Five slid his hands over the sheets, expecting the to feel Lila, still breathing and sleeping deeply next to him. But when he only felt cold sheets and an empty pillow and had to force his eyes open to confirm that Lila was gone. He shuttered it back down, considering sleeping more, but he wanted to help Lila who was probably getting the girl ready. He kept it barely open as he splashed some water on his face and quickly brushed his teeth.
He saw himself and combed out his long hair with his fingers, cursing at the knot. He turned back to see it was 7:55am and rushed out of the room. He managed to grab the shirt from the foot of the bed and pulled it down, skipping down the stairs. He heard Lila before he even saw her and smiled.
He realized for a moment, this may had been the first morning where he wasn't snapped awake by a brutal vision, or his survival instinct right at the brim. He had the luxury of mind to consider sleeping in or decide to take his time pulling himself out of bed. When he woke up, he knew Lila wasn't missing or potentially dead, but just downstairs.
"Guys, we're so late. Come on. Let's go." He saw her pull a jacket on Grace's body, but she was whining and in a terrible mood. She looked like she was in the verge of tears and hated the idea of school on this day. Claire was busy checking her bag and smoothing out her hair. He met eyes with Lila and saw the frazzled mind behind them. He took the jacket from her as she hurried to grab their lunch bags.
"Good morning, kid. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" He shook open the jacket for her and waited for her to push her arm through. She was rushed and it kept getting stuck halfway through.
"I only wake up on one side of the bed, and I don't want to wear a jacket." She glared still huffing as she roughly pulled her arms out.
"Okay. You can either hold it or wear it. Do you want to keep track of it all the way to school or forget about it after you wear it." He offered the jacket, and she took it. It was too big for her hand, and it barely scrunched it all within her palms. Realizing she hated holding it and making sure she didn't lost would be too annoying She groaned, slamming her bag down to the floor and pushed it in each arm, stomping her way to the door.
"Grace, you better loose that bloody attitude. Go scream outside or something." She glared at her, watching her glare back to use her whole-body weight to pull the back door open. Claire followed her out, laughing as she watched Grace punch the air and let out a scream. With the door shutting, the scream muffled.
Five met her halfway and grabbed the lunch bag from her. He smiled at her, happy to finally see her face, and kissed her cheek.
"Good morning, love." Lila hugged him and breathed in a big sigh.
"You should have woken me up for help." Five muttered in her ear, hugging her back with two lunch boxes in his hand. She peeled back, kissing him shortly.
"You look cute sleeping. Did anyone tell you that?" She smoothed his bangs into his ear. It was getting so long, it actually stayed tucked.
"I'll go with you to drop the kids off. Come on." Lila sighed again, looking at the floor at the thought of riding the subway with the kids. But she followed him, hands in his, knowing it'd be more manageable with him.
He let go of her hands as he stepped out and she finally snapped up her head and gave him a puzzled look. He was never the one to let go of their hands first, abruptly and without a squeeze. But she saw Grace, laughing with Claire, feeling better, and remembered she didn't know yet.
She stared at his hand, still wanting to hold it and ached at the thought of telling her. Would she be disappointed or mad, or angry at Five? Would she… understand?
Five laughed at Grace, asking her how she already felt better. She had spent all morning fighting Lila through every task, yet when Five entered he had turned the whole mood around 180. Five led them through the stair, but hung back until Grace was caught up to him. He offered Grace his hand, like they had a plan and routine already established. She hung on to the other railing, taking her time and he stepped and waited, stepped and waited.
They reached the bottom with Lila smiling and beaming behind them, unable to contain this strange joy she'd never experienced before. She couldn't even make this up in her mind, this was too good and too pure, even to keep her hope kindled and alive throughout their survival. Five jumped on the last floor with her and she pulled him along, making him stagger and pulled towards the entrances. She pulled out the MetroCard from her backpack's side pocket as she pressed on the reader and Five slid in. She waved Claire and Lila in, and then jumped to rush in herself. She squealed and pulled Five again towards to the oncoming train. It squeaked loudly as it halted to a stop, and Five had to pull her back from the passengers exiting the car. He picked her up only a few inches off the floor and dangling in front of him and waddled them inside to drop her down.
