Noel's expression tightens just slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before his practiced charm slides back into place. He steps closer, maintaining his calm demeanor even as I scowl at him. "I figured it'd be better I clear some things up sooner rather than later."

I can't lie, that catches my interest. Still, he's not making much sense. If he's trying to change my mind on the fact that he's wasting my time then he's out of luck, because that's not happening.

"What?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow. "Hm? The fact that you think your way of doing things is somehow better than your father's, or the the fact that you're wrong? Because I assure you, we're crystal clear on that."

Noel leans his shoulder against the doorway, continuing to look at me like I'm a science experiment. I begin to take steps towards him, ready to leave and willing to go around him by any means necessary. He may be bigger than me, but I'm lithe, and fast, and I definitely have way more fighting experience. I'd win.

"Right, your high opinion of my father. How touching." Noel is finding an amusement in this conversation that's lost on me. I narrow my eyes, continuing to draw near. "But no, I was talking about our difference in priorities."

"Uh-huh, okay," I nod, irritation in my tone. "So you're here to convince me that somehow not prioritizing the numbered is in everyone's best interest?"

"Not quite," he responds easily. I narrow my eyes, finally stopping a few feet away from him. Now that we aren't both sitting, like back in the office, I'm confronted with the size of this man. He's huge, and it pisses me off more than it should.

He's around six-four, if I had to guess, and broad, his presence making the doorway feel claustrophobic. Even though I know I could take him in a fight, there's something about the way he stands there, relaxed but unyielding, that sets my nerves on edge.

"Then what? What the hell are you trying to clear up?" I bite, crossing my arms tighter across my chest. The strap of my bag digs into my shoulder, but I don't move to adjust it.

"The fact that I'm your boss, Mr. Hayes." He tells me simply. I take pause, unable to help the way my anger rises at that reminder. Is he really pulling that card? Is he seriously going to try to use his authority over me to get me to listen to him? "You'll prioritize the villains I tell you to, or I'll find someone who will."

Okay, Mr. Wolfe was not fucking around about his son. We quite literally met today, and there are already problems. The loss of my job is already being implied. I need this job. I should listen to him. If only he wasn't quite literally the worst-case scenario for someone I need to answer to.

I can't help it, I'm pissed off. I begin walking towards him again, not stopping until I'm standing directly in front of the man. I look up at him and notice that my head only goes an inch or so past his shoulders. Why the fuck is he so huge? I guess his dad was also a pretty big guy, but still. Jesus. I wonder briefly what he looks like under his clothes, because he must have a ridiculous amount of muscle on him to have shoulders that broad, or arms that big, or height that significant, or—

Then, it strikes me that this is a strange thing to wonder about, so I move on.

"You gonna fire me, Wolfe?"

"Whether you recognize authority or not, you're still an asset. I'd reassign you."

Reassign me? The fuck does that mean? What, to desk duty? Security at his family's fancy parties? Is he threatening to take me away from Day? No, no, that would be awful for the company. She and I work far too well together.

I glare up into his piercing yellow eyes, trying to think of anything to say to that that won't immediately get me written up for insubordination—the way I've been talking to him, he's already let me get away with a lot. He's probably reaching his limit with me disrespecting his position.

Either way, does he really think that would stop me? I'll investigate the numbered in my free time if I have to. I'm salaried, after all. Even if he refuses to recognize the threat they are, for whatever reason, I'm a lot more stubborn than he seems to realize. That's fine, he'll learn in time.

I take another step toward him, and we're uncomfortably close because he's not fucking moving. He's blocking the only exit to my office, and it's taking everything in me to resist the urge to move him myself. "Wanna get the fuck out of my way?"

Noel looks my face up and down, and everything about this conversation feels calculated. The tension in the air is palpable and distracting, and I strongly dislike how at ease Noel is at the moment. Like this is a normal conversation, not one filled with a suffocating animosity.

As he responds, Noel moves over a bit. Enough for me to leave, but not by much. I won't be able to pass without touching him.

"You have a serious language problem for someone with a hero badge."

That's it. I'm at my fucking limit. This guy is picking apart everything about who I am and how I do my job, and I'm sick of it. Also, I will never stop swearing, I repress too much anger for that. It's taking everything in me not to say even worse, stuff that's sure to get me in trouble. I need to leave before I make the situation even worse.

So, I begin to move past him. Again, there's not much room, so I take a step forward, before turning my body. I don't know why he refuses to get the hell out of my way, but whatever. Soon we're both in the doorway, facing each other, with too many parts of our bodies touching. The proximity makes me feel weird, but I maintain my resolve, meeting his gaze with a glare of irritation.

"Then do something about it," I tell him lowly, having a beyond difficult keeping my anger in check. I take note of how tense he is, watching him look me up and down, appearing distracted. "Or I'll start to think you're all talk."

He knows I'm talking about more than the swearing. After the words leave my mouth, I brush past him, forgetting to grab the equipment from my locker and wondering exactly how much worse I've made things.

-

My shoulders drop as soon as I step out of the building. My mind is still tangled up in the mess with Noel. The guy is impossible—every word he says feels like a jab, even when he isn't trying. My blood is still boiling from the interaction, and now I've got errands to run.

