Ballet, horseback riding, modeling classes or violin. Pick one, Emma. One.

Or, or, or, maybe I dont pick any, and

And? she could hear a weariness in her fathers voice. He checked over his shoulder and then turned the car into a side street. A bag with assorted tubs of ice cream sat on the divider between the pair of them.

Maybe you give a second thought to moving? Theres really nice places just a little way South, and Id still be going to the same school, and-

Nope.

Dad!

Theres three jobs I absolutely despise in this world. One is matching socks, the second is ironing, and the third is moving. I can foist the first two off on your mom, but the third is a lifestyle choice. My lifestyle, specifically, is owning the house Im going to live in until I die.

Emma frowned, turning to look out the window. She pouted a little, This place sucks. Brockton Bay sucks.

Whats so bad about it?

Everythings falling apart. Its like show me any house, and I can point out ten things that are wrong with it.

Every house has something wrong with it.

Not every house! Like, when I went to Chris birthday party? I-

Chris?

Christine, Emma injected a note of condescension into her voice, Last weekend? Or did you forget already?

Why not call her Christine? Perfectly nice name.

Because androgyne is cool, dad. Its the thing in modelling. Like, I could never have my hair short, but- She stopped mid-sentence, answering her phone mid-ring. Hello?

Emma! The voice on the other end was breathy, excited. There was a babble of other voices in the background. She could imagine the other youths lined up to use the pay phones.

Taylor, Emma said, smiling.

Ok I gotta talk fast because I only have two minutes and I need my other fifty cents to call my dad. We rowed across the lake this morning to this waterfall, only it wasnt exactly a waterfall, more like a water stair, and we were all taking turns sliding and falling down this set of slick rocks, and Elsa, shes this girl wearing a bikini, shes been spending the last three days acting like shes hot stuff, she slides down the wrong part, and it catches on the strap, right? It doesnt tear it off, but it stretches, so it doesnt even fit her anymore

Emma laughed, leaning back against her car seat.

It was something of a relief, to hear Taylor getting excited about something, to hear her getting excited over nothing. Shed lost her mother a year ago, and hadnt bounced back, not entirely. Her smiles not quite as wide, she was a second later to laugh, as if she had to wait, to give herself permission to do it, had to hold back. Before, it had been almost no holds barred. Anything went, however they wanted to amuse themselves, whatever they wanted to talk about. Complete and total openness. Lately there had been too many movies, too many activities and topics of conversation, that Taylor preferred to avoid.

It hadnt been easy, Emma mused, as Taylor yammered on. Sometimes shed call, theyd do their customary hanging out, and shed feel like the time was wasted, afternoons and weekends spent with her best friend that she didnt enjoy.

Not that Taylor was a wet blanket, but, like, maybe she was a damp blanket?

This? This inane, aimless, stupid, one-sided conversation where shed said one word? This was the good stuff. It gave her hope that things could get back to normal.

and I wish Id listened to my dad, because he suggested at least ten times that I might want to take more books, and I only brought three, and Ive read each of them twice already. My

Taylors voice continued over the phone, but Emma felt her dads hand on her wrist, lowered her phone to pay more attention to her surroundings.

The car had stopped in the middle of a narrow one-way street. A dumpster had been shifted to block the end of the alley.

She looked over her shoulder, down the other end of the alley. A white van had stopped there, the taillights glowing. There were a group of twenty-something Asian-Americans approaching, sliding over the hood of the van to get into the alley and approach. Members of the ABB.

This isnt supposed to happen in broad daylight, Emma thought.

Taylors voice was faint, I could probably recite this one book word for word for you by the time I get back. Maybe if I asked one of the counselors, I could get more.

Her heart pounding as hard as it ever had, Emma hung up. Some part of her rationalized it as needing to eliminate the distraction, to focus on the more immediate problem.

Hold tight, her father said.

She did, and he put his foot to the gas. The car started rolling toward the dumpster, and the gang members behind them began running after them.

Too slow, she thought.

The car barely tapped the dumpster. It was only after contact had already been made that her dad put his foot on the gas, pushing against the blockade instead of ramming or crashing into it.

The dumpster didnt budge.

They blocked it. Or they took the wheels off. Or both.

There were too many people behind them for the car to reverse. Not unless her dad wanted to hurt or kill a bunch of people. Even if he did want to hurt them, he couldnt be sure hed hit them, and where could he go? There wasnt any guarantee hed be able to move the dumpster if he backed up and rammed into it.

Call the police, her father said.

She barely registered it.

Emma! Call the police!

She fumbled with the phone. Nine-nine

Why wont my hands work?

Nine-one-one.

The window to her right shattered. She screamed, then screamed again as hands clutched her hair, hauled her partially out of her seat, until the seatbelt strained against her shoulder and pelvis. He wasnt strong enough to actually lift her, but it hurt. She wasnt thinking, only wanted the pain to stop. Her mind was flooded with images of what might happen if the person outside tugged in a slightly different direction and dragged her face against the broken glass of the window. The phone clattered to the floor as she gripped her attackers wrists, tried to alleviate the pain of hair tearing free from her scalp.

