Theo stepped into his father's bedroom after a brief knock. The door had been ajar, and he'd heard movement inside despite the early hour. Max Anders stood beside his bed, methodically folding dress shirts and placing them in an open suitcase.

  "You're packing?" Theo asked, surprised. His father rarely left Brockton Bay, and never without warning.

  Max glanced up, his movements never faltering. "Good morning, Theo. Yes, I'm taking a trip. I meant to tell you last night, but you were out late with Taylor."

  Theo shifted his weight, feeling a familiar mix of wariness and curiosity. His relationship with his father had improved in recent months, but years of distance didn't vanish overnight. "Is something wrong?"

  "Not at all." Max placed a neatly folded pair of slacks in the suitcase. "I'm visiting family. There are some matters that require my personal attention."

  "Family?" Theo repeated. The Anders family tree had plenty of branches, but Max rarely spoke of them, let alone visited. "Which family?"

  Max continued packing, his movements precise. "Some of your mother's relatives, actually. There are... heirlooms that need to be discussed."

  Theo's interest sharpened. His father rarely mentioned his mother, Heather. The wound of her loss still seemed raw, even after all these years. "Mom's family? I didn't know you stayed in touch."

  "I haven't, not really." Max closed a small toiletry bag and added it to the suitcase. "But some connections are worth maintaining, especially now."

  "Especially now?" Theo echoed.

  Max straightened and looked at his son directly. "The Empire is evolving, Theo. The Deer Lodge initiative has been successful beyond my expectations, largely thanks to you and Taylor. It's time to... reconnect with certain parts of the past."

  Theo nodded slowly, trying to parse his father's meaning. As usual, Max spoke in carefully crafted statements that revealed exactly what he wanted and nothing more.

  "When are you leaving?" Theo asked.

  "This afternoon. Nessa and Jessica are coming with me."

  Theo blinked in surprise. "The twins are going too?"

  "Yes. They have connections to your mother as well, as you know." Max selected a tie from his closet, examining it critically before adding it to his luggage. "It will be good for them."

  "Should I pack too?" Theo asked, already mentally rearranging his schedule.

  Max shook his head. "No, you're needed here. The Deer Lodge requires your guidance, and you have your schoolwork. Besides, Miss Stepford's work is too valuable to leave unattended."

  Theo felt a complex mix of emotions—relief at not having to go on what would surely be an awkward family visit, disappointment at being excluded from something related to his mother, and concern about what his father might be planning.

  "How long will you be gone?" he asked.

  "Two weeks, perhaps a bit more. Victor and Othala will handle Empire matters in my absence, but the Deer Lodge is your domain." Max closed the suitcase and zipped it shut. "You've earned my trust, Theo. I'm proud of what you've accomplished."

  The words hit Theo like a physical force. His father's approval had been something he'd craved and resented in equal measure for most of his life. Now, hearing it stated so plainly, he wasn't sure how to respond.

  "Thank you," he managed, his voice slightly rough.

  Max nodded, seemingly satisfied. "The outreach centers have been particularly effective. The mayor called personally to thank me for the Deer Lodge's contribution to the city's rehabilitation programs."

  "It's been Taylor's work more than mine," Theo said.

  "Don't sell yourself short." Max gave him a rare smile. "Your vision, her execution. You make an effective team."

  Before Theo could respond, the bedroom door pushed open wider, and the twins appeared, both dressed in matching travel outfits.

  "Max, have you seen my—" Jessica began, then spotted Theo. "Oh, good morning, sleepyhead! Has your dad told you about our adventure?"

  "Just did," Theo replied. "A family visit, apparently."

  Nessa slipped past her sister, moving to Max's closet. "Jessica can't find her blue scarf, and naturally assumes I took it. As if I'd want her hand-me-downs."

  "It's not a hand-me-down if we bought them at the same time," Jessica protested, following her into the closet. "And you absolutely took it last month when you went out with Brad."

  Theo watched the twins bicker with a sense of fond familiarity. They had been fixtures in his life since childhood, more like older sisters than distant cousins.

  "Are you two packed?" Max asked, interrupting their squabble.

  "Almost," they answered in unison, then glared at each other.

  "I just need to find my scarf," Jessica added.

  "And I need to grab my laptop," Nessa said. "I want to be able to video call Brad while we're away."

  Max checked his watch. "Be ready by noon. The jet leaves at one."

  Both twins nodded, then turned their attention to Theo.

  "Poor little Theo, all alone in this big empty house," Jessica teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

  Theo ducked away from her hand. "I'm seventeen, not seven. I think I'll survive."

  "Oh, he'll hardly be alone," Nessa said with a smirk. "I'm sure Taylor will be happy to keep him company."

  Theo felt heat rising in his cheeks. "Taylor and I have work to do. The Deer Lodge—"

  "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Jessica interrupted, her grin widening. "The Deer Lodge?"

  "Stop it," Theo muttered, feeling the blush spreading to his ears.

  "Leave him be," Max said, though his tone was more amused than reprimanding. "Theo has proven himself more than capable of handling responsibility."

  The twins exchanged a glance that spoke volumes.

  "Oh, we know," Nessa said. "Our little Theo is all grown up now."

  "Leading organizations, making speeches, getting a girlfriend," Jessica continued. "Soon he'll be too important to remember his favorite cousins."

  Despite his embarrassment, Theo couldn't help smiling. "As if you'd let me forget."

  "Never," they said in unison, this time deliberately.

  "Now shoo, both of you," Max said. "Finish packing. Theo and I need to discuss a few business matters before I leave."

  The twins made exaggerated bows, then slipped out of the room, already returning to their argument about the missing scarf.

  Once they were gone, Max gestured for Theo to sit in the armchair by the window.

  "While I'm away, I want you to focus on expanding the Deer Lodge's influence," Max said, his tone shifting to business. "The merchants have been eliminated as a threat, and Coil seems to be lying low. It's an opportune time."

  "What about the Undersiders?" Theo asked.

  "A minor concern. Hookwolf will keep an eye on them. Your priority should be solidifying our legitimate presence." Max opened his desk drawer and removed a small flash drive. "This contains contacts for several prominent business owners who are interested in Deer Lodge membership. Set up meetings, bring Taylor if you think it helps, but get them on board."

  Theo took the drive, turning it over in his hand. "I will."

  "Good." Max paused, studying his son with an intensity that made Theo want to squirm. "There's something else I've been considering. When I return, I think it might be time to introduce Taylor to certain... family traditions."

  Theo tensed. "What do you mean?"

  "The Empire has rituals, Theo. Rites of passage. Ways we recognize those who have proven themselves worthy of our inner circle." Max's expression was unreadable. "Taylor has shown her value many times over. It may be time to formally acknowledge that."

  A chill ran down Theo's spine. "Taylor isn't Empire. She's aligned with the Deer Lodge."

  "The distinction is becoming less relevant," Max replied. "But we can discuss it when I return. Just something to consider."

  Theo nodded, not trusting himself to respond without revealing his unease.

  Max closed his desk drawer and turned back to his luggage. "I've arranged for additional security at Medhall while I'm away. The PRT has been quiet lately, but I don't trust Piggot's restraint."

  "I'll coordinate with Victor," Theo said, grateful for the change of subject.

  "Good." Max glanced at his watch again. "I need to finish a few calls before we leave. We'll talk more at lunch."

  Recognizing the dismissal, Theo stood and headed for the door.

  "Theo," Max called after him. When Theo turned, his father was watching him with an expression that might almost be called affectionate. "I meant what I said. I am proud of you. Your mother would be too."

  The words lodged in Theo's chest like splinters—painful yet impossible to remove. "Thank you," he managed, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.

  He stood in the hallway for a moment, taking a deep breath. His father rarely mentioned his mother, and never in such an openly emotional way. Something was different. This wasn't just a family visit.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Taylor: Morning meeting canceled. Free for breakfast?

  Theo smiled despite himself. Definitely. My place in 30?

  Her response came quickly: See you then. Bringing muffins.

  Theo headed toward his room, mind racing. His father's trip presented an opportunity. With Max and the twins away, he and Taylor would have more freedom to move forward with their plans. The thought both excited and terrified him.

