Massive trigger warning for suicidal thoughts near the end.

The television was the only light in the Pataki household that night.

Its wide screen hit the floors in pale strips and bounced from the furniture to cast shadows against the walls.

The shadows were thin and erratic and poked the ends of the room like knives. But there was one that stood out from the others. It stretched further and widened so it swept out like it were a cape. The shadow belonged to a girl cocooned in a blanket. It was the same shade as her childhood—girlish pink—but her stare had become vacant. Lost. Her eyes were dark but remained locked on the screen.

That girl was me.

It was well past my bedtime and yet here I remained. In front of the television with the volume low enough not to wake anyone, but loud enough that I could understand what was being said.

"We have now had two incidents in the past 48 hours—"

Nel lay asleep by my side, oblivious to what they were saying about me.

"Although there is no footage of the conflict, some eyewitnesses have claimed to have seen her limping from the area before the authorities could arrive," the news anchor reported. "Despite the considerable damage left to the roads and nearby buildings, the self-proclaimed Blue Jay managed to take down the creature and prevent any casualties. After authorities arrived at the scene, an anonymous source claimed to have seen her on top of the Suncrest Apartments—"

I could hear them, ghosts that wouldn't leave. Screams that rang in my ears. Red eyes piercing from the shadows. I shuddered. Squeezed my eyes shut. Clasped my ears to block out the shrieks.

"—although we have a name, authorities are unsure of much else. Just who is this woman, and where has she come from?"

Why was I watching this?

"—your thoughts on Blue Jay?"

Why was I willingly watching these images again and listening to people recount my nightmares? It only made the memories more painful.

"I, uh, don't really know much 'bout her," a younger face admitted. His eyes darted around awkwardly as he sheepishly tried his best to ignore the camera watching him. He looked around twenty and had orange strands that peaked out from his beanie. "But from what I've seen online, she seems pretty cool."

"I love Blue Jay!" It cut to another face—a girl who looked twelve with braided hair and bright eyes. "She has such awesome powers!"

"She really kicked that alien thing to hell and back," the next face was of a woman who nodded in approval. Her lilac hair was a stark contrast to her dark skin and black lipstick. "She's just like Sailor Moon!"

I sucked in a breath—they . . . believed in me. In Blue Jay. They'd only seen her fight once but somehow approved of the idea of her.

"No, I don't like her."

The smile—the one I hadn't been aware of—slowly fell.

"And why's that, sir?" The reporter asked.

"Because she's just a girl—a child," the man shrugged. He was an overweight man with a fringe of grey hair that circled his balding scalp. "Much too young to have any experience."

"You don't think she has the experience?"

"No, I don't."

"Could you tell us why, sir?"

"Well, as I've said before," he said and crossed his arms, "she's very young. It's just not possible for her to have any experience concerning something like—well—this."

A similarly aged woman with curly, wheat-coloured hair, nodded her head in agreement. "I most certainly don't trust her—" my nails sunk into my skin "—we know nothing about her or who or what she is . . . and the police have had years of training."

"Yes," the old man nodded and turned from her to the reporter. "I trust the police—they've been trained. They're professionals. This woman—this girl—she's just one person. And it's in my and my wife's opinion that, give or take a few weeks, she'll either be gone or useless. She's got a pretty face, but she's a poser—a pretty fake. Mark my words, she won't las—"

The bright image on the screen shrank into nothing and plunged the television into darkness. The remote fell from my hand and clattered to my feet. Shaky fingers ran through my hair, and I bit down hard on my lip. Pretty fake, pretty fake, nothing more than a po—

This wasn't helping. It wouldn't change anything. They were coming back. I didn't have my powers, but it was my job to protect everyone.

"—had it not been for her, a lot more people would have been rushed to the hospital—"

"—she seems pretty cool—"

"—just like Sailor Moon—"

"—love Blue Jay—"

"—You cannot help but trust her—"

Pretty fake. He'd called me a pretty fake. Was that what I was? A girl playing dress up, pretending to be a hero? I had no idea what I was even doing anymore.

I hissed curses and ducked my head between my knees. What was I doing? They may have placed their trust into Blue Jay, but who was I really?

A nobody.

Helga G. Pataki: the girl no one liked.

Would the same people believe in her if they knew it were me? Would they still feel so safe if they knew that Blue Jay was really an ugly little girl?

Something was crushing my ribs. It was getting hard to breathe. I wanted to scream—for help, for air—but that would wake everyone. I . . . couldn't get in their way—wouldn't. Not that they cared. They couldn't see it—no one could. They couldn't see the weight that slowly crushed me.

Pretty fake. Pretty fake. She's a pretty fake.

Something sharp dug into my scalp—I think it was my nails. God, I wanted them to be claws.

She'll either be gone or useless.

Gone.

Dead.

"—she saved us. She—Blue Jay protected us against that thing—whatever it was—"

My heart thundered.

"—I just . . . its admirable."

Arnold.

He believed in Blue Jay. He admired her. Had faith in her. Liked her. Blue Jay, not Helga. She was just his stalker. A freak. She bullied him relentlessly when they were children. She wasn't a hero; she was a villain.

But Blue Jay, she was a hero. She saved people. She didn't torment. It wasn't within her nature to make things worse. She was right, she was fair; she was good. She was who you received when you reached the ends of your prayers. She was strong. She fought evil. She was a lover like she was a fighter. She was a force to be reckoned with—a hero.

That's what he believed in, what they all did: a brave warrior. Flawless, a champion. Someone you could lay your hopes and dreams with and know that they would remain safe.

I lifted my head.

That was who I had to become.

Perfect. Faultless. I would become her, I just had to keep pushing myself.

The air dropped like it was becoming heavier. There was a pressure that forced its way into my chest. I didn't know how to handle it, how to get rid of it. I shook my head to clear myself from the smoke. I had to become a warrior, I had to become a soldier. I didn't know why I had been chosen as I was the last thing anyone would ever imagine when considering the term, "Hero." But something happened to me when I was her, a cosmic light flooded my senses until I no longer was Helga G. Pataki.

And I needed to take advantage of that: I was no longer Helga and thus, I was capable of being anything. Of being good. I just needed to do anything and everything so I would have nothing to do with Helga.

She wasn't a hero; she was a villain.

Forever.

I knew that; I could accept that, as I had when I was a child. And yet, my body responded to that before my mind could catch up and give its permission. Standing, I picked up my hoodie from the armchair and headed for the front door.

I needed a walk—

". . . did you see how she left? . . . she's just taking the cops' jobs . . ."

—an extremely long walk.

To say my night was restless would be an understatement.

I had only desired to walk for an hour, but it ended up lasting much longer. The sun was rising when I made it back. I only had two hours left to sleep. I was too tired to be angry and clumsily stumbled into bed.

I found Nel, already asleep.

She didn't wake as I shut the door. I was safe from hearing any lectures until I woke up.

But though I had two hours, I only slept for one. Too much time was spent moving around trying to find a position that was comfortable. But everything in me was in too much pain, too much discomfort, to make it work. I chose to stare at the roof until sleep overcame me. And by the time that I managed to close my eyes, Olga burst in, screeching that I'd be late if I didn't wake now.

So, I reluctantly got up and readied myself for school, ignoring when Olga asked when we'd gotten a cat.

Getting ready was difficult, although, truthfully, I was convinced I pulled it off decently (all things considered) until Nel had to open her big mouth—

"Helga, your socks do not go on your hands."

Bah. I knew that. But who was to say that originally wasn't my intention? Wearing one's socks on one's feet was awfully conventional. For all she knew, I was rebelling against the societal norms of sock–wearing by preferring my hands over my feet.

I wasn't, but that was beside the point.

Anyway, the morning moved eerily quickly. Things were happening and I wouldn't realise until they had passed. I didn't even notice that I was on the bus until—

"Hey, Arnold, you gonna be able to make it this afternoon?"

My eyes found their figures at the front of the bus. They were ahead of me—the boy with tall hair and the boy with blonde hair. But for once, my heart was too exhausted to jump when looking at him.

Arnold smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Gerald, I can't. I'm babysitting today."

"You serious, man?" Gerald groaned and threw his head back dramatically. "Again?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Gerald."

The dark-skinned male sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is it that weird kid again?"

Arnold frowned at Gerald's dismissal but nonetheless nodded. "Yeah, it's Micah."

"Man," Gerald gave another pained groan and shut his eyes. "I don't know why you put up with that kid."

Irritation twisted Arnold's expression.

"Because, Gerald, Micah is a good kid," he replied, tone now sharp. "Just a little shy is all."

Gerald, observant as he was, finally noticed the tone. He opened his eyes and scanned Arnold's posture. Moments passed before he shrugged and turned away.

"Whatever you say, Arnold . . ."

Something burned in my system. It shifted, slid and climbed up my body. It became hard to breathe as it wrapped like a noose around my neck.

I glanced down and found veins bulging in my fists.

I frowned, was I angry? Why? Certainly not if Arnold was involved. Never could I remain angry at such a fair creature. He was too good . . . unless—

"Did you do Mrs. Garland's homework?" Arnold suddenly asked, looking ready to put the disagreement behind them.

"Homework?" Gerald's eyebrows drew together. "What homework?"

"The homework, Gerald," Arnold rolled his eyes. "The homework she gave us on Monday . . . that's due today."

"What?!" Gerald's eyes almost popped out of his skull. Several nearby students jumped and turned to give him annoyed glances. Arnold's cheeks turned red, and he squirmed from the attention. "Aww, man, you serious?"

Arnold nodded. "Yeah, man."

Gerald knocked his head against the window, shutting his eyes.

"Shit," he groaned. "This really bites."

Pete's eyes glared at the boys in the mirror and Arnold, seeing this, turned his gaze in any other direction—mine.

My breath hitched.

Emerald on blue. My heart was quaking. But not just in delight, there was something else—something heavier.

Arnold blinked, oblivious to my turmoil, then cracked a slow grin and waved, eyes twinkling.

And—like a brick—it hit me.

I turned to the window and watched the blurring landscapes. In the reflection, I saw Arnold frown his confusion before giving up and turning back to the moaning Gerald. Eyes downcast, I realised why I felt like this—why my stomach lurched when Arnold talked with Gerald, why when he smiled my heart would hurt or why I wanted to break down in tears when seeing how innocently his eyes sparkled—

I was jealous.

Of how simple everything was for Arnold. How simple it had always been. His world was perfect; he was surrounded by people that he loved. He was beautiful. He was noticed by everyone and got along with everyone. He didn't have to try to be likeable, he just was. He was a flashlight, filling rooms with his gentleness, his goodness. It wasn't a mystery as to why everyone loved him so much, how he managed to collect people's hearts without even trying.

He was kindness fashioned into a human.

It shone from his soul when he smiled. It lit everything up and made you feel like everything really would be okay. He smiled like he had never been hurt, like he had never experienced pain. I had always been envious of his ability to smile and make everything alright. I wanted to possess his endless optimism and altruism. As a child, I didn't just want to be with him, I wanted to be him. I wanted to be popular, I wanted to be loved, I wanted to be gentle, I wanted to be kind. I wanted to walk into a room with such a glow that everyone would be forced to stare in awe at it.

God, I wanted a reason to be optimistic.

I would sell my soul to walk in his shoes, even for a day. What would it be like to be like him? To be surrounded by so much love that you didn't know what to do about it. So many people loved Arnold, it felt like every day that passed, someone else had fallen in love with him. What was it like, to have so much kindness and compassion, that it shone from your eyes and drew people closer to you? To walk into a room and know that people will love you, so long as you remain true to yourself?

I had never experienced something like that—love. I had always been forgotten, passed over. While Arnold was destined for the sun, I was made for the shadows. I didn't belong in the light; I didn't belong with the good. I was numb, detached, and ignored. People didn't see me, they never had. There had been a time in grade school when I had tried getting them to notice me. But I wasn't likeable, I had just earned people's scorn and fear. I wasn't Arnold, I was Helga. I didn't attract, I repelled. I wasn't gentle or kind; I was disturbed and I was wicked. That was my nature and that was what people saw when they looked at me.

I was his opposite.

So, why me?

Why was I the one to defend the world? Nel said there would be more Guardians, but at this rate, it was still me verses thousands.

And after what happened yesterday . . .

Boots trampling. I run but keep coming back to the same spot. A light shines ahead—that must be the way out. I'm walking for that light when movements catch my eye. I spin but find nothing but black.

Time passes, I'm not sure how much—seconds or hours.

I then turn to find a hideously, distorted face, baring its teeth centimetres from my nose. I scream but my muscles have frozen—I'm stuck, staring up with wide eyes.

Its lips curl into a horrible smile. A clawed hand raises, ready to strike. The beast snarls and swings—

I jumped, eyes snapping open.

A gasp escaped.

I blinked. Looked around. The blurriness, it sunk back as my surroundings became crisp. Arnold had thrown his head back, laughing at something Gerald had said. The beating had hollowed out my throat. There was a new addition to the group now. Sat behind Gerald—

Lila.

Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to calm my heart. Had that been just a dream?

A burning sensation branded my thigh. I bit my lip, holding back the screams. I could feel eyes turning in my direction, but I buried my senses beneath the throbbing. I tapped my forehead onto the window and prayed I hadn't reopened the wound. I shouldn't have—the stitches were decent—but still.

Nel would have my head on a platter—again. She was already mad that I'd taken a walk without informing her. Re-opening my wounds, therefore slowing the healing process, would only make today harder.

All I wanted was to sleep—I wanted to get off the bus and go back home. It wouldn't take long to sink into a deep sleep for the rest of the day. Hell, at this rate, I could sleep for the rest of the year.

My eyelids began slipping shut without permission, but I was too exhausted to fight against their weight. The world blurred as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Random images floated by aimlessly in endless pools of my thoughts.

The engine suddenly stopped.

Several footsteps patted down the aisle and I groaned. Time to get up. I counted to ten before rising to my feet, swinging my bag onto my shoulder, and stumbling down the aisle.

Eyelids fluttering, my focus began diminishing. Colours merged with one another as sounds fused into a singular drop. Darkness wrapped me in a blanket, submerging me in a current that pulled me further and further from consciousness—

Something rammed into my shoulder.

I was knocked backwards until my head had smacked into the ground. I groaned. But didn't open my eyes. I wanted to stay there. The darkness had become a sinking sensation, pulling on the sides of my face, and lulling me back into another sleep.

But then, there were several sharp intakes of gasps. They made everything freeze as a silence settled around me. I could feel the eyes turning in my direction.

And then, a familiar voice muttering a curse beneath his breath.

My eyes snapped open—there, standing in front of me, was Arnold.

He was looking down in absolute horror, like he had kicked a bulldog. Gerald was behind him, shifting uncomfortably and wringing his hands as he glanced at his friend. Lila watched with curious eyes, the only one lacking apprehension.

I frowned. Why were they apprehensive?

