong. I heard the loud pierce of gunfire and a shatter of glass echo throughout the building.

Then I twisted to see around the hiding space. All the men were on the floor and a back window of the van was broken through. "Dick was wrong—there's only a few of 'em!" Hank said, as he yanked open a van door. He pulled something out from the back, something I couldn't see. "Oh, yeah. Wisconsin, here we come."

A thrum of my heart faltered, almost as if it hiccuped in my chest, the second a lone gun shot broke through the silence. A hole appeared in the left front of Hawk's chest and he was thrusted backward against the van. "Hank!" Dove shouted, reached for him quickly.

I yanked my torso back behind the hiding space. My chest was heaving, the blood in my veins burning as they raced through my body. This was not right. Something still felt wrong. It was almost as though I could not move.

Instead I was stuck listening to the gunfire, waiting for my friends to end up dead. Though, I knew very well they would not die here today, something in me was still struck with a heart-racing adrenaline.

Finally, as the gunfire shifted, I forced my feet to move. I slinked along the wall of small crates and various supplies toward the end and leapt up, my fingers locking around the metal railing of a second level walkway.

I tugged myself up and over the edge, onto the walkway, and slid back against the wall before standing up. From above, I could see all. Hawk and Dove scurried to the front of the van to hide from the gunmen at the back. But the gunmen were moving around the sides.

They stormed in from both sides, easily a dozen or more strong, and aimed their guns directly at Hawk and Dove where they huddled against the grill. "Shit," Hawk said, reasonably displeased.

So much for 'Dick was wrong'. Obviously they'd been warned. If I'd been made aware of such a possibility, I would've prepared properly. My heart still pounded in my chest as I treaded lightly across the walkway, closer to the action.

A man walked up from around the backside of the van. "Where were we?" he said, as he came to stand in front, causing Hank to groan. I'd been trained long and hard in the art of not making unnecessary sounds. No one knew where I was.

Your enemy only hears what you want him to hear. I made it to the end of the walkway and gripped the railing there, sending my feet through the opening below the bar. "Oh, yes," the man said, now holding a pair of sheers. "I believe your pants were coming down."

My body was catapulted through the opening and down to the ground level. I touched the concrete on my feet briefly before rolling forward, using my momentum to gain more ground. As I stood just behind two gunmen, my knives dropped free from my leather sleeves.

Their handles slid quickly into my palms, and I gripped them tightly as I reached my full height. In a quick jut of my arms, the blades flew forward and then back again, slicing the sides of the necks of the gunmen at my sides.

Hot crimson spewed from the wounds rapidly and the men yelped, dropping their guns and scrambling for their necks. Ultimately, they fell to the concrete floor in a pool.

The knife in my right hand was sent into a chest, the other a neck. Other available gunmen either ran or chose to fire back. I ducked the spray of bullets, moving under cover of the front of the van, as my hands shot to the belt at my back.

My fingers gripped tightly to knife handles and I tugged them free, pulling them out from under the hood as I twisted to miss getting shot in the shoulder. With a flick of my wrist I disabled the only shooter remaining.

His gun clattered to the ground and he held tightly to the knife handle protruding from his chest before collapsing. The knife in my right hand was sunk deep into center chest of the man who seemed to know Hawk.

I turned the blade, feeling the warm vibration spreading up my arms with the blood spilling from his wounds, before relinquishing my hold on the knife. Instead, I gripped either side of the man's head and twisted—hard.

The man's body collapsed, a thud echoing across the now nearly silent warehouse. I was breathing heavily but, unlike before, this adrenaline felt warm. It felt right.

"Holy fuck," Hawk said, in shock, after a beat of quiet. "What the fuck?"

I reached up a hand and pushed the hood off my head as I turned to see Hawk and Dove where they still huddled. Even in the quiet, I could feel it. There was another wave of vibration crawling up my spine. More were to die.

My fingertips itched with a familiar sting, and I knew—Dick was here. "It's not over," I gave a shake of my head. A sudden burst of gunfire ripped through the silence of the warehouse.

Both Hawk and Dove startled by the sudden sound but I did not flinch. There was no need to, I saw it coming. "Get him out of here," I said to Dove, as I pulled the hood back over my head. "Now."