"This kid's got an extra set of battery than all of us." Five muttered, grabbing her arm and pulling them towards a pocket in the busy train. She looked at his hand again, hating it wasn't her hand. This made it feel like the early days of surviving in the greenhouse. When he used to refuse to touch her. When he used to do everything in his power to not let their skin or hand meet. When he used to startle and pull away sharply if they ever grazed.
Grace was still bouncing and staring out the window. The Sun was just rising, pouring in warm light into the car as they pulled up, above the city. Claire looked with her, but she had earphones dangling from her ear while the other bud swayed with the subway's engine. Five took the opportunity to touch her hand with his pinky, clasping it with hers. She saw his face, tearing it away from the children, and saw him already staring down at her.
Soft eyes, calm heart, and eyebrows down and relaxed. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kick everyone out the car while it was moving just to kiss him. He slowly crept all his fingers through hers and pulled it in his jacket pocket. Hands still wiggling and squeezing, their hands were hidden inside the long overcoat. He wore his hoodie under it and the hood peeked out the back. It would have looked out of place for anyone, but he'd never looked hotter, better, and so beautiful, she was losing her mind not being able to kiss him.
"Mommy." Grace grabbed her attention, snapping their gaze as they both looked at her.
"Yeah, babes." She squeezed his hand three times.
"Did I tell you I'm going to the Zoo?" Grace said, still looking out the window as they went back underground.
"Oh yeah? When?" She perked up at her excitement, but Five hissed.
"I totally forgot to tell you. I signed a permission slip to the field trip. It's next week Wednesday, at the Bronx Zoo." He squeezed her back, wincing at his mistake. "Hope it's okay I signed it."
"Yeah, of course." She smiled at him and another urge to kiss him stayed at her chest. She forced herself to look back at Claire, "That should be fun though! You want to see the Flamingos again?"
She startled ramblings about all the animals she liked and the specific list of reasons why.
"There's more plastic flamingos than real flamingos in the world, and I think that's ironic or something, but I'm not sure what that means." She muttered off, but they both heard it. It made Five laugh so hard as he covered his mouth, trying to stifle the sound into a choked laugh. She kept marveling at him, realizing she'd never seen him like this before. He was different and glowing, like he had found some resemblance of peace. She kept trying to meet his eyes, but he paid her no attention other than his tight grip on her hands.
Grace kept asking what it meant, trying to understand the joke, but Five just laughed more and threw his head back. Everyone around them glared at them, but a few people started laughing with him, having heard Grace ramble off.
When the train landed on their stop, their hands slipped out the pocket and Grace replaced the warmth with hers. She walked with her slowly out of the car as turned back to see Five pushing Claire out of the car, eyes glued on her phone. He snatched it out of her hands right before her foot slipped through the gap. She smiled at him, sheepishly, and dramatically hopped far to avoid it. She opened her hand so he could give it back to her, but he walked on, pulling the earphones with him. She groaned and tried to fight it back, but he ignored her, pushing past the turnstile and caught up to Lila and Grace, slowly making their way up the stairs.
Claire gave up, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. Once they reached the school, Five slid out the phone, with the chord of the headphones wrapped around it. Excited she tried to snatch it out, but he pulled away.
"No phones while walking." He said, annoyed he had to spell it out for her. "I shouldn't have to tell you this. Hope you know that." He pulled his lips and gave it to her.
"Whatever, old man." She grumbled but peeked out a small smile. She turned and he saw her roll her eyes and wave at them to go away.
Five chuckled, but sharply turned to Lila to kiss her. She kissed him back, glad he was on the same page. He pulled back sighing, "Grace is, like, my favorite person right now." But Lila was still in shock, suddenly aware of all the parents around her.
"I think you're her bloody favorite right now." She smiled, his arm firm behind her back. "Have you been secretly feeding the kids cake or something? What are you doing to them?"
He laughed again, wholeheartedly and proudly. And every fucking time, she wanted to record it so she could play it over and over again. He grabbed her hands, out and free, pulling her towards the side of the building. He walked with her casually, snaking his arm to hers.
