The Hero Support Association building looks the same as it always does: a clean, soulless monument to order and efficiency. It felt warmer when Mr. Wolfe was here, but those days are over. The glass doors reflect the overcast sky, and I catch my own warped reflection as I step through them. A hero—technically—but not really showing it. Hoodie, jeans, dark circles under my eyes and probably looking like I'm having the worst day of my life. My hero logo peeks out on the strap of my bag, just enough to meet the rules.

The lobby hums with activity. Sidekicks, analysts, and support staff buzz between desks, their chatter blending with the distant click of keyboards. I make my way through the chaos, keeping my head down, hoping no one will notice me. It almost works.

"Morning, Hatter," a voice calls. I glance up to see a junior hero I don't care enough about to remember the name of, which is fine since he's evidently forgotten my name as well. I nod, muttering something noncommittal, and keep walking. The last thing I need is small talk, assuming I could even make it that far.

By the time I reach the elevator, Dayanara is waiting, arms crossed and face set in her usual no-nonsense expression. She doesn't acknowledge me at first, which is normal for her. I press the button and lean against the wall, letting the silence stretch.

"You look terrible," she says eventually, not even bothering to glance my way.

"Thanks," I reply, voice flat.

Her lips twitch, but she doesn't smile. She doesn't press. Day's good like that. Knows when to let things go and when to dig in—which is usually never. Today, she's letting it go, which is good. I haven't exactly had the best morning, made even worse an hour ago when I received a text from Day herself: Wolfe summoned us first thing, something about a new employee.

The elevator dings, and we step inside. The ride up is as quiet as the lobby was loud, but the tension builds anyway. I can feel it thrumming in the air, a low hum that only gets worse when the doors slide open to reveal the lobby of the top floor of our headquarters. The doors to Noel's office are already open, but I can't see any movement from the elevator.

When we enter the office, we are met with the sight of Noel looking as prim and proper as always, as well as a man standing in front of him, who looks to be around the same age as Day—and Noel, if I had to guess—late twenties. I don't recognize the man at all, but something about him gives me a bad feeling. A feeling I've grown all too familiar with lately.

"Ah, good, you're both here," Noel greets, all polished professionalism and sharp edges. His yellow eyes flick between us, his smile just shy of condescending. "I trust you're ready to meet our new addition?"

Day nods, ever the picture of composure, while I just cross my arms and lean against the now closed door.

"Addition?" I ask, because of course Wolfe brought us here for some pointless appearance bullshit. It's not like he knows about my newest break in the case, not yet, but still. He probably wouldn't care, but I doubt he would be holding me hostage here if he knew all the research and investigative work I need to do.

Noel's smile sharpens. "Yes. Someone who will be working closely with you both. An assistant, though the role extends beyond the traditional scope."

Day strides in first, her calm authority filling the room as she walks over to the two, next to the window. I follow reluctantly, scanning the space for anything unusual. It's the same pristine office it always is, with its polished wood desk, floor-to-ceiling windows, and Noel's irritatingly symmetrical arrangement of everything, but then my eyes land on him.

The new guy.

He stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff but deliberate. His suit is sharp, his expression sharper. His eyes—calm, calculating—meet mine, and I know instantly: I don't like him.

"This is Dr. Ethan Cross," Noel says, his tone smooth as silk. "He'll be assisting with the team's operational efficiency, general assistance, and minor medical needs. Think of him as fieldwork support."

—and that's why. I should've known from the air of superiority I can already feel radiating off of him.

He's a fucking doctor.

The words hang in the air like a bad punchline. My jaw tightens, but I keep my expression flat. I don't know what I hate more—his smug posture, Noel's pleased tone, or the complete joke that is the timing in my life.

Dr. Ethan Cross looks like the kind of guy who has never been wrong in his life. Sharp suit, sharp jawline, sharp eyes. Everything about him screams precision and control. I bet his entire schedule runs on the minute, down to his coffee breaks. He radiates the kind of confidence only people who've never been on the losing end of anything can manage.

Fieldwork support. I could use all kinds of assistance in my investigation, but not like this. Dayanara steps forward, ever professional, and extends a hand. "Dr. Cross. Welcome to the team."

Her tone is polite, clipped, but there's a faint edge to it, like she's already dissecting his intentions. Understandable, since it's practically in the job description of a hero to question anybody who wants to get close to us. At least I feel less alone with her here. Noel likes to try to make me feel like I'm crazy, when I know I'm not. A feeling I know all too well, and has never been effective, to the dismay of everyone who's ever been on the other end of it.

Dr. Cross smiles, a practiced curve of the lips that doesn't reach his eyes, and shakes her hand. "Thank you, Ms. Fletcher. I've been following your career for years—it's an honor to work alongside someone of your caliber."

Day's eyebrow arches at the compliment, but she doesn't let it show if it bothers her. She replies smoothly, withdrawing her hand. "I appreciate that."

Then his gaze shifts to me.

I stay where I am, arms crossed, leaning just enough against the desk to look uninterested. If he's expecting me to shake hands, he'll be waiting a long time.

"And you must be Hatter," he says, his voice kind in a way that doesn't match how he's looking at me. Warm, but cold.

"It's Hayes," I correct, voice deadpan. Hero names are only for work, and by work, I mean when we're talking over comms. No other time, ever, am I okay with being called that, unless it's by a kid or just generally someone who doesn't know any better, like the public. This guy should know better, since most heroes aren't as strict as I am, but nobody would want to be called by their hero name in a setting like this. It's not like he called Day Lavina. So, he either called me that on purpose, or he has no idea what he's doing.

Neither option helps his case.

Noel clears his throat, his smile tight, but I don't look his way. Dr. Cross doesn't flinch either, which makes me hate him a little more.

"Well, Mr. Hayes," Dr. Cross says smoothly, his hands folding behind his back again. "I look forward to collaborating. My goal is to make things as seamless and efficient as possible for all of you."

"Oh, good," I say, dry as sandpaper. "That's exactly what we've been missing. Efficiency."

Day shoots me a look—subtle, but enough to make me shut up. For now.

Noel steps in, as if sensing the conversation going downhill fast. "Dr. Cross comes highly recommended, and his background in both field medicine and tactical analysis makes him uniquely suited for this position."

Medicine. My stomach churns at the words, my mind flashing to cold hands, sharp instruments, and a voice too clinical to feel human. I push the memory down before it can take root, my fingers digging into my arms. My emotions are kind of raw from the nightmare this morning, it's not their fault. I'll be okay.

"I'll let you take it from here. I'd like to familiarize myself with the team files before our next meeting." Dr. Cross notifies us, and I can't help the way my jaw clenches.

Noel nods, his expression unreadable, but the barest flicker of annoyance crosses his face. "Good idea, Dr. Cross. I'll send for you if we need anything further."

Dr. Cross turns back to me, his calm, unreadable gaze lingering for a moment longer than I like. "It's been a pleasure meeting you both. I'll see you soon."

He strides out without waiting for a response, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. The sound feels too loud in the tense silence he leaves behind. When the door swings shut, I exhale sharply and turn back to Noel, my arms still crossed.

The tension in Noel's office is already thick enough to choke on, but it gets worse the second I say, "We need to talk."