I bent and tugged the knife from the chest of the man beside my feet before taking steps deeper into the warehouse. The cries of dying men in my ears, echoing from random places in the warehouse, lead my way.

Dick, dressed as Robin, was found cornering a man at the back of warehouse. He was beating him with his own gun. A final hit to the side of the head with it sprayed red across one of the dirty warehouse windows.

I watched the man drop to the ground without a word. Usually, I was not a woman of many words during such times as these. There was nothing to be said. Robin turned around to march after another shooter, but his feet shuffled to a quick stop when he noticed me.

"Why aren't you with Hank and Dawn?" he questioned, breathing heavily from the exertion.

"You know you can't kill people and hide it from me."

I could not tell if he was sighing heavily or simply trying to breathe, but he didn't look amused. "Where are the others?" he asked, changing the subject.

Tilting my head slightly to the left, I answered, "Just one. Over my shoulder, behind the wall."

Robin nodded and began to take steps. But I reached out as he started to pass me, placing my gloved palm against the front of his shoulder. He stopped his movement almost instantly, his dark eyes looking at me with confusion through his mask.

I reached up my free hand and swiped some of the blood away from his lips with the pads of my fingers. "It's not his time. We need to leave," I told him, calmly. "You've done your part, Boy Wonder."

Though he was slightly out of breath and full of adrenaline, radiating with the anger he only unleashed when in a mask, he still found it within himself to give a small smirk in response. I would be the first girl to admit his anger was attractive.

But he used it for all the wrong reasons. He didn't have to say a word for it to be painfully obvious. I took a step away from him before starting the walk back to where I'd left Hawk and Dove. I'd trusted he would follow me, and he did.

We arrived back at the apartment building, dressed in the civilian clothes we'd left in, and the four of us rode the elevator in silence. The general feeling in the air at the center of us all was apprehension.

It was understandable, considering all that Hank and Dawn had just seen. I was not quite so violent the last time we'd fought together. Then, I was under strict supervision with a tight leash. I did not kill. I barely harmed.

Now, I am free to do whatever my body wishes. If I must kill, I kill. If I must show restraint, I will. It did more than just seem a simple concept to me—but it felt simple. It felt simple in every fiber of my being.

The tension of awkwardness kept Hank's eyes downcast, Dick's also. Dawn seemed slightly unnerved by the whole event but she showed no effort of restraint when glancing across the elevator at me. Her eyes flitted downward from my face, and I knew what she was looking at.

Dick's left arm had been draped across my shoulders for the duration of the elevator ride, my right shoulder flush against his side—a position that felt so natural, so instinctual. But something hovered across Dawn's face when her eyes shifted.

Something I understood. It was the briefest of glances before she decided to look elsewhere, down at the floor or up at the wall, but it was long enough to give my mind new thoughts.

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor then. Hank and Dawn lead the way to the apartment door at the end of the hall. Being the one with the keys, Hank unlocked the door as we arrived, and he left it open for the rest of us as he started in first.

Dawn stopped by the door, holding it while she waited for Dick and I to enter so she could close it. The moment we stepped inside, Dick called out for Rachel. He pulled away from me to step toward the guest bedroom upon not seeing her in the living room.

I didn't have to look anywhere to know just where she was. Her melancholy vibrations and the heat that usually came with her proximity both pooled in my chest. "She's on the roof," I said, as Dick stepped out of the empty guest room.

His features were contorted with confusion, obviously as to why she would be up there alone, but he gave a relieved exhale as he nodded. "How do you know that?" Dawn asked me, after closing the apartment door and turning the lock.

"I can feel her there," I answered, simply.

"I'm sorry—feel?" Hank raised an eyebrow at me, half in and half out of the master bedroom, obviously to listen in for my answer.

I inhaled sharply, "Yes. Every person, every…living thing carries a certain vibrative frequency. Some are strong, some weak. I feel them all. If I focus on one in particular, I can determine a location."

"Jesus Christ," Hank swore under his breath, before disappearing into the master bedroom. From somewhere inside, his voice boomed out, "This just gets better by the second!"

We'd fought together a handful of times, but the full nature of my existence was never explained to either of them. So this reaction was truly understandable. Nodding once, I excused myself from the room, "I'll check on Rachel."

Giving space was the only option I could see helping anything. I began taking steps to cross the apartment for the roof access. Halfway there, Dick elected to join me, and was quick to catch up.