She put her feet flat on the floor of the car, pushed herself up and away from her seat, almost helping her attacker.

Emma regretted it almost as she did it, but in the panic and pain, she undid the seatbelt.

Shed just wanted the pain to stop, and now there were two sets of hands gripping her, hauling her up and out through the car window. Glass broke away against the fabric of her denim jacket, and she fell hard enough against the pavement that grit was pushed into her skin.

I hope the jacket didnt get torn. It was so expensive, she thought. It was inane, stupid, almost hilariously out of sync with reality. Delirious.

Her fathers screams of almost mindless panic sounded so far away, as he cried out her name, over and over again.

The gang members who stood above her each wore crimson and pale green. There were other colors, predominantly black, but the constrast of red and green stood out. Some had their faces exposed, others wore kerchiefs over the lower halves of their faces. One had a bandanna folded so it covered one eye. She couldnt think straight enough to count them.

They had knives, she belatedly noted.

Her father screamed for her again.

Stop, dad. Youre embarassing me. She was more cognizant of how irrational the thought was, this time. Odd, how calm she felt. Except that wasnt right. Her heart was pounding, she could barely breathe, her thoughts were jumbled and irrational, and yet she somehow felt more together than she might have guessed she would.

She wasnt hysterical, at least. She was oddly pleased with that, even as she wondered if she might wet herself.

Turn over, ginger bitch, one of the girls standing above her said. The order was punctuated by a sharp kick to Emmas ribs.

She flopped over, face pressing against the hot pavement. Hands took hold of her jacket and pulled it off. The sleeves turned inside out, the half-folded cuffs catching around her hands.

If shed been taking it off herself, that would have been cause for some rearrangement, to get her hands free. Instead, they pulled. It hurt briefly, and then they had the jacket.

Here, Yan, one of the guys said, his accent almost musical. You owe me.

Sweet! The voice sounded young.

My jacket, Emma thought, plaintive.

We could send this bitch out of town, one of the guys said. Stick her in one of the farms and hold her for a while. Shes got tits, could auction her off.

Dont be a moron. White girl goes missing, they look.

Someone opened the car door and climbed in. There was the sound of the glove compartment opening, of items falling to the floor, where her cell phone was.

For the life of her, she couldnt remember if she had hit call on her cell phone before shed dropped it. It would mean the difference between her phone sitting on the floor of the car, the numbers displayed on the screen, and authorities using the phone to find her location, sending help.

Someone grabbed her hair, again. This time, there was a tearing sensation, and the tugging abruptly stopped. Her face cracked against the pavement beneath, one cheekbone catching almost all of the impact.

Theyd cut her hair, and shed just bruised her face.

Face, she mumbled.

Whats that, ginger? the girl standing over her asked. Emma twisted her head around to see the girl holding a length of red hair in her hand.

Not- not the face, please. Ill do anything you want, just not the face.

It was the delirium that had taken hold of her the second her father had seized her arm. It wasnt really her, was it? She couldnt be this stupidly vain when it all came down to the wire. She didnt want to be that kind of person.

Youll do anything? One of the guys asked. The one with one eye. Like what?

She reached for an answer, but her thoughts were little more than white noise.

The answers that did come to mind werent possibilities. Not really.

Then its the face after all. Hold her.

Ten minutes ago, shed never been afraid. Not really. Stage fright, sure. Fear of not getting the Christmas present she wanted? Sure. But shed never been afraid.

And before the one-eyed thug spoke that last sentence, shed never known terror. Had never known what it might be like to be a deer in the moment the wolves set tooth to flesh, the rabbit fleeing the bird of prey. It was like being possessed, and the white noise that had subsumed her her thoughts when she searched for an argument now consumed her brain in entirety. She felt a kind of surge of strength as her fight or flight instincts kicked into gear, and it wasnt enough.

She was outnumbered, and many of them were stronger than her, even with the adrenaline feeding into her. Two held her arms out to either side, and someone knelt just behind her, knees pressing hard against the side of her head, keeping her from turning it. Looking up, she could see a girl, not much older than her, sporting a nose ring and a startling purple eye shadow. She was wearing Emmas jacket.

Emma could hear her father screaming, still, and it sounded further away than ever.

One-eye straddled her, planting his left hand on top of her hair, helping to hold her head down to the ground.

He held a knife that was long and thin, the blade no wider across than a finger, tapering to a wicked point. What was it called? A stiletto? He rested the flat of the blade on the tip of her nose.

Nose, he murmured. The blade moved to her eye, and she couldnt move away. She could only shut it, feel it twitching mercilessly as he laid the flat of the blade against her eyelid, Eye

The blade touched her lips, a steel kiss.

Mouth

He used the blade to brush the hair away from the side of her head, hooked an earring with the point of the blade.

Well, you can hide the ears with the hair, he said, his voice barely over a whisper. The knife point pulled at the earring until her face contorted in pain. So maybe Ill take both. Which will it be?

