Unfortunately, before I can probe any further, I hear something—mumbled, frantic, distant. "Shit, shit, shit."

I snap my head toward the sound. Three isn't sitting anymore, at least not the version of Three I'm looking at. She's crouched, kneeling on the floor, fingers scraping desperately at the tiles. The frantic motion is different than what seems to be her typical behavior—more erratic, more urgent. Her hands claw at the tile, but something's off. It's like she's not just scratching—it's more like she's trying to break the floor. I frown, watching her do so, trying to figure out if what I'm seeing is from the past or the future. Unfortunately, this is one of the rare times where I can hardly tell.

I watch the non-present version of Three as she continues clawing at the floor ruthlessly. I can't help the look of surprise on my face when she finally begins to make a dent, though. My eyes widen in shock as I watch the tiled floor crumble under her desperate scratching, and the way in which it does so throws me for a loop. The laws of gravity and even the integrity of the tile are nonexistent with the way it falls apart under her touch. They splinter in a way that defies logic, crumbling like brittle crackers, soft like sand. It shouldn't be happening—tiles don't break like that.

Once this happens, I finally hear it. A ringing. A sound I've never heard before. The pitch is sharp and synthetic, like a warning buzzer, but different.

I've never seen anything like it. I watch the floor crumble under her bloody, ruined fingers. She's digging something out from beneath the broken tiles. It doesn't even make sense. The way she moves... it's as if the floor has given way for her, like it was made to fall apart under her touch. Then, she pulls out a device

My breath catches in my throat. It's like nothing I've ever seen. Sleek. Almost translucent, like it's made from paper-thin tech. It's almost hologram-esque, similarly shaped to a cell phone. I can see straight through it, the glowing call symbol blinking on the screen. The contact name reads Unknown.

Three attaches the device to her ear, and my stomach tightens. Her cheek—what I initially thought was a dirt smear—is actually dried blood. Her hands are ruined, stripped down to raw, bloody flesh from the scraping, and the sheer impossibility of it hits me like a wall. I've seen military tech, but nothing like this. It doesn't belong here. It doesn't belong anywhere. I can barely comprehend what I'm seeing.

As soon as the villain has the futuristic, almost alien earpiece on, the device melds with her ear, blending so seamlessly with her face that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching so closely. It practically becomes a part of her. If I hadn't seen her dig it out and put it on, I would have no idea the device was present to begin with.

"Look, I've done... I've done everything. They're always listening, I can't—"

Three must be cut off by a voice on the other end, because she stops speaking abruptly. I walk around the room so that I'm closer to the scene, but even when I kneel on the floor beside this version of Three, I can't hear anything.

I begin to wonder if this girl is a fucking time traveler or something. This technology is insane. I've never seen anything like it.

"I know, I'm not. I'll get out, I promise." The words fall out of her mouth in a rush. Okay, it's difficult to tell what she's talking about or who she's talking to in the context of the conversation. However, I think I caught that. She wants to escape, and if she's making promises, she's likely quite confident in her ability to do so.

"I promise," she repeats to the person, an expression of determination on her face, lips pursed. "I've done it before, I'll do it again. One and Two can fuck off, they've always thought they were better than me."

There's visible confidence in her demeanor, and it's quite a contrast to the girl I'm in the presence of now. As I study the colors and the lighting, I'm able to figure out that this interaction is from the past, though quite recent. The police must've assumed she was talking to herself when she was having this conversation. They must think she's crazy.

I wonder how much she's said that they've written off under the assumption she's insane or in shock or something.

I wonder if it was all intentional.

I know something about people thinking you're crazy when you're not, and the Three I'm seeing in this vision is very different from the Three currently in my company. It must be an act, so she can speak to whoever this person is and have everyone assume it means nothing. Even the part of the floor that somehow split open to present her with the device was positioned perfectly so the table was in the way of the police's view of it.

These people are really careful. I've always known that, but I'm practically being slapped in the face with it at the moment. If I didn't have my ability, if I couldn't see through time, I'd have likely written her off just like everyone else.

"Trust me, they're scared. They had to break hero law to get their hands on me." She says so quietly that there's no way the microphones in the room picked it up. The only reason I can hear her is because I'm currently crouched right next to her past form. "But I'll be back. Soon."

She pauses as I assume the person on the other end answers. I have to assume this is her boss, the man she's referenced to the police. Of course, that could've been a ploy, too. I have no idea how much I can trust the things this girl says, but I'm willing to bet it's about as far as I can throw her.

There's one thing I'm sure of, though. The technology at her fingertips and the way the floor broke apart like nothing gives me the idea that she has access to some real power.

Three frowns at whatever the other person says, seeming to think for a moment. "Uh, I don't know. It was the purple one. The guy, I think he's dating Lacy Loveless?"

Okay, uh oh. I'm going to assume that Three describing me to this person is not good. Yeah, definitely not. The numbered having their eyes on me is something I should've expected, since I want to catch them more than anything. They're the only villains who have ever gotten the best of me, I want them all to fucking die.

Still, it's not ideal. I prefer staying under the radar in situations such as these. I'm not sure there was much I could've done, though. We barely caught Three, to begin with.

"Okay. Got it." Three says a moment later, before touching a spot on her face deliberately, which I assume ties into the device on her face somehow. Then, the vision ends.

The next thing I know, I'm back in the present. The room is still. Three is staring at me, her expression a mix of confusion and irritation. Day is just watching me—patient, calm, waiting for me to make sense of everything. I stand up, running a hand through my hair and frowning. The thing is, I don't even know what to make of what I just saw. Zaman was right, this is difficult to put together, especially since I don't know what all I can trust.

