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"Don't you move off that X, Ellis. You move and you ruin my shot."
Wren's voice snaps in my earpiece and the whole platform drops six inches under my feet.
I grab the railing. My knees hit hard. The wind rips my hair sideways and every drone in the sky swings to us.
"Copy?" she says, breathless and bright for the cameras. "Villain, stay put."
"I'm literally trying not to fall to my death," I hiss. "Give me a sec, Golden Girl."
"You don't get a sec. We're live." Her light flares. It's hot on my skin even from ten feet away. "Smile. Look scary."
Below us, downtown is a mess. They staged it. Of course they staged it. A cracked overpass, two flipped buses that were already empty, smoke machines going full blast. And like, fifty camera drones with red lights blinking. The chat feed is projected on the billboard across the street and it's moving so fast I can't read it.
WREN STARR VS NEW VILLAIN!!!
My earpiece crackles again. Not Wren. Cade.
"Ellis, listen to me. You stay on that platform until Wren cues you. You jump when she says jump. You fall when she says fall. Got it?"
"Yeah, got it, I'm a prop," I snap.
"You're a paycheck," Cade says. "Don't improv."
The platform jerks again. The support team on the roof across from us yanks a cable and the whole thing tilts. My stomach drops. My power jumps with it — that black, hungry pull in my palms that wants to crush whatever I touch.
I shove my hands in my pockets. Don't touch. Don't crush.
Wren is floating. Of course she's floating. Hair perfect, white and gold suit catching the sun, every inch the city's favorite hero. She looks at me and her smile is pure camera.
"Ready to lose, Noelle?" she says loud, for the mics.
Then quieter, just for me, through gritted teeth, "You okay? You're pale."
"I'm great," I say. "Love being bait on a wobbly billboard."
"Just follow the script. I knock you back, you catch yourself, I catch you. Easy."
"Easy for you. You fly."
She rolls her eyes but her hand twitches like she wants to reach for me. She doesn't. The drones are too close.
Cade again, sharp. "Wren, cue in three. Hit your mark. Big light, big save. Make it pretty."
"Three," Wren whispers.
The cable snaps.
Not part of the script. I know it's not because Wren's face actually drops.
The platform free-falls a foot and then catches, swinging like a pendulum. I slam into the railing, my hands fly out on instinct —
And my left palm hits the metal.
It crumples. Like foil. The black veins shoot up my wrist, hot and buzzing, and the whole edge folds under my fingers.
"Ellis!" Wren shouts. For real this time.
"Don't touch me!" I yell. "Don't — it'll —"
The chat explodes. The drones push in closer. I can hear the crowd on the street screaming, but I can't tell if it's hype or panic.
"Hold on!" Wren darts forward, light blazing from her hands.
"Wren, stay on script!" Cade barks in our ears. "Let her fall! The nets will catch her! Let her fall for the shot!"
She doesn't listen. She grabs my wrist — my bad wrist, the one with the black crawling up it — and her light slams into it.
It burns. Not like fire. Like cold and hot at once. Her light is trying to smother my crush and my crush is trying to eat her light and we're both shaking in mid-air while the platform swings under us.
"Let go!" I choke out. "You're gonna get hurt!"
"I'm not letting you drop!" she yells back. Her eyes are right on mine, too close, gold flecks lit up. "You think I want to watch you hit the ground on live TV?"
"It's the plan! Your team said nets!"
"Screw the plan!"
She yanks me hard against her. One arm around my waist, the other still locked on my wrist. Her suit is warm. Like, stupid warm. And she smells like ozone and cheap hairspray and I can feel her heart hammering through the stupid shiny fabric.
"Wren, goddammit, disengage!" Cade shouts. "You're ruining the angle! Support team, pull her off!"
Two guys in agency black on the roof raise those long light-cannons. Not at me. At Wren.
My blood goes cold.
"Wren," I whisper. "Behind you."
She turns her head, sees the cannons charging. Her whole body goes rigid.
"Wren Starr, return to mark," a flat voice says over the loudspeaker. "Release the villain. That's an order."
She looks at me. I look at her. The chat is screaming. The platform is still swinging and my power is still eating at her light where our hands are joined, black and gold mixing and sparking.
"You gonna be their doll?" I say, and my voice cracks. "Or you gonna be a hero?"
Something clicks in her face. That perfect smile is gone.
She twists in mid-air, still holding me, and throws her other hand out — not at me, at them.
A wall of light slams into the roof. It hits the support team dead on. The cannons fly out of their hands. The guys hit the deck hard, shouting.
The crowd gasps. The drones wobble.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "You just — you hit your own team."
"They were gonna let you fall," she snaps, panting. Her light is flickering around us like a busted halo. "I don't care what the script says. I'm not dropping you."
For a second I just stare at her. Her arm is so tight around me I can barely breathe. Her forehead almost touches mine. And I get it. I finally get it. She's not acting.
"You really mean that," I whisper.
"Yeah, idiot," she whispers back, and her voice shakes. "I want out too. I hate this. All of it."
The link between us pulses. That weird heat in my palm where her name showed up before. It flares and I swear I hear her thought like it's mine for half a second — get us out, get us out, get us out.
We land. Hard. Not graceful. We hit the top of the busted bus together and roll. She takes most of it, her back hitting metal, me on top of her. Her hands are still on my waist, my hands are fisted in her cape so I don't crush anything else.
We're both breathing like we ran a mile.
"You okay?" she says immediately, hands patting my arms, my shoulders. "Did I burn you?"
"No, you — you're insane," I laugh, and it sounds wet. "You just nuked your own handlers on live TV."
"They pissed me off." She grins, wild and shaky. "Did you see Cade's face?"
We both look up at the big billboard. The chat is insane. WREN TURNED??? and DID SHE JUST SAVE THE VILLAIN??? scrolling a million miles an hour.
Then the smoke clears a little and the bus under us groans. The side panel that got crushed when we landed — it peels back.
And there's something glowing underneath.
Not light. Not my black. Like a mark. Etched into the metal. Two overlapping circles, one gold, one black, pulsing faintly where our combined power hit it.
Wren goes still.
"What is that," she says.
Cade drops down next to us. He must've rappelled. He's pale. Like, actually white under his tan.
He stares at the mark. At her hand on my waist. At my black veins still fading.
"No," he says quietly. "No, no, no. They told me this project was dead."
"What project?" I push up on my elbows. "Cade, what is that thing?"
He doesn't answer me. He looks at Wren, then at me, like he's seeing us for the first time.
"Your gene tags," he whispers. "They match. They built you two as a —"
The city alarms cut him off. Every single one, all at once, screaming.
"Cade, as a what?" Wren grabs his sleeve. "As a what? Say it!"