Arnold held up his hands like he was taming a bear. I chose not to let that hurt me.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry Helga, I—I didn't see you," he stammered. "Are you okay?"

He continued to ramble, explaining that he hadn't seen me just stop there in the middle of the aisle. And as he continued to babble, I sat up. Ignoring his offered hand, I climbed to my feet. My face was hot, I realised. I didn't know why as I didn't think that I was embarrassed. Brushing off the dust from my blazer, I muttered a quick, "Sorry."

Ducking my face, I didn't wait for a reply. There were gasps around me but I didn't bother to wait to find out what they meant. I just kept my eyes down as I stumbled off the bus. Stares bore into my back, but I continued for the school's entrance.

I stepped onto the grounds and could see everyone's smiles as they laughed with one another. It was warm and simple and normal. I didn't think I'd ever felt so lonely before.

I didn't have qualms with being alone; I liked walking down the hallways on my own. I liked eating my lunch on my own, reading on my own. I liked riding the bus on my own and I liked walking home alone. But as I passed students with oblivious smiles plastered on their faces, I realised that even though I liked being alone, I didn't enjoy it.

I really tried keeping my eyes open—honest.

But, as time ticked away, it became more and more difficult.

Because, despite the outside world moving like a blur, the afternoon crawled on all fours. I couldn't count how many times my eyes managed to slip shut. My head lolled from one side to the other. There were so many times I was called on to answer a question, but I got them all wrong—I didn't care.

The past forty–eight hours had turned my life into a hurricane. Something that kept spinning wildly until it was out of control. It was so chaotic and so dangerous and so unconventional, that it managed to carry away my cares and worries. Answering what a mitochondrion was seemed futile.

Not that Mr. Carlton cared. I kept falling asleep and his patience eventually snapped. He sent me out of the room and told me to wait for him. Which I did until ten minutes passed without him showing up.

My mind was still swimming with that departing dream. I knew that I couldn't keep this up.

So I turned on my heels and went to the bathroom. Mr. Carlton could blow a fuse when he realised that I left, but . . .

Who cared anyway?

The water ran cold and refreshing.

When it pooled from the faucet—the pipes emitting an unpleasant noise—I didn't hesitate to splash it across my face. I had hoped that it would wash away my weariness, but it did little to rouse me from my dream.

The bathrooms were quiet. There weren't any girls complaining about their teachers, nor flushing toilets, nor clacking shoes crossing the room.

It was just me.

Alone.

Nothing was different.

Turning off the tap, I rubbed my eyes.

And then looking up, my reflection caught my attention. It sent a wave of nausea curling in my stomach. The girl that stared back had such white skin; it was like the life had been pulled from her flesh. Her shoulders were slumped in a way that wasn't normal for a teenage girl. She was carrying too much weight; her spine was cracking from the white-knuckled grip that the world had on her. But it was her eyes that had my stomach in knots—they were so pale. Her eyes, they used to be an electric blue. The sharp kind, the kind that felt like knives running through your throat when they turned in your direction. Blue eyes were supposed to be beautiful, but I had never gotten that from mine. They were sharp and dangerous, but they weren't beautiful. Beauty comforted people, mine pushed them away. So I had never known how I felt about them until today where I was standing there. That electric blue had melted until it had turned into water that was without defences. It didn't have the walls that I preferred, or the sharpness that turned people away. It was raw and vulnerable and made me feel that anyone could read my thoughts if they looked hard enough.

What was I doing?

I wasn't made for this. Not like I had thought I had been. I had thought that maybe, this was my chance. That maybe I could be something more than what everyone saw me as. I thought maybe, since I had kept myself hidden for so long, that maybe I had become something without realising it. When you grew in the dark, things were sure to slip your notice. I thought maybe, stepping into the light, that I could be someone else.

But I wasn't.

I would always be her—a screwup.

She's just a pretty fake.

I bit back a sob. They were right.

I was just wearing a costume and playing pretend. I was new to this and you could tell. How long did that give me, before the inevitable happened? I was just one girl. There were smarter individuals out there. Better individuals. Good individuals. Why had I been chosen for this job?

For as long as I remembered, destiny had kept me shackled beneath her spell and held beneath her waters. I had been suspended, held captive. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, I couldn't call out for help. I could only sit there, helpless. I would watch the skies from beneath the ripples, wanting so badly to glide and be free. Time passed, but I stayed the same.

When Nel had offered me the chance to become something greater, something that wasn't Helga, I tried abandoning destiny's ship, but turns out, I was still going down with it anyway.

I couldn't outrun myself.

I couldn't pretend to be something that I was not.

I was Helga.

And nothing was changing that.

Time was cement for Arnold that afternoon.

He drummed his fingers along his white mug. Familiar sounds of magic spells, weapons clashing, and kids yelling at each other, were coming from the living room.

When Arnold arrived, Micah was in one of his moods.

The one where he would barely acknowledge your existence as he buried himself in his fantasies. Some days, he was satisfied with his comics, but others, it meant TV.

Today was one of those other days.

Arnold had tried getting the boy to at least finish his homework first, but when he had left to make himself some tea, Micah had switched on the television. And, really, Arnold couldn't find it in himself to switch it off.

So, as the boy lay on his belly, eyes glued to the magic battles on the screen, Arnold sat at the dining table, looking out the window and sipping his tea.

Bored out of his mind.

Don't get him wrong, Arnold did not dislike Micah. He actually really liked the kid, despite Gerald dubbing him 'weird.' He wasn't weird, but he was different. And when Micah was in his moods where he was different, Arnold wasn't quite sure how to handle it. He became easily stressed out if he perceived that he was being forced into doing something. Arnold knew this wasn't because the kid was spoilt, but due to genuine distress at the idea of having to interact with unknown environments. He needed to have things thoroughly explained to him, which could last a while. Otherwise, he wanted to stay within the known. Which meant that Arnold was stuck inside whenever he was babysitting.

Stuck inside and with nothing to do. Not even homework to complete. All he could do was—well—sit there.

Arnold heaved a sighed. He'd ditched his friends for this.

For a good cause, of course. He was getting paid. But that didn't take away from the sting that, no doubt, his friends were having tonnes of fun without him.

He tapped the surface of his drink and watched as the ripples spread. Arnold heaved another sigh, blowing the hair from his face, as he remembered that not even an hour had passed. His gaze strayed to the window where he began to count the bricks of the house across the road. It was painful, but at least it gave him something to do.

—thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-se—hey, where's she going?

The door that he had unknowingly began watching, suddenly was thrown open and a familiar girl marched out. Arnold recognised her dirty blonde hair immediately; the way she swung her fists and her face had set itself into its signature frown.

He hadn't even noticed that he had begun staring at the Pataki house. Micah lived close to Arnold, so it was only required that he walk down the block.

Arnold narrowed his eyes when Helga held the door open and a small body followed her from the gap.

It was . . . was that a cat? He stopped. When had Helga gotten a cat? As far as he knew, she hated cats. And—he blinked—did it have purple eyes? Was that even possible?

He was brought from his internal questioning when Helga slammed the door shut in a huff. Arnold figured that she was, once again, in one of her moods, no doubt from another argument with her dad. But . . . something about her appearance was off. He didn't know what it was . . . he scanned her form—she was no longer wearing her school uniform. She had adorned baggy jeans and a worn hoodie. That wasn't out of the usual, Helga preferred to wear clothes that kept her from being noticed. His eyes jumped to her face and he then realised why she seemed so different—Helga wasn't angry. She was serious.

Her complexion was smooth and steady like glass. She had her jaw clenched, lips pressed into a line. She looked at her cat, who he swore he could see nodding, before she pulled her hoodie over her face. Her eyes moved upwards and for a moment, Arnold's heart jumped into his throat as he thought she caught him looking. Her eyes had always had that electric look, the type that either zapped you in their zest, or pulled you along for the ride. But then, Helga dropped her gaze, her stare melting into a ghostly wisp, before she and the cat dashed down the street, rounding the corner out of his sight.

He sighed in slight relief. She hadn't noticed his staring. Her eyes had barely seemed to even register that there was a window across from her, let alone that that someone could be watching her from it. She seemed much too tired for the thought to even occur to her.

But then, he frowned. Why had she seemed so tired?

Not that it was his business, but something about Helga seemed . . . off. Different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it seemed like Helga from last week and Helga today were two totally different people. When Arnold had knocked her over today, he had expected her to jump up with smoke pouring from her ears. He expected for her face to be red, for her to threaten to hit him, maybe even spit on him.

But she hadn't.

Instead, she had looked at him—somehow, it seeming like she wasn't actually seeing him—and apologised. Her, Helga Pataki, had apologised to him.

Even Gerald had thought it strange. In fact, his best friend was convinced that that wasn't even Helga, but actually, an alien in disguise who had disposed of the real Helga Pataki but hadn't been smart enough to study up on her character.

'Helga Pataki—that girl never apologises,' Gerald had stated as he crammed chips into his mouth. 'She probably doesn't even know what an apology is! It's totally an alien, I tell you! An alien that wants to eat our brains then take us over! And it's starting by disguising itself as Pataki, although why they would wanna pretend to be her, I do not understand.'

Arnold frowned, thinking on it.

He hadn't liked how Gerald had talked about her. He knew Helga could be rough, but she wasn't bad. And even if she were, she had never been as bad as Gerald often described her. How their grade would describe her. He knew that technically, Helga had never been his friend, but he remembered those times from their childhood, when she would reveal to him that side to her. The side that wasn't what everyone thought of her, what she thought of herself. The side that dreamed, the side that was gentle. The side of her that loved, loved so ferociously that she would race to the ends of the earth to protect. The side of her that cared so much that she had to pretend that she didn't and had learned to keep her cards tight to her chest.

That side. The side that Arnold—truthfully—still thought about.

He wanted to brush off Gerald's theories, but given what had transpired, Arnold was embarrassed to admit that perhaps there was some truth to his best friend's words. Because apparently, monsters and girls with superpowers existed. Were aliens even that far–fetched anymore?

Arnold couldn't get that look out from his head.

The one that she had given him on the bus. It had been so chilling. For as long as he had known Helga, she always had this intensity. It burned from her gaze like a force. She had begun dressing as she did, so she could sink back into the crowd. But Helga Pataki had always had an edge to her and regardless of what she wore, Arnold thought she would always stand out from the crowd. She couldn't help herself. And that was something he had always admired about her.

That's why the look that she had given him, it scared him. Her gaze lacked its usual intensity. It no longer was burning with her passion, that inner light that she had kept trapped behind glass. When her eyes had moved to his, it felt like her mind was elsewhere and she wasn't really seeing him, even as she apologised.

It had made him curious and throughout the day, he couldn't stop peeking in her direction. He wasn't sure what he was specifically looking for, other than some understanding. Something that maybe he would find that would make everything click. But she had remained like that for the remainder of the day—lifeless. Empty. She had gotten in trouble for wearing pants rather than the mandatory skirt, but even that didn't seem to get a reaction out of her. She had that blank look as she had simply muttered, "Must've forgot."

Even Lila had seemed curious about it. She had shot him a look from where they were all sat at the back of the class.

Come to think of it, why had she worn pants today? Helga didn't much care for rules, but she also didn't like calling attention to herself. Surely, she'd know that if she disobeyed the rules like that, then attention was exactly what she would receive.

Arnold watched that corner. She had long disappeared, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from it. He almost wanted to follow her so he could know why she was behaving so strange. He had watched Lila approach her yesterday, even chasing after her when Helga had tried walking away. He envied her for that. There had been multiple times that Arnold had wanted to approach her, but he didn't. He remained behind, because as curious as he had become about her, he also knew that she was adamant about her boundaries. That she had created a small space for herself, and she didn't want people walking into it. She may have been quiet this morning, but that didn't mean she wouldn't break that silence to yell at him if he crossed those boundaries. Although, he pondered whether that would be worth it, because at least she would be feeling something rather than nothing.

He wanted to follow her, but he didn't. Because they weren't friends—nor had they ever been. Arnold liked Helga and didn't mind the thought of pursuing a friendship with her, but given what had happened years ago, he doubted she would ever be interested in starting anything with him. So, as his not–friend, it really wasn't his business what Helga did. He didn't—and shouldn't—care.

So why did he?

A familiar tune suddenly blasted from his phone. Arnold almost knocked over his drink in surprise. Gritting his teeth, he dug his phone out of his pocket and rolled his eyes upon seeing his best friend's face on the screen.

He accepted the call.

"Gerald," Arnold bit out in a scolding manner, "You nearly made me spil—"

"Arnold, you gotta get down here, man!"

"Um," he frowned, anger momentarily subsided. "Why?"

"Cause we're having so much fun—but we're all missin' ya, Arnold!"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Gerald, you know I can't make it. I told you I'm babysitting today."

There was shuffling. Then muffled voice, discussing something Arnold couldn't identify. Rolling his eyes, Arnold waited for his friend's reply. Seconds later, Gerald spoke again, "Just bring 'im here!"

Arnold's brows shot up into his hair. "What?"

"Yeah, just bring the kid with you!" Gerald chuckled. Arnold could picture him waving his hand dismissively in the air. "We can all watch him—maybe he could even join!"

"Gerald—"

"Okay, you're right," he admitted quickly, sighing in defeat. "The kid can't join in, but he can watch! C'mon, Arnold, just bring him here, bat with us for a few then take him home! He'll be so bushed, he'll just go straight to sleep—c'mon, it'll be the easiest green you've earnt!"

Truth be told, Arnold was tempted by Gerald's offer. He liked Micah, but Arnold wasn't exactly having the time of his life. And it wasn't like watching so much TV was healthy for kids anyway—bringing him outside could be beneficial to him.

Maybe if . . . no—

He shook his head. He wasn't being paid to play with his friends, he was being paid to take care of Micah.

Right.

No matter how tempting Gerald's offer was, nor how badly he ached to join his friends in a round of baseball, nor how painfully boring the next few hours were sure to be, running away from his responsibilities was not what Mrs. Brunty was paying him for.

And, with that thought, Arnold opened his mouth to decline the offer—

"Erm, sure, Gerald, we'll be there in, say, fifteen?"

Arnold's eyes almost popped out of his skull. What? He hadn't meant to say that!

"Awesome, man!" Gerald said and Arnold could hear the smile in his voice. "See you then!"

Arnold opened his mouth, ready to take back what he'd said and explain that he couldn't take advantage of Micah and his grandmother, when, before even a word had gotten past, Gerald had already hung up.

Mouth frozen open, Arnold stared at the phone in his hand and replayed what had just happened—whatever had just happened.

Gerald probably knew that Arnold was about to take it back, hence why he was so quick to hang up. Arnold's grip tightened—that Gerald . . .

"Who was that?"

Arnold gave a start and spun around to find Micah, looking up at him.

He was a small kid, his jeans rolled past his ankles until they were pressed beneath his feet. He had darker skin, golden brown, and curly hair that stuck up in all directions.

