Later that evening Kiera was in the training room. It was evening, so the blue neon lights were set to dimly illuminate the silver room. 

Still masked as Rebecca, Kiera sat staring at the wall and stuck in thoughts grieving about her mother, when Jamie approached quietly, no longer the celebrity, but a teenager looking for approval.

“Look, I know you’re mad about the thing I did today,” Jamie said softly, leaning against the doorway. “But it worked. And it got the public talking about us again. In a good light.” 

She paused, lowering her voice. “You know, when we met a couple years ago, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be a pilot, except for the fact that it would be good for my brand.”

“What changed your mind?” Kiera asked dutifully. Realizing that she needed an excuse not to know she said, “My memory is a little foggy still, sorry.”

Jamie explained a variety of trouble that she and Rebecca had gotten into at a charity gala two years ago. 

Jamie had been an even younger, upcoming singer and bored to death at the event. 

Rebecca had pitied the young girl and was more than happy to keep her entertained. 

She was always up for fun.

Apparently, Jamie started taking piloting seriously when she found out Kiera had started fighting as an interceptor only a few years older than her. 

Kiera felt the urge, sharp and sudden, to drop the facade and tell this young girl the truth: I’m not her. I’m just her daughter, and the world is on my shoulders.

Jamie looked at her like a mentor, like the person Kiera desperately wished her mother was alive to be.

She opened her mouth, ready to admit everything, when her private comm link buzzed—an incoming call marked PAUL. Kiera quickly adjusted her earphones to answer the call privately, apologizing to Jamie.

“Rebecca? Are you serious?” It was her father’s familiar, deep voice, unusually laced with anxiety. 

Her parents had been divorced for many years, and her Dad was an active U.S. army member. That didn’t stop him from sharing his opinion with my mom on how to run her company. 

He’d called to complain about Kiera’s many appearances as Daybreaker, which had increased ever since the Peacekeeping accident. 

Every sentence he uttered grated on her conscience.

The words—keep Kiera safe—which were supposed to be spoken to her very dead mother, snapped Kiera’s control.

“I know what I’m doing. The Jawal aren’t waiting for me to heal - we need every able body we can get. Kiera’s a fine fighter.” She added, “And where were you when the Peacekeeping went down?!” Rebecca’s voice replied heatedly in Kiera’s frustration. 

“We’re the last two people on earth that get to tell her to avoid the dangerous path. I have to go.” She cut the call abruptly.

When she turned back, Jamie was gone.

Kiera leaned her head against the cool metal of the wall. She was coming to her wits’ end. 

Later, Jason would walk by Kiera, no longer disguised, in the cafeteria and notice the rigid set of her shoulders, the tremor in her hands. 

He would exchange a concerned glance with Layla, who still hadn’t returned to Antarctica. 

Despite Rebecca’s recovery, something was wrong with Kiera Moss.

Kiera was running on fumes, a mix of three hours of sleep, stale hospital-grade coffee, and the constant, crushing guilt of the lie. 

The charade of being Rebecca Moss—signing contracts, debating shareholders, playing the charismatic mentor to Jamie White—was exhausting. 

Worse was the emotional toll of her own father’s criticism, while wearing her dead mother’s face. Being the Peacekeeper, was robbing her of her peace.

In the early evening, Jason Torres and a fellow pilot, Layla, were excitedly adjusting a holographic banner that read, “Cheer Up, Kier! (Seriously.)” in Kiera’s small, off-base apartment.

“She’s going to kill us for this,” Layla whispered mischievously, fixing a stray balloon string 

Jason checked the clock. 

“She’s going to thank us. Kier’s running herself into the ground. The increased Daybreak patrols, the plan to take over her mother’s company. She doesn’t need to bear it alone.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

He missed the candid and straightforward Kiera, but ever since Rebecca’s accident, he noticed Kiera was withdrawn, tense and always faking her smiles. Even when it was just the two of them.

The door clicked open.

Jason and Layla instantly threw themselves behind the sofa, ready to shout, “Surprise!”

A weary figure stepped into the apartment. It was… Rebecca? Her shoulders were slumped and her movements slow as she shut the door behind her. She pulled a small, silver device from her pocket, and pressed a button.

Then, her skin seemed to warp around her.

With a soft, electrical hiss, the thick, long blonde hair of Rebecca Moss vanished, replaced by Kiera’s own short, practical blonde cut. The signature blue eyes returned to a familiar brown. The white business suit shimmered and was gone, leaving Kiera standing in basic training clothes, the fabric stained with dirt.

A gasp escaped Layla's lips.

Kiera’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the two faces peering over the back of the couch.

Crap. Kiera thought.

“Jason? Layla? What are you—” Kiera started, her voice barely a breath.

Jason stood up, his usual easy smile replaced by a hard, unreadable expression. “What are we doing?! We were setting up a surprise party for you, Kier. What the hell are you doing?”

Layla's voice was trembling, thick with betrayal. “All this time… You’ve been playing Rebecca? You’ve been Peacekeeper?”

“I… I didn’t have a choice! The company—”

“The company? Did they make you do this? Lie to everyone?” Jason’s voice was low and carefully controlled. 