  As he reached his bedroom, the twins' voices drifted up from downstairs, arguing about luggage space. Theo shook his head, smiling faintly. For all their teasing, he would miss them.

  He changed quickly, selecting clothes suitable for a Deer Lodge meeting later that day. His closet had transformed over the past months, suits and dress shirts replacing hoodies and jeans as his day-to-day attire. Sometimes he barely recognized himself.

  Downstairs, he found the twins in the kitchen, raiding the refrigerator for travel snacks.

  "Max says airplane food is terrible," Jessica explained, stuffing chocolate into her purse.

  "Max flies private," Theo pointed out. "The food is whatever he orders."

  "Still terrible," Nessa insisted. "Remember that time we went to New York and they served that weird fish?"

  "That was because you told them Max loved experimental cuisine," Theo reminded her.

  Jessica laughed. "Oh right! He was so mad. His face got all purple."

  "Worth it," Nessa said, grinning.

  Theo leaned against the counter, watching them with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You two are going to drive him crazy on this trip, aren't you?"

  "Absolutely not," Jessica said with a mock-serious expression.

  "We're mature adults now," Nessa added.

  "Who happen to have packed an air horn for when he falls asleep on the plane," Jessica finished.

  Theo shook his head. "You're both insane."

  "You love us," Nessa said, closing the refrigerator.

  "Sometimes I wonder why," Theo muttered, but he was smiling.

  Jessica checked her phone. "We should finish packing. Max wants to leave in an hour."

  "And I still need to find my scarf," Nessa said, shooting a pointed look at her sister.

  "For the last time, I don't have your—"

  "Actually," Theo interrupted, "isn't that it?" He pointed to a blue scarf draped over one of the kitchen chairs.

  Both twins stared at it, then at each other.

  "That's... not mine," Jessica said slowly.

  "Not mine either," Nessa agreed.

  They turned to Theo, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I don't wear scarves."

  "Must be Max's," Jessica decided, grabbing it. "I'm taking it anyway. Blue looks better on me than him."

  "Thief," Nessa accused, but she was smiling.

  The doorbell rang, and Theo glanced at his phone. "That's probably Taylor. She's early."

  "Ooooh," the twins cooed in unison.

  "Don't start," Theo warned, heading for the door.

  "We'll be perfect angels," Jessica called after him.

  "Perfect devils, more like," Theo muttered as he reached the front door.

  Taylor stood on the doorstep, looking fresh and put-together despite the early hour. She wore a modest skirt and blouse, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. In her hands was a basket covered with a checkered cloth.

  "Good morning," she said, smiling. "I hope I'm not too early. The bakery had the muffins ready sooner than expected."

  "Perfect timing," Theo assured her, stepping back to let her in. "The twins are in the kitchen, but they'll be leaving soon."

  "Oh?" Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

  "Dad's taking them on a trip. Family business, apparently." Theo kept his voice casual, but the significant look he gave Taylor conveyed his suspicions.

  Taylor nodded slightly, understanding. "How nice. I'm sure they'll enjoy the time away."

  Before Theo could respond, the twins appeared in the hallway.

  "Taylor!" Jessica exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her. "You're just in time to say goodbye to us."

  "Goodbye?" Taylor asked, returning the hug. "Where are you going?"

  "Family trip," Nessa explained, taking her turn to embrace Taylor. "Two weeks of Max reminiscing about the good old days."

  "Sounds... fascinating," Taylor said diplomatically.

  "It'll be boring as hell," Jessica said cheerfully. "But the hotel has a spa, so we'll manage."

  "Don't let Theo get into too much trouble while we're gone," Nessa added with a wink.

  Taylor smiled primly. "I'll keep him in line."

  "I'm sure you will," Jessica said, her tone suggestive.

  Theo cleared his throat. "Weren't you two supposed to be finishing packing?"

  "So eager to get rid of us," Nessa pouted. "Fine, we're going. Taylor, make sure he eats properly. He forgets meals when he gets caught up in work."

  "And make sure he sleeps," Jessica added. "He stays up all night reading those boring business journals."

  "I will," Taylor promised, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I'll take good care of him."

  "I'm standing right here," Theo reminded them.

  The twins ignored him, each giving Taylor another quick hug before turning to Theo.

  "Come here, you," Jessica said, pulling him into an embrace. "Don't do anything we wouldn't do."

  "That leaves a disturbing amount of options open," Theo remarked, hugging her back.

  Nessa took her turn next, squeezing him tightly. "Be good. And if you can't be good, be careful."

  "I'm always careful," Theo said, rolling his eyes.

  "Since when?" both twins asked in unison.

  Max's voice called from upstairs. "Girls! The car is leaving in twenty minutes, with or without your luggage."

  "Coming!" they shouted back.

  With final waves and blown kisses, the twins dashed back upstairs, leaving Theo and Taylor alone in the hallway.

  "They're something else," Taylor said, watching them go.

  "They're exhausting," Theo agreed, but his tone was affectionate. "Come on, let's have breakfast before someone else interrupts."

  They moved to the kitchen, where Theo set out plates while Taylor unpacked her basket. Fresh muffins, fruit, and a thermos of coffee emerged.

  "So," Taylor said quietly as she arranged the food, "your father is taking a trip."

  Theo nodded, keeping his voice low. "Him, the twins, and a few others. Two weeks, maybe more."

  "Did he say why?"

  "Family visit. Something about my mother's relatives." Theo poured coffee for both of them. "But he was being evasive. And he mentioned wanting to 'introduce you to family traditions' when he gets back."

  Taylor stilled, her hand halfway to a muffin. "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know. Some Empire ritual, I think." Theo frowned. "But that's not important right now. What matters is that with him gone, we have an opportunity."

  Taylor nodded, her eyes meeting his. "The labs. We'll have more access."

  "And fewer people watching us," Theo agreed. "We can accelerate our timeline."

  "Are you sure?" Taylor asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Once we start this phase, there's no going back."

  Theo reached across the table, taking her hand. "I'm sure. We've been working toward this for months. It's time."

  Taylor squeezed his hand, her expression resolute. "Then we'll make the most of these two weeks."

  "Good morning, you two," Max's voice came from the doorway, making them both jump slightly.

  They turned to see him standing there, dressed in an impeccable suit, watching them with an unreadable expression.

  "Good morning, Mr. Anders," Taylor said, recovering quickly. "I hope you don't mind my early visit. I brought breakfast."

  "Not at all." Max entered the kitchen, moving to the coffee pot. "Theo mentioned you'd be coming by. Those muffins smell delicious."

  "Taylor made them," Theo said automatically, then caught himself. "I mean, she brought them. From the bakery."

  Max raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the slip. "How are things at your lab, Taylor? Victor mentioned you've been making excellent progress."

  "Yes, sir. The rehabilitation pods are showing promising results with the former Merchant members."

  "Good, good." Max poured himself coffee, declining the offered muffin. "I'm sure Theo has mentioned I'll be away for a couple of weeks. I trust you'll continue your work without interruption."

  "Of course," Taylor assured him. "The Deer Lodge outreach programs are my priority."

  "Excellent." Max sipped his coffee, his gaze moving between them. "You two make quite the team. I'm pleased to see it."

  Theo felt a familiar tension in his shoulders whenever his father was nearby, but he forced himself to relax. "We work well together."

  "Indeed you do." Max set down his cup. "I'll leave you to your breakfast. Theo, walk me out before I leave?"

  "Yes, sir," Theo said, rising.

  Max nodded to Taylor. "Always a pleasure, Miss Hebert."

  "Likewise, Mr. Anders. Safe travels."

  As his father left the kitchen, Theo exchanged a quick glance with Taylor. She gave him a subtle nod, understanding passing between them.

  "I'll be right back," he told her, then followed his father into the hallway.

  Brad crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden fence post with a scowl etched across his face. The spring sunshine beat down on what used to be his proudest underground venture—his dog fighting ring. Now it was... this.

  The First Annual Deer Lodge Dog Show and Social.

  He suppressed a groan. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, announcing competitions for "Best Trick" and "Most Adorable Rescue." A face-painting booth sat near the entrance, where children lined up to get themselves decorated as puppies. Fucking puppies.

  "This is my punishment," he muttered to himself, watching as various Deer Lodge members and their families wandered around with their pets on leashes. "Turning my arena into a goddamn doggy daycare."