She couldnt process, couldnt sort out the information in the mist of the terror that gripped her. Unh?

Again, the knife traveled over her face, almost gentle as it touched the areas in question. One eye, the nose, the mouth, or both ears. Yan here thinks she has what it takes to be a member, instead of a common whore, so you choose one of the above, and she goes to town on the part in question, proves her worth.

Holy shit, Lao, the girl with the eye shadow said. She sounded almost gleeful, Thats fucked up.

Pick, he said, again, as if he hadnt heard.

Emma blinked tears out of her eyes, looked for an escape, an answer.

And she saw a figure crouched on top of her fathers car, dressed in black, with a hood and a cape that fluttered out of sync with the warm sea breeze that flowed from the general direction of the beach. She could see the whites of the girls eyes through the eyeholes of what looked like a metal hockey mask.

Help me.

The dark figure didnt move.

Lao, the one eyed man, reversed the knife in his hands and handed it to the girl with the eye shadow. The girl, for her part, dragged the knifes point over Emmas eyelid, a feather touch.

Pick, the girl said. No, wait

She shoved the handful of hair shed cut away into Emmas mouth. Eat it, then pick.

Emma opened her mouth to plead for help, but she couldnt find the breath. The hair wasnt it, not really. Some of it was the weight of the young man sitting on her chest, crushing her under his weight. Mostly, it was the fear, like a physical thing.

She thought of Taylor, of all people. Taylor had, in her way, been put to the knife, had had an irreplaceable part of herself carved away. Not a nose or an eye, but a mother. And in the moment shed found out, a light had gone out inside Emmas best friend, a vibrancy had faded. Shed ceased to be the same person.

If shed experienced her first real taste of fear when the gang members attacked the car, her first real taste of terror when Lao proclaimed hed cut her face, then it was the thought of Taylor, of becoming Taylor, that gripped her with panic, a whole new level of fear.

I wont become Taylor.

Im not-

Im not strong enough to come back from that.

The knife momentarily forgotten, she bucked, thrashed, fought. An inarticulate noise tore out of her throat, a scream, a grunt, and a wail of despair all together, an ugly sound she couldnt ever have imagined shed make. Lao was dislodged, one hand freed, and she brought it up, not in self defense, but to attack. Her nails found his one good eye, caught on flesh, dug into the softest tissues she could find and dragged through them, through eyelid and across eyeball, through cheekbone and the meat of his cheek.

He screamed, struck her with enough force that she wondered if hed had knuckle dusters she hadnt seen.

Knuckle dusters a weapon. She belatedly remembered the knife, looked up at the girl with the eye shadow.

The figure in the black cloak had the knife-wielding girl, the knife hand twisted behind the girls back.

With a sharp, calculated motion, the arm was twisted a measure too far, the eye shadow girl jerked off balance so the weight of her body would only help twist it further. The girl screamed, dropping the knife, and she flopped to the ground, her arm gone limp, dangling from the shoulder at an angle that shouldnt have been possible.

The figure in black turned on Lao. She swept her cape to one side, and momentarily became a living shadow, a transparent blur. When she returned to normal, her posture was different, and the knife had disappeared from the ground. It was in her hand.

Emma watched in numb horror and awe as the girl advanced on Lao, who crab-walked backward to get away. She closed the distance, stretched out one arm, and delivered a single scratch with the knife, cutting into Laos right eye.

Other thugs had already fallen. The one whod held her arm before she pulled it free was slumping over, unconscious. The woman who must have been standing next to Emmas father, was lying prone on the ground on the other side of the car, a pool of blood spreading beneath her.

That left only one, the thug whod held Yans left arm. He was on his feet in a moment, running, Emmas backpack in one hand, open, the contents from the glove compartment falling free. Useless, trivial items. A bag of candy, the drivers handbook. Things hed taken only because he could.

The girl in the cloak was small, Emma noted. Younger. Again, the cloaked vigilante became a virtual living shadow, flung herself down the length of the alleyway, faster than the man was running. She moved past him, ducking low as she materialized into a normal form. The knife raked across the side of his knee, and he fell. He twisted as he hit the ground, kicked out with one leg, and caught the girl in the side of one knee. She tumbled landing on top of him.

The ensuing struggle was brief and one sided. He tried to grab his attacker, found only immaterial shadow. He turned over, getting on hands and knees to push himself to a standing position, but she moved faster, going solid as she loomed over him, one hand on the wall for balance. She tipped, let herself fall, and drove his face into the pavement with all the weight she could bring down on him.

A second later, the cloaked girl was holding one of his hands against a door just to his right. She used the stiletto to impale his hand to the wood, bent the blade until the handle snapped away.

Emma, her father said. He was out of the car, embracing her. Are you hurt? Emma?

One hand absently tried to claw her own strands of hair from her mouth, failing to get all of them. She settled for leaving the hand mashed against her mouth, as incoherent a gesture as anything she might have said if shed been able to speak.

Wordless, the girl in the black cloak limped a few steps away from the fallen boy before adopting her shadow form, floating away, untouchable.