“No. It was my idea. Only me… Pierce, and Dr. D’Silva know.” Kiera placed her things down.

“How come? Where’s-?” The realization settled in Jason faster than Layla. Layla looked confused at the Hispanic man’s abrupt stop. “What happened to Rebecca?” she continued.

“She’s dead.” 

The anger that burst from Layla made Kiera physically recoil.  "Are you kidding me?!"

She lunged over the couch she had been stuck behind and grabbed Kiera by the shirt. 

Even her perfume belonged to Rebecca, which provoked Layla more. Jason was quick to intervene and grabbed the Asian girl.

Layla wasn’t deterred and pulled Jason’s arm forward and down, using his momentum and height to flip him over and slam him into the ground.

If the three of us brawl this apartment won’t last. Kiera thought absentmindedly as she brought her fists up.

Kiera took a desperate step forward. “Layla, don’t! Just let me explain—!” Layla punched Kiera in the face.

“Explain.” She said quietly. So Kiera did just that. About dragging her mother from the wrecked ship and losing her at the I.T. hospital. About the cloaking device. Layla listened, tears flowing freely, while Jason took the truth in from the floor. The party streamers and balloons mocked the tragedy that was being shared.

Layla accused, “How dare you? I’ve been laughing and living thinking Rebecca’s alive and you’re just playing her ghost?!”

“Was there a funeral?” Jason asked quietly. He sat up as Layla offered him a hand with a quick ‘sorry’. Kiera shook her head. 

Layla gaped, incredulous.

Jason sighed, “I understand why you did it-,” Layla scoffed. “-But you can’t disrespect us, or her death like that.” The second mention of death seemed to hit a vein in Layla, because she grabbed Kiera again.

“I should report you for identity theft and fraud.”

And you would be right. Kiera knew she couldn’t say that. “If you do that, everything my mother built goes down the drain.” She held her gaze. As angry as Layla was now, she could tell she was contemplating the truth behind her words.

“But is it worth it? The truth will come out eventually, and then your mother’s reputation will be beyond tarnished. The Moss name would be infamous.” Jason asked as he dusted himself off from the floor.

“I just can’t tell the truth right now-”

“You don’t have to. We will.” Layla cut off. Grief won over practicality this time. 

Kiera wished she could join them, be as angry and brash as they wanted to be but - 

“Just give me more time!” She pleaded.

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but the confrontation was suddenly ended by the apartment’s massive wall-mounted screen. Kiera had programmed it to share breaking news related to Jawal. 

The news anchor’s frantic voice cut through the room.

“—We are receiving unconfirmed reports from global sources! Not Jawal. Not interceptors. Multiple sightings of… what can only be described as superhuman individuals! They’re appearing across the globe!” 

Kiera couldn’t believe her eyes. 

A young man was carrying a boat filled with people, flying over the water and safely placing them on shore. 

The boat looked like it had survived a Jawal attack. 

A high-priority alert flashed on all of their phones. 

They suddenly had bigger problems than their dispute.

“We have to go,” Kiera whispered, the argument instantly rendered moot by the unknown phenomena. 

She reactivated the cloak and the Rebecca facade, masking her worry with a familiar, authoritative blue gaze.

Layla stared at the news, her hand still clenched from the threat she'd been about to make. “Let’s go. We’ll finish this later, Rebecca. Or whoever you are.”

Back at I.T. headquarters, Jamie was lounging on a plush couch, idly flipping through channels. 

She was still smarting from Rebecca’s continuous critiques of her fighting style.

She paused when a familiar face filled the screen: the collected and upright Delilah James, a rival singer that was one year her senior and a face of Intermediator Industries. 

Intermediator Industries was a competitor to I.T., with many respectable pilots that often worked with her own company. Jamie ignored her phone buzzing erratically, focused on her rival.

They competed for many of the same music awards and bested each other for years, both of their record labels loving their hostility for the ‘sake of showbiz’. 

Whether the rivalry was manufactured or not, Jamie felt like Delilah was stuck-up and overzealous every time she met her.

“Ms. James, you have yet to comment about the recent acquisition of pop star Jamie White by Interceptor Technologies,” the interviewer prompted.

Delilah gave a perfectly measured smile. “Jamie’s a talented singer, absolutely. But fighting monsters isn't a concert. I believe in quick efficiency and execution - along with the right gear.” She gestured to her own sleek, navy blue and hot pink suit that looked both capable and approachable. “My Bluestar suit, unlike some other teen idols, is built for efficiency.”

Her phone buzzed again. Jamie threw a handful of popcorn at the TV. “Oh, you want spectacle, Delilah? I’ll give you spectacle!” she muttered, her irritation flaring.

Delilah continued, “The kind of fighting Jamie White employs is not only ineffective against an organized threat, but dangerous to the civilians she’s supposed to be protecting. We need pilots, not performers! We need to separate the two before it starts costing lives. Intermediator Industries looks for professionals that can do just that.”

The pop star curled comfortably on the couch was absolutely seething, unaware that the two companies were about to work together closely—and that her old rival was about to become her new partner. She finally checked her phone.