  It had been weeks since Taylor had caught him trying to keep his fighting ring operational. The compromise he'd struck with her after that Medhall incident with Nessa's cooking lessons had been flimsy at best. He'd shut down most of the rings, but kept this one going on the side. When Miss Stepford found out—and she always found out—she'd been coldly furious in that prim, proper way of hers.

  So here he was, "volunteering" at this ridiculous event, watching his reputation crumble with every wagging tail and happy bark.

  Across the way, Melody stood next to that teacher boyfriend of hers—Glady. Brad had to admit, the guy had balls. Standing there in khakis and a button-down shirt, his arm around Melody's waist, chatting with people who could kill him seventeen different ways. Melody had let her hair grow longer, and she wore a sundress that made her look almost... normal. Not like the fierce cage fighter who'd slashed through countless opponents.

  Brad felt a twinge of something like loss. The Empire was changing, splitting, becoming something he barely recognized. And for what? Respectability?

  "You look like someone pissed in your beer," came a voice from beside him.

  Brad turned to see Henry—Storm Tiger, or "Bombardier" now—standing there with a paper plate loaded with food. Beside him was his girlfriend Tina, the former angry goth who now looked like she'd stepped out of a 1950s magazine with her full skirt and cardigan.

  "Just enjoying the scenery," Brad replied sarcastically.

  Henry grinned. "It's not so bad. Free food, beer tent over there, and nobody's trying to shoot us."

  "Yet," Brad added.

  Tina smiled, offering him a deviled egg from their plate. "You should try the food. I made these myself."

  Brad took one, mostly to be polite. He had to admit they were pretty good. "Nice. You've been taking lessons from our resident Stepford wife?"

  Henry shot him a warning look, but Tina just laughed. "Actually, yes. Taylor's been teaching a cooking class at the Lodge. It's been... fun."

  Brad grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the crowd. The event was bigger than he'd expected. Had to be at least a hundred people here, plus their mutts. Most were Empire-adjacent or fully members of the rebranded Deer Lodge. All in civvies, not a costume in sight.

  Near the buffet tables stood Theo and Taylor, presiding over the whole thing like a king and queen at court. The kid had grown into his role faster than Brad would have thought possible. Gone was the soft, uncertain boy. In his place stood a confident young man, broad-shouldered from their training sessions, commanding respect without having to ask for it.

  And Taylor—Miss Stepford herself—moved with that eerie grace she always had, like a 1950s housewife with a secret arsenal in her apron. Currently, she was presenting some elaborate dish to the buffet table, explaining something to the gathered crowd with animated hands.

  "Fucking ridiculous," Brad muttered. "This would be at least half-bearable if Nessa were here."

  "When's she coming back?" Henry asked through a mouthful of potato salad.

  "Two weeks, maybe more. Max wasn't specific."

  "Miss her, huh?" Henry waggled his eyebrows.

  Brad didn't deign to answer that. Of course he missed her. The twins had a way of lighting up any room they entered, and Nessa... well, she was special. Even if she couldn't cook worth a damn without Taylor's help.

  Something brushed against his leg. Brad looked down to see a small dog—some kind of terrier—sniffing at his boot. The little thing couldn't have weighed more than eight pounds, with wiry brown and white fur and perky ears that stood straight up.

  "Beat it," Brad grumbled at the dog.

  The terrier yipped once, tail wagging furiously, completely unintimidated.

  "I think he likes you," Tina said with a smile.

  "Terrible fighter," Brad observed, unable to help his professional assessment. "Good ratter, though. Tenacious little bastards."

  The puppy yipped again, dancing on its front paws. Despite himself, Brad crouched down. The dog immediately jumped up, trying to lick his face.

  "Hey, knock it off," he said, but found himself picking up the puppy anyway. It squirmed in his arms, tail still wagging like a metronome on overdrive.

  "Well, look at that," Henry smirked. "The big bad Hookwolf, tamed by a little mutt."

  "Shut it," Brad growled, but there was no real heat behind it. The puppy was... cute. He'd never admit it out loud, but the little guy had spirit. "Wonder who he belongs to."

  "There's a rescue group here," Tina offered. "Could be up for adoption."

  Brad scoffed. "What would I do with a—"

  A crash from the entrance cut him off. Screams followed, then the sound of splintering wood. Brad's head snapped up, already scanning for threats, his body tensing for a fight.

  Three enormous shapes burst through the entrance gate. Dogs—or what had once been dogs—now swollen to monstrous size, bone spurs jutting from their flesh, jaws large enough to snap a man in half.

  And striding behind them was a stocky figure in a crude dog mask: Bitch, from the Undersiders.

  "Fucking finally," Brad muttered, setting the puppy down behind the fence post. "Stay," he ordered it, before turning back to the chaos.

  People scattered, running for cover. Some of the smarter ones—Empire members—were already pulling concealed weapons. Brad caught Melody's eye across the yard; she nodded slightly, already moving into position. Henry gave Tina a quick kiss before shoving her toward safety.

  One of Bitch's monsters charged straight for the buffet tables, sending food flying as people dove out of the way. Taylor's carefully presented dish went airborne, splattering across the grass. Brad saw Taylor's face transform from shock to cold fury in an instant.

  Bitch stood near the entrance, looking around in obvious confusion. She'd clearly expected to find a dog fighting ring, not a community event with kids and families.

  "What the fuck is this?" she shouted. "Where are the fighting pits?"

  Brad didn't waste time answering. He was already moving, metal rippling beneath his skin, ready to emerge. But he caught himself—they were in civvies, in public. Theo had been clear: no obvious powers unless absolutely necessary.

  Fine. He could still fight.

  Brad grabbed a metal folding chair as he ran, just as the nearest monster dog lunged at a fleeing family. He swung the chair with all his strength, catching the creature across the jaw. The impact sent vibrations up his arms, but the beast yelped and stumbled sideways.

  Across the yard, Melody and Henry were already engaging the other two monsters. Melody moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, using one of the decorative poles from a tent to keep her dog at bay. Henry was more direct, having grabbed a fire extinguisher from somewhere and blasting one monster in the face with foam.

  "Get these people out of here!" Brad shouted at some of the Empire members standing frozen in shock.

  The monster he'd hit recovered quickly, growling as it charged him again. This time Brad let a few metal hooks emerge from his knuckles—subtle enough to be missed in the chaos, but effective when his fist connected with the dog's shoulder.

  Near the buffet, Taylor had pulled something from her purse—one of her incapacitation devices. She moved with purpose toward Bitch, her face set in that same cold anger. Theo was directing people to safety, simultaneously keeping an eye on Taylor.

  "What the hell?" Bitch was still shouting, confusion evident in her posture. "This was supposed to be—"

  She never finished the sentence. Taylor activated her device, and Bitch dropped to her knees, clutching her head. Her mask fell off, revealing a young woman's face twisted in pain and disorientation.

  But knocking out Bitch didn't stop her monsters. If anything, they became more agitated, less controlled. The one Brad was fighting snapped at him with jaws that could crush bone.

  "We need to take these things down!" he called to Melody and Henry.

  Melody, now wielding what appeared to be a croquet mallet, nodded. She whistled sharply—their old signal from pit fighting days—and moved to flank the nearest monster.

  Brad was about to fully unleash his power—public setting be damned—when a high-pitched yipping caught his attention. To his horror, the little terrier had ignored his command to stay put and was now running straight toward the monster dog Brad was fighting.

  "Shit!"

  Without thinking, Brad lunged forward, scooping up the puppy with one arm while driving his other fist—now sporting several metal blades—deep into the monster's side. The creature howled in pain, twisting away.

  "I told you to stay put," he growled at the puppy, which responded by licking his chin.

  Across the yard, Henry had managed to bring his monster down by ingeniously using his aerokinesis to blow an entire table of food into its face, then tackling it while it was disoriented. Melody had her monster cornered, keeping it at bay with expert strikes of her makeshift weapon.

  Brad's own opponent shook itself, bloody from his metal hooks, and charged again. This time, with the puppy tucked safely against his chest, Brad stopped holding back. Metal erupted from his free arm, forming a wickedly sharp blade that he drove straight into the creature's shoulder.

