The smoke keeps curling in, thicker by the second, swallowing the edges of the warehouse until everything feels smaller, tighter. Like the air's folding in on itself. I crouch lower, my back pressed against a stack of chemical drums, the metal cold even through my gloves. My breath feels loud inside my helmet, fogging the visor just enough to be annoying. Jordan's a few feet ahead, peeking around the shelving, their body language calm, deliberate, like none of this is unexpected. But my mind's moving way too fast.

  I stare into the haze, trying to piece it together. Soot. It has to be Soot. Nobody else throws down a smoke screen like that--dense but controlled, creeping exactly where it needs to be, covering sightlines without choking the place out. It's surgical. Like they planned this.

  But why? Why here? Why now? How did they know to come here?

  My stomach twists in that familiar way. If Soot really is Kate--and I don't know that, I can't know that, not for sure--but if they are, then this is my fault. All of it. She wouldn't be here if I hadn't dragged her into this world in the first place. She was normal before this. Well. Not normal, but she wasn't this. Wasn't sneaking into warehouses full of chemical drums and superpowered gangsters. Wasn't throwing herself into danger.

  I keep telling myself that people make their own choices. That Kate--if it's her--knew what she was doing. But the guilt's still there, sticky and sharp, gnawing at the edges of my brain. Every time I see Soot, that feeling doubles down. It's like watching someone drown while holding the rope that could've pulled them out, but you threw it too late.

  I glance at Jordan. They're focused on the smoke, calculating angles, probably already working out the most efficient way to stretch space and get us closer to the server room. Efficient. Focused. No emotional baggage cluttering up their brain. Not like me.

  The smoke thickens, and that's when I see the second figure. Not Bash--he's still lumbering through the fog like a wrecking ball--but someone else. Leaner. Twitchier. A white guy, probably in his late twenties, covered in tattoos that crawl up his neck and spill over the sides of his shaved head. He's wearing a hoodie, jeans, hardly professional security attire, but the glowing blue veins, electric cyan pulsing up the sides of his face, tell me why a lout like him is in a place like this.

  That's gotta be Lenny.

  He moves through the smoke like it's not even there, eyes scanning sharp, like he knows exactly what he's looking for. His hands twitch at his sides, like he's waiting to punch someone out but doesn't know where they are yet.

  I swallow hard.

  This is where it all clicks--the mission's already loud. Soot forced it loud the second they showed up, and there's no walking that back. Bash is hunting. Lenny's here, veins glowing with something that's definitely not legal. Security's gonna close in fast, and Soot? Soot's out there in the middle of it all, alone, probably already fending them off.

  I shift in my crouch, glance at Jordan again. My mind's racing, trying to justify what I already know I'm about to do. I can't just sit here while Soot gets torn apart. Morally, ethically--none of this sits right. And even if I shove all that aside, it's still the smart call. Soot's the perfect distraction. They're keeping security focused somewhere else, giving Jordan and Maggie the window they need to break into the server room and pull whatever files we can get before the cops show up.

  But that's not why I want to run out there.

  I want to run out there because if Soot is Kate, I can't let her get killed.

  I tighten my grip on the edge of the shelving unit, the cool metal biting into my gloves as I turn to Jordan, trying to explain, to give them something, anything, that justifies what I'm about to do. "I'm gonna--"

  But Jordan cuts me off with a sharp flick of their hand. "Sam. Go."

  I blink. "Wait, I--"

  "I get it," they say, voice low but steady. They don't even turn to look at me, their focus still on the shifting smoke and the shadows moving through it. "Soot's out there alone, and we both know you're not gonna sit here and twiddle your thumbs while that happens. You're the leader. You make the calls."

  "I--" I start again, but it dies in my throat. My chest feels tight, words jamming up behind my ribs. I want to argue, to lay out my logic--that this is strategic, that Soot being alive is helpful, that this isn't just about me being soft. But Jordan doesn't need to hear any of that. They already know.