Emma?

Emma stared at her bedroom ceiling. It was her sisters voice.

I went to that store, got that shampoo you liked.

Emma turned over, pulling the covers tight, staring at the wall instead.

I just thought a shower must sound pretty good right about now.

There were still scraps of paper stuck to the wall with blue tack, the corners of the posters shed torn down in a fit of emotion. All the words in the English language, and there wasnt one for what shed felt. Not anger, not fear, not resentment some combination of those things that was duller, heavier, suffocating. The eyes of the boys from the posters had been too much.

Okay, her sister said, from the other side of the bedroom door. We love you, Emma. You know that, right?

Her mother spoke through the door, Emma? Taylors on the phone. Shes still at summer camp. Do you-

Emma sat up in bed, swung her legs around until they hung off the end of the bed.

No. Her voice was a croak. How many days had it been since she spoke?

If I explained, maybe she could-

An image flashed across her minds eye. Taylor, on the other end of the phone, laughing, blabbering on, happy, just before the incident.

The tables had turned.

If you tell her, Im never coming out, she croaked.

There wasnt a reply. Emma stood from the bed and approached the door. She could hear her mother on the other side.

-doesnt want to talk to you right now. Im sorry.

A pause.

No. No, I dont.

Another pause, briefer.

Bye, honey, Emmas mom said.

Floorboards creaked as her mother walked away.

a therapist. You could go alone, or we could go together.

She grit her teeth.

I I left her number by the phone. Were all going to be out. Your sisters at a thing related to the college dorms, a pre-moving in orientation. Your mom and I have work. You know our phone numbers, but I was thinking, uh.

A pause.

If you were thinking of doing something drastic, and you didnt feel like you could talk to any of us, the therapists numbers there.

Emma hugged her knees. Her back pressed hard against the door, the bones of her spine grinding against the doors surface.

I love you. We love you. The doors are all double locked, so youre safe, and theres food in the fridge. Your sister bought that stuff from the store you like. Soaps and shampoos.

Emma clutched the fabric of her pyjamas.

Its been a week. You cant- you cant be happy like this. We wont be here to bother you, so warm yourself up some food, treat yourself to a nice bath, maybe, watch some television? Get things a step back to normal?

She stood, abrupt, paced halfway across her bedroom, then stopped. Nowhere to go, nothing to do.

She stood there, staring at the wall with the torn corners of poster still stuck to it, fists clenched.

Bye, honey.

She was rooted to the spot, staring at a blank surface, listening as her family went about their routines. There were murmurs of conversation as they got organized, orchestrated who was going in which car, what everyone was doing for lunch. Quieter fragments of conversation where they were discussing her.

The door slammed, and she heard the locks click, a sound so faint she might have imagined it.

It was only after everyone had left that she ventured out of her room.

Coffee. Cereal. She went through the motions, reheating a mug of the former and preparing the latter.

She hadnt finished either when she stood and ventured into the bathroom. She didnt touch the bag of expensive soaps and shampoos, instead using her fathers regular shampoo. She soaped up with the bar soap, rinsed off, then stepped out of the shower to dry herself.

Once she was dressed, her hair still damp, she approached the front door, hesitated.

She pushed through, left it unlocked behind her. She couldnt shake the worry that if she stepped back inside to find keys, she might not be able to step through the threshold again.

Her teeth were chattering by the time she was at the end of the street, and it wasnt cold out.

Her thoughts were a chaotic jumble as she walked. Her stomach felt like a blob of gelatin, quivering with every step she took.

The stares were worst of all. As much as she tried to tell herself that she wasnt in the middle of a giant spotlight, that people didnt care, she couldnt shake the idea that they were watching her, analyzing her every move, noting her wet hair, noting the hunk of hair at the back that was shorter than the rest, crudely chopped off. Were they seeing her as a victim, someone so full of fear and anxiety that her every movement practically screamed easy target?

Perhaps the dumbest insecurity of all was the worry that somehow they could read her mind, that they knew she was doing the dumbest thing shed ever done.

Every step she took, the white noise of her fear consumed a bit of her rational mind.

She found herself back at the mouth of the narrow one-way road. The dumpster had been moved, the van was nowhere in sight.

This was different from feeling like a victim, because here, she knew she really was begging to be attacked. To loiter around in known gang territory, unarmed? It was senseless. This time, they might really carry through with their threats. All it would take was the wrong person seeing her.

Emma couldnt bring herself to care. She was scared, but she was scared every moment of every day, had been for the last seven days. Right now? She was more desperate than scared.

Shed hoped she would run into the girl in the black cloak. She wasnt so lucky. Her stomach started protesting that the half-bowl of cereal hadnt been enough, but she stayed where she was. She hadnt brought a wallet, a phone or watch, so she had no way of getting food, nor any idea of how long she was really waiting.

When the sun was directly overhead, she turned to leave.

There was no place to go. Home? It would be too easy to shut herself in her room, to hide from the world. There was nothing she wanted to do, nobody she wanted to talk to.