  The monster dog yelped, stumbling sideways, blood pouring from the wound. Brad pressed his advantage, driving it back with a series of vicious strikes, all while keeping the puppy protectively cradled against him.

  "A little help here?" Melody called. Her monster had backed her against the fence.

  Brad whistled sharply, drawing his monster's attention, then deliberately turned his back. The enraged creature charged, exactly as he'd anticipated. At the last second, Brad pivoted, driving his blade-arm up in a brutal arc that caught the beast under the jaw.

  It collapsed in a heap, already beginning to shrink as Bitch's power faded.

  Henry had dispatched his opponent and was running to help Melody. Between the two of them, they made short work of the final monster dog.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  In the sudden quiet that followed, Brad became aware of the puppy squirming happily in his arm, completely unfazed by the violence it had just witnessed. If anything, the little terrier seemed excited by all the action, trying to lick blood off Brad's hand.

  "What the hell just happened?" Glady asked, emerging from behind an overturned table. He rushed to Melody's side, checking her for injuries despite her assurances she was fine.

  Theo was helping Taylor to her feet; she appeared to have fallen during the chaos. Her device lay on the ground beside the unconscious form of Bitch.

  "Everyone alright?" Theo called out, his voice steady and authoritative.

  Affirmative responses came from around the yard as people emerged from hiding. Amazingly, it seemed like no one had been seriously hurt, though the property damage was extensive.

  "Someone call Othala," Brad said, looking at the few people who had sustained minor injuries. "And get rid of her," he added, nodding toward Bitch. "Before the PRT shows up."

  Taylor approached him, her dress somehow still immaculate despite the chaos. "That was well handled," she said, her voice tight. "Though I'm sorry my event was ruined."

  Brad shrugged. "It was more entertaining than I expected."

  The puppy in his arms yipped in agreement, bringing a surprisingly genuine smile to Taylor's face. "I see you've made a friend."

  Brad looked down at the little terrier, who was now attempting to chew on one of his fingers. "Yeah, well. He's got spirit."

  "She," Taylor corrected. "That's a female Jack Russell terrier. About four months old, according to the rescue group."

  "Huh." Brad considered the puppy with new interest. "Feisty little girl, aren't you?"

  The puppy responded by trying to nibble his nose.

  Henry and Tina joined them, both looking disheveled but unharmed. "That was awesome," Henry said, grinning widely. "Just like old times."

  "Except we were defending a charity dog show," Brad pointed out dryly.

  "Still counts," Henry insisted.

  Melody and Glady approached next. To Brad's surprise, Glady didn't look nearly as shaken as he should have. Instead, the teacher was looking at Melody with undisguised admiration.

  "That was incredible," Glady was saying. "The way you moved—I've never seen anything like it."

  Melody blushed slightly, the scars on her throat standing out against her flushed skin. "Just some old training kicking in."

  "You two okay?" Brad asked.

  "We're fine," Melody assured him. She nodded at the puppy. "Made a new friend?"

  Brad glanced down at the terrier, who had finally settled down and was now contentedly snuggled against his chest. "Maybe."

  "She likes you," Taylor observed. "The rescue group is looking for good homes."

  "What would I do with a dog?" Brad scoffed, but he made no move to put the puppy down.

  "Nessa likes dogs," Henry pointed out with a knowing smirk.

  Brad shot him a glare, but the damage was done. The puppy looked up at him with dark, intelligent eyes, and he felt something shift inside him. Damn it.

  "Fine," he muttered. "But she's not sleeping on the bed."

  Taylor smiled that knowing smile of hers. "Of course not."

  As the chaos of the attack began to settle and people started cleaning up, Brad found himself standing off to the side, still holding the puppy. The little terrier had dozed off, apparently exhausted from all the excitement.

  He had to admit, the day hadn't turned out as boring as he'd feared. A good fight, and now... a dog. A real dog, not a fighting machine. Nessa would love her, he was sure of it.

  "What are you going to name her?" Theo asked, approaching with a bottle of water.

  Brad considered for a moment. "Valkyrie," he decided. "Val for short."

  Theo nodded approvingly. "Good name for a fighter."

  "She's not much of a fighter," Brad said, looking down at the sleeping pup.

  "I don't know," Theo replied. "She ran straight at a monster three times her size. Seems pretty brave to me."

  Brad couldn't argue with that. The puppy—Val—had shown more courage than sense, just like... well, just like him, back in the day.

  "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "She'll do."

  Emma stepped through the ornate doorway of The Dollhouse, the bell above jingling softly to announce her arrival. The shop was exactly what one would expect from a cape-owned boutique—elegant display cases showcasing intricate dresses, mannequins posed dramatically around the room, and fabric samples arranged by color on the walls. Everything bore the unmistakable touch of someone trying very hard to be taken seriously in the fashion world.

  She scanned the shop, taking in the details with her professionally trained eye. Good lighting, decent layout, but the displays lacked the sophisticated edge of the high-end boutiques she'd worked in during her time in New York. The Dollhouse had potential, but it wasn't quite there yet.

  "Hello? I'll be right with you!" a soft voice called from behind a beaded curtain leading to the back room.

  Emma smiled to herself. This was going to be interesting.

  Parian emerged from the back, her porcelain doll mask turning slightly as she spotted Emma. The cape's outfit was as elaborate as always—a Victorian-inspired dress with lace trim and ribbons, topped with blonde curls that Emma strongly suspected were part of the mask rather than a wig.

  "Emma Barnes! You're early," Parian said, her voice pleasantly surprised despite the mask hiding her expression.

  Emma extended her hand. "I hope that's not a problem. I like to get a feel for the space before a shoot."

  "Not at all," Parian replied, taking Emma's hand. The designer was startlingly short—barely five feet tall, if that. Emma had known this from their previous interactions, but it always struck her anew each time they met. She towered over the cape in her heels.

  "I've set up the back room for the shoot," Parian continued, gesturing toward the beaded curtain. "The photographer called to say he's running about twenty minutes late."

  Emma nodded. "That's Roger for you. Always 'stuck in traffic.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "It actually works out perfectly. I wanted to talk to you about something before we start."

  Parian's head tilted slightly—a gesture Emma had learned to read as curiosity. It was fascinating how expressive the cape could be despite the full-face mask. Body language revealed so much if you knew how to interpret it.

  "Oh? What about?" Parian asked, leading Emma to a small sitting area with two plush chairs.

  "Your future," Emma said with a smile, settling into one of the chairs. "I've been thinking about your brand."

  Parian's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "My brand?"

  "Don't get me wrong," Emma said quickly, keeping her voice warm and friendly. "Your work is lovely. The craftsmanship is exceptional. But..."

  She let the word hang in the air, watching as Parian's hands unconsciously moved to smooth her already perfect dress—a nervous habit Emma had noticed before.

  "But?" Parian finally prompted.

  "But I wonder if you've considered broadening your appeal." Emma leaned forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Your designs are beautiful, but they're... niche. Very costume-like. Stunning for special events, but not what most women in Brockton Bay can wear day-to-day."

  Parian's shoulders stiffened further. "I didn't realize you were an expert on fashion design, Emma."

  Emma smiled, recognizing the defensiveness for what it was—insecurity. "I'm not. But I am an expert on what sells. And what women want." She gestured around the empty shop. "Business could be better, couldn't it?"

  The cape's silence was answer enough. Emma knew from her research that The Dollhouse was struggling. Despite Parian's cape status bringing in curious customers, few actually purchased anything. Her designs were technically impressive but lacked commercial appeal. Too theatrical, too impractical for everyday wear.

  "I'm not trying to offend you," Emma continued softly. "I actually came with an idea. Something that could help both of us."

  Parian remained silent, but her head tilted again—interested despite herself.

  Emma reached into her large handbag and pulled out a leather portfolio. "I've been noticing a trend developing in Brockton Bay. Something subtle, but growing. And I think you're perfectly positioned to capitalize on it."

  She opened the portfolio and laid out several sketches on the small table between them. The drawings showed women in elegant but practical dresses—modest necklines, full skirts, cinched waists. Modern interpretations of 1950s housewife attire, but with contemporary fabrics and subtle details that made them fresh rather than costumey.

  "These are..." Parian began, leaning forward to examine the sketches.

