Delta at least gives us a bit more time to cool off before throwing us back into another job that I'm not looking forward to. The goal of it is honestly dumb: Delta wants to give a speech. The tech guys already have the broadcast covered, but she wants to do it in public since she's a drama queen. We'll essentially have to defend her while she villain monologues.

Obviously, I'm not looking forward to it. I don't want to be Monarch's second mascot. What, will I have to tie up my hair into butterfly wings too? This is so dumb, I prefer to stick to the shadows and do the intricate stuff. I'm also needed for emergencies.

That is my preference. Not... this.

The next couple days pass in a strange blur of preparation, avoidance, and me being constantly being reminded of random stuff from the two interactions I've had with Milan Wolfe. I spend most of my time at the shop, because the shop is quiet and familiar and my fish don't care about my complicated criminal affiliations. My plants don't care that I'm apparently going to become the face of a hacker villain campaign or whatever Delta is calling it.

Actually, they might care. I just can't hear them.

That's probably for the best.

Delta messages me coordinates the night before the speech, along with a long string of instructions that I read three times and retain maybe half of. Most of it is simple enough: arrive at MO by 7 AM, gear up, stay with the defensive team, don't engage until directed, don't wander off, don't let anyone touch me, don't kill civilians, focus on Clover.

That last one feels unnecessary. As if I could forget that—it's all I can think about.

I respond with a thumbs up emoticon. That, yes, and no, are probably the only things I type on this device.

I don't sleep much.

By the time I make it to the Main Operative the following morning, the entire place feels electric. Not excited like before. Focused. Sharper. People still rush around, still talk over each other, still carry coffee and weapons and tablets and pastries like we're preparing for a mildly dangerous office party, but there's tension beneath it now.

Everyone knows this is different. This isn't breaking into a building while everyone else is asleep. This is broad daylight. Public. Intentional.

A spectacle.

I hate spectacles.

My uniform is different this time. I arm myself more than usual, now that I'm expected to go up against someone without my ability—someone much stronger than me.

Well... physically. Mentally? Debatable.

I strap the massive blades along my forearms, checking each hinge, each release, each curve of metal. They sit against me like an extra set of bones. Then, in addition, sickles. Holstered on my hips and strapped securely to my legs, bending outward and making my silhouette extra spiky.

I also add the mechanism that makes my arm knives more maneuverable. Easier to unsheath and flip to my liking. It's a pain to install since I have to do it on my own and I haven't used it in a while, but I need to make sure I'm prepared for this fight.

I look at the reflection of myself on the dark glass of my desk. The scythe blades catch the red light from my eyes and flash briefly before going dark again.

The Executioner looks back at me. Even scarier than usual. Delta will pleased.

I'm late, but I still get there before anything has actually commenced—we're all still invisible. Still preparing. The transport slows gradually before disappearing entirely beneath an overpass several blocks from the actual plaza

I step out into noise.

Not immediate screaming or panic, nobody can see us yet, but the overwhelming hum of a city already gathering reaches my ears. Traffic. Voices. Music from nearby storefronts. Helicopters somewhere overhead, like they're waiting for something to happen.

The others begin moving instantly.

Delta strides forward first like she owns the entire district, black skirt fluttering around her legs as white light glows faintly beneath her boots.

Vec cracks his neck beside her hard enough that I hear vertebrae shift. I linger near the back, though I don't know how much longer I can get away with that. The plaza itself sits ahead beyond the street intersection, massive screens towering over the open public square. People move through it in dense crowds, civilians entirely unaware of what's about to happen. Office workers. Families. Teenagers filming videos. Someone in a hot dog costume dances near a fountain.

I hate public missions.

Too many people. Too many variables. Too much noise. Too much horror. Too many reactions.

Too much risk.

Delta glances back toward me while adjusting one of her gloves.

"You good?"

No.

"Mm-hm."

She narrows her eyes behind glowing lashes but lets it go.

Above us, giant digital billboards continue cycling through advertisements and news coverage.

One of them flickers.

Then glitches.

Then abruptly cuts to Monarch's butterfly emblem spreading across the entire screen in bright neon orange.

Here we go.

The reaction is instant: people stop walking, conversations die mid sentence. Heads tilt upward across the entire plaza.

A second later and every surrounding screen cuts out too.

Butterfly.

Butterfly.

Butterfly.

Dozens of them.

The entire square floods with Monarch insignias.

"Oh my god," someone nearby breathes. Then, Delta steps into the open. Just like that and our cover disappears, invisibility fading away until it's just the five of us in the square. Flora—who has a plant based ability—is most confident. The plaza is full of trees. I personally really like her because she can grow flowers. She's my favorite person on my team aside from Delta.