Arnold shifted, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Uhh, well—"

He really felt bad. He didn't need Micah looking at him so accusingly—

Wait a minute.

Micah was six—he couldn't spell 'accusingly', let alone look at him as such.

Shaking his head, Arnold pushed away the guilt. "Do you wanna go to Tina Park, Micah?"

Tilting his head, Micah gave him a wary look. Honestly, had it been directed at someone other than him, Arnold would be on the floor laughing, as such a look from a kid was ridiculous.

"Why?"

Arnold gulped and fidgeted with the edges of his shirt. Moisture slid down his face as he wildly looked around the room. Was that pounding his heartbeat?

"Um, no reason, I just thought that it'd be nice to get some fresh air is all. It's kinda stuffy in here, don't you think?"

Micah's large eyes made Arnold feel like he'd committed a murder. Pulse thriving in his temples, the silence stretched on until Arnold heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping forward.

"And," his voice was thick with defeat, "We can grab some ice cream on the way."

Micah threw his hands in the air and let out a massive, "Yes!" He spun on his heel and ran to grab his jacket.

As his footsteps faded, Arnold released a large breath. Thank God for kids' short attention spans.

Still, he couldn't shake away his guilt. Arnold knew that what he planned to do wasn't awful. But he kept imagining Micah's grandmother, having trusted him not to let Micah out until his homework had been completed. His attention had been askew, lately. Although Arnold wasn't entirely sure why.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Arnold let loose a sigh. Oh, well, there wasn't much he could do now. Gerald was expecting him, and Micah was excited for that ice-cream. They would just have to leave the match early so Micah could finish his homework before they got back.

Shrugging, Arnold reached for the jacket hanging on his chair and shoved it on. Perhaps it was just his annoying conscience nagging him—as usual. He swore, it was because of his conscience that he never got to have the fun that his friends did. Maybe now was just simply the time to turn it off. After all, how many times had Gerald specifically gone against his and ended up smiling in the end? Realistically, nothing bad was gonna happen.

Yeah, he thought with a nod, the chances of something unpleasant happening were low, so logically Arnold had nothing to worry about.

Yeah, that was right. Nothing to worry about.

Except, that is, Micah himself.

It had all started out simple. Arnold knew that he needed to get to Salsuen's Ice Cream Parlour since it had Micah's favourite flavour. He had it all planned out; they would get to the parlour, pick up the ice cream, and then be on their way to the guys. It only should have taken, at the most, twenty minutes.

But when Micah and Arnold had entered the Parlour, they had learned that Micah's favourite flavour—pistachio—was out.

Cue the wailing.

You see, Micah didn't like being lied to. Or led to believe something that wouldn't happen. And though Arnold hadn't technically lied—to him, anyway—he still had promised something that Micah had been looking forward to. And not getting that, it could be little overwhelming for Micah.

Trust issues, his grandmother had told him. Micah had issues with being let down and they could spring up very randomly.

Arnold tried making it right by bargaining with him. He promised him a double scoop of any other flavour, including sprinkles, but Micah was set on getting his flavour.

So, more than a little humiliated under the many, many disapproving glances thrown his way, Arnold agreed to search for Micah's flavour at the Sundae Saloon. Thankfully, the line at Sundae's hadn't been long like Salusen's and they did happen to have the flavour. But the damage was already done; Arnold was well over twenty minutes late as the Saloon was on the other side of town, while Slausen's had been a five-minute walk.

By the end of it all, Arnold wanted to repeatedly bash his head against a wall.

And to think that it had all been for a single scoop of pistachio flavoured ice cream.

Not an odd flavour on its own, but certainly not something Arnold would expect a kid to like. Maybe Gerald was onto something about Micah being a little weird . . .

Speaking of whom had been more than a little annoyed that Arnold was so late.

"You said—" Gerald tapped his watch with an impatience Arnold had only seen in movies, when the parent caught their teenaged son arriving hours past dark. "—fifteen minutes. Fifteen, Arnold! And what is it now? It's—" he looked again "—4:48! An hour later then what you promised! Y'know, when you said you'd only be fifteen minutes!"

Gerald had always been the more dramatic of the two.

"Sorry, Gerald," Arnold apologised as he bent to his knee so Micah could hop off his back. When his feet were safely planted, Arnold stood and sheepishly faced his friend. "I guess I just lost track of time—y'see we were trying to find this ice cream—"

"Yeah, yeah," Gerald waved his hand and rolled his eyes. Whipping out a mitt from seemingly thin air, he grabbed Arnold's hand and slapped it into his palm. "You're fielding on Horowitz's team."

Arnold's face fell. "Eugene? C'mon, man, you serious?"

Arnold considered Eugene his friend, however, that didn't make him blind to the redhead's faults. His most infamous being his knack for attracting the worst luck. That paired with his natural clumsiness had earned him a nickname amongst the guys—Hazard-Prone Horowitz.

Which was slightly cruel, but ultimately fair.

Everyone knew that playing on Eugene's team was already a disadvantage.

Gerald shrugged and put his hands on his hips.

"Sorry, man," he insincerely apologised, "but you were late—we already decided on teams."

Arnold growled. This was Gerald's way of getting even with him.

Still, he was glad he got to play at all today. An hour ago, he'd been bored out of his mind counting bricks.

So, slipping on the mitt, Arnold surrendered with a nod and a truce-worthy grin. "Alright, let's play then."

A grin spread across Gerald's face, and he accepted Arnold's truce. "Cool, man."

The game ended up an exuberant experience.

Despite being on Eugene's team, Arnold enjoyed it. Eugene managed to find something every once and a while to trip over. But Arnold honestly didn't care. He wasn't even sure if they were winning or not. Because he hadn't come here to win, he had wanted to just hang out and have fun with his friends.

His eyes followed as the ball shot over his head in an impressive arc. Arnold heard people shouting his name and he obeyed, spinning on his heel to sprint in the ball's direction.

It was ironic, he would later and cruelly think, how sharp his senses had been. Or, at least, how sharp his senses had felt at the time. Even though he and his friends had been enjoying the game, Micah hadn't. The kid had grown bored almost immediately and, when Arnold's back had turned, he left.

Unaware of the eyes watching him.

Sweat rolled down my neck in thick beads.

The disk whizzed in my direction, and I ducked, avoiding the blades. Short, ragged breaths came from my mouth. My heart bashed my ears. I heard its collusion with the wall but didn't turn my eyes away from the figure in front of me. Its arm was still outstretched in my direction.

Wiping the moisture away from my face, I sucked in a breath, then bolted. The sounds of my heels echoed from the walls. The sensation had my calves burning. Sprinting for the glowing figure, I curled my hand into a fist and swung. Holding a forearm to its face, it blocked my attack. I swung again, but it dodged to the side. It slipped behind me and before I could turn, something smacked into the back of my scalp. The hit knocked me until the floor had slammed into my face.

Burning assaulted my body. My stomach shot into my throat and pushed forward until it was pressed into the tiles. The floor was ice cold, but heat spun between my eyes. Spinning sensations pressed into my shoulder blades. Tears popped into my eyes. I rolled to my side to see a foot plummeting to my face—

SMACK!

Fire scorched my nose and my head snapped back. White fairies spun across my eyelids. They bashed my vision until it was spinning and shaking. The stomach in my throat, it had swung around until I was suffocating. I tried sucking in some breath, but it still struggled to make it through. I didn't want to, but I knew that I was reaching my limits.

I rose my hands—shaking—then made a familiar T shape.

I felt rotten as I did.

There was a sigh that came from the speakers, but as requested, the figure disappeared.

Silence filled the room. I could feel my heart, wiggling in my ears, as I lay there—exhausted. I wasn't even sure if it was because I had taken that beating. Or, if it was the mantel, now suddenly feeling like a burden. The words that I had wanted to say—to shout—as I moved through my day, but I had kept locked inside. I was carrying so much but I couldn't release. Anything. I had to remain silent, like I always did. Keep it all under control, pretend that I wasn't feeling what I was feeling. That I couldn't feel. I didn't want to feel, I was so tired of feeling. I should be better than feeling, I was Blue Jay. I had to protect everyone, I had to better myself. I knew this, I had accepted this. I needed to fight against the currents. But I could feel the words—my words—moving along in my throat. They were heavy like bricks and demanding. They wanted to be released, they wanted to soar and be free. But I still had my hand on the cage, keeping it locked tight. The only sounds became my laboured breaths and then, the room became liquid.

I wanted to cry, I realised. God, I wanted to cry—I had wanted to cry for a long time. But I couldn't. I never could. Because if I did, then I would be accepting it—the truth.

So I lay there, knowing that I had to get up.

Knowing but not wanting to.

Nel didn't say anything. I was thankful for it. I needed time, I needed to get a grip and then push on, like I always did.

I needed to be a Pataki—hard. Tough. Stubborn. I needed to be Helga—wild. Violent. A monster. And I needed to take all of that and mould it until I was something different, something useful. A soldier. I no longer wanted to feel like this: hopeless, scared, alone. I wanted to feel the call and accept it without a thought. I no longer wanted to feel my heart racing so hard that I thought I was going to puke. I no longer wanted to flinch whenever I heard a sound without seeing it first or jump when I thought someone was creeping up on me. I no longer wanted to go to bed, dreaming of my death. I wanted to become glass, I wanted to become steel, and be so tough and strong that nothing could tear me down.

So tough and strong that things would stop . . . hurting.

Until nothing could hurt.

Screams then pierced the air.

Hairs stood from the back of my neck. Adrenaline surged until my hands shook. My stomach twisted until it had become knots. Burning blasted in my ears. I wanted to laugh.

Please not again.

I rolled over until I was sitting up. Palms pressed to the ground. Bile burning my throat. I didn't feel anything. Or say anything. The words died in my throat. My thoughts had turned into water. I was exhausted because I knew what this meant. What I had to do.

"I am Blue Jay, Defender of Justice and Champion of Hillwood!"

. . . my fingers curled into a fist.

"Helga?"

I rose to my feet.

I didn't glance at Nel. But I could feel her stare pushing into my back. I almost toppled over from its weight. I felt disgusting, imagining all the things she must think of me. Imagining how disappointed she felt when she looked at me.

I was a failure.

"Come on, Nel," I murmured.

Let's get this over with.

We were led to a warehouse—an abandoned warehouse.

Well, almost.

There was one being in there—the reason why we were here.

The corrugated iron roof hung at least twenty–five feet above us. There were pops of colours along the crumbling walls, simple designs in spray paint. Sunlight poured in through the broken windows, rolling along the dirty ground and dust swirled in the beams of light.

The Mutant was easy to spot.

It stood on the other end, head whipping around in different directions like it was searching for something. I sunk to pull out my knife and quickly scanned its form.

It was tall and gangly. Spine curved like it were a giant question mark. Its arms were spread and, I could see, knife-like nails protruded from its thin fingers. An untameable mane cascaded down its back like molten epidote and resembled a green bird's nest.

I wrinkled my nose—whatever. I wasn't about to let more time pass.

I swung my knife in its direction.

It shot across the warehouse and as it did, light bounced from the blade. It sent a dazzling affect onto the ground. But before it could make its mark, the Mutant turned and swung out its arm. Its nails clanged against the metal and the knife fell to its feet.

My jaw dropped.

Eyes swivelled in my direction. It then made a face, lips stretching into a hideous grin, as its purple tongue swiped out to lick its lips.

I balked. Ew, what the hell?

Throwing back its head, it let out a loud cackle.

"Oh!" It cried in a raspy voice reached its ears. "What an outrageously sublime delight to be alive!"

It then turned into a green blur as it bounded forward and stopped inches from my face. Hot air lashed across my face from its movement. My legs twitched with the impulse to run, but they no longer felt like they were a part of me.

My jaw tightened as my vision became watery and I hoped that it didn't show. The Mutant giggled and its hot breath washed over me. The hairs on my neck were rigid.

It trailed its spidery fingers along my jaw and held my chin to tilt my head upward. I wanted to move—I tried to move—but my muscles wouldn't obey.

"Such soft skin . . ." It gave another giggle as its fingers slipped down to my neck. "Master would surely love it."

'. . . they said you'd be difficult.'

They.

Master.

A shiver shot down my spine.

It must've seen the fear because it let out another girlish snicker.

"Oh," it chortled. "I cannot wait to kill you!"

Iciness gripped my neck and squeezed with all its might. I tried breathing but air refused to fill my lungs. Panic bubbled in my chest. The walls were closing in. Darkness was overwhelming. My feet dangled as I stared into the red eyes. Its maniacal grin—

I ran.

Or tried to.

I knew it was useless; the Mutant clearly exhibited incredible speed and, that aside, my knees were far too weak to get me anywhere. But I couldn't stop myself. My muscles were moving on their own and I found myself running for the open door—

The Mutant appeared in front of me.

Sharp pain cut across my nose when its fist slammed into my face. Spots popped into my vision as my head reeled back. Dampness dripped from my nose. Bringing my head down, I raised my hands into a familiar stance—

A crushing blow sent me flying.

The collusion echoed from every corner of the warehouse. It burned my ears. Turned everything onto its side until I was pressed back into the ground. The world had begun swimming. I tried climbing back to my feet, but my surroundings were pushing back on me. Flattening me against the wall. Trembles ran down my spine. Salt burned my eyes. I couldn't move.

It took slow and deliberate steps towards me.

"That was so cool!" it cowed, examining my heap of limbs. "I wonder what else I can do!"

Then, it felt like my scalp had been set on fire. Thousands of needles being jabbed into the back of my head. The Mutant had grabbed a fistful of my head, dragging me until I was on my knees. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't find my voice.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I bit down on my tongue.

"Aw, don't get boring!" it gave me another shake. Blood soaked my tongue. "C'mon, I don't wanna do away with you right away! Lemme have some fun first! I know you've already given master a shock, but—"

I rammed my fist into its foot. I had my eyes shut as I did this, but I could hear the sickening crunch! that made my stomach turn.

There was a loud, cracked cry of pain. The stinging in my scalp disappeared as the Mutant released me, holding onto its swelling foot.

I collapsed onto my elbows.

Released a breath.

And sunk my boot into its jaw.

It was knocked backwards to the ground. I scrambled to my feet. Dizziness had the world spinning but I held out a hand. I could feel the knife moving, drawing closer to my body to land into my palm. The buzzing hummed in my ear when a deafening wail tore through me like shards of glass.

It all happened too quick, even as Blue Jay. I caught the Mutant's hand moving in my direction and then, something bashing into my face. The force sent me into the air until my skull had colluded with the walls.

I landed as a heap on the ground. Skin burning from the collusion. The ground had become water and was moving against my palms, trying to drag me down until I was sinking. Blood was running down my face. I could feel it tracing my cheeks. I shook my face. Looked to my left where there was a large panel of debris—a sheet of metal—rested against the wall. I blinked then glanced to the Mutant. It was still cradling its injury. For a moment, I frowned, knowing I hadn't hit it that hard. But I remembered then that Blue Jay had a strength that I still wasn't used to. I had been training and fighting for hours at this point, but I still wasn't Helga. I didn't have her weaknesses. Physically, at least.