  "Practical elegance," Emma supplied. "Feminine without being revealing. Comfortable but flattering. The kind of clothes that make a woman feel beautiful while she goes about her day."

  Parian picked up one of the sketches, studying it carefully. "These are quite good. Did you draw these?"

  Emma nodded, allowing a hint of pride to show. "I've picked up a few skills recently. My... abilities have been enhanced in certain areas."

  The cape's mask turned sharply toward her. "Enhanced? What do you mean?"

  Emma smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say I have a friend who's helped me develop talents I didn't know I had. Drawing is just one of them."

  She watched Parian process this information. The cape's body language shifted subtly—her posture straightening with interest while her hands fidgeted with the edge of the sketch paper.

  "I've noticed this trend starting," Parian admitted slowly. "More women asking for modest cuts, fuller skirts. It's not what I usually design, though. I'm not sure it fits my aesthetic."

  Emma seized the opening. "That's the beauty of it! You wouldn't be abandoning your current style—just expanding your range. Think of it as a special collection: 'Parian's Everyday Elegance' or something like that."

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Between you and me, the high-end fashion houses are going to be slow to catch on to this trend because it's starting here in Brockton Bay. You could be ahead of the curve—the designer who spotted it first."

  Parian's head tilted down toward the sketches again. "I'm not sure... My customers expect a certain look from me."

  "Your current customers, yes," Emma emphasized. "But think about all the women who don't shop here because they can't wear your designs to the office or to pick up their kids. This could bring in an entirely new clientele."

  Emma watched the cape's body language carefully. Parian was wavering, but still hesitant. Time to press a little harder.

  "To be honest," Emma said, dropping her voice to a confidential tone, "I could take these sketches to anyone. Clapton's would jump at them. So would Miranda's Boutique." She named two of Parian's main local competitors. "But I came to you first because I respect your craftsmanship. Your attention to detail is unmatched."

  Emma paused, then added the final touch: "Plus, no one else has your advantage as a cape. Your animated mannequins showcasing these designs? That would create buzz no ordinary boutique could match."

  Parian sat up straighter at the mention of her competitors. Emma had to hide her smile—she'd hit the mark perfectly. The cape world might operate under different rules than the civilian one, but professional jealousy was universal.

  "These would need some refining," Parian said finally, her voice careful. "The silhouettes are good, but some of the construction details would need adjustment."

  Emma nodded eagerly. "Of course! These are just concept sketches. You're the expert on construction."

  She watched as Parian continued examining the drawings, her head tilted in that contemplative way again. The cape's fingers traced one of the sketches, lingering on the details.

  "The timing might be good," Parian admitted. "Summer collection decisions are coming up. But I'd need to be convinced this trend has staying power. I can't afford a failed line."

  Emma nodded sympathetically. "I understand completely. Fashion is ruthless."

  She hesitated, then added, "That's actually the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. My friend—the one who helped me develop my drawing skills? She has these amazing... study guides, I guess you could call them."

  "Study guides?" Parian repeated, confusion evident in her voice.

  "They're special books," Emma explained. "They help you focus, develop skills faster. It's how I've improved so quickly in several areas. Not just drawing, but my runway walk, my posing techniques. Even my business instincts."

  She leaned forward again, lowering her voice. "They've helped me secure contracts with agencies that wouldn't even look at me six months ago. I'm not saying it's magic, but..." She shrugged, letting the implication hang.

  "That sounds..." Parian paused, clearly searching for the right word. "Suspicious."

  Emma laughed lightly. "I thought so too, at first. But they work. They're just... specialized learning materials." She waved her hand dismissively. "The science behind them is beyond me, but the results speak for themselves."

  Parian's posture had changed—she was leaning forward now, intrigued despite her obvious skepticism. "And these books... they could help with design work? With predicting trends?"

  "Absolutely," Emma confirmed. "They help you focus your natural talents, cut through mental blocks. I've got one specifically for fashion design and market trends."

  She reached into her bag again and pulled out a slim volume bound in simple brown leather. Its appearance was deliberately understated—not overtly suspicious, just a book that might contain fashion notes or sketches.

  "This one's been incredibly helpful to me," Emma said, setting it on the table. "I thought you might want to borrow it. No pressure, of course. Just an offer from one fashion professional to another."

  Parian stared at the book, her mask hiding whatever expression might have crossed her face. Her hands, however, betrayed her interest—fingers twitching slightly toward the volume before she consciously stilled them.

  "What would I owe you?" the cape asked, her voice carefully neutral. "For the loan of this book."

  Emma smiled warmly. "Nothing. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. If the everyday elegance line takes off, maybe you'll remember who gave you the initial sketches. That's all."

  She could see Parian wasn't entirely convinced. The cape's posture remained tense, her masked face angled toward the book with what Emma read as equal parts desire and suspicion.

  "Look," Emma said gently, "I understand your hesitation. In this industry, people don't usually help each other without expecting something in return. But I genuinely think this collection could be amazing, and I'd love to model it when it's ready. That's my angle here—being associated with what I believe will be a very successful line."

  Parian remained silent for a moment longer, then slowly reached for the book. Her fingers brushed the leather cover hesitantly before she picked it up.

  "Just to look at," the cape said, her voice carrying a note of caution. "No promises."

  Emma beamed. "Of course! Take your time with it. Read it when you have a quiet moment to focus—before bed is when I find it most effective."

  Parian slipped the book into a pocket of her dress, the motion slightly furtive. "We should probably get ready for the shoot. Roger will be here soon."

  "Absolutely," Emma agreed, standing smoothly. "I'm excited about today's pieces. Your craftsmanship really is exceptional, you know. I wasn't just saying that."

  The cape seemed to relax slightly at the genuine compliment. "Thank you. I've prepared three outfits for the shoot—the Victorian-inspired gown we discussed, the crystal-embedded evening wear, and the spring garden ensemble."

  Emma nodded approvingly. "Perfect. All showcasing your signature style."

  As they walked toward the back room, Emma watched Parian from the corner of her eye. The cape's hand kept drifting to the pocket where she'd stashed the book, as if checking it was still there.

  Emma suppressed a smile. Another convert for Taylor's growing influence. The Dollhouse would soon be showcasing more than just Parian's designs—it would become another subtle channel for Miss Stepford's vision of how women should dress, behave, and think.

  And the best part? Parian had no idea what she'd just accepted. By the time she realized, she'd be too grateful for the success to care.

  The beaded curtain clinked softly as they passed through it into the back room, where mannequins stood at attention, waiting to be brought to life by Parian's power. They looked like sentinels—beautiful, elegant, and completely under control.

  Just like Brockton Bay would be, soon enough.

  The back room of The Dollhouse was a stark contrast to the polished storefront. Fabric bolts lined the walls in organized chaos, half-finished garments hung from racks, and a large cutting table dominated the center of the space. It was the honest, cluttered workspace of a serious designer.

  Parian guided Emma to a cleared area where three mannequins displayed the outfits for today's shoot. The lighting was already set up—professional equipment that seemed somewhat at odds with the boutique's otherwise modest resources.

  "These are gorgeous," Emma said sincerely, running her fingers along the intricate beadwork of the evening gown. It truly was spectacular craftsmanship, even if the overall design lacked the commercial appeal Emma knew would make Parian truly successful.

  "Thank you," Parian said, her voice warming slightly. "The crystal pattern took nearly a week to complete."

  Emma circled the mannequins, inspecting each garment with professional interest. "Your attention to detail is really unparalleled. That's why I think you'd do so well with the everyday elegance line—you could bring that same level of craftsmanship to pieces women could actually wear in their daily lives."

  Parian's hand drifted to her pocket again, touching the outline of the book. "Perhaps. I'll... consider it."

  The bell at the front of the shop jingled, and a male voice called out, "Hello? Parian? Emma?"

  "That's Roger," Emma said. "Right on time, for once."

  As Parian went to greet the photographer, Emma allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Today's shoot would showcase Parian's current style—beautiful but impractical fantasies with limited appeal. But soon, if Emma's plan worked, The Dollhouse would become a hub for Taylor's vision of feminine elegance.

  One boutique, one designer, one mind at a time. Brockton Bay was changing, and most people didn't even realize it was happening.