Spotlights burst alive from rooftops.

The crowd erupts.

Not cheering. Screaming. Phones appear immediately as civilians begin backing away from the center of the plaza. Some run. Some freeze. Some start filming instead because apparently self preservation is optional in Solace International, which I guess is fair since stuff like this happens to begin with.

Delta throws her arms wide dramatically as hidden speakers crackle overhead.

"GOOD MORNING, SOLACE!"

Her amplified voice booms through the entire district.

Vec looks thrilled by the panic. He thrives in these situations, body growing more muscular and red in his anticipation. I feel like I shouldn't be watching that, so I look away.

I stay near the edge of the plaza, hood low over my face while civilians recoil the second they notice me specifically. Normally they wouldn't notice me, but I swear nearly all of them are either entranced by Delta or searching for me.

It happens in waves.

Recognition. Then fear. Even through the crazy crowd I can see it spread. People point, whispers fill the air.

"The Executioner—"

"Oh my god."

"Holy shit he's here—"

A man physically grabs his child and pulls her backward behind himself the second my gaze passes over them. My stomach twists, and I'm glad nobody can see my face. It makes me sad, the way people recoil, and I can't hide it. Or blame them.

Delta keeps talking, pacing the center fountain like she's hosting some deranged TED Talk while operatives move throughout the plaza setting up signal jammers and projection equipment.

I don't hear most of what she says, because she doesn't get far.

The atmosphere changes.

The wind switches direction.

The shift in the air happens abruptly. Like pressure dropping before a storm. The hairs on the back of my neck rise beneath the cloak, hands twitching toward my sickles.

Then, the screaming changes.

Not panic this time.

Excitement.

Delta loses half the crowd, the massive amount of people turning toward the skyline instead. Reporters are already here. So are police, but they're being held back while the heroes take first attempt at apprehension.

People point upward.

Phones lift higher.

Someone starts cheering.

Purple light flashes across nearby glass buildings. Gold follows immediately after. And suddenly I understand exactly why Clover became the symbol of this city. He doesn't arrive quietly. He arrives like hope. A streak of luminous gold tears across the skyline fast enough to distort the air around it. Wind whips through the plaza hard enough to send papers and leaves spiraling upward.

The crowd erupts.

"CLOVER!"

"He's here!"

The glowing figure drops from the sky in a violent burst of momentum, landing directly between the civilians and Monarch with enough force to crack the pavement beneath his boots. Wow?

BOOM. Dust bursts outward, and none of it hits a civilian.

The impact sends my cloak fluttering violently around my legs, and there he is. Clover straightens slowly from the crater like he's in a comic book, sunlight catching against bright gold skin and bioluminescent freckles. His suit is different this time. Less decorative. More armored around the torso specifically.

Wonder why.

Purple eyes scan the plaza once. Once, that's all it takes—

And they land directly on me.

Not Delta, the person at the center of all this. Me. And the people notice, cheering somehow getting even louder.

People chant his name from somewhere behind him while cameras flash nonstop around the square.

Clover has already done his pleasantries. He's already smiled and absorbed the attention and praise of everyone present. Now, he barely acknowledges any of it.

He just stares at me.

I hate the way my chest tightens.

Because even from here I can tell immediately:
he's irritated. Not performatively cocky irritated either. Actually irritated. Which I guess makes sense, he hasn't exactly left either of our interactions in high spirits.

His jaw flexes slightly as his glow pulses brighter beneath his skin. Even Delta has stopped talking. Everyone is mesmerized by the two of us, a path clearing out as people get out of the way. Like this is a boss fight or the climax to an action movie or something.

Then, finally, he smiles.

Sharp teeth. Meaner this time.

"Well," his voice carries easily over the plaza despite the chaos around us. "You look terrifying today."

Understatement of the century, I am prepared. I have backup plans on backup plans, I'm going against Solace's number 1 hero. Publicly.

Several civilians audibly panic harder at his words, but another reassuring, flashy smile at the crowd has that attitude shifting quick. They're so excited. Way too excited for my taste.

I glance down briefly at the extra blades strapped along my arms and legs.

Is he expecting banter? Definitely. He's a hero, they're obsessed with theatrics. More so than villains, half the time. I'm not the same, I just want to be with my fish and my plants. I just want nobody to have to die.

Still. I can try, but again, I'm not the smoothest talker in the world. The best I can do is basic observations.

My voice modulator crackles softly as I answer. Have any of these people even heard me speak?

"You look less dead."

The crowd collectively loses its mind. Like this is a sports game.

The reaction irritates him, smile more strained.

Then, he moves.