The world was an ugly place, filled with ugly scenes, and unlike before, she couldnt shut it out, couldnt shake the idea that something horrible was happening around every corner. Thousands of people suffering every second, around the world.

What got her, the nebulous idea that haunted her, was the impact those scenes had. There were so many defining moments, so many crises, big and small, that shaped the people they touched. The biggest and most critical moments were the sorts that wiped the slate clean, that ignored or invalidated the person who had existed before, only to create another.

Emma had fought in a moment of desperation, as if fighting could make her stronger than Taylor, set herself apart. Except shed failed. It was unbearable. She hated herself.

Her eyes watched the crowd, searching for the people who were eyeing her, judging her. She couldnt find any obvious ones, but she couldnt shake the belief that they were there.

Takes guts.

She could feel her heart leap into her throat, wheeling around, imagining the Asian girl with the eye shadow standing behind her.

It wasnt. The girl was dark-skinned, slender, with long, straight hair. She had a hard stare, penetrating.

Guts? Emma couldnt imagine any word less appropriate.

Coming back. The only reason youd do it is because you were looking for revenge, or you were looking for me. Or both, depending on how cracked you are.

Emma opened her mouth, then closed it. The realization hit her. This was the girl with the black cloak, announcing herself.

She asked the question shed gone to such risk to pose to the girl, Why why did you wait? You saw me in trouble, but you didnt do a thing.

Because I wanted to see who you were.

Before, Emma suspected shed have been offended, aghast at the idea that this girl would leave her to suffer, leave her life at risk, just for an answer to a question. Now? Now she could almost understand it, oddly enough. Who was I?

Theres two people in the world. Those who get stronger when they come through a crisis and those who get weaker. The ones who get stronger naturally come out on top. Theres ups and downs, but theyll win out.

Who was I? Emma asked, again.

Youre here, arent you? The girl smiled.

Emma didnt have an answer to that. She shut her mouth, all too aware of the people walking past them, going about their everyday lives, overhearing snippets of their conversation and yet failing to pick up anything essential.

I want to be one of the stronger ones.

I dont do the partner thing, or the team thing.

Emma nodded. She didnt have an answer ready.

The other girls eyes studied her, and she seemed to come to a decision. Its a philosophy, a way of looking at it all. You can look at the world as a whats the word? One thing and another?

A binary?

A binary thing. But not black and white. Its about the divide of winners and losers. Strong and weak, predators and prey. I kind of like that last one, but Im a hunter.

Emma thought back to how readily the girl had taken the thugs apart. I can believe that.

The girl smiled. And what you have to keep in mind, is the biggest question of all is one youre answering for yourself, right now. Survivor or victim?

Whats the difference?

On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, its the survivors who wind up the strongest ones of all.

Emma stood from the kitchen table, aware that her entire family was watching her.

Its all mental.

Three weeks ago, she might never have imagined that shed be able to resume life as normal, to not be afraid.

Perhaps it was more correct to say that she was afraid, she just wasnt acting it. Faking it until she could make it the truth.

Youre going out? her sister couldnt quite keep the note of suprise out of her voice.

Sophias dropping by, Emma said.

Just want to forget it happened, put it behind me. Move forward.

Taylor got back from camp this morning, her mother said.

Emma paused. Okay.

She might stop by.

Okay.

Emma couldnt resist hurrying a little as she collected her dishes and rinsed them in the sink.

If she comes by when youre not here-

Ill talk to her, Emma said. Dont worry about it.

She made her way to the front hall, stopped by the mirror to run a brush through her hair. It had all been cut to match the piece that had been cut shorter with the knife.

She couldnt wait for it to grow in, as that alone would erase just one more memory that reminded her of her moment of weakness and humiliation, of how close shed come to dying or being mutilated. Until it did grow in, it was yet another reminder of all the ugliness she wanted to be able to look past.

Sophia was waiting outside by the time she had her shoes on.

Heya, vigilante, Emma said, smiling.

Heya, survivor.

She could see Taylor approaching, tan, still wearing the shirt from camp in the bright primary blue, with the logo, shorts and sandals. It only made her look more kiddish. Broomstick arms and legs, gawky, with a wide, guileless smile, her eyes just a fraction larger behind the glasses she wore, a little too old fashioned. Her long dark curls were tied into a loose set of twin braids, one bearing a series of colorful friendship braclet style ties at the end. Only her height gave her age away.

She looks like she did years ago. Way before her mom died. Like shes nine, not thirteen.

Who the fuck is that? Sophia murmured.

Emma didnt reply. She watched as Taylor approached the gate at the front of the house, walked up the path to the stairs where she and Sophia stood.

Emma!

Who the fuck are you? Sophia asked.

Taylors smile faltered. A brief look of confusion flickered across her face. Were friends. Emma and I have been friends for a long time.

Sophia smirked. Really.

Emma resisted the urge to cringe. Fake it until I make it.

Really, Taylor echoed Sophia. The smallest furrow appeared between her eyebrows. Whats going on Emma? I havent heard from you in a good while. Your mom said you werent taking calls?

