She’d been right. They hadn’t run far enough away, just like Sleeper and Zayin. The world was going to blow up, or the capes were going to die.

“I guess you’re going to need another team to root for,” Caden said.

Presley turned around. Caden was there. There were some other people at other points along the roof, trying to make calls. Adults, not paying much attention to her.

“Maybe basketball? Baseball?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him.

“I know you’re going to get over this in a few years. And by the time you’re out of high school, you’re going to be embarrassed you got teary-eyed over some dorks in costume.”

She wiped at her eye, and found the moisture there. “No. That’s not it.”

“They did what they were supposed to. This is what capes are for. It’s why we kept them around.”

“Don’t use past tense,” she spoke the words through gritted teeth. “That decision hasn’t been made yet.”

“It kind of already has. It was made years ago, around Gold Morning, but we didn’t get the chance to do anything about it.”

She strode across the roof, and gave him a shove. “They’re people! People with stories, and the rest of their lives to live!”

“You’re way overinvested,” Caden said, glancing at a bearded man in trucker wear who had turned around to intervene, his phone still at his ear.

She twisted around, pulling off her bag, and bent down to unzip it.

“No weapons,” the bearded man said, before turning his head, “I’ll call you back.”

She pulled her hand free of her bag, her fist gripping clumps of images she’d printed out.

“This is Antares, and she went to hospitals to give sick kids a try at flying!” she said, marching forward, until the bearded man put himself between her and the stupid kid Caden. “Look at this—look—”

She fumbled through the pictures with numb fingers, trying desperately to keep from dropping them. If the wind took them, she might lose them forever.

“What am I supposed to look at?” Caden asked, almost taunting.

“Just… a second.”

She found it. A recent-ish picture of Victoria. No costume, no hood, and her top was short-sleeved.

“Look at the scars. Look at that. I can tell you what some of those were. She mentioned in passing she’d been shot, stopping Fallen. She’s been burned. She’s been cut.”

“Heroes get hurt, it’s what they’re supposed to do.”

“She got hurt because she fought the monsters who would have gone after people like you and me, if they hadn’t been stopped! She—no, it’s not what they’re supposed to do!”