It was about three in the afternoon when Dad called up the stairs for me to come down. I flipped my notebook closed and slid it under the bed, then descended the stairs. Dad was waiting at the bottom, looking tired. He had a notebook of his own in his hands.

"I talked to the school. Do you wanna come into the lounge and we can talk it over?"

"Sure," I replied, a little apprehensive. Would Blackwell have found a way to wriggle out of this, just as she had out of responsibility for the last four terms? I followed Dad and sank down onto the sofa, opposite his ratty armchair. He glanced down at his notes before beginning.

"Okay, so I called Alan and had him look over a copy of the school's charter, and according to that and the permission form I signed before you went, they're responsible for whatever happens on a school trip. We can nail them with negligent endangerment of a child if we take them to court, and Alan said that we might be able to get something on how they thought you were in the forest with respect to misleading the authorities."

"He said that we were almost certain to win the case if we press charges, and that we could probably expect to get a term of interment for the teacher who was on the trip. He said we could probably take the school to court as well, but Alan said they'd be likely to just fire the guy and try to wash their hands of the issue. They're offering a settlement in exchange for us not pressing charges, though. The media's been running the story, so they can't just sweep it away."

As Dad had been speaking I could see the anger in him, his frustration that he wouldn't be able bring the school to justice. It oozed from him like oily fog choking the air, furious but leashed. I sympathised. The anger with them burned in my chest, but it had dimmed to a kind of cold, tired hate by now. They hadn't helped me for the better part of a year and a half; why would I expect better now? I couldn't even really blame the Trio for this. I was the one who had hung back and slipped.

"How much is the settlement?" I asked.

"They're offering $12,000 at the moment, but Alan thinks that a good lawyer might be able to talk it up a little. He's offered to put in a word with the head of his firm for us."

I didn't know much about law in general, but that sounded like a lot of money, at least for a family like ours.

Dad looked up from his notebook. "Taylor, I don't want you to go back there. I was thinking of taking the settlement and using it to pay for homeschooling, at least for a while. Then maybe we can apply to Arcadia or something. I'm not going to let you go back to that school, though."

His jaw was set, determined, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to shift him on this. I didn't want to. Getting out of Winslow was a dream come true, and even if it wasn't Arcadia - I didn't have the grades for that anymore thanks to Emma's torment of me.

I smiled for the first time in a long while. So what if Winslow would get out of it? I hated this. I wanted retribution and, yes, there was a part of me that just wanted to see the school hurt, but doing the best for Dad and I was what I had to keep in mind. And anyway, I got what I wanted. I wouldn't have to deal with the Trio anymore. I could forget Emma, move on, let her fade away and disappear.

Maybe one day, I thought with a flare of spite, When I'm a famous hero I'll come back and show her what I've become in spite of her. But that would be in the future, and I needed to get there first.

"That sounds good," I replied. "I… don't think I could really trust them-" after they let the trio walk all over me for so long "-after they left me there."

Dad visibly relaxed. Maybe he'd been expecting me to fight him on leaving the school. "What about Emma?" he asked. "She was why you wanted to go to Winslow in the first place, right? She hasn't been over for a while. Have you drifted apart?"

That stung. It reminded me that Dad didn't have any idea of what my former friend had done to me. The reminder that we had once been friends was painful. I didn't really like to remember that once upon a time Emma and I had almost spent more time at each other's houses than at our own.

For a moment I contemplated telling Dad about what had happened, then decided against it. We needed Alan on our side for this. I'd keep the bullying to myself. Soon it wouldn't matter, anyway.

"Kinda, yeah. We just don't really see each other that much. Emma's found some new friends,"I said, valiantly keeping a tremor out of my voice.

"That's too bad. I was friends with Alan back in school and that lasted all the way through 'till now. Well, I guess you're always going to grow apart from some people. Just... just remember to make new friends, okay, Little Owl?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah."

The conversation after that trailed away until it was time for dinner. Dad made pasta with cheese sauce which we ate slowly before vanishing, him into the kitchen and me upstairs again. It wasn't long before I decided it was time to turn in.

XxXxX

I was back in the world of crystal and light. Sections moved and revolved in and out of existence and focus, vanishing down dimensions I couldn't see and reappearing from directions English lacked the words to describe. The sounds and sights were still intense enough to almost hurt, but there was a placidity, a calmness that wasn't here before. It was as if some great crisis had passed, leaving the place once more orderly and oddly mechanical. For all that, though, there was something about the place that made me think it was somehow alive; a degree of organic motion that belied the crystalline appearance. It felt almost as if I was standing in the innards of some vast beast, watching its organs and systems go about their work.

Were recurring dreams a power thing? Or was it just a fluke?

Directive: Analysis.

The wordless demand sank like needles into my mind. Something was demanding that I submit to observation and analysis. Fuck that.

"No!"

A ripple of wispy gold pulsed over the crystalline landscape. Where it passed, the constant movement and shifting seemed to halt for a moment.

Directive: Analysis.

The instruction was more forceful this time, almost a physical pressure, but it washed over me like water. I could resist it with an effort of will.

"No." I replied firmly. "I'm not going to be your lab rat."

Confusion. Directive.

"I'm not going to just do what you say because you tell me to. Explain, or I'll - I'll just ignore you." I felt a bit silly just talking at the air, but then this was only a dream.

Query: Authority.

It wanted to know what right I had to refuse its command. I bristled. "I can say 'no' because you've no right over me."