  "I trust you," they add, finally turning to glance at me, helmet tilted just enough for me to feel the weight behind the words. "So stop wasting time."

  I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, something loosening in my chest. The sounds of chaos in the warehouse are getting louder--heavy footsteps pounding against the concrete, metal scraping as security teams reposition. Somewhere deeper in the smoke, I hear a dull thud, like someone's body hitting a wall, followed by a sharp hiss of smoke twisting tighter. Soot's holding their own. For now.

  Jordan turns to Maggie, who's been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes darting between us and the rising smoke.

  "Flashpoint," Jordan says, "your repulsion fields--do they go through objects, or do they stop at surfaces?"

  Maggie squints, like she's just now realizing she's about to become a wrecking ball. "Uh... I think they go through? Like, walls don't really stop them? But I haven't exactly tried to break into a reinforced security door before."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Jordan hums, already running a gloved hand over the rough metal surface of the door to the security room. "Doesn't matter. We were gonna find someone with access, but this is faster. We don't need the whole door gone--just the right parts."

  "Like the hinges?" Maggie suggests, tilting her head.

  "Maybe the keypad," Jordan suggests, gesturing to the panel next to the door. "If we fry the electronics, it might pop the lock, or if we just punch the keypad through we can reach in and disengage the lock manually."

  Maggie squints at the door, then shakes her head. "You'd end up locking it down harder."

  Jordan pauses, considering that, but Maggie steps forward, tapping the door near the handle. "If I slam the deadbolt against the strike plate, or maybe aim the other way around, I might be able to jimmy it out. But if it's magnetically closed... No, we could just bust the strike plate out. Yeah. I can probably break the screws out."

  Jordan blinks, turning to look at her properly. "Wait, how do you even know that?"

  Maggie shrugs, a little too casual. "I help my uncle fix up houses sometimes. Learned some stuff."

  Jordan chuckles, sounding genuinely impressed. "Well, look at you, Ms. DIY. Alright, let's hit the strike plate."

  Maggie grins wide under her mask, already pulling off her gloves to get better control over her fields. "I like this plan. Less people-punching, more door-punching."

  Jordan chuckles, but then their helmet snaps back toward me. "And you--" they point, "--why are you still here?"

  I hesitate, heart thudding loud in my ears, but then I hear it--the sharp sound of fists colliding with something hard, the echo of footsteps scrambling over metal, and the low growl of someone--probably Bash--somewhere deeper in the smoke.

  I don't wait any longer.

  I bolt.

  The sounds of Maggie and Jordan talking fade behind me as I weave through the shifting clouds, my heart racing and my stomach knotted tight. The smoke swirls thick around my legs, and I can already hear the scuffle ahead--grunts, gasps, the slap of shoes against concrete, the metallic clang of something heavy being thrown.

  The smoke thickens fast, curling into dense pockets between the shelves, swallowing everything in a gray-blue haze. Somewhere deeper in the warehouse, there's the heavy thud of boots against concrete, the low growl of Bash's voice cutting through the fog. I can't see him, but I can feel it -- the dull reverberation of something massive moving with way too much force for a normal human. Every step makes the metal shelving creak like it's seconds away from folding in on itself.

  But what catches my eye first isn't Bash--it's the sudden, sharp-edged glow slicing through the smoke. A wall. Bright cyan-blue, flat and gleaming, rising out of nowhere like someone just hit "spawn" in a game. Another one snaps into place perpendicular to it, boxing off a chunk of the smoke, forcing it to billow upwards and around the edges, cut off from the rest.

  Soot's trying to keep the fog spread out, but these new barriers are cutting it off, corralling it into useless corners.

  Then I spot him--the guy behind the walls. Lanky, wiry, jeans sagging low and a loose hoodie that's at least three sizes too big, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His skin's pale, but the veins are what really get me--thin, jagged, glowing cyan, crawling up his forearms and branching across his neck like cracks in glass.

  Lenny.