"You know the other day—she asked me what my favorite color was." He nodded at her, smiling again. "I never know what's going to come out of that kid's mouth." He was chuckling and it turned into a laugh. It was contagious and she was harmonizing with him, laughing until she couldn't breathe.
They were far into the back roads, with no clear visibility into the street. She pulled him on the overcoat to kiss him, still giggling in between breaths. He pulled her into his arms and they were stumbling and waddling into each other. She thought about wanting to be home right now, to tear him apart under her, and exactly show him how much she loved him in this timeline, at this point in space. She let the power surge, and let it pull them in, kissing him harder, as she felt the environment shift. They stumbled into the living room again, still connected and laughter gone. She was so close to touching his skin underneath his hoodie, when she heard it.
"A-hem… Excuse me?"
She froze, lips still connected to Five, but eyes wide open and meeting his. He scrambled back, smoothing out his hair and wiping his mouth to see who it was. All at once, they heard their entire family, watching them, blinking madly.
"It's getting excessive guys." Allison said, turning her hand up and shaking her head.
"It's like everything they do just turns them on." Klaus looked in mock confusion and shrugged.
"There's a literal planned attack at Central Park today. Focus!" Viktor half-shouted.
"That was disgusting." Diego turned around and shook his head.
"That was disgusting." Luther added, holding his fist up and Diego tapped his fist back.
Five cleared his throat and kept smoothing back his hair and rubbed his neck, looking down at his feet. He blushed so hard, his ears were turning bright red. Although it's nice to never worry about people at the greenhouse, but with no one and nothing, made life ten times worse than it had to be. It was the most excruciating part. Here there were people who knew them enough and their history to even get caught like this. Lila kissed his cheek anyway, still new to this Five and loving the fact that they even had people to be embarrassed in front of.
Five snapped his head up again, looking at her in surprise and followed her stretched out arms to see her middle finger pointed straight at them. She pulled at his arm, still flicking them off, grinning, daring them to stop her.
"You fuckers are the least scary things in my life. Fuck off." She laughed, leaning back into the couch and linking arms with Five. His face was still burning and kept looking at her like she was crazy.
A call broke the laughter echoing among them. Already teasing the red Five and triumphant Lila. Viktor pressed the remote and accepted the call.
Viktor stared at Ben, his expression a mix of disbelief and sympathy. "Ben, you look worse than when you were in prison."
Ben shot him a dark look, his eyes bloodshot, his face covered in stubble. "Because! You idiots decided to stop the apocalypse and let the humans live! I hate humans." He spat the words, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. "I hate all of you."
"O...kay," Klaus chimed in, trying to follow Ben's rant.
Luther frowned, confused. "Ben, you're human."
"Yeah. I know. I hate that too." Ben didn't even pause as he typed furiously, the screen shaking from his aggressive clicks. He shared his screen, pulling up a large database filled with charts, numbers, and maps.
"Do you see this shit?" He waved toward the monitor, his voice rising in frustration. "The FBI only raided 15 locations on our map. Arrests? A measly 155, and most of them are nobodies, low-level grunts who don't know a thing. That leaves 102 active locations!" Ben's face filled the screen as he practically screamed at the camera, his stress palpable.
Five scanned the charts, trying to process the numbers and data Ben threw at them. Ben, however, kept rambling, his stress spilling out uncontrollably.
"And yeah, I got it when there were riots and raids from The Cleanse, but look at these numbers! They're coming back stronger every time, more armed, more organized. What the fuck are you doing over there? Are you guys just dicking around town?" Ben's voice cracked, frustration evident in every syllable.
"What do you want us to do? It's not like we can just show up as the Umbrella Academy again to save the day. We have to stay hidden," Diego growled, matching Ben's irritation. "We've been holding them off defensively."
Ben threw his hands up in frustration, pacing back and forth in front of his screen. "Then knock some of these options off the map! There are 30 in your neighborhood alone. Rig their weapons, sabotage their plans—just do something! Sitting around like this isn't going to help anyone."
Five, looking pale and unsteady, shot Ben a hard glare. "Ben, we're trying our best here. We've got kids to look after, and only so many hours in the damn day." His voice was sharp, but there was a clear tension beneath it. Lila, watching from the side, noticed how strained he looked—this wasn't the usual confident, biting Five she knew. He looked like he was running on fumes.