Not that it mattered.

I spat out the bloody saliva, then crawled. The floor was wobbling as I moved towards the debris. But I slipped behind it then squeezed into a tiny ball. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. It became hard to swallow. Sweat was hot on my skin. The wound in my thigh, it had lightened—healed—since I had transformed. But it still was a white, hot throb, as if it were a reminder that even though Blue Jay was strong enough to overcome anything, Helga wasn't.

Helga was a dead weight.

I shut my eyes, truly feeling helpless.

But what was Blue Jay supposed to do? I was still so exhausted from training. I hadn't realised how much of myself I had given until I was here and with nothing else to give. I dabbed my fist to my nose. And tried to figure something out; why was this Mutant even here? According to Nel, its goal was to collect human energy. But this warehouse was abandoned, I hadn't even known of its existence before coming here. I was happy that no civilians were here, but why was the Mutant here then?

"Are you a superhero?"

. . . what?

Looking over my shoulder—

A kid.

I saw a smallkid.

He had a round, chubby face. Dark hair that spiralled from his face in little curls. Golden brown skin, almost sepia-toned. Small, delicate arms. A graffiti'd shirt, a random faceless figure doing a skateboard trick. And light brown eyes, the kind that made you think of trees in the autumn.

He was cute, I'll admit.

But that wasn't the problem. What was he doing here?

"Shit."

I hadn't even realised that it had slipped out until he had scrunched his face.

"Nan says you're not supposed to use swears."

I ignored it. "What are you doing here?"

The brightness in his eyes cooled as he looked around.

"It chased me," was all he said. He had dropped his face as if remembering what had happened to get him here. His lips dipped and for a moment, I wanted to pull him into my arms.

Wait.

"You?" My jaw dropped. "You're who it's after?"

He nodded, but his expression crumbled as he did.

It broke my heart.

"Oh! Well, um—" I cleared my throat then placed a hand to his shoulder. He glanced up. "Don't worry then, kid. My name is Blue Jay. You heard of me?"

Again, he nodded.

"Well, I'm here to protect you."

He blinked. "Like a superhero?"

I found myself smiling.

"Yeah, like a superhero," I said, voice melting into a whisper. "I'm here to keep you safe."

"Like . . . like Wonder Woman?"

I made a face. Always Wonder Woman, never—

"More like Batman."

He twisted his face, confused. "Doesn't Batman have a mask?"

I frowned. "I—"

"And doesn't he wear black?"

"Okay—"

"And isn't Batman a boy?"

Puffing out my cheeks, I gave him a dirty look. "Kid, didn't your parents ever teach you to not to interrupt people?"

I expected him to bite back at that. But he didn't. He lowered his gaze slightly. His brows pressed into a frown, and I knew that I had managed to say the wrong thing again.

"I don't mean to interrupt," he murmured. "And . . . I don't have my parents."

Three things happened when he told me that.

The first, I realised that I was a horrible, mean spirited and vindictive bitch. I mean, seriously, way to go, Helga. You say that you're here to protect him and then immediately rub his parents—or lack of—in his face. I seriously stared at him, not knowing how to respond because, like I said, I was the biggest asshole to roam Hillwood streets.

Second, I needed to get back to being Blue Jay. I was messed up from the training and that Mutant was fast. But I was Blue Jay. I was the Guardian. Not only was it my job to put it down, but it was what I was good at. I suddenly didn't care that I didn't have my powers. Nor that I was tired. Nor that I didn't have a plan or knew how the hell I was going to defeat this Mutant. I just knew that I would.

And third, a warmth started in my chest until it had spread into something fierce. It was thick and pulsating and started from when he had looked down. I suddenly wanted him to be looking back up again, smiling about superheroes. His hopelessness made my soul unfurl until it took up too much space in my chest and I could barely inhale. And I didn't even realise any of this until I had wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

He glanced up in surprise.

"Oh," I heard myself say. "I'm sorry. Who do you live with?"

He hesitated. "My nan."

"Your nan," I repeated then smiled. "Well, don't worry, kid. I'll make sure you're back with her in just a matter of time. You don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here for you."

I watched as something transformed in his gaze. The gloss had been building in his eyes, cheeks flushing. But when he looked at me, that all stopped. His eyes widened and when I looked at their colour, I thought of those sandcastles that I used to build as a kid. I felt that flush tangle in my stomach. I was going to protect him, I told myself. And I didn't care what it took to make that happen. But he would be safe, and he would be with his nan again.

I never wanted him to be scared and alone again.

"What's your name?" I gently asked him.

He opened his mouth, when a metallic screech split the air around us as the debris was torn from the wall. I was pulling the boy into my chest before I had even realised that it was the Mutant. The creature held the debris above its head and when it saw the kid, its eyes blazed.

"You little bitch!" it screamed, then tossed aside the debris.

The boy let out a distressed scream as the debris smashed into the wall, splitting apart into smaller pieces that each echoed sharply from the collusion. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into my side. It made something zap in my chest, threatening to strike out in a violent fury, when I felt the wetness coming from his eyes.

The Mutant released another noise, raising his claw to strike.

I wrapped my arms around the kid then kicked off from the ground, ducking beneath its attack, and then rolled away.

Concrete bit into my shoulders when we stopped. I pressed my lips into a straight line and whirled the kid's body around until I had him on my back.

He released a small, surprised sound, but buried his face into my shoulder. I rose to my feet but nudged his leg.

"You alright, kid?" I called over my shoulder.

I had my eyes on the Mutant.

It noticed that we had vanished and spun around, finding us immediately. The creature released a small growl, swinging out its claws. Fear pressed into my throat. Its intent filled the room. I knew that it wanted the kid, not me. I was entertainment, but the kid was its goal.

"I'm okay!" I could hear him say.

Good.

I could feel the fear pounding in my chest, but stronger than that, was the warmth. The care. It surged with the fear, fighting for control. Swirling in shades of blue and gold, tendrils tucking themselves into a braid. I decided, in that moment, that nothing else mattered. I had spent so much time wondering and agonising, picking myself apart until there was nothing left. Until I was a stitch that had come undone. Crushing my mind into a panic room. Why was I chosen? Could I ever be a hero? But I no longer had the time to wonder any of that: if I could be braver, if I could be stronger, if I could be smarter. Better. I could only focus on the weight pressed into my back, balanced in the palms of my hands. He had his legs locked around my waist and his arms around my neck. I needed to keep him safe and that was all that mattered.

The Mutant bolted in my direction.

Fear shot through me, urging me to run, to disappear. But I stayed there. Shifting until I had the kid balanced with one hand, I held out my other and shut my eyes. Fixed my concentration until there was a warmth tingling between my brows. It flooded my senses, pushing back against the beating in my throat, until I could feel the familiar instrument approaching.

There was a sharp noise and when I opened my eyes, it was in time to see the Mutant narrowly avoiding the blade.

The knife split the air and darted in my direction. Something gripped me. I tightened my grip then dropped to the ground, watching as the blade sailed over our heads and collided with the wall.

There was a pause, something that brought my heart down to my knees, when I turned and met the Mutant's glare.

It snarled then bolted.

I addressed the kid over my shoulder.

"Shut your eyes!" I demanded, watching as the creature advanced.

I heard the kid release a small noise before obeying and buried his face into my shoulder. I turned and barely had time to duck beneath the Mutant's claws. Its mouth stretched into a grin before it advanced again. I ducked to the side, evading its attack. It continued lunging for me and I continued only just managing to avoid its attacks. I gritted my teeth when I avoided the claws only by an inch. I was at a disadvantage with the kid on my back like this. He was too close to the violence, but I didn't want to leave him somewhere else. That would lead him wide open to an attack.

Unless—

"Ugh!"

I twisted to the side. The gap between the attacks and my face was rapidly closing. I needed to get rid of the kid, I decided. But I had to be quick and take down the Mutant before it could clamber after them.

So, wrapping both arms around the kid, I spun beneath the Mutant's claws then twisted down to the ground. I was thankful—not for the first time—how elusive I became when I was Blue Jay. Her movements were fast, but fluid. I knew that I had been Helga, I wouldn't have seen what had happened. Her eyes would not have got the actions, but in the span of that half second, I had pulled the boy into my chest, then ducking onto the ground, I allowed for that momentum to transfer itself to him as I pushed him from my hold. His body slid across the ground until his back tapped into the wall.

He blinked, looking surprised.

I smiled, relief pounding in his chest.

And he smiled, for a second though. Because then, his eyes went to something over my shoulder. I reacted immediately—spinning away from where the Mutant had been hoping to plunge its nails into my back. I ducked away from its attack, but then whirled back onto my feet. I wrapped a hand around the Mutant's wrist, swinging its weight around until I had its arm tucked beneath my shoulder. And then, I twisted its arm in a windmill–like motion, until the action had swept the creature onto the ground.

The collusion was loud, satisfying. I was surprised that, despite how loud it was, I still managed to hear a giggle from behind me.

It was small, in comparison. Barely even a twinkle of noise. But I heard it, and I turned before I could help myself. The kid, he was laughing. Hands covering his face, smile lighting in his eyes. And I found myself smiling as well, a lightness dancing in my chest.

His eyes reached mine.

"Get out of here, kid," I told him, motioning for the door that was wide open. He seemed surprised at what I was telling him, so I sent him a wink. "I'll find you in half a minute. Promise."

He slowly stood from the ground. Hand on the wall that was behind him. His eyes moved to the creature on the ground. It was stirring and I didn't want him to see what might happen. So I stepped in front of it, forcing his attention back onto me. I rose my brows, motioning again for the door. The kid understood, there wasn't much time left.

So, he obeyed, running for the door and then leaving.

I waited until his footsteps had faded until releasing the breath that I had been storing. Tension loosened until exhaustion flooded my senses. I had to make this quick before I collapsed. I still had to take the kid back.

But . . .

"You couldn't just help yourself, could you?" I heard myself asking. The Mutant looked up when it heard my voice. But I rammed my fist into its face and the force behind the hit was enough to send it back into the ground. "You couldn't pull yourself away from attacking someone young, someone vulnerable? You guys really are monsters."

The Mutant was picking itself up, collecting itself. Its eye was blinking rapidly to push back the water that was collecting. But when it heard what I said, it suddenly turned its watery gaze to mine.

"You are weak," the Mutant spat. "You may beat me, but there are others. I am not the only one."

Pretty fake.

I smashed my shin into its face again.

The creature released a noise as its cheek slammed back into the ground. I kept my mouth shut and held my hand above my head. I could feel the tingling travelling down my arm as the link pulled in the blade. I could feel it moving through the air. My frame wanted to collapse but I kept it upright. Until the knife was back in my hands and then—

Sqwelp!

—I drove it into the Mutant.

"Kid!"

The grass was tall outside—wild and untamed. It was at my knees and waved like crowds as a warm breeze pushed through. The sun had cast the last of its rays and turned the breeze rich and hot. I came to a stop when I couldn't find him amongst the grass, or even the trees.

Panic roared in my chest.

"Kid!" I tried again. Hair scattered across my face. I whirled around and frantically searched for those curls. "Kid! Where are you?!"

Fuck. Maybe I shouldn't have told him to wait. Maybe I should have kept him on my back, or by my side. But I hadn't wanted him to see it—me killing the Mutant. It was stupid, but I hadn't wanted him to look at me like I were a monster. I wanted him to feel safe. I wanted to keep my promise to him and remain his protector. And if he saw what I did to the Mutant, I didn't know if . . .

It didn't matter. I fucked up. I told him to get out of there and now, I didn't know where he had gone to. I was selfish. I was an idiot. I was—

"Blue Jay!"

I whirled around and his face popped out from the tussock of green blades.

My eyes found his—

"Kid!"

And then, I was running. The sky was moving, the grass scratching my legs. Hair twisted behind my shoulders. I could feel the bite, the burn, radiating from my thigh. It climbed until it had entangled in my chest and weighed down in my stomach. Grass clawed outward, as if to stop me in my pursuit. But I didn't because I couldn't turn away from his eyes.

His arms had stretched open.

And then, I had slammed my body into his, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Hands in his hair. His arms wrapped around my neck. Sweat poured down my face. I was tired, but so relieved. He was okay. My eyes lifted to the trees, as if searching for a sign that this was real. But my vision turned hazy, into water. I swallowed my tears and pressed my chin into his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" I asked before clamping my mouth shut because I was making that blubbering sound whenever I cried. I didn't know why I was crying—this was my job. I was Blue Jay. It was expected that I protect people. But this, this felt like more.

"Y–Yeah."

He was shaking.

I pressed my hand into his shoulder as if to steady him.

"It's going to be okay, ki—"

"Micah."

I paused, not expecting that. Then slowly, I pulled away until I was looking back in his face. His face was red, eyes wet. I'm sure that I looked the same. I wanted to pull him back into my arms again. But I kept that distance so I could ask him—

"Micah?"

He blinked, then wiped at his eyes to catch the tears. But some managed to escape and slid down his cheeks anyway.

I pressed a hand into the back of his neck.

"My name," he repeated then smiled. "You can call me Micah."

I stared at him, allowing for it all to sink in.

And then, I found myself laughing. Loudly, gratefully. I wrapped my arms around him and placed my cheek on his head.

"Alright, then, Micah," I said. He laughed, hugging me back. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," he nodded and snuggled deeper.

And for the first time that day, I felt relieved. Because I hadn't failed, because Micah was okay.

So, standing to my feet, I kept Micah in my arms, and turned to grin at him.

"Where am I taking you, squirt?"

He beamed at me. "Arnold!"

I blinked.

"Huh?"

We found them at Tina Park.

Night pressed into the city, eating away at the clouds and turning its teeth to the grass. The Park was abandoned, because of course it was. Who wanted to be out, at this time? People were either in their homes, eating their dinner, or getting ready to have their dinner out. People didn't typically come to the parks during this time. But especially not now, given there was still so many questions surrounding the Mutants, surrounding me.

But there they were, a group of teenage boys, the only signs of life. I paused when I saw them. Because when I saw them, I could taste it—dread. I was still understanding it, but when I became Blue Jay, my senses sharpened.

It was probably the most overwhelming difference between being Helga and being Blue Jay. I didn't just see the light; I tasted it. I didn't just hear the sounds; I felt them. I no longer got lost in the dark; I could suddenly understand the dark, as if I had become it. And the air had thickened as if it had become fat from carrying people's feelings. I could taste them—their panic.

They were stood in a large clump, so lost and clueless that they had turned to arguing with one another. I was across the road, in the alleyway. They were on the other end of the park and yet, I could make out their expressions perfectly. I recognised them from my grade. They were still unruly, still so loud.

Arnold was buried within the faces. I couldn't see him, but I knew that he was there.

I didn't know how long I stood there, Micah in my arm. But eventually, he squirmed, and I knew that it was time to come back out again.

