Sure enough, as soon as I wake up the next morning, I'm met with the sight and feel of paint all over me. Well, time for another shower.

The shop is closed today, so I spend it reading. I also crochet another ladybug, one I won't sell.

I receive the message with the coordinates at 9.

I head to the MO and change in my office, securing every piece of my suit with more care than usual, though I don't know why. Gloves first. Then the inner sleeves, then the outer ones, then the cloak. The hood settles over my face, and the world darkens behind the veil. My voice modulator clicks on with a faint mechanical chirp when I fasten the final clasp beneath my jaw.

The knives come last.

Long scythe blades that fasten in four different places along my arms. They're the signature of my silhouette, the way I can be picked apart from any other random person in a cloak. They line my arms and curl outward at my shoulders, sharp enough that I haven't yet encountered something they can't cut through.

I don't look at my reflection. I don't like to. All I catch is a singular red flash of my eyes in the glass door of my office before I'm making my exit. Hopefully I can get this over with quickly.

I'm heading to the meeting spot at 10. Everyone is together by 11, and we're staking out Cypress by midnight.

The large transport we are inside of is invisible. At least one person has run into it so far since I've been here, and there will probably be more. At least this street isn't very crowded.

I still have a horrible feeling sitting in my stomach, heavy. Like something is about to go wrong and my body already knows it. Like I can sense some sort of impending doom. A bad feeling. A problem.

Delta glances back at me from the front of the transport, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.

"You good?"

"Mm-hm."

I'm lying, which she's well aware of. She still doesn't say anything, most likely due to time.

The invisible doors of the vehicle slide open with a smooth hiss, revealing the massive concrete structure before us. Cypress Psychiatric Institution. Better known publicly as the super asylum, where crazy people with special abilities go—typically people who have caused catastrophic harm, so I'm surprised anyone could possibly be wrongfully admitted here. But whatever.

The place is surrounded by fencing and security towers, lights illuminating the perimeter despite the late hour. Honestly, from the outside, it looks a lot like home.

Delta stretches her arms over her head before grinning.

"Alright. Let's go."

Then, she slams both hands together.

And we disappear.

Being invisible is strange, like my body doesn't know how to handle it, and entering the asylum grounds goes by quick. One second the lot is bustling with a few random guards and the next, we are sprinting across open ground. Delta's invisibility spreads over all of us in a rippling distortion, enough to hide movement unless someone's specifically looking for it.

Vec hits the wall first.

BOOM.

I guess he is already mad.

Concrete explodes inward in a deafening crash, dust and debris erupting through the night air. Alarms begin screaming throughout the facility.

Wow. That was quick. Really, really quick.

Expectantly quick.

Whatever, too late to turn back now. Maybe Vec was just that loud. We flood in behind him instantly, splitting with practiced efficiency. One heads toward security, others toward records and holding cells.

I head deeper inside.

The halls are bright white and painfully fluorescent, reflecting off polished floors and reinforced glass. Screaming echoes through the building almost immediately as inmates realize something is happening and begin to panic.

A guard rounds the corner.

He sees me.

I see him.

He reaches for his weapon.

I don't even slow down. I mean, I have three-inch-wide knives that line both my forearms and curl outward. I'm also too close for him to draw his weapon in time.

My knife catches him across the arm hard enough to send the gun skidding across the floor, and before he can recover, I'm past him entirely. No touching necessary. I hate touching.

"Records room's upstairs!" someone yells through the comms.

"Already there!"

"Somebody get the east wing open—"

Explosion.

I stop in my tracks.

Comms go dead silent, and all I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears as deafening noises echo out throughout the establishment. Deafening noises that were not caused by us.

The entire building shakes violently beneath my feet.

Then—

"Heroes on site!"

My blood runs cold, because that was just too fast. Way too fast. We've hardly done anything we were planning on. The comms erupt into overlapping voices instantly.

"How the fuck are they already here?!"

"Move move move!"

"Get the inmates out NOW!"

A familiar uneasy feeling twists in my stomach.

It's fine. Maybe Clover's off work today. Maybe-

"Fuck, it's Clover and Silver Sphere. Number six too, it looks like."

This isn't good. I did not want to have to deal with him so soon. I don't usually feel much when I use my ability, but this just isn't right. He doesn't deserve it. Then again, it's basically me or him.

Alright. If Clover knows who I am, then he's going to prioritize me immediately—and I've been all over the news recently, so that's likely. He will know that I am objectively the most dangerous person here. It doesn't take me long to deduce that he can probably find me with ease if he wants to despite the shelter, and just to be safe, I should try to lure him away from the action. That's the best chance we have at accomplishing anything.

I don't hesitate further.

I sprint.

Not away exactly. Deeper. Through the facility instead of out of it, weaving through corridors and stairwells while chaos erupts around me. Shouting echoes through the asylum alongside alarms and distant explosions.

I catch flashes of light through nearby windows.

Purple.

Gold.

I don't know why this throws me off. Maybe I was hoping they were seeing things, even if Clover seemed to be a pretty difficult person to mistake.

Either way, he's actually here.

I turn sharply through another hallway before slipping through a pair of heavy metal doors. STORAGE B-7 is printed across the side in peeling black letters. I hope nobody is in here, nobody innocent especially. I'd probably have to execute them if they tried to stop me or call in my location.

The room beyond is massive and dimly lit, full of towering shelves stacked with medical supplies, old files, restraints, and equipment covered by white sheets. Dust fills the air. A whole wall of darkened monitors decorates the surface adjacent from me. Like this used to be a control room of some sort. Either way, this room is not often used, that much is clear.

Empty.

Thank god.

The second the doors slam shut behind me, silence settles over the room. I allow myself to relax, the rest of the noise in the area muffled. I wonder if there is a spot I can stake out while I wait for him to find me. I've never played hide and seek before, it's so sad that this is my first time.

I exhale slowly.

A minute goes by, and I start to get optimistic again, even if I know I'll have to go back out there and confront him either way. Still, it could help me plan if I got a second to concentrate. Maybe I did lose h—

"Monarch's Executioner," a voice says behind me.

Smooth. Warm. Male. In the room with me, by the door, which I never heard open. I can feel Clover's gaze on me. I can see his golden glow light up the space around us. Where did he come from?!

"In the flesh."