I make my way to my motorcycle, already bracing for the cold wind. It's always colder than I think it'll be, but the familiar hum of the engine is comforting. For a minute, the world isn't full of the numbered and power struggles. It's just me and the road. I'd never admit it out loud, but my bike has always been therapeutic. Better than all the actual therapy I've been through, in fact.

The ride to the gas station is quick. I park and go in, familiar with the exact type of tampons Lacy uses. The apple juice is a bit harder, so I grab her three different kinds. Honestly, I never thought I'd say this, but of all the shit I have to deal with—bad guys, shady organizations—at least Lacy isn't as complicated. She just wants her juice and tampons, I can handle that.

The tampons are next. I grab what I know she uses. After my horrible conversation with Noel, the normal stuff feels like a win, even if it's something as mundane as buying tampons. It's a welcome break from everything else—villains, threats, and secrets.

At checkout, the clerk gives me a half-hearted wave, too tired to bother with pleasantries. I give him a polite nod back, but I'm not exactly in the mood to make small talk either.

Outside, the biting cold slaps me in the face once again. I stuff everything into my storage compartment and climb onto my bike, trying not to shiver as I take off, despite my hoodie. The ride back is uneventful, but even the quiet feels heavy now. I pull into my apartment complex, the building looking just as uninspired and minimalist as usual. The city's hum has dulled to a soft buzz by this hour, making the whole place feel like it's already asleep.

I park, grab the bag, and head inside. Lacy's door is cracked open, TV light spilling into the hallway. I push it open fully, finding her huddled on her bed in a blanket, eyes half-lidded, clearly trying to stay awake. There's a tub of melted ice cream on her nightstand and a bag of chips open next to her. She glances up when I walk in.

"You're late," she mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. I resist the urge to verbally blame Noel. She shifts to look at the bag in my hand. "Did you get it?"

"Yep." I drop the items on the nightstand, next to her ice cream. "Apple juice, tampons. Everything you asked for. Didn't forget a thing."

Like she asked for a lot. She smiles faintly, which is rare—especially during her time of the month—so she must be really tired. She reaches out towards me, making a grabbing motion. "Thanks."

I shrug, forcing a small smile. "No trouble. Hope you feel better, let me know if you need anything."

For a moment, she just looks at me, eyes distant like she's thinking about something else. I can feel her staring without really saying anything, but it isn't unusual. Lacy has a habit of doing that—looking at me like she knows something I don't, but never saying it.

"You alright?" I ask, voice soft.

As if on cue, Lacy yawns. "Just tired."

I nod. Yeah, I know how it is. Our lives aren't exactly normal, and sometimes the weight of it all—work, secrets, the expectations we have to deal with—gets to be too much.

"I'll be in my room if you need anything," I mutter sleepily, making for the door. Lacy grabs my hand before I can do so, pulling me toward the bed. She does this sometimes, usually when she's in emotional distress. I already know what she wants, so I slip my shoes off and let her pull me under the covers with her.

She then snuggles up to my side, resting her head on my chest, and I put an arm around her, running my free hand gently through her hair. She's asleep in minutes, and the exhaustion of the day has worn me down even more so than I thought, so I'm not far behind her.

The early morning light filters through the blinds when I wake once again, the TV still on. The flashes of the channel it's on fill the room, its muted hum filling the otherwise silent apartment. I blink, disoriented for a second, before pushing myself up on the bed. My back aches, and the quiet feels heavy. I have a sense of dread, though I'm unsure why.

Lacy's still asleep, tucked under the blankets like an infant, now facing away from me. The TV's low murmur pulls my attention from her quickly. I flick my gaze toward it, still groggy, and see a headline flashing across the screen:

Well-known numbered villain, Three, escapes from police custody.

I freeze, my heart sinking. Three. The fucking numbered. I had hoped—foolishly—that maybe she would be contained, that maybe my vision was giving them way too much credit. Yet here it is, broadcast for everyone to see. She's escaped. Just like I warned them she would. Or, that she'd at least try, and to keep an eye on her.

The anchor talks about how the escape went down, but it's all just noise in my head now. I know what's coming next. More chaos. That's always what happens when the numbered are involved.

I stare at the screen, my mind already racing through possibilities, running through what I'll have to do next. No one will stop her. It was already a fluke, catching her to begin with, and I paid the price for weeks for what I had to do. I'll have to try again, I'll need a plan if I want to catch another one of them.

I glance beside me, hearing Lacy's soft breathing, and my chest tightens. I promised I'd keep her safe. The numbered are becoming more and more of a problem. Even though I've always loved delivering punishment, Lacy's safety is also a part of why I take villains so seriously. I'm supposed to keep her safe, and they'll go after her in a heartbeat if I'm not careful.

I exhale slowly, carding my hands through my hair, trying to shake off the dread that's already setting in. The TV keeps talking, the screen flashing updates I can't focus on. I know what I have to do. I've been here before, and I'll get through it again. I just don't know how much worse it's going to get, especially with Noel in the way.

Despite the fact we've been dealing with the numbered for months, I get the sense Three's escape is only just the beginning.