  He snaps one hand through the air, and another wall slams down just inches from a fresh swirl of smoke, slicing through it like a guillotine. The vapor recoils, bouncing helplessly against the forcefield before curling upward, denied entry. The weirdest part? The smoke doesn't burn off or get blown aside--it just hits the wall and dies.

  With his other hand, he flicks his fingers sideways, tracing invisible lines, and more barriers snap into place--clean, sharp, simple slabs. He's building a maze, penning Soot in tighter with every flick of his wrist.

  But here's the thing--he's so focused on Soot, he's not watching his own back.

  I keep low, weaving through the thickest parts of the smoke. It curls around me, hiding my movements, and the uneven concrete scrapes against my gloves as I crawl forward. My knees slide across oily patches, but I keep going, hugging the shadows. One of Lenny's walls juts out over my head, but I duck under it, sliding close enough now to hear him muttering--something about "damn smoke freaks" and "should've stayed home."

  I lunge at him, my shoulder slamming into his back, square between his shoulder blades, catching him off guard. He stumbles forward, a strangled yelp breaking out, and I wrap an arm around his neck, dragging him down with me.

  But before I can pin him properly, one of his existing barriers scrapes sideways--fast, like a glass door slamming shut--and clips me across the ribs. It's not hard enough to break anything, but it knocks the air out of my lungs and sends me sprawling across the concrete. I roll with the impact, scrambling back to my feet.

  Lenny spins to face me, wide-eyed, veins pulsing brighter now. "What the hell--who--"

  I don't let him finish. I'm already charging.

  He tries to throw up another wall between us, but I'm faster. I duck low, sliding under the half-formed barrier before it solidifies, and slam my gauntlet into his side, right under the ribs. The reinforced knuckles hit hard--there's a deep, meaty thud, and Lenny gasps, doubling over. It's not enough to knock him out, but enough to break his focus.

  A nearby forcefield flickers and collapses, letting a fresh wave of smoke pour through. Thick, white, curling in like a living thing. It's heavier now--denser--and smells like fireworks. Soot must've popped a smoke bomb somewhere around the corner.

  That's when I hear it -- Thoom. Thoom.

  Heavy steps, shaking the concrete beneath me, getting closer with each impact. I can't see him through the smoke, but I know exactly who it is. Bash. His footsteps sound like someone's slamming a wrecking ball into the ground, each one heavier than the last. He's moving fast--too fast for someone his size.

  I press against the nearest stack of crates, ducking low as the vibrations rattle through the metal shelves. I still can't see him, but I hear the snarl, low and guttural, and the crash as something--probably one of Soot's barriers--shatters under the weight of Bash's charge.

  He's tunnel-visioned on Soot. I can hear it in the way he's stomping, the focused, unrelenting direction of it. The sound of his boots slamming down, the crack of something metal bending under pressure. I risk a glance around the edge of the crates, but the smoke's too thick--I can only make out vague silhouettes.

  Then, through the haze, I spot Soot's shape--further down the row, half-hidden behind a stack of barrels, smoke swirling thick around their legs. They flick their wrist and lob something--another smoke bomb--that bounces once before exploding into a dense cloud of white.

  Bash coughs hard, his charge stalling for a second, but he barrels through anyway, the thick smoke clinging to him like oil. He doesn't stop. He's going straight for Soot.

  Soot's head turns slightly, almost like they're expecting me. They don't wave, don't call out, but there's this flicker--like they knew I'd be here.

  I adjust my grip on the gauntlet, breathing through the haze. Lenny's still scrambling to get up, his veins glowing brighter, his hands shaky as he starts to summon another barrier. The cyan light glints off the swirling smoke, outlining the maze he's trying to rebuild.

  I clench my jaw and raise my gauntlet.

  "Hey, Soot!" I shout through the fog, voice rough. "Looks like you could use a hand!"

  They don't respond. Of course they don't.

  But they don't tell me to leave either.

  Which, coming from Soot, is basically an invitation.