"Any leads on the grad student?" Five asked, shifting gears, his tone more controlled.
Ben nodded, his voice dropping. "We're close. He's somewhere in Upper Manhattan, either in a well-funded lab or underground, working with our big guy."
"So, you got nothing. That's like a hundred different places." Five rolled his eyes.
"You want to do this shit?" Ben spat back, still glaring hard.
Five's face darkened. "He's probably the one doing the backdoor deals. Patch is investigating for us, but I think it's tied to D.C." When Ben furrowed his eyebrows, and Diego shot him a glare, realizing what his true motivations were, but Five muttered, "I planted some seeds while I was at it."
Ben's eyes widened in realization. "This is all leading to one place, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Five confirmed, his voice grim. "The White House."
"Wait, like... an attack on the White House?" Luther asked, his brow furrowed.
"No," Five said, cutting him off. "Like taking the Presidency."
The room fell silent as they stared at the map on the screen. Ben played a video, showing a smaller parade of The Cleanse marching through a suburban neighborhood, the date stamped in the corner: 'August 15th, 2024 16:31:45.' They watched as more people gathered, their numbers growing, marching with purpose and conviction.
"The Cleanse was originally focused on ending the world, returning to the 'original timeline,'" Five explained. "But with Gene and Jean gone, this new leader doesn't want to destroy everything. He wants to control it. Instead of using the Marigold to end it all, he's using it to fuel his rise to power. He's hiring the grad student to bind the Marigold and arm his followers. Then, when it all spirals out of control, he'll step in as the hero, the savior, and win the election."
"…To the Presidency," Ben muttered, finishing the thought.
"And he's getting excited. He thinks like a serial killer. Every time he attacks, he gets too riled up. Too jittery. He's going to slip up today." Five muttered, scratching his eyebrows and furrowing them.
"This shit is political now?!" Ben shouted into the lab again. Groaning loudly and hating the headache it would bring. "Do you know how disgusting it is to dig around Politician's internet footprint?"
Ben pressed his palms against his face, visibly struggling to hold back his frustration. "Fine. But at least tell me you've got a plan for today's attack. It's Central Park, Five! Even if law enforcement teams up with the FBI and SWAT, how are they going to manage civilians getting caught in the crossfire?"
Five's patience snapped. His voice was ice-cold, but there was an edge of exhaustion in it. "Actually, I do have a plan," he bit back. "Diego and I hit a location in Lower Manhattan last night. Found military-grade weapons, fresh from overseas. Government involvement is confirmed—they're pushing The Cleanse to evolve faster than we anticipated. These guys aren't just playing around with sticks and stones anymore. They're getting tech-savvy, real fast. They're smuggling in more Marigold than we thought, and I'm tracking the trucks." His words came out in rapid-fire succession, as if he barely had time to catch his breath between each point.
Ben's anger simmered beneath the surface, his frustration palpable, but he absorbed the information. "Fine," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "Sorry. It's just... watching this from behind a screen, not being out there with you—it's driving me insane." His eyes flicked toward Five, almost as if searching for a sign that someone understood. "What else did you find?"
Five ran a hand through his hair, eyes briefly flicking to Lila, before he continued. "We know there's a bounty on our heads. Or on one of us." He took a breath, the tension clear in his voice. "The people who tried to grab Lila—they weren't part of The Cleanse. Bounty hunters. So it's partly a distraction to move the Marigold under the radar, but more than that..." He trailed off, squeezing Lila's hand, his expression darkening at the memory of her in danger. "I think they're running out of ideas on how to make the Marigold work—how to bind it to the human genome. They're trying to get one of us to see how it worked."
Ben's brow furrowed. "A bounty? You think they're targeting your powers? The Marigold in your DNA…" His voice was edged with concern, but it was the kind of worry that hid under layers of anger and urgency.
Five nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "They have the money to keep raising the price on our heads. But here's the thing, Ben—they know we're coming. We have to be smarter, more careful. We need to use our powers, but only when necessary. No more slipping up. No more exposing ourselves. We're already playing with fire, and these bastards are watching every move we make." He turned to Lila again, something softer in his eyes for just a moment, before steeling his gaze back toward the screen. "This attack on Central Park is a distraction, but it's also a test. They're waiting for us."
