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His long hair sways as he shakes his head. “I can’t get into President Might’s personal BEEPR.” The mention of my dad’s name makes me uneasy.

“What does that mean? He’s not … hurt, is he?”
Concentrate, Maci
. I must concentrate on breathing if I want to stay conscious. In, out. In, out.

Evan shakes his head. “It’s turned off. I don’t think it’s from the lockdown, because even in lockdown, a BEEPR would show as being active.”

“Try Max,” I offer and quickly rattle off his ID number as Evan types it into the computer. My stomach twists in knots as I wait for an answer.

His shoulders sag. “Nope.”

Imaginary images of Max’s bloody lifeless corpse invade my mind. I slam my eyes closed, realizing, a little belatedly, that blocking my eyesight does nothing to stop from seeing mental images.

“Don’t think like that,” Evan says, reaching back to touch my arm while keeping his eyes on the screen. A warm sensation runs through me at the feel of his skin on mine. Neither of us are wearing our rings in the mind-reading mode, but I glance at my hand just in case. He smiles. “I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking. And you can’t think like that. They’re Heroes. Nothing will take them down, short of the sun collapsing in on itself.”

I want to believe what he’s saying, to feel without a doubt that my family is alive and okay. I used to think they were indestructible. But now I’m not sure what I believe anymore. My eyes close. When they open, they are filled with tears.

He turns now, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me toward him. He’s still sitting on a stool, so we’re about the same height. My face curls into his neck and he smells like cinnamon and chocolate chips. I do not let myself cry. I am not the girl who cries.

With my arm around his neck, I squeeze my ring into my palm. I’m not sure if I want him to hear what I’m about to say, so I don’t check if his hand is also closed.
I can’t stop thinking this is somehow my fault.

A soft voice appears in my mind as Evan’s arm gives me a short squeeze.
It’s not.

I pull away from him, feeling exactly as awkward as a situation like this warrants. I pretend to focus on his screen with my eyebrows drawn together as if I’m analyzing what might as well be hieroglyphics in front of me. Why is every moment with Evan so damned awkward?

Actually, strike that. I do know how to read hieroglyphics. This is still gibberish.

Evan’s fingers fly across the keyboard. I watch him type and think and type and think. Then he leaps off the stool and dashes across the room, impressing me with his supernatural speed (I mean he’s a research nerd after all). He digs through drawers like a mad man and I continue to pace on what has now become my place on the floor that I’m determined to wear down until there is a hole in it. It’s like a Tootsie Pop—how many paces until the floor caves in? Finally, he pops up with a black rectangular box.

Half a second later he’s back on the stool, the drawer across the room still slowly sliding shut. I check my MOD for the millionth time as he hooks up the box to the circuit boards in front of him. It’s half past noon. Almost twenty-four hours since I woke up in the medical ward, left the medical ward, argued with Jake, saw Pepper, and …

Yeah, I can’t think about that.

“I’ve got your house.” Evan’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He gives me a weak smile. “Only …” a sigh, “No one is home.”

I wasn’t expecting them to be home but disappointment hits me anyway. “Try Crimson.”

Evan’s lips press together, his teeth biting on the bottom lip as he works. Lines of code fly across the screen faster than I can count. “Here’s some good news.” He stops squinting at the screen to smile at me.

“Dammit Evan, I don’t care about your gorgeous smile!” I shove him, hard enough to prove my point but not so hard as to knock him off the stool and prolong my answer even more. “Just tell me what you’re seeing, quit the freaking King of Anticipation shit already.”

He talks so fast his words become a one-word sentence. “Every member of the Carlow household is home. No peril.”

A teensy amount of relief hits me. Followed by a massive amount of dread. I lean in closer to his screen and try to make sense of what he sees. “How is that possible? Crimson’s a Hero.”

Evan’s eyes scan the hundreds of lines of gibberish text and points to a place on the screen that’s just as gibberish-looking as the rest of it. “They’re all at home. Maybe they don’t need her.”