"Sorry," I told him then, shifting him onto my hip, I forced a smile. "You ready, bud?"

Smiling, he nodded.

Swallowing my apprehension, I stepped out from the shadows and made my way to the panicking boys. They didn't notice me as I walked. They were still so caught up in pointing blame at each other. But with every step that I took, the weight grew heavier and heavier in my stomach. Something rushed through me until I was tasting bitterness between my teeth. I didn't know where the rush had come from, but my movements became robotic. Swinging back and forth, like I had been through years of military service. I wasn't walking, I was marching. My back had become rigid and my strides wide and long.

And when the boys finally noticed me, I felt as far away from myself as possible. Their eyes traced mine before their jaws dropped. I didn't change. I didn't shift. I kept walking—marching—and my face stayed the same. Smooth. Clean. Professional.

'You are weak.'

No. I wasn't.

I wouldn't be.

It became sickeningly quiet as I moved. No one dared to move a muscle or even meet us halfway. Their eyes remained locked on mine; they barely even registered that Micah was in my arms. A lump rose in my throat. I felt so naked. I suddenly became conscious that my thigh was still burning. That I was still tired, that my weight wasn't balanced out. Could they tell? Did I look weak to them? Like I couldn't protect them, protect anyone?

Pretty fake.

I came to a stop. No one said anything. In fact, they had shifted their faces so now, they avoided my eyes. Awkwardly shuffled their weight. I tried not to let that anger me, because I needed to be above it. But I couldn't pretend that I didn't feel a fire moving down my arms and burning in my joints. They felt guilty, I could tell. But somehow, it made me angrier. Because in their guilt, they had become quiet and lacked the conviction to fix things. They weren't apologising or offering any explanations. They were standing there, avoiding my gaze, and waiting for me to make the first move. Waiting for me to clean up their mess. Their guilt pacified them, and that thought electrified me.

"Arnold Shortman."

The voice didn't sound like mine. It was low and had come from my stomach.

There was a tense pause.

And then, he stepped forward.

He was in shock, I could tell. His skin was white and pinched with worry. His eyes seemed to hold weights in them, as if the reality of the day were pressing into him. He had his sleeves pushed to his elbows, which he always did when he became stressed, because he liked to roll them away from his hands so he could fix a task. But the task wasn't the fault of someone else this time. It was him; it was his fault. And this was the first time I had looked at Arnold and thought that he looked small.

The boys parted to give him space to walk forward. And as they did, they shot him piteous looks, some even giving him encouraging pats on the back.

It made my blood singe.

They were acting like it had been him who had fought the Mutant. They were turning to him, looking at him, as if he were about to be unfairly lectured. As if I were here to spoil their fun, even though I had done so much to fix their mistakes. And it suddenly bothered me how much love he had from everyone, and yet, he was so free from the consequences.

"Hey, Micah," Arnold gave a small wave to the kid. I didn't know how Micah reacted. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Arnold, as if I were searching his face for something. Maybe I was. But I wasn't sure what it was that I was hunting for, something that would make this better. Something that would make this all better, make me better. "You okay, bud?"

He held out his hands, stepping forward.

And suddenly, the anger that had welled in my chest threatened to break across my face.

"Are—" I tightened my hold on Micah, "—you serious?"

And then he stopped, his eyes moving to mine as if he had just noticed me. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't noticed me until now. He saw my services, but he hadn't seen my sacrifices. His eyes had glazed over mine, because this was my job and it was expected of me. To protect people, to clean up his messes. I suddenly wondered if Arnold had ever felt the consequences of anything in his life, if he had ever felt any pain. Because he showed no recognition of mine, or even Micah's. Was that who Arnold was?

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

He then wilted and I knew for certain that the control I exerted over my expression, it had become lost, and how I felt was exactly how I looked.

"I said—" I took a step forward, "—are. You. Serious."

It wasn't a question.

He hesitated. "About wha—"

"About what!" I barked out a laugh then moved to set Micah down next to me. "Let's see, how about despite having a responsibility to look after Micah, you ditched him the minute that you were offered the chance, to play ball with your friends! The fact that his grandmother, she trusted you, and you lied to her! The fact that even though there's been two attacks in the past two days, you still went out, only to lose him immediately! The fact that I had to get him for you because you were too—too—"

I broke off because everything seemed so heavy. It was a weight pressing down in my throat and I knew that if I kept going, I would make everything crumble and collapse into waves.

Arnold's face had fallen with every word that I spoke. He no longer looked at me, lowering his face until his eyes were on his shoes. It was a piteous sight. Cheeks burning red. Shoulders crumbled. Eyes blinking. I knew that beneath the stirring waves, that I felt bad for him. That I wanted to wrap around him, like a blanket, and protect him from the truth. But that was the thing: it was the truth.

He tried responding. "I'm sor—"

"No, I'm not done," I held up a hand. And then, I noticed it was trembling. I made sure to move it until it was tucked against my back. I hated that they did that when I was angry. "He was targeted, Arnold! A Mutant sought him out, specifically! I don't know why and frankly, I don't care! I don't know what would have happened had I not gotten there when I did! What's wrong with you, Arnold? Why couldn't you do this one thing?"

And when I said that, it was like it had broken a spell, because the numbness in my brain decayed. The words echoed, why couldn't you do this one thing? As if there were other things that he couldn't do. That he hadn't done. Pain twisted through my body in familiar patterns. Was I even yelling at Arnold for what had happened, or was this about something else?

Everything became frozen, stretching into an uncomfortable silence that made me nervous. The air had become so brittle that everything threatened to crack. No one dared to say a word. But they were looking at me and then Arnold and I felt a sting of self consciousness. As if everyone had looked past my eyes to peer into my mind. Tell me what I was really feeling.

What was I feeling?

"Dude, you're being way harsh," I suddenly heard and had to fight against the instinctive sigh that crept into my chest. Gerald. He stepped forward, shoving aside some of the other guys until he was standing next to Arnold. He placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, prompting him to look at his friend, but Gerald kept his eyes on mine.

I wanted to laugh.

"Oh, am I?"

I marched forward without even realising until I was standing inches from Gerald's face. The boys stepped back like I were a wild animal, but Gerald didn't even flinch. He kept his eyes on mine, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes," he said. "Look, I'm not saying that what he did was smart, but it wasn't just him. We all encouraged him—hell, it was my idea!" He stepped backwards and let loose a breath. I watched as his expression shifted and when he looked back, it was with an expression that stunned me. Guilt swam across his eyes like gloss. His neck bobbed, like he was trying to push something back. Regret.

I had known Gerald since I was a child; my history with him went as far back as it did with Arnold. And in that time, I had never seen Gerald as anything less than confident and laidback. He was bright, always doing well in his algebra classes although he struggled when it came to English. But it seemed like nothing could really get under his skin. Not enough to have an impact on him, anyway.

But in this moment, I saw a side to him that I had never been exposed to. Never thought he was capable of experiencing. And when I looked back at the boys, I realised that they weren't the monsters I had made them out to be. They were boys. Idiots. Selfish, but boys. Kids. How had I never seen them as such?

Gerald swallowed.

"If you're going to blame anyone," he said, whispered it. "If you're going to yell at anyone for what happened, then let it be me."

And he meant it.

I stared at him, waiting for him to go on. Gerald wasn't known for being vulnerable. Loyal to a fault, yes, but not vulnerable. But I knew that this wasn't a façade or an act, Gerald genuinely felt this. He blamed himself, maybe even more then Arnold did.

And then it hit me—what I had become. How I had fallen back into Helga. I no longer stood as a protector, as Blue Jay. I had become their bully. Punching down on them. Making them feel wretched so I wouldn't hate myself. I had become their nightmare to cope with what I was, with what I felt. Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. I wasn't brave or noble. I wasn't a Champion. I was me—me. And nothing would ever change that.

Then, someone's hand jumped into mine.

My eyes went down to Micah, who suddenly seemed panicked. His eyes were wide, his breath coming out hard and fast.

My hands went to the sides of his face and my knees crept to the ground.

"Micah?" I tried pulling his face to mine, but he was looking somewhere else. "Bud? Hey, what's—"

He then pointed and when he did, my stomach dropped, because I knew what it was that he was indicating. Everyone followed the line that his finger pointed in, and I could hear the gasping. Hear the murmuring, the gravel cracking beneath shoes as some boys stepped backwards. Ice crept up my spine and burned the back of my skull. I knew what was waiting for me.

So, when I turned, I didn't react like the boys did.

Hell, I didn't react at all.

Mutant.

I just stared. The Mutant looked like it had stepped out of a horror video game (at least, the kinds that I'd caught glances of when Gerald was raving at school, flashing his phone to explain his hype). It didn't have any eyes, but it had a wide, black mouth, with pink teeth that glistened wet in the light. Skin twisted to stretch across its muscles. Its hands were like boulders that sharpened into five points at the ends. It was large, even from here, I could see that it would have been three times taller, bigger, then me. It was nothing like the Mutant that had come before it; where that one had been tiny but fast, this one was large and I presumed very, very strong.

I knew that I should have panicked. But I was calm, tranquil. Or at least, that's what I told myself. Maybe I was doing what I always did when I felt too much, which was stuffing it all beneath a floorboard so I could convince myself that I wasn't feeling anything. I was grateful, regardless.

A hand tugged on mine and when I turned, Micah's eyes found mine.

I had too much to protect.

"Arnold," I called in a voice that didn't feel like mine.

His eyes jerked back to mine, cheeks darkening slightly. I chose to ignore it. His eyebrows bobbed as he waited for my command, but he could barely even get out an, "Mm?" before I was shoving Micah into his arms.

His gaze went down to the boy, surprised, but I was already pressing a hand into both Arnold and Gerald's shoulders. Moving them away.

Gerald's confusion came in the form of a frown. "What're yo—"

"Keep him safe," I pressed them with a stare. Both boys dropped their gazes at that, in guilt. I wanted to tell them that it didn't matter anymore. That we had to keep moving forward, because lingering in the past did nothing but wash everything out into regret. But I would be a hypocrite to say that, so instead, I said, "Keep yourselves safe."

That made them both look up at me, but I turned around before I caught their expressions. Faced the Mutant. It didn't have eyes and yet, I knew that its attention was focused on me. I could feel a pulse rushing cold into my throat, spreading into my chest until it was a twisting mess that threatened to cave in. I stepped forward before that could happen, before I lingered and made everything collapse. And then I took another and then another. I was walking, I realised, bringing myself closer and closer towards the monster and further and further away from the boys.

The Mutant didn't bolt forward, like I had been expecting. Instead, it copied my actions and began taking steps across the street. I hoped that some of the boys were leaving; I could hear that some of them were taking necessary steps that hopefully signalled their leaving. But not enough. The majority had frozen in their steps, and I knew that Arnold was one of them. Gravel crunched beneath my heels. The night air had thinned until it became like ice, threatening to crack and tear everything apart. Pounding burned my ears. I knew that with every step, I was bridging the gap that lay between us.

"Lemme guess," I heard myself say over the pounding. Screams threatened to blast from my chest, but I pushed it aside. "Your invite got lost in the mail?"

Despite my back to them, I could feel the pause stirring from the boys. The murmuring, the surprise that despite the seriousness of the situation, I didn't seem affected. I didn't seem scared. I knew that those observations were building passages in their minds that would inevitably lead them to the same conclusion: Blue Jay, look at how cool she was. Look at how strong she was. She was so cool and strong and badass that she wasn't even scared. That Mutant . . . look at how big it is, how small she is. And she doesn't even care. Blue Jay, she's going to save us.

I pressed my lips together. At least someone believed that.

"I was sent by my master," it declared. Its voice was thundering and felt as firm as the stones pressed beneath my feet.

I made a face, pressing a hand to my hip. "Hmm? This master got an actual name?"

The Mutant growled, a deep and guttural sound. "That is none of your concern, mortal!"

I came to a stop and pressed my hand to my hip.

The Mutant stood close enough that I could see details that before, I hadn't caught. Namely, it's skin. It wasn't soft like I had been expecting. Instead, it seemed like it had been carved from stone, a mosaic of pavement.

I rolled my eyes. And all I had was my knife.

"Yeah, this whole, 'I work and obey my mysterious asshole master, who by the way, must be pretty ugly if he can't even show up and has to hide behind you fuckers' thing? Getting old, real fast."

The Mutant snarled then launched towards me.

Its fist zoomed for my face and I moved backwards. The punch would have been a heck of a shock, its fist was larger than my torso. I was thankful for the instincts that seemed to pull on my strings like I were a puppet. I heard the second fist coming and ducked back an instant before it smashed into my head. I could hear the murmuring from the boys, their fear turning into awe. But it quickly was lost beneath the panting and growling that came from our fight.

The Mutant attacked again, but this time, I spun on my heel and ducked so that the fist flew over my head. Twisting, I sent my own fist into its side. I didn't expect much to come out of it—considering how much larger the Mutant was then me—but the result had the creature caving in on itself, holding onto its ribs.

I took its position as my advantage, spinning around then swinging so that my vambraces slammed into its temple. The collusion was a sickening crack! which pushed the Mutant further down. I decided now was the time and dug into my boot for my weapon.

It was cold but comforting between my fingers. I flipped the knife up, caught it as it fell, and attacked. Heat made the air moist. The Mutant's hands shot out before I could land my mark. Wrapping around my wrists, the Mutant prevented me from moving. I struggled and pushed against it. But strain burned from the effort. My knees began to shake, the balls of my feet painfully dug into the ground. The Mutant was slow, but it was stronger. That thought made something zap in my chest before the grip around my wrist tightened, and a force swung me until the floor had disappeared. The air sharpened and travelled beneath my arms until something slashed into my back. I didn't know what it was. But it made the world spin until the ground slammed back into my face. It pressed cold and hard into my chest, beneath my hands, and the world held me down, slamming its weight into my back until I had crumbled.

I wanted to push back to my feet and continue fighting, but everything was too much. The air had become a blur of colours that crashed down into me like water. Sounds pounded like thunder. Nausea twisted in my stomach, gathering my senses until they had sloshed to the side. I wanted to puke.

Fuck. This thing was wicked strong. How was I supposed to—

But then I heard it—footsteps. Pressing, thundering against the ground. Getting closer. Chills shot down my spine and when the shadow flew over me, I pushed against the ground and swung backwards. It happened to fast, my senses couldn't catch up and for a moment, my vision had everything rushing to its side. But the concrete appeared beneath my palms and I scrambled away until I heard the collusion.

It was hard. I could hear the floor shuddering before it split apart into pieces. I shook my face and when my vision steadied, I could see the cracks that spindled from beneath the Mutant's fist. My pulse shuddered in my throat. But I acted fast and slammed out my foot until it struck the Mutant's face—

Thwack!