I didn't mind company, and I was sure Rachel wouldn't either. As we climbed the stairs, a small mixture of feelings settled into my chest. Sadness, bitterness, regret. It was odd to feel such things without reason.

But as I pushed through the roof access door, I knew—these emotions were not mine. I waited, just through the door, for Dick to step out. When he had, I put a hand on his arm. "I need to talk to her alone for a second," I told him, as his eyes moved from Rachel to my face.

Though his features contorted into minor confusion, he nodded, "Yeah, go ahead."

I slid my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, inside the folds of my coat, and started across the roof. Rachel stood in front of the dove cage, her back to me. Her head turned, putting me in her peripheral as I approached.

Thankfully, her emotions didn't change—so at least I could confirm it had nothing to do with me. "What's wrong?" I asked her, gently, as I stepped up beside her at the front of the cage.

Her face was crestfallen, but spiteful. "You didn't know, did you?" she asked, her voice flat, but there was an echo of hope. She turned her head to look up at me as she added, "You didn't know he was going to leave me here?"

I was puzzled by her questions, completely confused, "What? No one is leaving you anywhere, Rachel."

"Just read it," she sighed.

Her hand lifted as her other fell to her side, putting an open white envelope in my view. Curiosity and concern urged me to dig deeper, to find out what exactly she was talking about, but I took the envelope with rue.

A part of me knew before I even read the letter. After all, the handwriting was blindingly Dick's. It was true. Dick had planned to leave Rachel with Hank and Dawn for an unspecified amount of time—he'd even promised to compensate them and pay for Rachel's expenses.

It was all said in plain English in the letter. The gravel of the flooring crunched quickly as it mixed with the sound of Dick's panicked voice from across the roof, "I can explain that."

Dropping my hands to my sides, I turned quickly to face him, and took steps away from Rachel. "When exactly were you planning on cluing me in, Richard?" I questioned, hurt fueling my words.

Dick didn't stop until he was right in front of me, a shade of desperation in his brown irises. "Listen to me, it wasn't going to be for long," he quickly shook his head, even as I scoffed and took a step back from him. If anything, it made him speak faster. "We need time, okay? Time to-"

"Time to what? We're perfectly capable of watching out for her ourselves," I pointed out, angrily.

"Oh, come on. Not this again," Hank's voice came from not far off.

It caused me to look away from the conversation a moment to see him. Hank and Dawn were walking toward us. Hank was in front, walking faster, whereas Dawn hung back as though she were just keeping out a watchful eye.

After his words downstairs, it made sense for her to do so. "This doesn't concern you, Hank," Dick spat, through clenched teeth, as he twisted to glare at him.

"The fuck it doesn't, Dick," Hank spat back. "You were gonna buy us."

"Hank, he was just trying to help," Dawn laid a hand on his arm.

Hank looked down at her with a mixture of surprise and disdain. "Wait- did you know about this?" he questioned her. "You saw what happened—he's a fucking psychopath! Both of 'em are!"

Dawn tried to calm Hank down. Dick took the opportunity to step back to the dove cage, moving up beside Rachel. I tried not to listen to either conversations and focus on my own inner squabbles. This had been planned before we made a new promise.

But even then, it was after the first one. Dick still chose not to give me any insight to this plan whatsoever, instead telling Dawn. That knowledge stung. Yet it didn't last but a moment. The sting faded out to a hollow and empty void radiating with burning heat.

It filled up my chest cavity as my ears picked out the sound of the roof access door falling closed. Immediately my head snapped up. "Well, hello there, you five," a woman spoke brightly, standing with an older man and two teens—one boy, one girl.

There was no hiding that they meant nothing good in being here. These were no ordinary people—they couldn't be with the dense vibrations in my fingertips. I would be genuinely surprised if they were people at all.

"Who the fuck are these guys?" Hank questioned, pulling away from Dawn.

Quickly, I dropped a knife from the sleeve of my hoodie, "Hank-!"

Hank neared these new people enough that the older man stepped forward and thrusted his foot into Hank's abdomen. The force of it was enough to send Hank backward into the gravel by a few feet.

Dick immediately grabbed Rachel and pulled her away, to a spot behind the dove cage somewhere. The woman of the group of four gave Dawn a hard smack before kicking her legs out from under her, dropping her to the gravel.

