“Blood manipulation.”

“Hemokinesis.” The woman paused, tablet halfway to her chest. Alex met her eyes through the mirror. She had introduced herself twenty minutes ago. Public relations something-or-other. He’d forgotten the exact title almost immediately, though he remembered her name was Claire and that she had touched his hair six times since walking into the room. Apparently, it wasn’t sitting correctly.

Claire lowered the tablet. 

“We can just say blood.”

“We can.” Her attention returned to the screen. “But we shouldn’t.”

Alex’s mouth flattened. 

Behind him, another woman tugged at the collar of his suit. “Chin up.” He lifted it and two fingers slipped beneath the material and pulled. The suit relaxed around his throat by perhaps half a centimeter. “There.”

Alex couldn’t feel a difference.

Claire continued scrolling. “If you’re asked about practical applications, emphasize emergency response. Hemorrhage control, extraction, civilian protection—”

“I know.”

“—and avoid discussing internal manipulation.”

“I know.”

“Even if you’re directly asked.”

“I know.”

“Alex.” 

His eyes lifted to find Claire staring at him over the top of the tablet. Alex sighed. “I won’t tell a crowd full of reporters I can make a body part explode or cure their erectile dysfunction.”

The woman behind him stopped adjusting his collar.

Claire closed her eyes. 

“What?”

“We specifically discussed language.”

“I said I wouldn’t say it.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“It feels relevant.”

“Alex.”

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Claire didn’t join him.

He looked back at himself. The man in the mirror didn’t particularly look like someone capable of exploding bodies. That was probably the point.

Black covered him from throat to feet, broken only by the pale blue line stretching across his chest. It traveled from shoulder to shoulder, dipping sharply over his sternum before climbing again.

A heartbeat.

Pulse.

The name had tested well and so had his face. Alex wasn’t supposed to know that second part. Someone had accidentally left his evaluation packet open on a conference table three months ago. His ability scored terribly with civilian focus groups. His face, apparently, did not.

Approachable.

Trustworthy.

Attractive.

One woman had written angelic, which had made him laugh hard enough that his handler asked what was wrong. They hadn’t included blood manipulation in that particular survey. Alex suspected the results might have changed.

“Thirty seconds.” A voice came through the doorway. 

Everything in the room shifted at once. Claire straightened. The stylist stepped away. Someone Alex hadn’t learned the name of appeared long enough to remove a nonexistent piece of lint from his shoulder.

His bracer vibrated and he looked down.

SATURATION: 03%

STABILITY: NORMAL

CLEARANCE: ACTIVE

A little green S glowed beside his license number.

S-Rank.

He’d stared at that letter for nearly ten minutes the first time it appeared. Years of testing, assessments, medical examinations, training exercises, interviews and psychological evaluations. All of it condensed into a single letter on a screen.

“Ready?”

Alex flexed his fingers. “Do I have a choice?”

Claire smiled. It was the first genuinely amused expression she’d given him all morning. “No.”

“Thought so.”

She stepped closer and flattened one stubborn piece of blond hair near his temple. It immediately fell forward again and Claire stared at it.

Alex stared at her. “Leave it.”

Her hand dropped. 

“Twenty seconds.”

The noise beyond the glass doors of SALUS Sentry Initiative's headquarters seemed louder now that he was listening for it. Hundreds of voices bled together into an indistinguishable hum. Camera shutters. Movement. The occasional burst of laughter from the crowd gathered outside.

Alex rolled one shoulder, then the other. His heartbeat felt strangely ordinary. He’d spent most of his life preparing for this… Not specifically the cameras but he’d been six when his registration came through. Eleven when preliminary testing suggested his Anomaly might qualify for professional licensing. Fourteen when someone first used the words S-Rank potential. Eighteen when they stopped saying potential. And twenty-three—today—when everyone else finally got to have an opinion about it.

“Ten.” 

Claire moved beside the door. “Remember.” Alex glanced at her, waiting expectantly as his brows raised. “Smile.”

“That’s it?”

“And no blood unless requested.”

There it is.

“Five.”

Alex drew in a breath.

“Four.”

His fingers curled.

“Three.”

Somewhere beyond the door, a man began speaking.

“Two.”

Alex couldn’t make out the words over the sudden rush inside his ears.

“One.”