The Mutant flew backwards. I leaned back on my elbows then swung onto my feet. Something grazed my hand and when I looked, I saw that it was an empty trash bin. I moved, wrapping my hand around it, then holding it above my head. Something pounded in my muscles, it didn't feel like I was carrying anything. I sent the trash bin shooting until it had slammed into the Mutant's face.

The impact sent it staggering, its footfalls becoming heavy and uneven, but it did not go down.

I made a face. Yeah, of course it didn't, that would make it too easy.

I ran forward, curling my hands into fists, and then—

Thwack!

THWACK!

It left my fists pounding like they were swollen with blood. Heartbeat pressing to the sides of my face. Skin prickling with sweat. But the Mutant finally hit the ground from the impact. The floor shuddered. Stares clung to my shoulders. I shoved them to the back of my mind. Stretching out my arms, I summoned my knife, and when I felt the air splitting from its arrival, I made a harsh motion that sent the blade into the Mutant's broken skin.

It was quick, sinking into its flesh like butter.

And when it did, the hairs on my neck went rigid.

The explosion. I didn't have much time before . . .

But then, something occurred to me.

Adrenaline was pushing through me until everything was burning. Until everything had turned into a blur that had no reason, held no logic. It had everything rushing until it was a waterfall that poured across my face. I blamed those sensations for how I behaved next. Rather than running away, I sent a sharp kick to the Mutant. Strength had been festering, curling in my bones like it were a bomb that had been waiting to be set off. It came to me in electric pieces. Heat that shifted beneath my skin and made the air slip smooth beneath my arms. And so, when I kicked the Mutant, the body was sent flying into the air. The weight was nothing. And when its skin split apart, the explosion came as a sound more than a force.

Sounds cracked and turned the world into rippling heat waves. Sparks skittered across the floor. Shards hurtled through the air. Heat pressed into my face until it had gotten in my teeth. I turned my face away from the explosion, cheeks stinging like blisters. The light had become hot and as it rolled down my spine, hair twirled around my face. It lifted until it swelled and as light poured, the strands turned into molten, summer shades. I held a hand to my face to sweep it from my eye. Salt burned my throat. The cough that rose from my chest, it came out as a small and almost breathless huff. I pressed a hand to my throat, releasing a small noise, then rose my eyes until they were back onto the boys.

They hadn't moved from where I had last left them. I wanted to be angry that so many had stayed rather than getting themselves to safety. But I was too exhausted, too relieved that this somehow had worked out. I was surprised to find that their eyes were already on me. I knew that I had become a spot standing between blushing colours that battled for domination. The Mutant had been big, so therefore, so was the explosion. So my figure couldn't have looked like much in comparison, a small and dark dot standing in front of a magnificent but terrifying sight.

But I shook my face and chose not to linger on it, walking in their direction. Sounds still roared in my ears. The beating in my chest was a cold swirl tucked beneath my jaw. Shadows sprawled across my feet as lights combed over me. Colours bent around my curves. I raised my hand again to move the hair from my eyes. But it had become a tide that I could no longer control. I knew that I looked like a mess right now. I tried not to let that get to me because I knew that everyone was still watching me.

But when I reached them, the silence continued. It hit me, dazed and confused, and I suddenly was unable to find my words. It was a weird silence. It wasn't like before where it had been born from awkwardness. This was different, somehow.

I rose my eyes to their faces and immediately wished that I hadn't. They looked at me in a way that made me feel like I had all the attention in the world. Like the sun was pinned to my back, directing everyone's focus until their stares had become tied to my skin. I hadn't realised how many boys were even apart of this pack until now. I had been too focused on Micah, on Arnold. But now I counted—thirteen. Thirteen boys were staring at me like I was something to be marvelled at. Sweat began to build around my neck. I found my eyes on Arnold and immediately, I questioned whether that had been the right move. He was already watching me, but I couldn't be sure how. His eyes brimmed with an emotion. I just wasn't sure what it was.

I just knew that it made me feel like I had done something wrong.

"Is—" I cleared my throat when my voice wavered. "Is everyone alright?"

Their murmurs rippled across like a chorus. No one signified that something had gone wrong. I found myself even scanning Gerald because he had been too quiet as well. But I stopped when I caught Micah's eye. He had fallen silent, his eyes becoming big and wide and latching onto mine. The muscles in my face shifted until I was smiling at him. Sending him a wink. I watched as the kid's expression softened into a smile and tiny giggle.

I released a breath, relieved. At least he seemed alright.

But then, one of the boys stepped forward, pointing in a random direction.

"Look!" he cried. "There's a man up there!"

My stomach churned. I watched as each of the boys' expressions shift and transform as they followed the line of sight from the earlier boy. I followed their line of sight, looking over my shoulder at a tall building across the street.

My heart stopped.

He stood atop the building, darkness that had bled into a shape. The moonlight rolled from behind him, washing his face in shadows, but outlining his silhouette. He stood tall, feet firmly planted apart. Broad shoulders and strong limbs. Hands shoved into his pockets. His teeth glinted wet in the light as he grinned crookedly. I couldn't see his eyes but somehow, I knew that it was me that he was watching.

I wanted to speak—to yell at him or do something—but the words suddenly felt sticky as they lay plastered against my throat. My knees had become weights, threatening to make everything cave in until I was crushed into nothing.

Who was this man?

The air had begun stinging my face when the man suddenly turned, disappearing into the shadows. That left me there with the boys, with Arnold. And yet, somehow I knew I had to follow him. It was like there was a cord stretching between us that was tugging me closer towards him.

I needed to know who he was.

So I bolted.

I could hear the boys' voices rippling from behind me, demanding who that was, or what was about to happen. But they didn't follow which was good because I knew I couldn't protect them. Not against him. And yet, I didn't turn away. I kept running blindly into the shadows. I wasn't sure where it was that I was headed, I just hoped that it was the right way.

Cold night air flooded my lungs and made everything crackle. My pulse was jumping so violently that it threatened to make everything explode. Static fried in my ears. My face had become flushed. Fingers curled into clammy fists. Where was he?

I slid to a stop then frantically spun around. Sweat crept down my face like ants. I pushed back my hair and scanned the area—it was dark and damp. An abandoned site behind an indistinguishable building.

Scrunched newspapers tumbled across the gravel as if stuck in washing machines. Stained boxes had been stacked and graffiti covered the larger bins. I wrinkled my nose at the putrid smell. Jesus, where was I?

I frowned. Maybe he had—

A crushing blow struck the back of my skull.

Shit!

The force sent me onto my stomach, where the ground whacked into my face, and gravel bit into my skin. From all sides, dizziness pressed into me. It had dark shapes popping up across my vision. Everything spun as shapes began merging. I tried blinking, shaking myself awake, then pressed my palms into the ground. Pushed against the gravel. Looked around, searching for his face. Where was—

Laughter.

I froze. Didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even breathe.

Then, my skin crawled as my senses burned—

I rolled to my side and felt something—a white flash—glaze past my cheek. It happened so quickly that it left chills running down my skin. Heart throbbing in my chest. I blinked then looked back and felt my jaw drop. Where my head had been, a silver pillar now stood, sticking out from the gravel.

I frowned at the sheen of the pillar. Was that . . . ice?

"So, this is the famous Blue Jay," a voice suddenly spoke from behind. Something dropped to my knees when it did. Looking in the direction that it came from, I stared at a man completely concealed in the shadows. "I'm honoured."

His voice was tender and yet, it rung. Teasing. Irritation burned in my chest. Everything was still pounding, but the patronisation in his voice was all I could focus on.

"Yeah?" I bit out, "Well, how about you do me the honour of revealing to me your face?"

He chuckled—a deep rumble that had a cold edge.

"If the lady insists."

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he stepped from the shadows, revealing his features.

He was handsome—inhumanly so.

He had a beauty that was sharp with a fine bone structure that was perfectly symmetrical. Loose silver curls swirled and swarmed his eyes. They were curls, but their starkness reminded me of a silver fox. His eyes were dark and pressed into me like needles. He watched me like he was amused, and the right side of his mouth turned up.

I glared at him until I moved to my feet to stand from the ground.

"So—" I stepped forward, placing my hands onto my hips. "—I'm guessing you're the famous master, then?"

He smirked. "Only if you want me to be, my lady."

Heat glowed in my skin. I hoped that he couldn't see because it was so dark but somehow, I knew that he was aware. That he had been hoping for it.

He chuckled, proving me right.

I gritted my teeth—I was acting like Helga.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And what do you want?"

"You can call me Serec," he answered and rolled his shoulders. "And as for what I want, well, it appears that two of our creations have been terminated in the past forty–eight hours—three now, actually."

"They attacked people," I crossed my arms over my chest. "They had what was coming to them."

He chuckled, holding his palms up in a surrendering stance.

"Of course, my lady," he nodded. My nose wrinkled; I was beginning to hate that term. "But surely, you'd understand if one woman were to suddenly appear and challenge our authority, we would have to investigate the situation at once."

Of course, I'd realised this. I knew that at some point Acantha would notice that her Mutants were being taken down. And eventually she'd have to look into it. But it didn't make it any less comforting knowing that I was staring into the eyes of a man allied with a woman like that. She could destroy anything and everything. And him . . .

I didn't know anything about him. And that somehow made him scarier.

"Your point?" I said, rolling my face like I was being held up at the grocery store rather than facing someone who could walk away with my life tonight.

He didn't even seem offended at my tone.

"My, how impatient you are," he commented in a tone that angered me further. "But yes, I sent those previous creatures with the purpose of watching you—of learning about you. And I'll admit, I have become fascinated with you. You are quite a dazzling woman, my lady."

"Stop calling me that," I insisted before I could stop myself. It brought a heat back to my cheeks because as he watched me with a grin growing across his face, I knew that I had misspoken. I had allowed for him to see that he could get under my skin. That he could have an effect on me.

"Apologies, but . . . as I have confessed, I have developed an interest in you . . . well, specifically your powers." My blood ran cold when he said that. "Which you have not yet revealed tonight, to my disappointment." His eyes buried into mine. "Please, my lady, would you give a display, right here, right now?"

Shit.

He held out a gloved hand, like he was asking for a dance.

My muscles had frozen, but there was a tingling sensation that made me want to run. It sent my brain into hyperdrive until my thoughts had been split into thousands of shards. Did he know? Was he taunting me? Was this all just one big trick? Would he hurt the boys? How was I supposed to get out of this?

I had the blade shaking between my fingers without even realising I had reached for it. I needed to get out of this. Without my powers. Like I had been doing since my first night as Blue Jay. I had gotten through those battles since without them. Maybe I had a chance tonight.

I sent my knife sailing through the air.

But Serec scoffed, looking put off with that move. He twisted his torso to the side and watched the knife fly past his shoulder.

My jaw dropped at his nonchalance.

Placing a hand to his hip, he faced me with a raised brow. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to take the lead in this dance."

He said it while sweeping his arms to the side and then leaning forward into a graceful bow at the waist.

My hands squeezed into fists.

And he launched forward.

Spreading my feet shoulder-width apart, I held up my fists and clenched my jaw shut. You can handle this, you can handle this, you can handle this—

He slashed his hand forward. I jerked to the side and it grazed my chin. I knew that had he landed his target, it would've been one hell of a shot. He grinned and went in for another, but I side–stepped and twisted my torso away.

Gritting my teeth, I swung for him. He stepped backwards, tilting back his head and avoiding my attack. He smiled the entire time that it happened. And he continued smiling even as he reached to wrap a hand around my fist—and squeezed. An ache spread from my knuckles. I tried concealing my cries behind clamped lips. He chuckled and squeezed tighter and tighter until—

Crunch.

This time, I did cry.

Fire burst from underneath my skin. I let out a strangled scream as a crippling throb lanced over my fist. It felt like my bones had tripled in their size. Burning spread from the tips of my fingers all the way to my elbow. Blinded me with black spots. I tried focusing on my breathing, but Serec sent fresh ripples by squeezing even tighter.

The scream that came from within me almost tore my throat apart. The world had turned into water that swirled, but through it all, I could see his lips lifting into a small grin. The pain had welled and soared, but when I saw that grin, something threatened to burn a hole in my chest. Anger. And it was hot like oil. He threw me to the side but when he did, that anger thrashed out. As I fell, I shot out my leg in a vicious swipe—

CRACK!

I couldn't see where it landed. Everything shuffled across my vision too fast. But I caught something dark and red bursting from Serec's nose. It brought me satisfaction, despite the pain. He wasn't unbreakable. ButI staggered backwards and, tripping on something I couldn't see, landed on my back.

When the ground had knocked into my head, it made my vision swim. Everything had become hazy and cloudy. Gravel pressed itself into a spot beneath my hair where it felt like needles were jamming their way through my skin. The air had become cold but it hurdled down my throat and tore everything apart like it were made from glass. Hair stuck to my cheeks and my heartbeat pressed to my skin like it was warning me from getting up. I couldn't get up, no matter how much I wanted to. My limbs were too heavy. Pain still thrived in my knuckles so I clutched them to my chest. It was agonising—they were broken, I knew that. They had already begun to swell.

Shit.

My right hand was my dominant hand. My left hits were significantly weaker. How long would it take to heal? Healing processes when you were a Guardian normally cleaned things up much faster. But I didn't know how long it would be before I could use my hand again.

"You're . . ." I looked up at the white–haired man. He was looking at his stained glove like blood was something he hadn't encountered before. Blood dripped from his face and he sniffled, wiping his nose, then turned his eyes back to mine. ". . . not acting on our agreement!"

He charged again and I barely scrambled to my feet when he began throwing more punches.

Biting my tongue, I dodged every one of them—barely.

"Why—won't—you—" he grunted between each word, "—show—me?"

My body was getting too tired. I was almost out of air and my strength was fading.

His punches then abruptly ceased and he took a step back.

I scowled at him because he hardly seemed bothered with our combat. I knew that I looked awful, that I looked like I'd come from a war while he had barely broken a sweat. I tried reminding myself that I'd been fighting for far longer today, but I knew that, even if our combating times weren't uneven, he would still be doing far better than I was.

He gave me a once–over. "Tired?"

I let out a harsh breath.

"No," I barked and straightened my posture. "Of course not!"

He grinned. "Good."

I narrowed my eyes. What was he playing at?

Then, a flash of silver flew from over his shoulder. Serec didn't flinch and calmly watched as it plummeted for my face. I jerked to the side and narrowly avoided it. And then looked over my shoulder, searching for whatever that had been. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. I couldn't spot it.

I rose a brow. What even was tha—

Something zoomed forward and zapped into my face. Pain exploded in my jaw and black began to ooze and curl around me. Sounds gushed like water. The ground seemed to have grown softer as I struggled to keep myself falling.

I pressed a hand to my face, if nothing then for the sake of finding something stable that wouldn't collapse beneath me. But when I looked up, it was in time to catch a white blur.

Stars burst in my vision as my head snapped back. Bitterness stung my tongue. Something swept beneath my feet and with a choked cry, I was flat on my back.

I gasped, saliva gurgling from the back of my throat.