The room fell into a tense silence. Ben, still rubbing his temples, sighed. "So what's the plan, Five? How do we stop them if they already know we're coming?"
—
Patch realized she didn't have her service weapon. She was focusing all her energy on showing her calm demeanor, like she wasn't affected by him, or his world, that she forgot her fucking service weapon.
"Psst. Laura." She whispered into the weapon holdings window. "Laura." She said sharply, turning to see around her.
"What!" Laura shouted, contrasting her quiet whisperings.
"Keep it down. I need you to lend me a thingy." Patch wiggled her eyebrows, hoping she didn't have to say it out loud. Laura was one of her only co-workers she liked. She had a heavy mouth and always knew she could tell her something and actually stay between them.
"What's a thingy." She puzzled back, confused at her hushed tone and nervous stance.
"I may… or may not have…forgotmygun." She rushed through the sentence, truly paranoid one of the team would hear her. The teasing would never end, and even if she didn't care, she would be annoyed hearing about it all the time.
"My, my… Eudora Madeline Patch. You? Forgot your gun?" She threw her head back and laughed loudly, echoing through the empty hallway. "I know you didn't leave it at home. Spill." She wiggled her eyebrows. The only time she did forget her weapon was when she used to date, still in the thick of the honeymoon phase, and forgot to bring it with her.
"I…" There was no way to get out of this, so she told a white lie to get this conversation over with. She started to blush thinking about him again. "I met someone, recently. Very out of the blue. We kissed and I went to his house…" She didn't need to add any more details. She started squealing and clapping, excited for her. She leaned in to ask for specifics and demographics but was saved by the bell.
"Code Black. Code Black." A recording started to cycle through the hallway. The main room started blaring an alert and flashed lights intermittently. Laura snapped her head out the window, and quickly shot back to grab a FBI issued Glock and slid it over to her. Patch nodded at her, thankful, and started running towards the noise.
She secured the holster, and saw the room explode with people running, angrily muttering on the phone, scrambling to grab their weapons and protective gear. Even if they knew the date and location of the attack, they were still unprepared. Rushing into her office, she grabbed her bulletproof vest, dashing down the stairs with her team.
"What's going on, Lowe. Talk to me." She was skipping down the stairs to match his pace.
"The Cleanse threatened from the call center with a bomb, at Central Park. The Cleanse is already on socials, claiming credit. Listen to the recording." He dialed on his phone and passed it to her.
The recording of the robotic voice, menacingly cut off the operator.
"This is The Cleanse. We are done watching the world rot under your government's corruption. Right now, as we speak, a bomb is planted in Central Park, ready to go off. You have one hour. It's not just a warning; it's a demonstration of what happens when you ignore us. Know this: the explosion is just the beginning. The people will rise. No more hiding. You've failed this country, and today you'll pay for it."
She tried to understand the point of it all. Why create another distraction within the distraction? To pull them thinner than they already were? To create more damage? To buy more time? Knowing more now, especially from their raid, she hardened her mind and focused on what was coming ahead.
When the SWAT and her team gathered around her, she was already stressed and sweating, thinking about meeting him in action.
"I want 3 and 5 block perimeters today. Stagger the people out. There was an emergency issued this morning, but we couldn't be specific incase they escalated their attacks. Be aware, people will panic and start trampling if we don't do crown control. I want the Bomb Squad tracking the bomb and found under 30 minutes. Guide EMT to the victims ASAP and watch where you shoot. We're expecting ammunition today. Don't get shot." She clapped once, separating the group as they filed into the vans.
Patch ran towards the chaos. The loud honking of crashed cars and the screaming people as they pushed past her, wasn't helping. She kept her hand hovered over her new Glock and carefully muttered to the Bomb Squad Chief.
"North side, we think… it's right by the museum and conservatory. We are working on it, so it doesn't detonate at all." He walked with her, rambling and sweating. She saw the parade passing through the baseball fields and playground. They were yelling at children, and someone threw a smoke bomb high in the air, passing by the tall fences and watched children scurry and cough.