Evan shrinks beneath the murderous glare I give him. Then he says something that takes my glare right away. “Would you like to talk to her?”

My eyes bug out so hard, I fear they may fall out of my still healing skull. “Yes,” I say, but he’s already called her home MOD, based on the ringing sounding coming from the speakers. The whole screen switches from codes to the MOD call screen. Finally, something familiar.

After three rings, our call is answered. Crimson faces the monitor, dressed in her Hero suit. Her long blonde hair is in a disheveled ponytail; her eyes aren’t vibrantly decorated with eye shadow. Her lips twitch like someone who’s drank too many cups of coffee. “Hero Crimson,” she says, her voice sounding more like a preteen talking to her crush instead of her usual Hero confidence. Her eyes dart from left to right.

“She can’t see us,” Evan whispers so quietly I can barely hear him. “This isn’t a MOD, so, no camera.”

“Crimson, it’s me,” I shout as tears fill my eyes for a second time today. “It’s me. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Her face crumbles in confusion. She runs a shaky hand across her hair. “Maci?”

“Yes. What’s going on?” My voice cracks with the mixture of pain and relief and about a thousand other emotions I’ve never bothered to feel before.

Crimson’s eyes fill with tears as well. “I can’t see you. Prove that it’s you.”

I glance at Evan. And shrug. Now isn’t the time to worry about preserving Crimson’s modesty. “You didn’t lose your virginity to Toby. You said you did though.”

Her cheeks redden. The barest hint of a smile touches her lips. “I thought you were dead.” She blinks and two tears roll down her cheeks. Guess I’m not the only trained Hero who accidentally cries.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“Where are you?” she asks, not even bothering to wipe off tears as they continue to pour from her eyes.

“I’m at—” Evan’s hand flies over my mouth, stopping me. He shakes his head and mouths the word
no
. “I can’t tell you,” I say with a sigh. “But I’m okay. I’m safe. Why are you home?” I touch the sides of the monitor, wishing I was touching my best friend instead. “What’s going on there?”

She throws her hands up. “My BEEPR is off. I’m not allowed to do anything. I feel like a fucking peasant instead of the world’s fourth fucking most powerful fucking Hero.”

“Have there been any announcements? Are Dad and Max okay?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t heard a word. Mom is practically in hysterics. Dad has checked out emotionally. Blue won’t stop building houses out of a deck of cards. I’ve been sitting on the floor in front of this MOD screen for twenty hours waiting for my assignment.” Having given up on trying to see me, she focuses her attention on her chipped nail polish.

The fact that her nails are chipped at all says a lot about this situation.

Someone calls Crimson’s name in the background. Her eyes go wide. “I have to go,” she whispers. “They’ll freak if they know I’m talking to someone and don’t give them any new information.” Her face distorts as if to apologize. “Love you, Mace.”

Her hand reaches to the screen and shuts it off.

“I love you too,” I whisper.

Evan tugs at his eyebrow. “I still think this is a good thing. If Central was in huge danger then the entire Hero Brigade would be called into action. It’s not that bad if they don’t need her.”

“Crimson is always needed!” I throw my arms in the air. “Some serious shit is going on if they aren’t using Crimson.”

Evan sits straighter on his stool. “Or, maybe the shit isn’t serious at all and that’s why she’s not needed.”

I slam my hands on the table, making his glass monitor go tipsy-turvy on its base. “Pepper was murdered.
Pepper
.” I say his name again with distinct slowness. “A Super. Murdered. In Central.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pulls at the hair tie on his wrist. “You’re right.”

“This has never happened. Every Super who has gone rogue did it outside of Central.” I resume pacing the small space behind Evan’s desk. “You just don’t break in and murder people. It doesn’t happen. Central is too secured.”

“Do you know how she got in?” he asks as he types more stuff on the screen.

“She had a KAPOW pod so that tells us that she used the tracks.” I shake my head. “Our own tracks and our own pod used against us.”