Black swam as a ringing burned my ears. Hot blood streamed down my jaw and into my hair. I could feel my eyelids slipping shut against my will. I could hear Serec laughing, but I was so tired—so exhausted—that I couldn't care anymore.

But then, pins and needles crawled across my scalp. I screamed as I was pulled by my hair and forced to my knees. Something sharp was held to my throat, preventing me from moving. Opening my eyes, I held back a gasp—it was my knife. Coated in a layer of ice and held in a cloaked hand.

I saw his teeth before his eyes. White, wet, glistening. His lips had pulled back to reveal them, but I wasn't sure it was in a smile anymore.

He stood inches from my face, bent at the waist, with his nose almost touching my forehead.

He laughed—a cold cackle.

"Show me!" He demanded and pressed the knife further. "I want to see them for myself!"

I spat blood.

He recoiled, reaching up to wipe the red saliva from his face. I hissed when the blade nicked my throat and a droplet slid down my chest. I could see as his eyes flickered to follow the movement and knew that I didn't have that long a distraction.

I swung up my fist in an uppercut.

Crunch.

Serec's upper and lower rows of teeth made contact and his head snapped backwards. The knife slipped from his fingers and I scrambled from his grasp. The ground was spinning and when I rose to my feet, it made an alarming shift to the left. I squeezed my eyes shut and clung to the metal stackbin. I chewed on my bottom lip as my stomach shifted. Sweat slipped down my face. I needed to continue—I couldn't rest now.

I rose my eyes.

Blood was running down Serec's shirt as he pinched his nose. My knife lay by his feet. I outstretched my palm in its direction and summoned my weapon.

. . . only for nothing to happen.

My eyes widened. What?

I tried again. Then again and again. But my knife did not move. It sat still by his feet, glistening in the moonlight like it were taunting me.

Serec's eyes snapped in my direction, burning with mirth. He spread his arm in the knife's direction and as if pulled by strings, the knife rose and flew into his hand.

My mouth fell open. How—

Then, I remembered. The ice that coated the blade. My jaw tightened. Of course—ice. Serec could manipulate it. It wasn't the blade he was controlling, but the ice stuck to it.

It pissed me off because it was sort of brilliant.

Serec bared his teeth and then darted, holding out the knife so he could swipe for my face. Jerking back, the blade missed my nose by a hair. He struck again; twisting my body away, it only glanced my side. He continued swiping and I continued barely avoiding his attacks.

But exhaustion was creeping up on me. It rose in me like a cloud, dulling my senses, and making the burden in my back grow heavier and heavier. Fatigue weighed my muscles down. I could feel my reflexes growing slower. It became harder to evade everything, to act like it didn't exist. The truth. And Serec knew this; he had sent those Mutants not just to assess my strength, but to exhaust it out of me. So this fight, I would barely have any remaining strength to protect myself. So he could rid himself of another threat. I gritted my teeth, swinging to the side to avoid the blade on my neck. That had been his plan all along.

He then acted so quick that I barely saw it coming. But one minute he'd been attacking me with my own weapon, then the next he was reaching forth with an open hand—

SMACK!

The slap sent me stumbling backwards, clutching my cheek. My head smacked into the bin as my mind was left reeling.

The same white blur overtook my vision and my skull hit the gravel. The edges of my vision had softened into shadows and it was hard to breathe. Fighting those shadows, I realised that Serec was sat on my chest and had his knees pinned against my shoulders.

I stared up into his eyes; his dark, pitless eyes. Everything in my body, every fibre, was screaming at me to fight . . . but I was so tired. Rows of vicious teeth curled into an alienating smile. Serec moved closer, face looming over my own, as his eyes forced their way into mine.

"Show me," his voice was breathy as he practically begged me.

"Fuck—" I bared my teeth. "Fuck you!"

His face darkened.

Then he launched the blade into my palm.

I screamed—not just from my mouth, but my whole body. Eyes wide with terror, my screams pierced the night. I tried breaking away, but the pain was excruciating. He chuckled and pushed the knife further into my flesh. The screams became louder. Cracked under pressure. The metal had disappeared into my skin so it was just the hilt as the metal dug into the ground. I roared as the warmth pooled in my palm and ran down my wrist.

I slammed my head again and again into the gravel. Trying to make something else hurt so it could distract me from that.

But then something wrapped around my throat. Preventing me from hurting myself. Cutting off my screams. Black softened until it was drawing me further and further into its awaiting arms. Things were softening until all that was left was the pain that shackled me, crushing me until I was nothing.

Serec's wide eyes loomed over mine.

"Use your powers!" he demanded. "Defend yourself!"

My breaths had become gasps as his hold tightened. The burning around my throat, I knew, would become bruises. But . . . I didn't care. It didn't bother me, because . . .

Without you, all hope is lost.

I had failed.

I had failed everyone; Phoebe, Arnold, Micah, Nel . . . everyone.

Nothing more than a pretty fake.

He was right. I had never stood a chance; not against the Mutants, not against Serec . . . no one. Because at the end of the day, you couldn't make something what it wasn't. I wasn't a hero, I wasn't a saviour, I was a failure. The plan was doomed from the beginning, from the minute that Nel had decided she was going to take a chance on me.

And now, everyone would die.

Because of me.

If you don't, who will?

. . . death. What would my parents think? Would they care? Would they be surprised? Would the police report it as Helga or Blue Jay? Would anyone care if it were Helga? Would they even notice? I had reserved myself to the shadows years ago. Maybe it had been with some foolish ambition to atone for my sins. Or maybe I had done it to keep punishing myself. I had wracked my brain for as long as I could remember, picking between the options like it mattered. But in that moment, I realised that maybe, there was a third, more terrifying option. Maybe the motivation had never been noble, but something more vulgar. I had stopped bullying everyone because I didn't want to keep hurting people, but maybe, I still needed that. That violence, that power. And turning away had protected everyone from my cruelty but it had also shifted its sights onto the only target left—me. Maybe I still kept myself away from everyone not to protect them, but to punish myself. To still enact violence.

Maybe I was no different from what I had feared all this time. I was still violent, I was still cruel, and I still deserved that punishment.

You surprise me, Helga.

Was that why I had been chosen? Not because of any virtues I may have possessed, but because no one else deserved to live this life, where you were forced to stay on alert all night, while muffling your tears and screams the next day? Because in one night, everything could be taken from you? Because no one would even notice if it was taken? No one would miss me if I was gone.

Blackness filled the space and pushed until everything had stopped hurting. Until I could no longer feel the pain, feel the sounds, because everything had been a dizzying mess that oozed and curled around me. I could only hear the gentle pressing of my heartbeat. Sobs echoing in my ears.

And I didn't care.

I never cared.

Not anymore, I . . .

A gasp.

It disappeared—the pressure around my neck, on my chest.

It was gone.

Cold, crisp air assaulted my throat and I hacked. I coughed and inhaled whatever I could. My ribs heaved, but I felt no benefit. Tears slipped down my face, leaving a tight and dry feeling in my chest. I brought a hand to my throat—I could breathe. Why?

My vision was blurry, but I looked in his direction—Serec. I moved my gaze to him, but I couldn't make out his face. I mostly saw a blur, a white blur. He stood in front of me, and his gaze was heavy—staring. He was staring at me but doing nothing else. Why hadn't he killed me?

"You—" I heard his voice. It somehow felt like a whisper. "You don't have your powers."

I flinched but didn't bother denying it. What was the point?

I expected him to laugh, or even chuckle, like he had been doing this entire encounter. But he didn't. I could see him biting his lip, but I still couldn't make out his expression. Only that he watched me and as he did, silence filled the space. It frightened me more than everything tonight because I didn't know what he was thinking.

I only knew that it wasn't good.

"I am disappointed," he mentioned with a small clucking sound coming from his tongue. The gravel crunched beneath his boot and I could see his shape shifting as he propped his hand onto his hip. "I will be honest, you have disappointed me, my lady, but . . . I also cannot deny that this is good news indeed. Acantha, she will be pleased to hear this." I was expecting it, but my heart still dropped when her name was mentioned. "I shall take my leave now but . . . take care of that wound, would you?"

And with another bow, he turned around and disappeared into the alley.

Leaving me alone.

I slumped back, head resting against the ground. My mind spun as I tried desperately to cling onto everything that had just happened. To understand what had just happened. Serec had fought me. Serec had taunted me. He had realised that I no longer had any powers. And he had promised that Acantha was going to find out. That I was defenceless, that I was just a stupid girl who still didn't know what I was doing.

The realisation all hit me at once: they could kill me. They could do it in a second and I couldn't do anything about it. I was weak. They were strong. Nothing was stopping them from killing me.

My mind began failing. I couldn't breathe—it felt like there were still hands around me. I felt naked, like the clothes had been ripped from my body as a cold dose of reality sunk in. Nel could train me as much as she liked, but there was no way that I could succeed. Acantha was stronger than I could ever become. It was only a matter of time before she stopped amusing herself and killed me.

The world was a blur; the sounds, the taste, the smell.

Everything was gone.

I paused and tried holding back the feelings.

But couldn't.

A lone tear traced down my temple and soaked my hair. And just like that—the dam broke. The muscles in my chin trembled as more and more tears slipped down my face. I looked up at the moon and gasped for air that wasn't there. Brick by brick, my walls crumbled as sobs wracked through my body. My vocal chords strained as another raw cry came from my mouth. I curled into a fetal position and pretended that the pain from my palm wasn't there. Because I was tired. God, I was so tired. Curling into a ball, I hoped that someone would save me. But no one would, no one was there. No one ever did. A choked cry for help forced itself from my throat as another drop ran down my face.

But no one would come. Of course not. It was just me.

Alone.

Always fighting alone. Dying alone.

I was a cow bred for slaughter. A prisoner waiting for her execution. I was still here because of luck and nothing else. I wasn't a match for anyone. I wasn't any more effective than anyone else—anymore than Helga.

Digging my palm into my eyes, I scrubbed away the tears.

Poor Helga, the girl who no one loved. Everyone, it seemed, loved Blue Jay. There was some criticism, but entering a room, everyone fell to their knees for her. Helga was her opposite. Helga wasn't a champion. She had never been a champion. She was a failure and never mattered. That was why she had been chosen. Her death wouldn't mean anything to anyone. It wouldn't get attention. She had spent her life in the shadows. No one ever looked at her. It was perfect because no one would stop to think twice about her death.

My hand clenched into a fist.

Helga, such a vile and ugly thing. She was violent and horrible and pathetic. She could disappear and no one would blink. Not even Arnold—

I tore the blade from my palm.

Electric shockwaves shot through my body and then caught fire. It was merciless and without escape. It shot all the way up to my shoulder, down to my knees. It had my mind reeling and backed into a corner until everything felt like it was getting turned onto its side. I rolled into a tighter ball to cope, holding my wounded hand to my chest. I couldn't bare to look at it. I wished that the world—that I—would end rather than endure these endless currents, but waves continued to crash onto me.

And with those waves, came the realisation. Came the understanding. This was how it was supposed to be; this was always how it was supposed to be.

I was Helga Pataki and nothing could change that.

Nothing would change that.

I thought Blue Jay was my freedom. I thought she was my escape. That I could outrun Helga's fate. But the reality hit me like wine. The noose I had been trying to insist was a necklace. Good never came to the wicked. I was supposed to endure this so no one else would. It had never been my job to stand on the podium, it was my job to become the podium. To lift other people up. To change their fates. While enduring my own. People like Arnold deserved the pedestal, while I belonged to the altar. Some place where I could become the sacrifice that the town made to their Gods. Whose death would bring rain and fortune to the land.

Blue Jay had made me into something that was nothing like myself. That was why everyone looked at me like that. That was why they had treated me like that. Whispered my name like it were an oath. Helga was destined for nothing. But Blue Jay was destined for something.

Blue Jay would change the world.

And die trying.

I wanted to scream.

But I was Blue Jay and she didn't scream. She didn't get to scream. She was the shield, never the victor.

So biting my tongue, I kept the screams at bay. And watched as the world stilled around me. No air stirred the newspaper. No clouds drifted in the sky. Not a sound could be heard.

It was an eerie sort of tranquillity.

And I was okay with it.

I glanced down at my hand.

I was okay with all of it.

Arnold waited.

He wasn't exactly what for. No promises had been made to him. No declarations, no vows that she would be back. Hell, not even any recognition that she had recognised the voices screaming her name. She had just left, and he had stayed there.

And waited and waited and waited.

Time stretched until his friends had left, until the space became empty rather than filled. He didn't move. He had thought that he was totally alone until Gerald had sat beside him. His chest warmed. He often teased his friend, but Gerald had always been the most loyal person that Arnold knew. He was like a shadow that never left. He never let you feel like you were alone.

Micah stirred beside him.

Arnold knew he had to leave.

Face the inevitable thunder that was his grandmother. Blue Jay had been right. He had fucked up. And he needed to accept his punishment for that.

But Blue Jay . . .

Arnold wasn't sure why he hung back like he had. It was obvious that she wasn't going to turn up. She had disappeared and so should he. But something twisted in his chest when he thought about that. Because what if she came back? He wanted to see her again. She was a colour he had never experienced before. A sound he wanted to keep hearing. She had a tall and electrifying presence that stung the air and everything around him. She was beautiful and dazzling and . . .

And her eyes . . .

He couldn't shake them from his mind. They had been carved into his head, something he couldn't wash away from his memories. When she looked at you, it felt like shooting stars had you pinned to the spot. Electricity shot through you, but it didn't hurt. It excited you. It excited him.

They stirred something in him. He didn't know what. He wanted to chase after her to find out what.

He knew that he wasn't different from anyone else. Everyone stared at her in awe. Of course they did, she was magnificent. Her presence enticed enchantment and beckoned everyone towards her. He couldn't get that image out of his head when she had been walking towards them. It had felt like a scene from a movie that had been caught in slow motion. Light had rolled down her back and fanned out beneath her neck and shoulders like she was an angel. The wind had whipped her hair around her face, making it dance beneath her chin and over her chest. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls but when the light caught it, her strands were turned into gilded ringlets. She had looked like a goddess.

But then, she had looked at him and he felt like he had been struck with lightning.

Because her eyes—they were beautiful, but . . . there was something about them. Something that made him feel like he was taking part in a scene he had already experienced. That her presence, as beautiful and hazy as it made things, it wasn't as foreign to him as it had felt before.

But why? What was making him feel like this?

Arnold startled when Gerald clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

"Think she's gone, champ," he said with an easy grin. Or, one that looked easy. Arnold knew Gerald and had heard how he spoke about himself to Blue Jay. He felt as guilty as Arnold did.

Knowing that made something twist in Arnold's chest. He didn't like knowing that, how guilty Gerald felt. But he knew trying to confront him about it, that would just start an argument between them. And an argument was the last thing they needed tonight.

So, Arnold nodded then turned to Micah.

"You ready, Micah?"

But the child wasn't even looking at him.