Identification: Supreme Director/Coordinator/Administrator. Assertion: Rank.

"I don't know who you are and I don't see why I should listen to you. Give me something in return and I might consider it. Maybe."

There was a long pause. It stretched into minutes, and there was a feeling of deep and profound thought, as if the other was considering anew something it had always taken for granted. Finally, it seemed to come to a decision.

Directive: Symbiosis.

It felt grudging, unwilling and hesitant. I couldn't really think of any particular answer to give it. I'd never really had a lucid dream before, but was it normal for it to be like this? "Can you tell me anything about my power?" I said eventually. Maybe it was some kind of subconscious thing. Online it had said that capes usually instinctively knew how to use their powers, so maybe my power-instincts got buried a little deeper?

Affirmation. Information: Findings.

Concepts, ideas and theories poured through my mind. Subatomic-scale computing substrates, conceptual programming, exotic non-energy non-matter forms of existence. I could barely parse the least fraction.

Simplification: Purpose: Enhancement/Computation/Matter-Energy Manipulation. Suggestion: Synergise. Query: Sufficiency.

"That's... fine," I replied, still trying to run through the deluge of information. I was going to ask why it wanted to observe me, but there was an almost tangible feeling of dismissal and the kaleidoscopic world vanished in the blink of an eye.

I woke, blinking away the shadows of un-lights and shaking my head to clear the taste-sounds of the dream. I could feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind my eyes, but it faded away almost as soon as I noticed.

Where did that dream come from? I thought groggily to myself, rubbing my face with the palms of my hands in an effort to wake myself up. It was getting into the colder part of winter, so I really, really didn't want to come out from underneath my duvet. We couldn't really afford to put the heating on in the morning, so in the winter I usually spent as long as possible in bed and wrapped up warm as soon as I got out. I was pretty sure that I could set records for the quickest dressing in the city.

I mulled over the weird dream as I poured myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. The details were already vanishing into the haze of sleep, but I could remember some of what the other had said. Enhancement, computation and matter-energy manipulation. The last part sounded really powerful, and if it wasn't just a dream I guessed that I could count the healing and strength as 'enhancements'. I didn't really know what to make of the 'computation' part, though.

I finished the bowl and rinsed it out, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Maybe… maybe it worked as some kind of mental enhancement as well? I hadn't really noticed anything different about how I was thinking or what I could do mentally, but then again would I have? It wasn't like I'd been doing that much outside of trying to work out my powers.

Which reminds me. I still haven't tested the healing.

I glanced at the kitchen clock, then out the window. I must have slept in, because it was 9 o'clock and the car was gone. Dad must have gone to work decided not to wake me up. I had the house to myself for the rest of the day.

I grabbed the good knife from the knife drawer and sat down at the table, pulling a few of the paper towels from their roll and spreading them out. The last things I wanted to have to explain to Dad were bloodstains on the table. I had the knife ready over my thumb when what I was about to do struck me. I'd cut myself on this knife before by accident when I was younger. It was the one Mom used to use for filleting fish and Dad had kept it sharp ever since. I could remember how it had hurt, and now I was about to do the same on purpose.

Is it part of the 'dulled pain' thing? Do I not consider pain so much already?

I had a reason, though, and it was a good one. If I didn't know what my powers were and could do, I couldn't plan out what I was going to do. Steeling myself, I ran the blade gently over the pad of my thumb. When I took it away, there wasn't even a mark, and I knew for a fact that that knife only took a touch to cut.

Okay, looks like we can add 'enhanced durability' to the list.

I tried again, pressing down this time. I felt a slight sting, but the knife didn't go in. This time when I lifted it away there was still no blood, but a tiny flap of pale skin had been pulled up. When I nudged it aside there was something else as well, a greyish membrane, just below the skin. There wasn't any mark on it. I tried poking at it with the tip of the knife, but it resisted. It was like someone had inserted a layer of kevlar underneath my skin. I pressed harder, putting the weight of my arm behind the blade and it sank in. A lance of not-pain blazed up my arm and I quickly pulled the knife out, hissing.

A ruby bead of blood welled up where the knife had been but within seconds it had dulled to a scab, sealing off the wound. As I watched, I could see the ends of the cut sealing up ever-so-slowly. It was nothing to the regeneration Lung was meant to be capable of, but it was certainly going to come in useful.

I cleaned the knife off and put it away, dumping the paper towels into the bin. I didn't really want to go any farther down that particular route. I could heal, but I didn't want to risk chopping off a finger or something. That weird membrane thing, though, had me curious. Did other tough capes work like this? Did they have physical things which accounted for their toughness? I couldn't remember anything about Alexandria's powers doing something like that, but then again it was quite rare to get solid information on powers. It made sense, I supposed. You wouldn't want villains knowing all your weaknesses. Nor, I mused as I slipped into the study again, would villains want heroes knowing theirs.

I clicked the computer on and, while I was waiting for it to load, brought out the glow on a whim. I played with it a bit, moulding it into different shapes. The computer binged out the Windows startup jingle and suddenly I was hit with an idea. The glow didn't seem to do a great deal on its own, but I hadn't tried adding it to anything else, had I?

I formed a rough ball in my hand and reached down to the off-white tower block underneath the desk, pushing the golden motes through the little vents at the front and into the workings. For a long moment, nothing happened. I started to doubt myself. This was so completely dumb; I was literally rubbing my power on things and seeing what happened.

There was a buzz, a feeling of connection and as the screen flickered my world exploded in light and information.