"You radio me as soon as you get that done, Chief." She patted his back and started sprinting towards the nearby group of people, pushing them away and yelling to warn them. They still hadn't spotted the growing and attacking mass.
If the bomb was in the North, the group heading Southwest, it only left one place for something that large and eye catching to be moved. She stopped in her tracks, fighting another group of people, "The Museum."
The arched ceilings, the decorated walls, the adorned corner and crevice of he building, hid basements and entranced big enough for a large shipment. The bomb, it was a lie. To ensure that her team would stay by the fake, while they took their time moving what they needed through the basement and out into traffic. She ran past the ponds, through the shadowed trees, and into the winding road towards the Museum staff entrance. She saw several people in heavy gear, craning to reach the bomb, buried underground. Pushing past the groups of the Bomb Squad trying to stop her, but she flashed her badge and climbed down the steep garage entrance. It was quiet and abandoned, when she was expecting back to back traffic, people trying to leave in a panic.
She felt her gut shouting at her and gripped the Glock in her hands. She started raising it, peeking through the corner, and pushed through, hiding behind a tall car. Trying to clear the space with any suspicious activity, she hoped to see the people moving the equipment. She knew she couldn't interfere. Even if the FBI had the authority to interfere, moving rocks wasn't exactly illegal.
Patch was moving in as backup for Number Two. She had convinced herself that her role was simply to observe from a distance, to intervene only if absolutely necessary. As she moved silently between the rows of parked cars, her senses were sharp. But something made her stop. Whispering. Low, hurried, unmistakable. She leaned in closer, straining to make out the voices. It was faint, but one of them sounded like Five. His unmistakable, rambling cadence.
Before she could take another step, a cold pressure against her spine stopped her dead in her tracks. A gun. Her breath hitched, and for a split second, her mind went blank. She closed her eyes, trying to calm the rising tide of panic, before slowly turning around, hands raised in surrender.
The murmuring stopped. The garage seemed to go eerily silent. Her heart raced, praying that it was her allies nearby, that someone—anyone—would intervene.
"Drop your gun, fed," a voice sneered from behind the gun, his lips curling into a smirk as he pointed the barrel directly at her head.
Patch swallowed, forcing her voice to remain calm. "Okay... hey, take it easy," she said, her tone steady but cautious. Slowly, she began to crouch, holding her gun by the barrel with her open palm. She bent down, inching toward the floor. In that moment, she realized how alone she truly was. No backup. No cavalry charging in. Just her.
But she wasn't going down without a fight.
With a sudden, sharp move, Patch pushed the gunman's arm upwards. The shot fired into the air, the thunderous sound ricocheting through the enclosed garage. The noise rattled her bones, but she used the momentary distraction to her advantage. She lunged, using her weight to drive him down, her hand coming down hard on his wrist. A sickening crack followed, and the man dropped his weapon with a howl of pain.
But he wasn't finished.
With his free hand, he swung wildly, his fist connecting with her face, sending a shockwave of pain through her skull. Before she could recover, he kicked her square in the side, his boot driving into her liver and knocking the air out of her lungs. The impact sent her sprawling against the side of a car. Her vision blurred, stars dancing in front of her eyes as she struggled to regain her breath. Her chest felt tight, like a vice was squeezing her ribs, and for a moment, she thought her lungs had stopped working altogether. Panic set in as she gasped for air.
White noise filled her ears, a dull ringing, as if the world around her was underwater. Blinking rapidly, she tried to clear her head, but her body was slow to respond. Through the haze, she saw him, the gunman, moving toward his fallen weapon, his hand already gripping it. He cocked the gun with a savage motion, his eyes gleaming with malice as he towered over her.
"Last words, bitch?" he snarled, pressing the muzzle against her temple.
Patch, half on her knees, locked eyes with him. Even through the fog of pain, she refused to break eye contact. Her gaze burned with defiance, a silent promise that her face would haunt him long after this moment. Her nose dripped blood, and every inch of her body screamed in agony, but she didn't care. She wouldn't beg.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for her service weapon, her trembling fingers wrapping around the familiar grip. She brought the gun up, pointing it straight at his chest.