Emma hesitated.

To just explain, to talk to Taylor

Taylor would give her sympathy, would listen to everything she had to say, give an unbiased ear to every thought, every wondering and anxiety. Emma almost couldnt bear the idea.

But there would be friendship too. Support. It would be so easy to reach out and take it.

I love the haircut, Taylor filled the silence, talking and smiling like she couldnt contain herself. You manage to make any style look great.

Emma closed her eyes, taking a second to compose herself. Then she smiled back, though not so wide. She could feel Sophias eyes on her.

She stepped down one stair to get closer to Taylor, put a hand on her shoulder. Taylor raised one arm to wrap Emma in a hug, stopped short when Emmas arm proved unyielding, stopping her from closing the distance.

Go home, Taylor. I didnt ask you to come over.

She could see the smile fall from Taylors face. Only a trace of it lingered, a faltering half-smile. Its its never been a problem before. Im sorry. I was just excited to see you, its been weeks since we even talked.

Theres a reason for that. This was just an excuse to cut a cord Ive been wanting to cut for a long time.

There it went. The last half smile, wiped from Taylors expression. I what? Why?

Do you think it was fun? Spending time with you, this past year? The words came too easily. Things shed wanted to say, not the whole truth, but feelings shed bottled up, held back. I wanted to break off our friendship a long while back, even before your mom kicked the bucket, but I couldnt find the chance. Then you got that call, and you were so down in the dumps that I thought youd hurt yourself if I told you the truth, and I didnt want to get saddled with that kind of guilt.

It was surprising how easily the words came. Half truths.

So you lied to me, strung me along.

You lied to yourself more than I lied to you.

Fuck you, Taylor snapped back. She turned to leave, and Sophia stuck one foot out. Taylor didnt fall, but she stumbled, had to catch the gate for balance.

Taylor turned around, eyes wide, as if she could barely comprehend that Sophia had done what shed done, that Emma had stood by and watched it.

Then she was gone, running.

Feel better? Sophia asked.

Better? No. Emma couldnt bring herself to feel guilty or ashamed, but it didnt feel good.

That knot of negative emotion was tempered by a sense of profound relief. One less reminder of the old, weak, pathetic vain Emma, one more step towards the new.

Emmas cell phone vibrated. She rose from her bed, suppressing a sigh.

As quiet as she could, she collected the tackle box from beneath her bed, dressed and headed downstairs.

Her father was at the kitchen table. His eyes went wide, and he stood.

She pressed her finger to her lips, and he stopped, his mouth open.

She hesitated, then spoke in a whisper, I need your help. Please. Can- can you not ask any questions just yet?

He hesitated, then nodded.

She handed him the keys, and climbed into the passenger seat.

He started up the car, then drove in the directions she dictated, her eyes on the phone.

They found themselves downtown, in the midst of a collection of bodies.

And in the center, leaning against a wall, Shadow Stalker was hunched over, using her hands to staunch a leg wound.

Emma bent down, opened the tackle box, and began gathering the first aid supplies.

Wordless, her father joined her.

We owe her this, at least.

Give it back, Taylors voice was quiet, but level.

Give what back?

You guys broke into my locker. You took my flute. Its something my mom left me, something she used, that my dad gave to me so I could remember her. Just if youve decided you hate me, if I said the wrong thing, or led you to believe something that wasnt true, okay. But dont do that to my mom. She was good to you. Dont disrespect her memory.

If it was so valuable to you, then you shouldnt have brought it.

Taylor didnt speak for long seconds. Can you blame me? Since school started, youve been after me. As if youre trying to make a point or something. Except I dont know what it is.

The point is that youre a loser.

Taylor wasnt able to keep the emotion off her face. Even if its just a flute and a memory, maybe I wanted to feel like I had some backup here. I thought you were better than that, screwing with me on that level.

I guess youre wrong, Emma replied. She let the words sit for a few seconds, then added, Doesnt look like shes offering you any backup at all.

Emma had mused, back in the week shed been reeling from her near-miss with death or disfigurement, that there were moments that changed destinies, that altered peoples trajectories in life. Some were small, the changes minor, others large to the point they were irreversible. It was so easy, just to utter the words, and the reaction was so profound. A mixture of emotions that briefly stripped Taylor bare, revealed everything in a series of changing facial expressions.

She didnt enjoy it. Didnt revel in it. But it was reassuring? The world made sense. Predators and prey. Attackers and victims. It was like a drug, only shed never experienced the high, the pure joy of it. There was only the withdrawal, the need for a hit just to get centered again.

Fight back, get angry, hit me.

Challenge me.

It took Taylor long seconds to get her mental footing. She met Emmas eyes, and then stared down at the ground. She mumbled her response. I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me.

That wasnt what I meant, Emma thought.

She felt irrationally angry, annoyed, and couldnt put her finger on why.

It took her a minute to find Sophia, not helped by the fact that the two of them had classes on opposite sides of the building.

Sophia was putting coins into the vending machine. She looked up at Emma. What?

