Ian’s Lower East Side studio apartment feels listing to one side, like a drunk without a light pole to lean on. The couch we’re on was clearly dragged in from a curbside somewhere, with concerning stains on each of the cushions. Elena’s on a wooden chair by a table that’s giving me splinters just looking at it.

  And here I thought “bringing me in” meant to some cool secret underground headquarters.

  Only a dresser, of all things, doesn’t look like something from a meth head’s repossessed trailer home. Solid oak, standing proudly amidst its humble settings like a dignified statesman in a Waffle House at 3am. There’s embedded locks on each of the drawers, I note curiously, before I’m looking back at the girl sitting next to Ian.

  She’s a few years younger, maybe Rachel’s age. Tiny, white, delicate, yet the sort of person whose features seem permanently set into a hard glare and frown. Shoulder-length blonde hair. Clearly pissed off at my presence.

  I’m oddly feeling she’s the biggest threat in the room.

  “So,” Ian begins. “What’d you tell your friends?” We’d been quiet the Uber ride down, lest we give away the wrong thing to the driver.

  “That you and your girlfriend spotted me at the bar, and that you really liked my energy so you took me home,” I tell him, glancing at the girl. Who is this person, anyway? I don’t think Ian or even Elena are actually malicious, otherwise I would’ve never agreed to come along, implied threats or no… but this new girl is raising my hackles. “How did you make me?”

  “Later. What else can you do besides fly?”

  I wince a little. That’s the first time he confirmed, specifically, he knows what I can do. How did he find me? How did he connect me to the Russian? If he’d been asking on social media, Rojas would’ve spotted it. “Well… I can put together a decent ad buy under crunch time.”

  “No, I mean… no super strength?” Ian asks. The tiny girl sitting next to him glances at him oddly.

  “Nope.”

  “No control over fire or ice?”

  “Nope.”

  “No abruptly turning into a 30-meter titan on command?”

  “Uh, nope.”

  “No eye beams? No telekinesis?”

  “Nope, and I’m guessing you’re going to be telling me these are common things.”

  “I will not,” Ian replies sadly. “I… never mind. So you just fly. Any military background?”

  “Actually, yes!” I tell him enthusiastically. “Navy, four years, straight out of high school.”

  Ian claps his hands, like he’s relieved. “Good! Great! Special forces? SEAL?”

  “I, uh… maintained submarine engines.”

  “Oh,” Ian says, not disguising his disappointment. “Wait. Submariner? Odd choice for… ah, I get it. An underwater tube is the last place your talent would get you noticed.”

  “Yeah,” I begin, with another glance at the girl who’s still regarding me like a pitcher regarding a hitter who’d injured his teammate in a dirty slide. I don’t exactly trust these people, but the words just come out. It’s the first time I’ve been able to tell anyone, not counting Rojas who’s never asked. “I first flew… well, this guy, who had a bit of a concerning twitch and wound up getting expelled for blowing up a school water fountain with a pipe bomb, pushed me off my dad’s second-floor deck when I was 16. I was more surprised than he was when I didn’t hit the ground. First and last time I’ve been in the air during daylight. I’ve been terrified of being made since, which hasn’t happened until tonight.”

  “You’re not wrong to keep that under wraps,” Ian is saying. “Like I keep telling Flo here. Kinda did the same thing with her as you, pissing her off at some bar in Philly until she tipped her hand. Except unlike you, she showed her true self. In public. Sloppy, sloppy.”

  Turning her glare at Ian, Flo says, “He was all creepy, and all over my friend!”

  Her voice is high-pitched, lilting, with a vocal fry, strong and clear. A singer’s voice.

  “Threw me into a dumpster from 20 feet away,” Ian says with a chuckle. “If I didn’t know how to take hits like that, I would’ve cracked a half dozen ribs!”

  “From 20 feet away?” I ask, incredulous. “You’re saying—”

  Flo’s now back to glaring at me. “That I can rip your arm out of its socket like it’s cotton candy?”

  I can’t help but laugh a startled laugh. What is she even, five foot nothing, 100 pounds? That can’t be her trick. “Ian, come on, I mean, look at her,” I say as Flo stands up and walks behind me. “Now you guys are just fucking with me, I mean, unless you’re saying that—”

  I’m being lifted off the couch, my arms bound behind me. I struggle, but it’s like being held by steel ropes and lifted by a backhoe. “Ow! Ok, ok!” I begin as I’m on the floor, being bent into a kneeling position by an unshakable force, what feels like the Hulk but is actually a girl smaller than my neighbor’s dog.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “She doesn’t like being disrespected,” Elena advises me unnecessarily, looking at her phone.

  “Every squad needs someone who can do this,” Ian is saying, putting his arms behind his head as I look up at him, having given up my useless squirming, wondering vaguely if I could at least lift off in this situation if we were outdoors.

  “Squad?” I ask. “Ok, ok, Flo, you’ve made your point! I’d tap out if you’d let me!”

  But she doesn’t relent, asking me sweetly what’s wrong. I’m bound in the kneeling position, true panic starting to clutch at my throat as Ian checks his phone. “After midnight. I got work in the morning, unlike you lot.”

  “I’m studying all day tomorrow,” Elena tells him. “Or today, whatever.”

  “Oh, right, your exam Monday,” Flo says calmly.

  “Um… what’s your major?” I try to ask pleasantly, as if I weren’t bound by who was becoming an increasingly terrifying person.