He was watching that alleyway that Blue Jay had dashed into. His lips were twisted, hands in tiny little fists by his side. It was obvious that Micah had been hoping that Blue Jay would come back just as much as Arnold had. Maybe even moreso. It made Arnold wonder, what had happened while he had been with Blue Jay? They seemed quite attached to each other. Had anything been said?

Arnold shook his face. It didn't matter now.

"Alright, let's go," he announced, standing to his feet.

Gerald smiled, joining him, and both boys waited for Micah.

The kid scrunched his mouth to the side before following their actions. He placed his hand into Arnold's, but his eyes never left that alleyway, even as they exited the park.

Arnold couldn't blame him. Blue Jay was . . .

Her eyes popped into his head before he could even finish that thought. He wanted to shake his head. God, why would that feeling not leave him? Why did it feel like a part of him recognised Blue Jay?

He pressed his teeth together.

Who were you, Blue Jay?

Darkness caved in and suffocated me. Clung to every inch of my clammy skin. The world was etched in charcoal, my feet bare. The wind was icy. I shivered. Where was I?

I felt like my eyes had been gouged out. My body washed cold. Had they? I brought a hand to where they should be—they were still there.

I breathed. But where was I?

Two eyes appeared, glowing like miniature suns. They seemed familiar, but I couldn't recognise them. Beneath the suns, appeared a grin that showed every sharp tooth. Neither moved, the eyeballs, nor the stretched lips.

I stared. Serec—

There was a gleam as a blade whipped out, clutched in a pair of white hands. I was frozen, muscles locked in place, as the knife moved closer and closer. The blade aligned between my brows.

I shut my eyes, awaiting the pain—

"—so unfair, man!"

My eyes snapped open.

And confusion blossomed. Light invaded my vision. I couldn't see anything past it. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and adjusted to the sun's rays. The light retreated until it had sunk into familiar–looking shapes . . .

Ah.

I knew where I stood.

I was outside Arnold's house, waiting for the bus.

I paused. Had I fallen asleep again?

As I rubbed my temples, something fuzzy brushed against my face. Right. The gloves. I was wearing my grey fingerless gloves because I didn't want anyone seeing the bandages. I often wore gloves during winter. It was hot and sunny outside, but I wasn't worried about anyone confronting me about them. Who would care?

I could barely remember getting home. Not that I was desperate to reclaim much from last night. But I remember tending to my wounds and then going to bed. Easier said than done, of course. I had a hole in my hand and my knuckles had been smashed. But the adrenaline had vanished, and exhaustion had acted like a drug so when my head hit the pillow, I was out.

Nel hadn't even been sure how long it would take for my injuries to heal. So I had kept my hopes pressed low when waking up this morning. The knuckles were still sore, it hurt to move them. But they weren't shattered and when she had looked them over, Nel had concluded that it would take maybe two more nights for them to heal completely. I didn't know if I could bare two more nights of this, but it was better than if I didn't have my powers.

The stab wound though . . .

I didn't know how long that would take. Perhaps a few more nights. Which I'm sure, was going to mean that the rest of the week was packed with so much fun and excitement.

Voices began surfacing like they were rising from water.

". . . you really blame her, Gerald?" That was Arnold. I could recognise him from anywhere. "I mean, it was because of us that Micah almost . . ."

There was a strained pause.

"But Arnold—"

"No buts, Gerald," Arnold interrupted. I rose my brows at his anger. "It was because of us that she almost lost her grandson."

Oh.

My heart dropped.

I knew what it was they were talking about.

"So, uh," Gerald cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "What happened . . . after she, erm, fired you?"

Fired him.

I dropped my gaze to my shoes.

"What do you, uhh, mean?"

"I mean," Gerald opened his arms. "Like, what happened to the kid? Is she gonna hire a new sitter or something?"

"I dunno, Gerald," Arnold sighed. "She told me I should leave, so I left. I don't know what happened. She didn't want to discuss anything with me."

Despite myself, I felt guilty hearing this. I didn't regret what I had said to Arnold, it had been stupid. And it had endangered Micah along with himself and his friends. But . . . was it right, how everything unfolded? I was supposed to shield everyone, protect them from harm. Maybe I should have gone with him, explained the situation to Micah's grandmother. Taken the blame for them. Because that was my job: to be the shield.

I was the shield, never the victor.

I should start acting like it.

"That really sucks, man," Gerald said. I could hear him patting his friend on the shoulder.

"Yeah."

"It was my fault," Gerald admitted, voice dipping low. "I was the one who called you."

Shield, but never the victor.

I had failed.

"It's not, Gerald," Arnold said. "It's mine. I agreed to it. You weren't the babysitter. I was."

"But I—"

"And anyway, Micah is okay at least. And so are we, for that matter."

He wanted the conversation to end. He didn't want people feeling sorry for him. He didn't like bringing people down for his own sake. He just wanted them to remain happy. I couldn't believe that I had thought that I could be like him. I was never going to be him. Arnold was destined to become a fairy tale. I would always remain a bad ending. Arnold would walk a path of light, while I lingered beneath that path, holding it together like I was Atlas. My knees were destined to bleed as I held everything together for everyone. I was the shield, never the victor. And while he was destined for the light; I was destined for the shadows.

We were polar opposites.

At least I was no longer fooling myself.

There was a pause and I knew it was coming from Gerald. He was torn between respecting his friend's privacy to let the subject drop or insisting that Arnold share the burden.

Ultimately, he decided to honour Arnold's unspoken wishes.

"Yeah," I could hear his slow and steady smile. "Guess we are."

And just in time because the school bus pulled up in front of us.

The door shuttered open and for a moment, my eyes locked with Arnold's.

My heart stopped.

His eyes held mine in a firm, but gentle grasp. It surprised me. I hadn't even realised that he had noticed me. I hadn't been standing far from them, but I kept my hoodie on with my earbuds pressed in. I wasn't listening to any music, but I was in a stance that made it easy to glance over me. To drift away from people's notice until I was invisible.

But here he was, noticing me.

The words became stuck in my throat. He looked at me like everything was simple, like everything could be pleasant. His smile had seemed forced before but in that second, it stretched to become real. It made something rattle in my chest. He rose his eyebrows and gestured for me to go first.

Of course, he was being kind. He was being Arnold.

The Arnold that made everything crash and collapse into dust. The Arnold who was a chemical that hit me so hard that it had the world twisting and heaving around me. The Arnold that had sunshine in his eyes. The boy who meant everything to me and yet, nothing at all.

Blushing, I looked down to my shoes and hid my face behind my hair.

I could feel his confusion, but before he could say anything, Gerald had already went ahead to enter the bus.

Seconds ticked before he followed after his friend.

I sighed, like I had lost a weight. Then, stepped onto the bus and—

"Micah!"

I froze. Micah?

"Micah, come back this instant!"

I looked up in the direction of the calls and felt my mouth drop.

Running down the sidewalk was a familiar face.

My heart swelled as he moved vigorously, like a little ball of sunshine. His curls consumed his face. But his smile beamed, lighting up even the darkest of corners. The smile he wore had been the largest I'd seen on him. I found myself smiling with him. But where was he going? I looked over my shoulder. Nothing seemed exciting enough to invoke such a reaction. Maybe he was visiting a friend—

"Lady."

Turning around, I found that the kid was stood at my feet. He was smiling, still. Even though he was looking at me. He tugged on my pants and gestured that I bend down. I was so stunned that I didn't even think about it. I lowered myself to my knees, crouching on the balls of my feet. His smile was so bright and as we stood face–to–face, I thought I would go blind from it.

I could feel stares boring into me from the bus. Dumbfounded. Murmurs rippled as they questioned why such a cute kid would want to talk to me.

Micah pressed something into my hand.

I looked down—it was a folded piece of paper.

Narrowing my eyes, I opened and examined it. It was a crayon drawing depicting a little boy standing next to two other boys. They were watching a woman as she battled a big, terrifying monster. She took up most of the page, dressed in white with long, flowing hair.

It was him with Blue Jay.

His smile suddenly got shy. "I–It's . . ."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Blue Jay."

It was an innocent drawing—a child depicting someone he admired. His way of coping. But, to me, it spoke volumes of unspoken words—ones that both comforted and pained me.

He ducked his gaze to the ground, cheeks red.

"Yeah," he nodded then fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Would you give it to her, please?"

And when he lifted his gaze to mine, I knew. I knew that this tiny six–year–old had figured it out.

He knew that I was Blue Jay.

"Micah!"

A dishevelled–looking woman, dressed in a long shirt and jeans, suddenly appeared. She had big, bouncy curls in colours of wheat, and small, elegant hands. Her face was aged with lines, but you could tell how beautiful she was.

From the bus, I heard someone hiss, "Shit!" And when I looked, it was just in time to catch a flash of blonde hair and darker curls ducking beneath the bus window.

And then, everything made sense.

Turning back to the woman, I found that she was already looking at me. She had slowed her jog into a walk as she sheepishly sent me a smile.

"Sorry, dear," she apologised in a light voice. "He saw you and was gone. Micah, honey, c'mere, you're not supposed to talk to strangers."

This must have been Micah's grandmother.

Micah pouted, puffing out his red cheeks.

And suddenly, for whatever reason, Micah knowing my identity didn't bother me. I wasn't sure why but something about him lessened my worries. I looked at him and it brought back that feeling from yesterday. That golden feeling. Like I had spent so much of my life, handcuffed to the shadows, but now, the sun was breaking free and washing me in its heat. It didn't make sense. I just knew that when Micah moved, it tugged at my heartstrings and made me want to smile.

I found myself laughing.

A real, god forsaken laugh. The joyful feeling was bubbling and made me feel like a weight had left my chest.

I could practically hear everyone's shock as I laughed carelessly. I didn't blame them, I wasn't known for laughing at anything other than at someone else's expense.

So, when I turned back to his grandmother, I gave her an acknowledging nod.

"It's alright," I told her with a grin. "He was just showing me his wonderful drawing, right Micah?"

I sent him a look, silently asking if my secret was safe.

A smile spread across his face. "Yeah!"

"And you know what, Micah?"

His eyes were twinkling. "What?"

"She's going to love it," I told him.

He was quiet for a moment, staring at me as the meaning behind my words sunk in. Then, pursing his lips, he ducked his face and ran into my arms. I was taken back, as was his grandmother and—hell, the entire bus. I think I could hear someone collapsing in shock.

Mind racing, my heart felt swollen as I wrapped my arms around him. I placed my chin on his head, breathing in slowly as my muscles lost their tension.

It was confusing. A hug was a simple and normal gesture. But I had received so little that, even from a child, it was enough to make everything seem brighter.

His grandmother smiled and mouthed, "Thank you."

Smiling back, I mouthed, "You're welcome."

But then, a rambunctious sound jarred me from my peaceful state as Pete slammed his hand down on the wheel.

We both jumped apart and, growling, I yelled, "Oh, I am coming!"

Micah's grandmother laughed.

Turning back to Micah, I smiled warmly.

"Gotta go, kiddo," I said and bumped his chin with the tops of my knuckles.

He giggled and lightly battered away my hand.

Shoving the paper into my pocket, I gave Micah a wink then climbed to my feet.

Dusting off the dust from pants, I gave a small wave, "Seeya kid."

He giggled.

Climbing the steps, I shot Pete a nasty look then threw myself into the first free seat available. People were still watching me. I realised that, at some point when Micah had been hugging me, the hoddie had fallen from my head.

I growled, then pushed it back up.

The doors slammed shut and the bus resumed down the street. I imagined that we'd lost time in our schedule, but Pete was a dick so I didn't care.

Eventually, everyone turned to resume their conversations and the chatter rose until it had filled the bus. I released a breath I hadn't been aware that I'd been keeping and slumped back into my chair.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the paper. But unfolding it, something caught my eyes. On the other side was a message written in ink.

To Blue Jay,

Thank you for saving me yesterday! It was really cool! You're just like the heroes I read about in comics. You're just like Wonder Woman! I can't wait to tell everyone at school! And thank you for saving Arnold and everyone!

I have to go to bed but just know that you're really cool

Love, Micah xxx

p.s. I think Arnold's friends all like – like you!

I read the words in a stunned silence. I suddenly had forgotten how to breathe, how to speak, as a new realisation hit me.

I knew this writing—

Looking up, I met a pair of panicked, green eyes.

—it was Arnold's.

So, what were our thoughts this week! Lemme know in the reviews! I'm quite satisifed with Arnold's perspective. He hasn't forgotten Helga like she has assumed. He mostly is confused with her, but despite any conflict from the past, he actually thinks quite well of her. It's going to be really interesting cotinuing to write from his perspective.

Anyway, onto ma reviewing babes!

DhamarFlowers1.5:jaja, ¿creerías que todavía no he olvidado esta historia? Gracias por la revisión, hombre, y sí, eso siempre me pareció interesante para las historias de chicas mágicas. ¡No necesariamente el entrenamiento físico, sino el psicológico! Espero que te haya gustado este capítulo, hermano!

Nikki Pond: Wow, man, I've never seen a review like this before :D but I legit love everything about it! Thank you - yeah, Helga's responses are largely inspired by Katniss in The Hunger Games or like the entirety of Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica. Because like, at the end of the day, she's human - a young one at that - and I don't think anyone could really take it calmly XD AND YES, NEL'S SLOWLY RISING TO MY FAVS AS WELL (although I didn't get to write her to much in this one). Yeah, unfortunately Lila wasn't in here, but Arnold and Gerald definitely were and had a significant part in this one! Surprisingly, Gerald's actually the easiest character to write, and it's really fun to contrast him with Helga. Yes, Helga's homelife also is gonna play a huge part in here - I want her to grow strong enough to confront all areas of her life. Contrasting her vulnerabilities with the mask she shows to everyone is the most interesting part about her. I love going deep into her mind to reveal what she's actually thinking versues what she's doing/saying. But, thanks so much for this review! It was a huge motivation for me to finish! Thanks so much, darl 3

ariani (it wouldn't let me write out your whole name for some reason): Awwwww, thank you so much! Hopefully, her emotional breakdowns aren't getting repetitive! And yeah, I could definitely see her showing an interest in those artists! And haha thankfully this wasn't nearly as long as the last chapter!

aroyal22: Haha, thanks, man! Yeah, the M ratings definitely going to give me a lot more freedom! 3

Badwolf123456: I'm glad you like Nel - she's growing on me to! Unfortunately, she wasn't really in this one to much tho. But thanks so much, darl! Everything you wrote is seriously appreciated!

GoldenBug Prime: Hahaha, thanks, man! 3 Hopefully it's the same for this, aye? And, nice guessses - we'll just have to see ;)

dvd123: I knowwwww, it took fracking forever to write! And definitely - that's my goal! I really want Helga to grow into her own skin. Yeah, the burden won't be like this for a while, I'm pretty sure, but yeah, her habit of distancing herself is beginning to bite her in the ass. Hopefully you enjoyed this one just as much 3!