The boy took after Hank with a baseball bat as Hank tried to get up. I freed my other knife and charged forward. With a flick of my wrist, the first knife stabbed the boy in the arm. It caused him to ease up on the bat enough for Hank to get the upper hand.

I kept the second knife in my hand as the young girl came at me fists first. My top half bent as my arm swung, ducking her fist while simultaneously slicing across her middle. It was intentionally a flesh wound. This girl was a child.

Person or not, I couldn't feel anything telling me she was to be killed. I couldn't feel anything for any of them. Either way I wasn't in the business of murdering children. No matter how much they deserved it.

The girl stumbled back with a stifled cry but did not let up. She swung again and again and I easily blocked her pitiful punches with my palms. She swung out her leg and I hopped up to miss it. When my feet hit the gravel, I kicked up my heel and spun it into the side of her face.

She was thrusted aside onto the gravel with a groan. The faintest vibration graced my bones a heartbeat before another swung at me, more from behind this time. The instinct to move brought me into a duck before I even registered what was happening.

As I stood back to my full height, I backpedaled and spun myself around in order to see whom I was fighting. In the moment after I turned myself, the girl and the man were doubling up on Dick across the roof.

I had turned myself not in time to see my opponent, but to see my opponents send Dick tumbling backward over the side of the roof. Adrenaline pumped harder while my heart refusing to beat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

In that split second the pressure had built between my eyes, shifting to my forehead, and my muscles acted on their own to raise my hand. A fire erupted in the center of brain, and it traveled along my veins straight to my outstretched palm.

Nothing visible appeared. But the woman was stopped in her tracks, her features instantly sporting confusion as she struggled to move. I could feel every inch of her being in the palm of my hand. The vibrations and the heat created nothing but loudness.

I did not know what I was doing. Not consciously. But, somehow, my body did. I pulled back my hand and then gave it a strong thrust forward. The woman gasped as she was shoved unbelievably hard backward, thrusting her across the roof.

The moment I'd let her go, everything in me was drained completely. But that was not my most pressing concern. As the woman hit the gravel several feet away, a strong set of fingers wrapped around my neck and tugged.

My spine was shoved hard against the side of the roof access, the back of my head thudded hard against it, but even through the stars dancing in front of my vision I could see it was the older man. The knife was still in my hand.

With all my might I threw my hand upward, but the man grabbed my wrist tightly, stopping it. There was a bubble of panic in my gut. My muscles were not working. They were not complying. They would not listen.

My skull burned and throbbed but for the wrong reasons and, suddenly, I could not feel anything. The man guided my hand to twist in the other direction, aiming the knife back at me, and I gave all my strength to my arm to stop it.

Though, nothing I did was working right. My muscles were too weak. He easily gave my wrist a shove, sinking the blade hilt deep in the right side of my abdomen. Sparks shot out in all directions through my nerves, burning with the heat of a thousand suns.

All I could let out was a strangled scream with his hand still clenching tightly around my throat. The man finally let me go on all accounts, and all I could do was fall straight to the gravel. I hit the ground on my right side with a mixture of a cry and a groan.

My lungs were able to inflate fully, causing me to bark a cough. Yet still that was not my most pressing concern. Now my opponent was my mind. It felt as though I'd gone blind. Before, I could see with what I could feel.

Now, I could not feel anything, therefore I could not see. I was left alone floating on an island in the middle of a sea of pure agony. I was writhing, sputtering—my body was chaos. Still, my eyes scattered to find the others when a cry filled my deaf ears.

It was Dawn. She called out for Hank, whose neck the girl had lassoed. Just as her voice quieted, the man holding her shoved her back, and Dawn became airborne.

Her body broke through the top half of the dove cage and fell over the side of the roof with the many pieces. "Dawn!" Hank screamed for her, unable to move. The boy hit Hank in the back of the head with his bat, and Hank fell face first in the gravel, unconscious.

My lungs were starting to move too fast, too fast for my weak body to keep up with. The sputtering was now quick gasps as I rested my head against the gravel. But something stopped me entirely. It was a flickering warmth sparking in my chest.

It called out to me, begging me to give it my attention. Every muscle in my body was overwhelmed by it. Somehow I knew—it was Dawn.