  “MSN,” she says, standing up, grabbing a backpack. “Masters in nursing. Don’t mind Flo, she likes taking out her anger issues whenever she gets the chance.”

  “Ok… can you tell her it’s actually turning me on?”

  Instantly I’m released. I stagger forward, one hand on the floor, the other rubbing my wrist. I turn and grin up at Flo’s disgusted face. “It wasn’t. I just knew that’d work.”

  “Ugh,” Flo spits, repulsed, yet looking at me oddly.

  “But yes, squad,” Ian’s saying. “I’ve a feeling changes are coming, and we need to be ready. Talk later. Ladies, your Uber should be here shortly. As for you, Nick… the fire escape opens onto the roof which awaits you.”

  “Can’t go home that way. I have my phone on me.” I pause. “Hold up. Why do you think I had anything to do with the Russian?”

  And Ian doesn’t even bother replying, mentioning something to Elena about how it’s supposed to storm tomorrow. I mean, duh. Anyone who tasted the sudden sharpness to the air outside and who felt the drop in air pressure in their eardrums knows that.

  “Great,” I say, standing up with one final glare at Flo, who’s presently ignoring me as she’s hunting for her bag. My heart’s still racing. “You better… you better not even say you have an idea to bring together a group of remarkable people.”

  “Ugh, don’t tell me you base your whole identity off of MCU movies,” Flo answers with a glare of her own.

  “Well… it’s kind of hard not to, I mean, either that or anime… I’m just… I’m just glad there’s others like me… even if they sort of have issues with personal boundaries.” My nervousness has me stumbling over my words.

  Elena is now looking at me puzzled. “You mean you’ve never met anyone else who can do things?”

  “If by ‘things’ you don’t mean unusual and enthralling positions in bed, then no.”

  “Ew!” Flo says, even more disgusted if such a thing is possible for her. “What’s wrong with you!”

  And the answer is, of course, I’ve long covered up my anxieties with inappropriate comments.

  “Hey, pint-sized terror,” I begin. “If resting bitch face were an Olympics event, you’d—”

  I back away as she begins to advance menacingly. Ian steps between us, one arm on her shoulder. “Oi, mates, I believe we’ve made our finer points. Your ride’s here, love, license plate begins with T714. You’re welcome to share if you’re headed their way, Nick.”

  “Um, pass. And what’s your background anyway, Ian?” I ask, still peeved at all three of them. “You talk like an East Londoner if London were in Ohio.”

  Ian snorts. “That’s… complicated. I’m adding you to the ol’ group chat with some trepidation. Let’s just try to be civil, yeah?”

  #

  I bound out the subway, tired, just wanting to get home after a long, weird day. It’s an overcast night but the air is still, not even a bit of wind, as if the clouds were holding their breath.

  Can I trust these people?

  No, of course not.

  But I’m pretty sure they don’t want to expose my secret. After all, Ian’s known Elena for years and there’s not even rumors of a girl who can phase through reality or whatever it is she does.

  Then again, he could always blackmail me. Would he do that? If he tried, couldn’t I point out that I have blackmail material on his two girls?

  What’s the relationship there, anyway? Is this some sort of creepy throuple? No, Elena denied that, but…

  Lost in my thoughts, I almost don’t notice the jacket behind me.

  I turn. Sidewalk’s got a few other random people, probably returning home from nights out like me. An older couple runs past me, laughing. And someone a block away is crossing the street away from me in a yellow jacket. Some guy, can’t make out his features, he’s turned away.

  Except I’m pretty sure I saw someone wearing a jacket like that outside Ian’s building.

  Looking forward, I try to think about just getting home, but instead I steal another glance behind me again. The man is on a corner, turned away, looking at his phone.

  I’m at my building. I’m about to go in, change my mind, cross the street again, look to my side. Yellow jacket’s still there. I hurry down the side street, out of view.

  The guy wasn’t even looking at me.

  But how many people in New York go around wearing sunny yellow jackets? This is the town of black, dark grey, and if you’re really feeling impertinent, some shade of brown.

  Reaching the next intersection, I look to my right. No yellow jacket. Probably not even the same person, and if it was, he just happened to be coming from some Lower East Side dive bar.

  I turn left, heading down to Rojas’ bodega. May as well check in, see if there’s been any updates. Put my mind at ease, at least. The guy routinely works until 2am.

  This is a quiet, family-friendly neighborhood, the kind people come home to after partying instead of coming here to party. Real suburbs-of-Manhattan vibes. The only people out on this street are a couple of dog walkers and some guy stealing a smoke outside his building. They’re all ignoring me.

  Quick peek behind me.

  A flash of yellow.

  I stop, abruptly turn.

  There’s nothing. No yellow jacket at all.

  Nerves? Maybe. I don’t know. Didn’t have much to drink tonight.

  Fuck this.

  I bound down to the bodega, constantly casting looks behind myself. I don’t care how crazy I’m looking to the dog walkers.

  Pushing the door into the bodega, I indeed find Rojas, nodding off until he hears me. He looks up impassively.

  “Rojas. Need to go out your back door.”

  He nods, gestures. I go past the counter, pat his shoulder in thanks before I’m in the street behind the bodega.

  Leap up into the still, slightly disagreeable air.

  Up. Up. Up, my ears popping repeatedly until I’m in through the cloud cover.

  I hover, listening, as if there were anything to hear.

  I don’t know how long I hide in the clouds, circling aimlessly, until I go home.