  Taylor hummed softly as she adjusted the settings on her newest pod. The sleek, egg-shaped chamber glowed with a soft blue light, illuminating Rachel Lindt's unconscious form inside. Unlike her earlier models, which had been bulkier and filled with fluid, this new design was elegant, compact, and far more efficient.

  Theo stood beside her, watching the monitors with interest. The interface displayed Rachel's vital signs alongside a three-dimensional model of her body, highlighting areas currently undergoing modification.

  "How much longer?" Theo asked, checking his watch.

  Taylor glanced at the progress bar. "Another fifteen minutes for the current set of modifications. I'm being careful with her neural pathways—they're quite unusual."

  "Unusual how?"

  Taylor pointed to a brain scan on one of the secondary monitors. "See these areas here? The linguistic centers are severely underdeveloped. And these emotion-regulation areas show signs of early childhood trauma. I'm addressing those alongside the physical changes."

  Theo leaned closer, studying the scan with genuine curiosity. "Can you really fix all that?"

  "Better than ever before," Taylor replied, pride evident in her voice. "Since my work with Ms. Dallon, I've gained insights into neurological restructuring that I never thought possible."

  She adjusted another dial, and the pod's humming changed pitch slightly. Inside, Rachel's features began to soften almost imperceptibly.

  "Hmph. I can't believe she crashed our first annual Dog Show and Covered Dish social," Taylor said, her tone shifting to one of annoyance. "I worked so hard on the beef stroganoff. And you didn't get to taste any of it."

  Theo smiled indulgently. "Well, dear, to be fair to her, she did think it was still a dogfighting ring."

  "That is no excuse for such poor manners," Taylor replied primly, straightening her apron. She sighed deeply. "I have a lot of work ahead of me with this one. So crude and unrefined."

  Theo moved to stand behind Taylor, placing his hands on her shoulders as he peered at Rachel through the pod's transparent section. "This is working much faster then the last ones you used."

  "Yes, this is a vast improvement," Taylor said, leaning back into his touch. "In addition, my collaborations with Ms. Dallon are bearing much more fruit than I expected. This version has a much wider array of possibilities." She gestured proudly toward the pod. "See, I have already managed to clear up her skin."

  Theo observed that Rachel's typically rough, weather-beaten complexion had indeed smoothed into something fresher and healthier. The acne scars that had dotted her cheeks were fading even as they watched.

  "Ha. I do love watching you work. You get so passionate," Theo said warmly.

  Taylor turned slightly, her cheeks coloring. "Oh, you charmer. Mhwa." She placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

  "Mhwa. Love you, baby," Theo replied, returning the gesture. "So what's the plan for her?"

  Taylor turned back to the controls, tapping her lip thoughtfully. "Hmm, maybe I will try something more experimental with this one? After the fright she gave Mrs. Dickerson, I am afraid I am feeling put out with her." She adjusted several settings. "But first, let's slim her down to something less mannish."

  Inside the pod, Rachel's stocky, muscular frame began to shift subtly. Her shoulders narrowed slightly, her waist curved inward, and her overall frame became more traditionally feminine. The changes were gradual but unmistakable.

  "There, much better," Taylor said with satisfaction. "That should be good." She paused, studying her work critically. "Hmm, though, maybe still a bit too muscular?"

  She hesitated over the controls, glancing back at Theo. "Dear, please be honest with me. What are your thoughts?"

  Theo considered carefully before answering. "Well, I don't know what your experimental plans are, but if we are going to want to shift her public perception away from her previous self, then the further we can create a visual disassociation from her Bitch identity, the better."

  "Dear!" Taylor exclaimed, looking scandalized. "No need to use foul language in the presence of a lady."

  "No, that is what she calls herself," Theo explained patiently.

  Taylor frowned. "I thought her cape name was Hellhound?"

  "Only the PRT calls her that. They had objections like your own to her preferred name."

  "Hmph. One of the few sensible things they have done," Taylor sniffed.

  "Yes, dear," Theo agreed with an indulgent smile.

  Taylor turned back to the console, adjusting more settings. "Well then, how about this."

  Rachel's body continued its transformation. Her muscular arms softened, her jawline became more delicate, and her facial features shifted toward something conventionally prettier. The short, choppy hair began to grow, lengthening into soft waves.

  "Very nice," Theo commented, genuine appreciation in his voice.

  Taylor smiled knowingly. "Don't worry, your favorite part will kick in over this next bit." Rachel's breasts became much more noticeable.

  "Have I told you how much I love you, baby?" Theo said, wrapping an arm around her waist.

  "Only ten times today. I was starting to feel unappreciated," Taylor replied with mock indignation.

  "I love you," he said again, more seriously.

  "And I love you, too. Mwha." She kissed him again before refocusing on her work.

  Taylor's fingers danced over the control panel, her expression becoming more concentrated. "This next bit is the tricky part." After a moment, she frowned. "Hmm. That's odd."

  "Oh, what's the matter?" Theo asked, leaning in.

  Taylor pointed to one of the displays. "See this graph here? That's her brainwave pattern. An average person is like this." She traced a gentle wave with her finger. "I planned on adjusting it toward this," she indicated another pattern, "but it's already far past that point. Very unexpected."

  "Is that going to be a problem?" Theo asked, concern creeping into his voice.

  Taylor shook her head after a moment's consideration. "I don't think so. I was already planning on reconfiguring her neural pathways for her additions. This means I have to rebuild some that look misconfigured. Given the position of her Gemma, this may be power-related." Her expression brightened suddenly. "Oh, it's starting!"

  Theo watched as two small protrusions began to form on Rachel's head. They grew rapidly, taking shape into what were unmistakably—

  "Those are dog ears," Theo said, surprised.

  "Golden retriever, to be exact," Taylor confirmed, looking pleased with herself.

  Theo's brow furrowed slightly. "Is that wise, baby? Given her powers."

  Taylor's expression fell a bit. "I can stop if you want me to. If you don't like it."

  "No, it's okay," Theo said quickly, squeezing her hand. "I trust your work."

  "Are you sure?" Taylor pressed, her finger hovering over a control. "It would be no trouble. I just thought I could afford to try new things with her being an open cape effectively."

  "No, it's better this way," Theo assured her. "If we don't trust those we are helping, then there would be no point to this."

  Taylor's smile returned. "Then I will continue."

  The ears continued to develop, growing a coat of golden fur that matched the new color of Rachel's lengthening hair. They twitched slightly, as if responding to sounds, though Rachel remained unconscious.

  "Is it wrong to say I want to pet her?" Theo asked, his voice half-joking, half-curious.

  "She does look rather adorable like this, doesn't she?" Taylor agreed. Her expression became more serious as she studied another readout. "Though I'm not too fond of these readings. These are some of the worst developed linguistic centers I have ever seen."

  The pod's humming decreased in volume, and the blue light faded to a softer glow. The chamber began to open, revealing the transformed Rachel Lindt.

  "Really?" Theo asked, studying the results with careful attention.

  "What?" Taylor asked, noticing his scrutiny.

  "Well, compared to the others, she seems a bit... smaller?" he ventured carefully.

  "I told you this was a much more refined machine," Taylor explained. "Also, you said to consider her former persona. If I increased her assets too much, I would have to increase her overall body size to compensate."

  "You're right," Theo acknowledged. "I was surprised at the difference. That's all."

  Taylor gave him a knowing look. "Oh, don't lie, you dog. I know how your tastes run." She patted his chest. "Don't worry. Within a few weeks, I should have one that can run automatically enough to enhance my figure."

  "There is no need to do that," Theo protested quickly. "You're perfect the way you are."

  "Aw, how sweet," Taylor said, smiling. "But if you have a machine that can give you any body shape you want, why not use it?"

  "Heh, truth to that," Theo replied with a small smile. "I suppose I will be taking a turn as well?"

  "What?!" Taylor exclaimed, eyes widening. "No, I didn't mean to imply that!"

  "Didn't you just say, 'But if you have a machine that can give you any body shape you want, why not use it?'" he quoted back to her.

  "B-but, but—" she stammered.

  "Mwha," he kissed her cheek. "You are so cute when you are flustered. I think your friend said you preferred a muscular and lean swimmer's build; is that correct?"