"I'll meet you in hell, fucker," she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. Her finger hovered over the trigger, knowing that this could be it. She was ready to die—if it meant taking him down with her. Her thoughts raced as she considered the weight of her decision, her mind flashing to Number Two. Part of her hoped he'd sense her danger, somehow know she needed him. But if he didn't come... she was okay with dying in action. Dying knowing she fought till the end.
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the garage. For a moment, she thought it was hers, but the lack of recoil and heat in her hand told her otherwise. She didn't feel the shock of the bullet leaving her chamber.
Instead, she watched in disbelief as the gunman was thrown sideways by an invisible force, knocked off his feet as if struck by a truck. Her eyes widened as she saw the bullet—his bullet—suspended mid-air, mere inches from her face. It hung there, frozen in motion, the heat radiating from it making the air shimmer. She could feel the warmth of it against her skin, and instinctively, she reached out, waving her hand in front of it, her fingers brushing through the thick, distorted air.
Patch's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly turned her head, knowing the one person that could do this.
Number Two, unmasked, stood a few feet away, his arm outstretched. His expression was all there, open for her to read, real, with his eyes squinted, lips tight, eyebrows deep, and knew she had been staring at the wrong face for the past few days.
She had gotten his shadows all wrong. The angles of his nose bridge and the intensity of his eyes eluded her, failing to capture the essence of him on the page. The freckles that danced across his high cheekbones were absent, as were the deep furrows etched between his brows, a testament to his burdens. All she wanted right now was a pen and a napkin—something to do him justice, to immortalize him in art as he truly was. But before she could gather her thoughts, the adrenaline that had coursed through her veins began to drain away, leaving behind a hollow ache. Pain surged through her body as the bruises began to form, seeping into her consciousness. The metallic taste of blood from her nose dripped onto her lips, and she wiped it away with her shirt, now stained crimson from where his steel-toed boots had struck her.
A stranger stood beside him, hands raised, emanating flickering blue and yellow light from his body like a beacon in the dark. They moved in unison, as if choreographed, and she recognized him as another brother. Determined, she tried to push herself up, her palm pressed against the cold metal of the car, but each breath was a dagger in her side, and she felt the telltale crack of bruised ribs.
The stranger rushed to her side, offering a steadying hand. She glanced at Number Two, who looked at her with eyes filled with a stern intensity, a tension radiating from him that made her long for the familiar comfort of his mask. As she accepted the stranger's help to rise, she wished it were Two instead, but he remained stationary, jaw clenched tight, his eyes blazing with a mix of concern and something darker—worry, or perhaps anger.
Desperate to regain her composure, she attempted to tuck her gun back into its holster, but her fingers fumbled, the safety slipping from her grasp. She watched in disbelief as it clicked into place without her touching it, his hand moving just enough to indicate his subtle intervention. She shot him a glare, then managed to shove the weapon into her belt, barely securing it.
"Thanks," she muttered, wincing as she shifted her weight.
"Jesus. I can't tell if you're just an adrenaline junkie or suicidal," Number Two remarked, turning on his heel and striding toward the door, his voice tinged with irritation.
"Sorry about that. He's dramatic," the stranger said with a kind smile, supporting her as they took tentative steps together. Gradually, the shock began to dissipate from her muscles, allowing her to walk unassisted, though pain still pulsed in her chest. She swallowed it down, curiosity rising once more.
"I'm Viktor, by the way. I've heard a lot about you. Patch, right?" His demeanor was warm but tinged with the weariness of someone who had seen far too much in a short span of time. They navigated through a long hallway, lined with crates that seemed to pulse with unspoken stories.
"Yeah. What's your number?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, a reflex born of her artistic instinct to match the sketches she had made.
"Seven," he replied, and a genuine smile broke across his face.
"The Violinist. Telekinesis," she muttered, comprehension dawning.
"Is that what it translates to? Telekinesis? I just feel like a ball of energy," he shrugged, the humility in his voice endearing. She kept her gaze darting around her surroundings, still on high alert as they approached another door.
"You're going to meet one of our new friends," Viktor said, his eyes betraying a flicker of distress as he gestured her forward. It was a freezer and it cold air poured out as he pulled the heavy door. She peered inside, heart jumping out her chest, straining her ribs, scared and excited.
She heard Viktor say, "Meet our rock supplier, Dorski."