Imp was doodling on a notebook when Camille arrived at their usual exit window. She flickered into visibility, and watched the younger teen stumble backwards in shock. "W-w-who are you?" they asked timorously.

She hesitated, but she had been primed on how to handle Camille by Anita, who had a worryingly detailed picture of everyone's mental health. She raised a hand slowly, and lifted up her mask, enabling her to offer a subdued smile.

"I'm the one spiriting the kids away," she said.

Camille reached for the wall, clearly unnerved. "Where d-did you come from? What do you want with m-me?"

Imp raised her hands quickly. "Whoa, I don't want anything with you. It's okay."

A brief, confusing mixture of relief and disappointment crossed Camille's face. Then it was gone, subsumed back into the pervasive anxiety that seemed to overtake their every other emotion. "Then why are you t-t-t-talking to me?" they said with effort.

"Because you don't need me. You can just up and leave."

"I c-can't."

"You can fly, you idiot. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Go be a hero, or a villain, or a normal person. We're all ground-bound here. What do you think big daddy's gonna do, fly after you?"

But Camille was shaking their head. "You don't under...understand. He sends people after you, if you leave. H-He sends Nicholas."

"I know. But you could be in France by sundown. How could he ever find you? And, I don't say this to be a dick, but...do you really think he'd care enough to look, when his precious Flor might be vanishing next?"

It was a low blow, but it worked. Camille sagged, looking at the floor. "Mm."

Imp's phone buzzed: Anita was draining Camille's anxiety for her, unasked. Such a good kid. She put it down, giving Camille her full attention. "Okay, so you're gonna run, I'm glad. But first..." she grinned wickedly. "How would you like to help me fuck with the old bastard?"

Camille didn't smile, and hadn't for years. But they said, "What do you want me to do?"

Single-minded as he was, Nicholas stood at the front door for eight hours. Anita and Juliette wondered the house a few times, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Flor, though she napped for most of it, stayed put outside Martina's room.

That was the best bit, really. She really did guard it, and nobody got past her.

Imp came in through the window.

"Camille?" Martina exclaimed, backing up from the wall, moving down between the two beds of the two pregnant women, who were struggling to look. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Hi," Imp said, ignoring the question and sitting on the windowsill. "Camille is just giving me a hand. I wanna talk." She waved, and Camille settled down at an easy hover outside. They still looked tense and pallid, but they stayed put.

"Who are you?" Martina demanded, reaching for the knife she kept with her. Before she could grasp it, she forgot what she was doing. Why was her heart beating so fast? Her power alerted her to the agitation of both wives, and she moved into the en suite bathroom. She ran two flannels under the tap, as the door slowly pushed to, and then clicked shut. Then a grinning face appeared in the mirror before her.

"Gah!" she cried, flinching away.

"Shh!" Imp hushed her, stepping in front of the door.

Martina stared at her in horror, but did fall silent. That was one good thing about Heartbreaker's kids; they understood fear, and it made them obey. Sad, but useful in a pinch.

Imp didn't want to trade on that though, so she relaxed against the door and put on a cheerful tone. "Listen, kid." She was twirling Martina's knife in her gloved fingers. "Here's my deal. I'm gonna kill your dad. When I do, half the Guild, if not all of it, is gonna storm the house. They're gonna take anyone they find into custody. That means Uncle Sam – wait, what's the Canadian Uncle Sam? Maple Mom?" She cocked her head, but Martina was too bewildered to respond. "Anyway. It means the government are gonna take control of your life."

Martina gritted her teeth, raising her chin. "So what, am I supposed to stop you killing dad? Because I'd rather take my chances in the system. I'm a thinker with medical applications. They'll love me."

"True. Plus you're pretty sane. Aside from the torture thing."

Martina's eyes widened, and Imp snickered. "Yeah, I know about that. Pretty fucked up, but I've rolled with people who did worse. Point is, I'm offering a third option." She stabbed the knife into the counter and extended a hand. "Ride with me."

"Who even are you?"

"Imp. Brockton Bay badass. Fought Behemoth"

"And you're what, a vigilante?"

"Nah, nah. This is personal."

"Are you where the others went?"

"Yep. I've got Sam, Octave and Cam, plus Lillian, Norman, Neil, Poppy. Had Victoire and Georgia too, but they decided to make their own way."

Martina considered it. Good as she was at nursing, it was far from her favourite thing to do. Without Cherie it had been impossible to lure people to the house for entertainment, and things had gotten boring since the pregnancies. Leaving the house had been unthinkable, but now it seemed possible. Enticing.

"What would we be doing?"

Imp shrugged. "Cleanup. Your dad's left victims all over. We take Flor, we hunt them down, we fix 'em."

"You know some of them are parahumans, right?"

It sounded distinctly like Imp was grinning. "All the more fun for us. After that, I've got territory to run. Back home. It's a sweet life."

"Alright," Martina decided. "I'm in. But what about the women in there? Livewire's got complications, and can't use her powers in an enclosed space, but Aviator would be able to chase us."

Imp offered her the knife. "That's what I'm hoping."

[AN: Coming up next, something ever-so-slightly vaguely kind-of if-you-squint-at-it-real-hard resembling an action scene! I didn't intend for this to be mostly dialogue but it won't all be like this. Promise.]