Then he heard it. “—please welcome SALUS’s newest addition to the Sentry Initiative, and the first hemokinetic Anomaly in recorded history—” Claire pulled open the doors and sunlight flooded the entryway. “Pulse.”

Applause erupted and Alex stepped right into it. For half a second, he couldn’t see a damn thing. Sunlight flashed against camera lenses. Hundreds of them, it seemed, raised toward him at once. His eyes adjusted slowly, shapes sharpening beneath the glare until the crowd came into focus.

Fuck, there were a lot of people.

Reporters occupied the barricaded section nearest the stage, cameras raised over one another’s shoulders. Beyond them, civilians packed the sidewalks and spilled farther down the street, phones held overhead for a better view.

Two enormous banners hung from the face of SALUS Headquarters. Both displayed the same carefully selected photograph. Not Alex… Pulse. The photograph had been taken two months earlier. The man staring down at the crowd looked considerably more confident than Alex felt.

He made his way toward the marker beside the podium, where the president of SALUS waited. From the corner of his eye, he caught Claire standing just inside the open doors. She lifted a finger to the corner of her mouth and dragged it upward, stretching her lips into an exaggerated smile.

Alex smiled.

The applause grew louder.

And just like that, the first hemokinetic Sentry became a Hero. Or, at least, became one publicly.

“Pulse.” The president approached him with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to SALUS.”

Alex took it. “Thank you.”

They turned together toward the crowd.

“So,” the president began, raising his voice above the lingering applause. “How does it feel?”

There were approximately forty-seven acceptable answers to that question. Alex had memorized most of them.

It’s an honor.

I’ve dreamed of this since I was a child.

I’m excited to serve.

He looked out at the sea of cameras pointed toward him.

“A little invasive.” Silence. Somewhere behind him, Claire was probably having an aneurysm. Alex smiled. “But mostly exciting.”

The crowd laughed.

“Well, I imagine you’ll have plenty of time to adjust.” The president waited for the noise to settle before turning back toward the podium. “Because today marks more than the introduction of SALUS’s newest Sentry.”

Alex knew where this was going and he kept smiling anyway.

“As the first hemokinetic Anomaly on record, Pulse represents capabilities we have never encountered before. Capabilities we are still learning to understand.” There it was. A nicer way of saying we don’t know what the hell he’s capable of. “Which is why SALUS has made the decision to take an equally unprecedented approach to his career.” The crowd stirred and Alex resisted the urge to look back at Claire. “For the first time, an active Sentinel will be assigned to a Sentry.”

Voices rose almost immediately. Reporters leaned toward one another. Cameras shifted away from Alex toward the doors behind him, already anticipating who would come through them.

Alex didn’t have to turn to know. He’d known about the arrangement for weeks, he just hadn’t met the man.

“Someone many of you already know,” the president continued. “One of SALUS’s longest-serving active Sentinels and a Hero who has spent the better part of his career ensuring our Sentries return home safely.” 

The applause started before the name was even spoken.

“Atlas.”

Alex turned.

The first thing he noticed was the mask.

Black and angular, it covered Atlas’ face completely, leaving nothing exposed from his chin to his hairline. Tousled brown hair framed it in loose, uneven layers, longer strands falling across the mask at his temples and brushing his cheekbones. Where the sunlight caught them, warm brown threaded briefly through the darker strands.

The rest of him wasn’t exactly subtle either.

Atlas was taller than Alex had expected. Wider, too.

His uniform bore little resemblance to Alex’s sleek, close-fitting suit. Atlas looked tactical. Black layered over black—reinforced panels across his chest and abdomen, straps fitted over his shoulders, heavy gloves, a utility belt sitting low around his hips. Everything about it looked functional enough that Alex could almost believe every buckle and seam served a purpose.

Almost.

He had seen enough of SALUS’s design department over the last year to know better. There was a reason the armor narrowed where it did. A reason the material fitted close through his waist before broadening across his chest and shoulders. A reason none of those tactical layers did much to disguise the build underneath them.

Apparently Alex wasn’t the only one who had tested well with focus groups. Yup… He could see what they were going for.

Atlas was supposed to look imposing without looking threatening. Powerful without being dangerous. The sort of man people wanted standing between them and whatever had sent them running. The mask helped. No face to judge, no expression to misunderstand. Just Atlas.

He crossed the stage with none of Alex’s earlier uncertainty. No searching for the marker beneath his feet or pause in stride from the cameras. He seemed to know exactly where he was supposed to be. Of course he did, because Atlas had been doing this for years.