“But her pod was old. She must have stolen it decades ago. Plus it was hijacked, and that’s …”

He looks toward the ceiling as if contemplating more than he can put into words. “That’s nearly impossible. I’m not even sure I could crack the KAPOW’s mainframe.” His fingers fly across the metallic keys and I stare at them so long, they morph into a flesh-colored blur.

“The KAPOW’s mainframe gets a full reconfiguration and update every thirty days. The pods are re-calibrated with every coordinate location on earth, any Super address changes, and stuff like that. Looks like the last update was twenty-nine days ago.” He spins to face me. “So whoever it was had a month to hack into the system and take their pod off the grid, while somehow allowing it to still navigate the rails without colliding into any other pods. Who the hell could she get to do that?”

I bite the top of my index finger. “She had two guys with her. But they weren’t the brightest crayons in the box.”

Evan gnaws on his lower lip. “Technically, all this hacking is IT stuff and not Research, so I didn’t learn about it in Research Training. I wish Felix was here. He taught me everything I know about hacking into encrypted systems. If anyone could hack the KAPOW, it’d be him.”

A cold chill courses through my veins. My eyes meet Evan’s. “Felix didn’t tell you where he was going when he left?”

“Nah,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “He didn’t tell me much of anything though—dude is weird.”

He rolls his eyes and glances out the window, his face looking remarkably serene despite the information corralling itself in my own mind. I take a step forward and place my hands on his shoulders. “Evan,” I say. He lifts his eyebrows. “You said Felix is smart enough to hack into the KAPOW?”

He nods. The power in his veins shift from a dormant energy into a vibrant pulse of energy. Angry energy. His eyes meet mine and he finally realizes the point I’m trying to make.

I tap my finger on his collarbone. “And he mysteriously left a few weeks ago?” He nods again and his face pales. It doesn’t need to be said, but I say it anyway. “About twenty-nine days ago?”

Evan grabs a laptop and a set of tools to break into the door on the opposite side of his apartment. “Felix never allowed me in here,” he says, kneeling next to the door and arranging his stuff like an expert locksmith. “You might want to stay back when this opens. I have no idea what we’ll find.”

“What, like dead bodies?” I snort. “I highly doubt it. We would have smelled it by now.”

Evan types stuff into his computer in what’s probably a high-tech decryption device or something. A low budget jingle plays through the speakers. I glance over his shoulder—he’s watching a YouTube video on how to pick locks.

“Ev-an,” I laugh. “You humble me with your lock-picking genius.”

He shrugs and turns up the volume. I place my hand on Felix’s doorknob and turn. The door swings open. “You’re welcome,” I say.

Evan jumps to his feet, sliding the laptop out of the way as some old human guy babbles on about the fundamentals of picking locks. He flips on the light and we both gasp at what we find inside.

A big old empty room of nothingness. Evan mutters something under his breath as we venture through the apartment. It is nothing like Evan’s apartment except for being shaped like a semi-circle. The kitchen is quaint and dreary, the living room has no windows overlooking the beach, and all the walls are insane-asylum white.

“How well did you know your coworker?” I ask, drawing my finger down a countertop with a thick layer dust.

Evan frowns. “I guess not as well as I thought.”

In an effort to help me pass the time, Evan teaches me how to play Assassin’s Quest, a repetitive first-person shooter game on his Xbox. He claims all the hand-eye coordination and raw, futile efforts to repeatedly kill off the bad guys will keep me entertained while he researches the Felix thing.

I don’t know how much time I spend furiously pressing buttons and annihilating enemy soldiers on screen. Two or three days maybe. I only stop playing to eat the stuff Evan brings me, to go to the bathroom and to sleep. I’ve given him back his bed. I sleep on the couch, whenever I happen to fall asleep after a marathon of gameplay. Things are going well … for the most part.

One time, after forcing a gallon of water down my throat and babbling on about how water is good for you and blah blah, Evan said something along the lines of, “I can’t believe you’re still playing this game. Something is wrong with you.”