  Taylor's cheeks flushed crimson. "When did she tell you that!"

  "Don't worry, baby," Theo said more seriously. "We are in this together—our promise."

  "I just don't want you to think that...." Taylor began, still flustered.

  "Like I said, don't worry," Theo reassured her. "We walk this path together to the end when and wherever it is. How could we justify this to anyone if we aren't willing to subject ourselves to it?"

  His words seemed to calm her, and she nodded, turning her attention back to the pod. "Oh, it looks like she is waking up."

  Brian stood at his apartment window, hands braced against the frame as if he might tear it from the wall. Rain smeared the glass, casting fractured patterns of light across his face. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath his skin as he replayed the scene at his parents' house for the thousandth time.

  "So that's it?" he hissed, slamming his palm against the wall. "My whole family. My mother, my father, even Aisha... all of them just puppets now?"

  Sophia sat on his couch, legs drawn up beneath her. She'd been watching him pace for nearly an hour, alternating between explosive outbursts and brooding silence. Now she leaned forward, chin resting on her knee.

  "Join the club," she said. "My mom's cooking dinner for Terry's new girlfriend right now, talking about how 'that nice Taylor girl' gave her those wonderful recipe cards."

  Brian turned from the window. "I can't believe they're just... happy about it. My father looked at me like—" He cut himself off, the betrayal still fresh. "He looked at me like he used to when I was a kid. Before everything went to shit."

  "Real feelings from fake people," Sophia muttered. "That's what makes it so fucked up."

  Brian clenched his fists, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. "My sister begged me not to ruin it for them. Begged me. Like I was the villain for wanting them to have their own minds back."

  "We're up against someone who can literally reprogram people," Sophia said. "And she's got the Empire backing her. What exactly are we supposed to do about it?"

  "I've got connections," Brian said abruptly.

  Sophia let out a harsh laugh. "Connections? Who's left that isn't under Stepford's thumb or scared shitless of her? Coil's the only major villain left in the bay, and he's practically gone to ground. The Undersiders are still around, but what good are a bunch of teenage smash and grab hacks going to do?"

  Brian's face twitched, a subtle muscle movement around his eyes.

  Sophia's posture changed instantly, coiling like a spring. "No fucking way."

  "What?"

  "You're one of them," she said, eyes narrowing. "An Undersider."

  Brian didn't bother denying it. He crossed his arms, expression guarded. "Yeah. I am."

  "Which one?" Sophia asked, sliding to her feet with predatory grace. "Not the dog girl. You don't strike me as the posh one with the scepter either."

  "I'm Grue," he said, watching her carefully. "The darkness generator."."

  "That nosy blonde you introduced me to at the gym," Sophia said, recognition dawning. "She's Tattletale, isn't she? The one who's always getting information she shouldn't have."

  Brian nodded, impressed despite himself. "You're quick."

  "I've been patrolling this city for years," Sophia said, moving toward him. "You pick things up."

  Brian stiffened. "You're a cape."

  Sophia's form dissolved into shadow, passing through him like a cold breath before reforming on the other side. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

  "Shadow Stalker," Brian said, eyes wide. "You're Shadow Stalker." he ran a hand over his head. "This is... unexpected."

  "Look," Sophia said, her expression hardening. "You know who I am. I know who you are. But none of that matters now. What matters is that Stepford is turning the whole city into her personal dollhouse, and our families are caught in it."

  "You're right," Brian said, coming to a decision. "We need to pool resources. My team might be our best shot at this point."

  "Then let's go meet them," Sophia said.

  "Just like that? You're willing to work with criminals?"

  "I'm willing to work with whoever can help me break that bitch's hold on my family," Sophia replied. "Besides, at this point, who's even keeping score?"

  Brian nodded grimly. "Grab your coat. We're going to the loft."

  The loft was situated in an abandoned factory building that had once manufactured textiles. The fading red brick exterior gave no hint of the surprisingly comfortable space inside. Brian unlocked the heavy steel door, ushering Sophia through before closing and securing it behind them.

  "Guys?" he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the open space. "We've got company."

  Lisa emerged from the kitchen area, a mug of coffee in her hand. Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of Sophia before narrowing in that calculating way Brian recognized all too well.

  "Well, well," she said, a fox-like grin spreading across her face. "If it isn't the gym crush. No wonder my power was picking up weird signals from you."

  "Save it," Brian cut in. "Where's Alec?"

  As if summoned by his name, Alec appeared at the top of the spiral staircase. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, and he wore an oversized t-shirt with cartoon characters Brian didn't recognize.

  "Who's the new girl?" he drawled, slouching down the steps. "And why does she look like she wants to punch something?"

  "Because I do," Sophia said flatly.

  "This is Sophia Hess," Brian said. "Also known as Shadow Stalker."

  Alec paused halfway down the stairs, his perpetually bored expression giving way to actual surprise. "You brought a hero here? To our super-secret lair?"

  "She's not here as a hero," Brian explained. "She's here because she's also been affected by Miss Stepford."

  That got Lisa's full attention. "So you managed to break the conditioning? What did she do to you?"

  "Nothing as obvious as what she's doing now," Sophia said, pacing the room. "It started small. Compulsions to eat more. Being more... domestic. Helping Mrs. Barnes with her physical therapy. I didn't even realize anything was wrong until..."

  "Until you started breaking conditioning," Lisa finished for her. "Your behavior patterns were fighting with the implanted ones."

  Sophia nodded grimly. "I kept having these moments where I'd feel something was wrong, but couldn't place what."

  "How did Miss Stepford control you?" Alec asked, his voice oddly intense. "Was it something you read? Something you heard?"

  Brian shot him a look, but Alec's attention was fixed on Sophia.

  "Both," Sophia said. "She's got these study guides that have some kind of invisible pattern printed on them. And music over the PA system. Even food—Taylor's always bringing in these homemade dishes."

  "Taylor Hebert," Lisa said, the name not a question. "That's who Miss Stepford is."

  Brian frowned. "How did you—"

  "Please," Lisa scoffed. "You think I haven't been working on figuring out who she is? Especially after our little run-in at Medhall. It wasn't hard to connect the dots once I found out about the study guides at Winslow."

  "So what's her deal?" Alec asked, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Is she just getting her rocks off controlling people, or what?"

  "She thinks she's fixing things," Sophia said, her voice bitter. "Making everything perfect according to her warped idea of how the world should be. White picket fences, men providing, women in the kitchen. The whole Stepford Wives fantasy."

  "Which shouldn't need explaining, given the name she chose," Lisa added dryly.

  Brian paced across the room. "She's taken my family. Brainwashed them completely. My dad's back with my mom, Aisha's suddenly the perfect daughter—" Brian slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a small dent in the drywall. "Fuck."

  "Hey, easy on the infrastructure," Alec complained halfheartedly.

  "We need to stop her," Brian said, ignoring him. "Before she gets to anyone else. Where's Rachel? We could use her dogs for this."

  An awkward silence fell over the room. Lisa set down her coffee mug, looking uncomfortable.

  "Lisa?" Brian prompted. "Where is she?"

  "She hasn't been back to the loft in a few days," Lisa admitted. "I went to check her shelter yesterday. All the dogs are gone."

  "Gone? What do you mean gone?" Brian demanded.

  "Just... gone," Lisa said, spreading her hands. "The place was cleaned out. No Rachel, no dogs, nothing."

  "Well that's just perfect," Brian growled, running a hand over his face. "So we've got no muscle, no—"

  "Brian?" a soft voice called from behind him.

  He froze. That voice—it was Rachel's, but... different. Softer, more articulated, lacking her usual gruffness.

  He turned slowly, and the words died in his throat.

  Brian stared at Rachel, his jaw muscles twitching beneath his skin. This was Rachel Lindt, the same woman who'd scowled at his attempts to institute team meetings, who'd worn cargo pants and army surplus jackets regardless of weather, who'd never bothered with makeup or hair products a day in her life.

  But this Rachel...

  The golden-blonde hair fell in soft cascades around her shoulders, framing a face that seemed more delicate, more feminine than the harsh angles he remembered. Her dress—a blue floral thing with an empire waist—hugged curves that hadn't been there before. She stood differently too, her previous hunched, ready-to-fight posture replaced with something almost... graceful.

