He motioned toward the reinforced door. Obediently, she went to the doorway, stepped into the back hallways, where things were still so new and crudely hewn that areas hadn’t been painted.

Each door had a clipboard hanging from a peg next to it, level with the top of the door, each clipboard with a ream of documents stuck to them.

She walked down the hall, past cells, and periodically stood on her tiptoes to reach up to the clipboards and investigate who was within. If someone made the decision for her to stay in a cell here, these would be her conversation partners, talking through the metal flaps.

Which was, as much as the idea of confinement made her prematurely antsy, a nice thought.

She stopped at the end of the hallway.

The last cell was occupied.

She turned around, and saw the cape was there, tense, watching.

If she reacted, gave them an excuse, he would probably start blasting. Or use whatever power he had.

She wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. She had been on the fence about coming, because she’d been comfortable and free to tinker where she’d been, and nothing was guaranteed here. Not freedom, not companionship, not safety.

Now, finally here, only to find there wasn’t any place for her, she couldn’t imagine going back.

She put her back to the wall, a cell to her left, and a cell to her right, and slumped down to the ground. She smoothed out her skirt, then leaned forward to pull her coat off, and then draped it over her lap.

The cape watched her for about five minutes, not volunteering any conversation, not saying anything. Then he turned, standing in the doorway, talking to staff or the other capes. Periodically, he looked back at her, making sure she was still.

“Does anyone want to talk?” she asked, quiet.

Her voice echoed down the hall.

A metal plate lifted. Bulging eyes peered through. The file had said that was Mockument. He seemed fun.

“How are you?” she asked.

The fingers that were holding the metal plate up withdrew, and the metal plate clanked back into place.

“Cryptid?” she asked, her head turning to her right. She reached for the metal plate and lifted it up.

There was no response. She leaned in, looking, and saw him lying on a cot, his back to her.

She let the plate fall back down.

She closed her eyes, fingers knit together, her head filled with art that swirled and unfolded with a rhythm matching the flow of anxious emotions that ran through her body.

⊙

Urgent, raised voices stirred Riley awake. She was lying down, her coat worn as a blanket.

She found her feet, systems she’d surgically implanted pumping her with the energy that would let her spring into sudden and violent motion if she needed it.