Then she looked in on Ever. An angel in sleep, arm in a lethal sleeper hold around a unicorn’s neck.

Then bed. She kicked and shrugged off her clothes. Lee watched her at first, then looked away. She slithered under the covers, finding the space beneath warmed by Lee’s presence, but as she drew near to him, he pulled away, turned his back to her. Cold air found its way into the gap between them.

Her hand pushed the blankets down into the gap. The good feelings from earlier in the night had evaporated.

Lose-lose.

The silence lingered in the bedroom, damning.

⊙

Earlier

Silence and a void so empty that even distant starlight barely touched it. Fragments and facets had only themselves to reveal.

Love Lost’s mask communicated the intensity of emotion to her before her own senses recovered. The black-haired boy, Romeo. He was fast and he was intense, eyes wide as he lunged in.

Her claws intercepted the blade, and it slid between the two claws, which redirected the thrust to a point over her shoulder.

She was barely aware of things as she came back from that darkness—that space that was escaping her memory, but she’d been in enough dangerous situations, enough fights. Instinct prevailed. He tried to pull the blade away, and a shift of her hand trapped the blade between two edges. She kicked, the claws on her foot raking for his midsection, and he drew back.

He’d recovered his balance, not just in the physical sense, and when he came at her again, it was with his power roaring. She felt it wash over her, and it was so familiar as to be ordinary. Pain and rage, struggling within her, trying to find an angle to push or twist at her to drive her forward.

She retaliated, swiping with claw, throwing the sword he’d let go of aside, then kicking, first with one claw, then the other, a figure skater on ice. She turned, using the length of her body to hide the claw-lash as she extended it to its length, whipping it—

He kicked the end of it, intercepting.

So capable, and he was just thirteen years old. She’d had to draw the line somewhere, about what was acceptable. She’d settled on Ever’s age, at the time Ever had passed. Too many parahumans were young, and both Breakthrough and the Undersiders were willing to employ the young.

Swansong used her power, launching herself into the air. Arms were spread, one leg half-bent, and residual wisps of her power traced from her fingers.

Disjoint caught her, hauling on one arm, so feet were no longer beneath her. Swansong had to fire another blast to reorient herself, rather than to go on the offensive. Her landing was still hard.