Did you break into her locker?

Yeah.

Stole a flute?

Yeah.

Emma paused for long seconds. To give the flute back, surreptitiously, it would go a ways towards breaking the rhythm, the cycle.

Taylors words nettled her. To back down now, it would be a step towards the old Emma, the victim.

Fuck with it. Do something disgusting to it, and make sure to wreck it so she cant use it ever again.

Sophia smiled.

Do you hereby attest that all statements disclosed in this document are the truth, to the best of your knowledge?

I do, Emmas father spoke.

Emma reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. He glanced at her, and she mouthed the words, Thank you.

There was a shuffling of papers at the other end of the long table. We, the committee, have reviewed the documents, and agree that case one-six-three-one, Shadow Stalker, has met the necessary requirements. With stipulations to be named at a future date, specific to her powers and the charges previously laid against her, she is now a probationary member of the Wards, until such a time as she turns eighteen or violates the terms of this probationary status. Congratulations, Shadow Stalker.

Thank you, Shadow Stalkers tone was subdued, her eyes directing a glare at the center of the table rather than anyone present.

Emma watched as the capes and official bigwigs around her got out of their chairs, fell into groups.

Dauntless approached her dad. She only caught two murmured words of Dauntless question. -divorce attorney?

Shadow Stalker, for her part, stood and strode out of the room. Emma hurried to follow. By the time she reached the staircase, Shadow Stalker was halfway to the roof.

Youre angry.

Of course Im angry. Stipulations, rules and regulations. Ive had my powers for two and a half years and Ive stopped more bad guys than half the capes in that room!

Emma couldnt stop the memory from hitting her.

The man struggled, and as much as Shadow Stalker was able to make herself immaterial, to loosen any grip or free herself from any bonds, she didnt have the ability to tighten that same grip. He tipped backwards, off the edge of the roof, and a gesture meant to intimidate became manslaughter.

Shadow Stalker stared off the edge of the roof at the body, then turned to look at Emma.

Is- is he? Emma asked.

Probably best if you dont come on patrol with me again.

You have, Emma replied, snapping back to reality. How many have you stopped?

Its like putting a wolf among sheep and expecting it to bleat!

Its only three years. Better than prison.

Three years and four months.

Better than prison, Emma repeated herself.

It is prison, fuck it!

Its like you said. Just just fake it until you make it the truth, put away the lethal ammunition for a few years.

Shadow Stalker wheeled on her, stabbed a finger in her direction, Fuck that.

Emma stared at her best friend, saw the look in Sophias eyes, the anger, the hardness.

For a moment, she regretted the choice shed made.

Then she had her head in order again, the little things she was faking contorted with reality until she couldnt tell the difference anymore.

People could convince themselves of anything, and there were worse things than convincing oneself that they were strong, capable, one of the ones on top, rather than one of the ones on the bottom.

The door of the bathroom stall swung open. Sophia had flung one arm around Emmas shoulders, and Emma joined her in laughing. To their right, the third member of their trio was giggling so hard she had hiccups.

Taylor kneeled in the middle of a massive puddle of juices and sodas, some of it still fizzing around her. She was drenched, head to toe, trickles still running off of the lengths of her hair. Her style of dress had changed over the past little while, in ways Taylor probably wasnt fully aware of. She wore darker clothes now, cloaked herself in sweatshirts and loose fitting jeans. Her long hair was a shield, a barrier around her face. All measures to hide, signals and gestures of defeat.

More than that, shed changed in behavior, had stopped fighting back. Shed stopped reacting, for the most part. Her expression was impassive. It took some of the fun out of it. It was almost disappointing.

Ill have to think of a better one than this. Crack that facade, Emma thought. She smirked as Madison led the way out of the bathroom, and they left Taylor behind.

Taylor had become the archetypical victim, Emma mused, in one sober moment, as she parted ways with the other two girls, and Ive found myself becoming the type of person who could genuinely laugh at something like this.

She dismissed the thought, shifting mental gears, re-establishing the construction of self confidence shed built.It was a little easier every time she did it.

The fan on the other side of the room had a piece loose. It squeaked on every third rotation.

She examined her nails, picked at a fleck of something white that had stick to the end of one nail, then checked her cuticles.

The fan squeaked, and she turned her head, as if she could spot the offending flaw and fix it.

You come all this way, and you dont have anything to say? Sophia asked.

Emma shrugged. It was on our way.

Say whats on your mind.

Its all backwards, isnt it?

Backwards how?

Upside down, Turned around. Two wrongs make a right.

What wrongs? Sophias voice was hard.

Not you. Not your thing. Thats not what Im talking about. Were moving back to Brockton Bay. As in, its in progress. Half our stuffs still back in Portland, halfs in the Bay. We finally moved.

Someplace nice?

Further north.

Sophia smirked.

But thats why Im saying its all backwards. Things got flipped around. The north end is nicer, now. Theyre rebuilding, and its all coming together. Downtown is the place that got hit hard. Youve got three big areas you cant go, with the crater, the quarantine and the place I heard people calling the scar, where they did some bombing run with Bakudas stuff. Constructions slower towards the south, because theres so much traffic and not a lot of roads.