She clearly has a boss, someone who must be quite powerful if he was able to warp the floor—a hard, tiled surface—like that, since that definitely was not her ability. If he's that powerful, though... couldn't he free her himself? Maybe not. I don't know anything about this ability, all I know is that it was freaky to watch.

They also seem to have a decent relationship, since she didn't appear scared of him at all. It seems as though she's experiencing some competition with the other numbered, if her references to One and Two are anything to go by.

I've never met them. The only notable numbered we have encountered so far are Three, Four, Nine, and Eleven. Seems as though there's a person to go with each digit, which we weren't positive of before. This isn't good, to say the least.

What I really want to know, however, is who she was talking to. How the hell do they have access to this kind of tech?

I step back toward the table, my boots scuffing faintly against the linoleum. Sliding into my spot beside Day, I glance down at Three. Her disheveled hair hangs in limp strands around her face, a thin sheen of sweat covering every inch of skin I can see.

But it's her eyes that catch me now—sharp, cutting, and brimming with intelligence, not insanity. I hadn't noticed that before.

"No, I don't," Three says flatly, answering the question I asked before the vision overtook me, when I'd inquired if she had anything else to share. Her eyes are narrowed on me, and I get the sense she's familiar with my ability. The corner of her mouth twitches, and her narrowed gaze locks onto mine like she's piecing together a puzzle. It's unsettling, the way she looks at me—not curious, but calculating. She knows what I saw. Or at least, she's guessed enough to be angry about it.

Her shoulders are taut, a predator sizing up her prey, but I don't flinch. I lean forward, planting both hands on the cold steel of the table. There's a finality in the air, a tension stretched thin by the unspoken reality of what she'd been talking about before: escape

She's still fidgeting, but I can tell there's something methodic about it, and her undivided attention is on me, whether she's showing it or not. I take the one side of the conversation I just listened to, and try to figure out a way to use my small amount of new information against her.

Well, the only serious emotional reaction I saw from her—irritation—happened when her fellow numbered were brought up.

"One and Two wouldn't have gotten caught," I tell her blandly, tone almost bored, and The reaction is instant. A fire ignites in her eyes. Her jaw clenches, and she sits straighter, her posture crackling with tension.

"You broke hero law!" She snaps at me, loudly. Day's hand finds my arm, her fingers firm but not insistent. Not yet.

"Still walking, aren't you?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Three growls at me, "mind your business."

Her words are venomous, but I don't bother pointing out the irony. Half my job is not minding my business. I move on, choosing instead to  shift my focus to something I'd noticed at the start of the vision. Sure enough, her hands are nowhere in sight. From the moment we stepped in, she's kept them hidden. Too deliberate to be casual.

"Show me your hands," I tell her, and her reaction is as immediate as it is telling. Panic floods her face, barely masked by anger. She shakes her head, her lips pressed into a tight line. For a moment, she just stares at me, her eyes burning with a silent threat—a promise to make me regret every second of this. Yeah, sure, we'll see about that.

"No."

"Now," Day commands, tone resolute. Three flinches, visibly rattled, her fidgeting losing its careful rhythm. Still, she doesn't comply. She sits rigid, shaking her head, her refusal like a fortress built of sheer will. It's clear we've hit a wall, one we're not breaking down tonight. The fact that she's not listening to Day just goes to show how secretive these people are. We don't want to physically force the girl to do anything, at least not on our first meeting, and I also seem to already have all the information I'll be getting.

I don't think I'll have another vision, at least, and Three isn't budging. So, Day and I exchange a glance, unspoken understanding passing between us. We don't want to escalate—not yet—but the decision isn't ours alone. The door swings open, and a group of officers strides in, their footsteps heavy with purpose.

Three doesn't go quietly. She thrashes as they grab her, her protests sharp and raw, but they wrestle her arms free with practiced efficiency, and then we see it.

Her hands.

The room seems to hold its breath. Blood crusts her fingers, caked in uneven streaks. The skin is stripped away in places, exposing raw, glistening muscle. Her nails are cracked, jagged, and smeared with rust-colored flakes. It's not just injury—it's self-inflicted chaos. Despite the fact I quite literally watched her do this to herself, the gore is still kind of unexpected. She couldn't have hid this from police long, that vision must've been really recent.

"What else did you see?" Zaman asks later, once we're back in the lobby. Her voice is measured, professional, but there's a hint of urgency beneath it. I shrug.

"I'll send you the report." It's exhausting to constantly describe my visions verbally, so I rely on my reports more than any other hero. I have to describe things nobody else saw, after all, so I need to be detailed. The voice to text function on my computer is a godsend, since literacy isn't exactly my strong suit. "I do know she's communicating with the others. I don't know how, but it's happening. Search her for tech—anything unusual."

Zaman is beyond receptive to my information, like she always is. She nods, already turning toward the next task, ever efficient. Day and I take our leave soon after, patrolling the city for a few hours before heading back to headquarters. My thoughts keep circling the encounter, the sight of Three's ruined hands seared into my mind. She didn't even seem bothered by it. I'm pretty desensitized to gore, but not to people being entirely unaffected by their own horrific wounds. There was something beyond eerie about it.

When we arrive, I sit at my desk and begin drafting the report. It's tedious, but necessary. The sooner Zaman has the details, the sooner I can move forward. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can search the square, only bringing me that much closer to finally reaching the center of their web.

Surely, Wolfe HSA will back me up on this.