He stopped in front of Alex and extended a gloved hand. “Welcome to the team.” His voice was warmer than Alex expected from someone dressed like he was prepared to storm a small country.

Alex looked down at the offered hand before taking it. “Thanks.”

Camera shutters erupted around them.

Atlas’ grip was firm without becoming one of those ridiculous displays of masculinity Alex had endured from more than one Sentry during training. It was just one shake—brief and professional.

He’d met every Sentinel SALUS had considered for the assignment. That had been the worst part of the last four months. Compatibility screenings. Bloodwork. Baseline readings. Controlled overloads. Being touched by stranger after stranger while a room full of technicians watched monitors to see how quickly his saturation dropped.

Seven Sentinels in total but none of them had been Atlas. Alex had asked once. Unavailable, they’d told him. He hadn’t cared enough at the time to ask why. Now the supposedly unavailable Sentinel was standing beside him while several hundred cameras documented their first handshake. And apparently SALUS had already decided he belonged to Alex… Or Alex belonged to him?

“I think we have time for a few questions.”

The effect was immediate—hands shot into the air. The president pointed toward the barricaded section nearest the stage, and a microphone quickly found its way into the hands of a woman in the second row.

“Pulse, congratulations on your S-Rank certification.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve spent the last five years training through the Sentry Initiative. What are you most looking forward to now that you’ll be operating professionally?”

Easy.

Alex smiled. “Getting out of training simulations.”

Laughter.

“I’m serious. If I see another concrete training block, I’m retiring.”

More laughter followed, and Alex felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He could do this. The next question was about rescue work. Then his training. Someone asked whether he’d always wanted to become a Sentry. Another wanted to know how he’d chosen the name Pulse.

Claire had prepared him for all of them. Alex answered when he was supposed to answer, smiled when he was supposed to smile, and even managed not to look toward her for approval. 

Beside him, Atlas said very little. He didn’t need to. Most of the questions were for Pulse, and Atlas seemed perfectly content to let him have them. Every so often Alex caught the black mask turning toward whoever was speaking, then back toward him.

“One more.”

A dozen hands remained raised and the president selected a man farther back.

“Pulse.” The reporter stood as someone passed him the microphone. “You’ve mentioned the medical and rescue applications of hemokinesis several times today.”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“But SALUS’s own classification documents confirm your ability isn’t limited to blood outside the body.”

Something in Alex’s stomach tightened and the crowd had gone quieter.

“That’s correct.”

Claire had prepared him for this too. Internal manipulation should only be discussed in relation to controlled medical intervention. Easy. He knew the line.

The reporter continued. “So theoretically, you could manipulate the blood of anyone standing here right now.”

The smile stayed on Alex’s face… It just stopped feeling like his. “Under the right circumstances, hemokinesis can—”

“Without touching them?”

Alex paused. “I—” Cameras clicked. He could suddenly hear every one of them. “Technically, I would need to—”

“Could you stop someone’s heart?”

His answer disappeared.

He knew it. Fuck, he knew it. Claire had made him repeat it until he could’ve recited the approved response half asleep. 

My training prioritizes noninvasive applications and civilian protection. Any advanced application of my Anomaly is governed by the same use-of-force regulations as every licensed Sentry.

Just say it.

Alex’s smile remained frozen in place. “I…”

The reporter waited and so did everyone else.

“It’s—”

“Possible?”

Alex swallowed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t—”

“Then what prevents you from doing it?”

That one landed and Alex stared at him.

Not what prevents Sentries from hurting people.

Not what regulations exist.

What prevents you?

His mouth opened. “I don’t—”

A hand settled against his shoulder with barely enough pressure to register through the suit.

“Training.” Atlas’ voice carried easily through the mics.

Alex turned his head. The black mask wasn’t looking at him. Atlas had stepped forward just enough to put himself beside Alex rather than slightly behind him, his hand remaining loosely at his shoulder.

“That’s the less exciting answer,” Atlas continued, “but it’s the honest one.” A few quiet laughs broke the tension and Atlas lowered his hand. “Every Sentry standing in this organization possesses an ability capable of causing harm when misused. Strength. Fire. Telekinesis.” He gestured lightly toward himself. “SALUS doesn’t certify abilities. It certifies people.”

The reporter shifted. “But hemokinesis presents a unique—”