“Ren,” her mother said. “Our daughter is supposed to be taking a break right now. She was just fighting, she’ll be fighting again tonight.”

“I’m not asking for much. If you’d just—” he said.

She squared her feet, drew in a deep breath, and then tinted her vision, tapping into that other set of senses that let her see the world through her power.

Mass was an indent in the world, however slight, and that indent saw things drawn toward the mass, even if by insignificant fractions. The world itself, the big magnificent globe they all lived in, produced an indent so steep that they were all pulled directly into it.

With her power, she adjusted tolerances and tensions. Made indents less, made them more.

An increased tension in the fabric at the front and center of the tent served to make everything lighter. Her father stood easily, and picked up a heavy box with just as much ease.

It was easier to expand the ‘donut’ of increased tension than to cancel it and start it again. Moving from where she stood or being interrupted saw everything snap back to normal. A snap back to normal could be disastrous, if her father was holding something fragile.

The casualty was that she was affecting people outside. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to care at this point. Her dad’s career was already fucked, and as far as her secret identity went, she wasn’t sure what she was fighting to maintain anymore.

“There,” her father said, “How about that space heater?”

“Ren,” her mother said. The fierceness of it surprised Brianna. Her mother tended to be meek. “Let our daughter rest.”

“I’ll be happier if I know you guys are okay,” Brianna said. Then she wondered why she’d said it. Why she’d countered her mother when her mother was showing off more spine than usual.

Tired, she decided.

“Thank you, Bee. Alright,” her father said. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them, looking around.

Brianna took the opportunity to mouth an apology to her mom. All she got was an ambiguous smile in return.

“Can you help me with this stuff?” Brianna asked. “It’s buried.”

“Okay!” her father said, and it struck her that he wasn’t being bullish, driven, and high-energy for no reason. He was trying to be strong for the family.

He knelt by the box with the small appliances, picking up the radio and toaster, balancing them on the box’s edge with one hand. She did what she could to move the wires aside.

She used her power, surrounding the box, turning downward-pointing indents into peaks, and then lifted appliances by the wires.

A touch at the side of her head drew her attention. A floating toaster oven and waffle iron bumped into her dad’s arm, the wires threatening to get entangled as he reached over to her.