No damage, no disaster, just—

He touched his cheek, and he pulled something away.

Two long strands of blonde hair. My hair.

I reached up to the side of my head that had touched his cheek, stroking it. It prickled like I had a sunburn.

At least ten strands of hair clung to my palm.

I used flight to facilitate standing from the pew, and backed away a bit.

Horrifying. Horrifying, horrifying, horrifying.

Fuck me, what was this? I could look to one side and see injured people, bleeding people, and people with ulcers. In another direction there were two scared little kids I was related to. People praying with zero hope in their expressions. More injuries, more hurt, more despair.

In a warm church I’d let my guard down and let myself pretend things were normal and I could relax. Now it felt claustrophobic. Four walls and a steepled ceiling that couldn’t contain the hurt and fear the people inside were feeling.

I flew a bit over to get to the door, and to get out. Hair dug into the folds where finger met hand as I adjusted my grip on the door handle.

Refugees, and families carrying tents. More injured capes. Scared capes. People on edge.

And I had hair falling out, and I had no idea why, but the reasons weren’t good, and the air was so cold it was hard to breathe.

“Victoria,” my uncle called out.

I was losing hair and I’d scraped my side and my foot wasn’t functioning. My nice costume was in shreds and so many people had died, or been broken, or broken up.

To score a fucking draw, if it could even be called that. The Titans were healing and we weren’t.

What the hell was I supposed to do in this world where we couldn’t win, where there were horrible titanic monsters that, at best were incommunicado and still strong enough to hurt us by accident? In this world where I could throw cars and I couldn’t affect outcomes any more than a housefly could impact a human.

Things were only going to get worse, and more and more out of control. We were one bad disaster from an impossible tipping point.

“Victoria.”

I clenched my fist and I could feel strands of hair rubbing against strands of hair.

What the fuck?

“Did I get you to review my tattoo?”

Not my uncle.

I refocused, frowning.

“Do you remember? I’m a dumbass, so I definitely don’t.”

It was Jester. From the Patrol group.

Fuck, how much had I been freaking out?

I looked around, and in the process, I felt the pressure at the small of my throat, against my windpipe, and around my heart. Everything still felt delirious.

Only Jester and my uncle were paying attention to me. One standing on either side of me.

“Do you remember what it was?” Jester asked.

“Who could forget?” I asked. “It’s all you would talk about for months. Playing card.”