Huh.

The bad guys are keeping the law, but things are better, and you talk to anyone, theres hope. I dont know how that happens, how you visit every tragedy imaginable on a place, drop a dozen different nightmare scenarios on it, and things get better. How does that work?

I dont really care, Shadow Stalker said.

Its your city.

The world ends in less than two years. I wont be out of here before then. I whats the word? I reiterate, I dont really care.

Im trying to make conversation.

Youre doing a shitty job of it, Sophia replied.

Emma shut her mouth, stared at her friend.

World ends in two years, Sophia added. Its a joke, pretending like things are getting better, like theres hope. The world turns a few hundred more times and then it all ends.

Sour grapes?

Its kind of neat in terms of the big picture, Emma said, ignoring Sophia. Its like, the future hasnt looked this bright in a while. Theres promise, if this rumor about an open interdimensional portal is for real. Multiple portals, if you believe the really out-there rumors. Escape routes, resources, work. And Brockton Bay is at the center of it all.

Sophia snorted.

And, more than that, its like, if were talking about hope, about the future, whos more iconic for all that than kids? You know, that line about how kids are the future? Heroes too, theyre icons of hope too. And put those things together, you get Arcadia High. Winslow Highs gone, and theres not quite enough students, so theyre herding us all together.

So?

So, its like, all this hope, youve got Brockton Bay at the center of it all. And at the center of Brockton Bays hope, its Arcadia High. And at the center of that? Youve got the heroes and the winners. I fully intend to be the latter. In a way, its like being queen of the world.

The popular kid in high school?

In the high school, Emma said. She shrugged. Its one way of looking at it.

Its sad.

Emma smirked. Someones grumpy.

Its sad because youre making a fool of yourself, youre missing a key detail.

Which?

Sophia shrugged. Better if you find out for yourself. I wont spoon-feed you.

Emma rolled her eyes. Sophia was just toying with her head. Easy enough to ignore.

Im going to go. Id say its been a pleasure, but

Sophia caught the but. Bitch.

Yeah. Def, Emma replied, before hanging up the phone. She stood from the stool that was bolted to the floor, stretched, then offered a small wave.

Sophia raised both hands together to offer a miniscule wave with her right. They were cuffed together, LEDs standing out on the cuffs, marking the live current.

Emma couldnt tell herself shed be back. To stick around and be loyal now would betray every reason shed given herself for dropping Taylor as a friend. Taylor had been a wet blanket, a loser. Sophia was no better, now.

It was ironic, but Sophia had proven herself to be more prey than predator, in the very philosophy shed espoused.

Hey dad?

Her dad turned his head to acknowledge her, while keeping his eyes on the road. What is it?

Mind making a detour? I wouldnt mind seeing Taylors house.

I thought you werent friends anymore.

Emma shook her head. Im trying to put it all into perspective. Its really changed, and its easiest to get my head around the changes if I can look at the familiar places, and her house is pretty familiar.

Sure. If nobody else minds?

There were no objections from her mom or sister.

The city had always had its highs and lows, its peaks and valleys, but it seemed it was an even starker contrast now. Shed commented, once, that for any one house, she could find three things wrong with it. It had been flipped around, in its own way. For every ten houses, there was one ruin, a dilapidated structure or pile of wreckage. For every ten stretches of road that were intact, there was one that a car couldnt pass over.

They turned off Lord Street, onto the street that Taylors house was on.

As they approached, Emma could see Taylor helping her dad unload a box from what looked to be a new or newly washed car. He said something and she laughed.

The casual display of emotion was startling. It was equally startling when, in the moment Emmas dad slowed the car down, Taylors head turned, her eyes falling on them, her head and upper body turning to follow them as they passed.

She didnt even resemble the person Emma had known way back then, not the girl whod approached her house after coming back from camp, and not the girl whod been drenched in juice. The lines of her cheekbones and chin were more defined, her skin baked to a light tan by the sun, her long black curls grown a touch wild by long exposure to wind. Light muscles stood out on her arms as she held a box, her dad standing back to direct.

Even her clothes. She wasnt hiding under a hood and long sleeves. A trace of her stomach was exposed between the bottom of her yellow tank top and the top of her jeans. The frayed cuffs were rolled up at the bottom, around new running shoes, and neither Taylor nor her dad seemed to be paying any attention to the knife that was sheathed at her back.

It surprised Emma, all the little clues coming together to point to one fact; that Taylor had stayed. Shed stayed, and shed come out of it okay. Judging by the new car, the shoes and her clothes, the Heberts were doing better for money than they had been the last time Emma had run into either of them. Were they early beneficiaries of Brockton Bays upswing in fortune?

It unsettled her, and she had a hard time putting her finger on why.

It didnt hit her until theyd reached their new house, a recollection of something Sophia had said.

On this violent, brutish little planet of ours, its the survivors who wind up the strongest ones of all.