  And those ears. Actual dog ears perched atop her head, twitching slightly as she regarded them. Behind her, a matching tail swished nervously against the doorframe.

  "Rachel?" Lisa breathed again, her voice pitched higher than normal.

  Rachel smiled—actually smiled—and did a small twirl that sent her dress flaring slightly. "Do you like my new look? Miss Stepford said I came out really well."

  "What happened to you?" Brian demanded, his voice hard as granite.

  "Yeah," Alec chimed in, leaning against the wall with a studied nonchalance that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Is Bonesaw going through some kind of princess phase now?"

  "Who is this?" Sophia asked, her stance shifting into something defensive, ready.

  "Rachel Lindt," Lisa answered, her eyes never leaving the transformed girl. "Bitch. Our missing teammate."

  Rachel flinched at the name, one hand rising to touch her collarbone in a gesture that seemed automatic, practiced—feminine in a way Rachel had never been. "I'd rather you didn't call me that anymore. It's... embarrassing." Her ears drooped slightly. "Rachel is fine."

  "What happened?" Brian repeated, taking a step forward.

  Rachel's ears perked up again. "I tried hitting one of Hookwolf's dog fighting rings." She shrugged, the movement delicate. "Turns out it wasn't a fighting ring anymore. It was some kind of Deer Lodge social gathering. They had a buffet line and everything."

  She wrinkled her nose at the memory. "I smashed Taylor's beef stroganoff. That's what made her so mad, I think."

  "Taylor?" Sophia hissed.

  "Miss Stepford," Rachel clarified. "She captured me after I wrecked their party. Then they took me to her lab and..." She gestured at herself. "Fixed me."

  "Fixed you?" Brian snarled, his hands curling into fists. "Look at yourself, Rachel! Those ears, that tail—"

  "Not that," Rachel cut him off with an impatient wave. "My brain. They fixed the damage my powers did to my brain."

  Lisa's eyes widened, her power obviously connecting dots at lightning speed. "Your powers affected your cognitive processes," she said slowly. "They rewired your brain to understand canine behavior but...sacrificed your ability to understand human social cues."

  Rachel nodded vigorously, her new tail wagging. "Exactly! That's exactly it. I couldn't understand people before. Their faces, their tones—it was all just noise. But dogs made sense." She beamed at Lisa. "Like how you used to bare your fangs at me all the time."

  "I...what?" Lisa blinked.

  "When you'd smile with all your teeth showing," Rachel explained. "I thought you were threatening me, challenging me. Honestly, I still wondered if you had been doing it on purpose, since your power lets you know pretty much everything. But now I get it was just...smiling."

  She gave them a small, controlled smile, showing just the edges of her teeth—a deliberately non-threatening expression that Rachel of a week ago wouldn't have understood, much less executed.

  Lisa's face had gone pale. "My power never picked up on that. I never realized—"

  "It's okay," Rachel said gently. "I've only been like this for a day, but it's so much better. I understand dogs AND people now." Her eyes lit up. "It's like having subtitles for everything I was missing before."

  Alec had pushed off from the wall, approaching Rachel with unusual interest. His normally bored expression had given way to something more focused, more engaged. "They just...fixed your brain? Made it work the way it's supposed to?"

  "Yeah," Rachel nodded. "They put me in this pod thing, and when I woke up, everything made sense." She tapped her temple. "The damage is gone."

  "And the dog ears?" Sophia asked sharply. "The tail? Was that necessary for your 'fix'?"

  Brian crossed his arms. "You're just an experiment to her, Rachel. You get that, right? She's using you."

  Rachel's expression darkened, the first flicker of the old Rachel showing through her new veneer. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "Look at what you're wearing," Alec pointed out, though his tone lacked the judgment of the others. "Since when do you wear dresses and heels? That's not you, Rachel."

  Rachel glanced down at her outfit, a puzzled expression crossing her face for a moment. Then she shrugged. "I never really cared about clothes before. If wearing a dress and having a fashion sense is the price for fixing my brain, I'll take it." She smoothed down the front of her dress. "I just came to get my things, anyway."

  The air in the loft grew thick with tension. Brian shifted his weight, placing himself slightly in front of Sophia, while Lisa edged toward her laptop, as if it might contain some escape route.

  "Is the Empire coming here?" Lisa asked, her voice carefully level. "Is that why you're really here?"

  Rachel's ears twitched backward in annoyance. "No one's coming. As long as you don't attack the Deer Lodge or the Empire like I did, they won't bother you." She softened, her tail swishing. "But I recommend you join. It's done wonders for me."

  "Join?" Brian practically spat the word.

  Lisa's eyes narrowed, her power working overtime. "You can read us now, can't you? Not just our body language—you're reading us the way you used to read dogs."

  Rachel nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "It's not so different, really. People telegraph just as much with their bodies as dogs do, they just use different signals. And yes, I can read all of you." She looked at Brian. "You're angry, but mostly scared. You think you've lost me the same way you lost your family."

  Brian's jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.

  "We can help you, Rachel," Lisa said, taking a careful step forward, her hand outstretched. "We can fix what Miss Stepford has done to you."

  Rachel recoiled as if Lisa had slapped her, actual hurt flashing across her face. "Fix me? You want to 'fix' what's been fixed? Go back to not understanding people? To being illiterate?" Her voice rose with each question. "I couldn't read before, you know that? Not really. Just enough to get by. Now I can read anything."

  "That's not what she meant," Brian started, but Sophia cut him off.

  "That's exactly what she meant," Sophia snapped. "You've been brainwashed, 'Rachel'. That woman took what made you you and twisted it into—" she gestured at Rachel's transformed appearance "—this doll version that she thought was better."

  "You don't know what it was like!" Rachel shouted, her voice no longer soft or controlled. "To be trapped inside your own head, to never understand why people were angry or happy or scared! To be called stupid and worthless your whole life because your brain didn't work right!"

  "So you just handed your mind over to some Nazi tinker?" Sophia shouted back. "Let her turn you into her pet project?"

  Lisa, who had been watching Rachel with increasing alarm, tugged on Brian's sleeve. "Brian," she whispered urgently, "look at her muscles."

  Brian tore his attention from the argument to see what Lisa meant. Rachel's previously slender arms had begun to swell, the fine muscles beneath her skin growing more pronounced by the second. She seemed taller too, broader across the shoulders.

  "She can use her power on herself now," Lisa hissed. "The dog traits—they've made her into her own carrier."

  Brian's eyes widened in alarm, but Sophia was too caught up in her rage to notice the physical changes.

  "That woman is turning people into mind-controlled puppets!" Sophia shouted. "Is that what you want? To be some Nazi's lapdog?"

  "The Deer Lodge isn't the Empire!" Rachel growled, her voice dropping an octave as she grew another few inches in height, her muscles continuing to swell beneath her dress. The dog ears atop her head grew more pronounced, the fur spreading slightly down the sides of her face. "They're helping people!"

  A ripping sound made Rachel glance down. Her feet, now larger and beginning to reshape into something less than fully human, had burst through the straps of her heels. "Oh, poo," she muttered. "I really liked those shoes."

  She looked back up at them, now exceeding Brian in height, her expression shifting from annoyance to a sort of regretful determination. "I'd planned to just get my stuff and let the rest of you come to Stepford on your own terms, when you were ready. But I can see now it would be best if I just took you to her."

  "Like hell you will," Brian snarled, darkness beginning to pour from his skin, filling the air around them with his power.

  Sophia flickered into her shadow state beside him, momentarily becoming a billowing dark silhouette.

  Rachel lunged forward with inhuman speed, her growing muscles propelling her across the room faster than any of them had anticipated—

  Only to trip and sprawl face-first onto the hardwood with a yelp of surprise.

  Alec stood behind her, his hand extended, fingers twitching in the telltale sign of his power at work. "Window," he said calmly. "Now."

  Brian didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Lisa by the wrist and pulled her toward the fire escape, his darkness billowing out to cover their retreat. Sophia phased through the wall itself, reappearing on the metal landing outside.

  "Alec, come on!" Lisa shouted, half through the window.

  "Go ahead without me," Alec called, backing up as Rachel pushed herself to her feet, now towering over him. "I think I'll stick around, have a chat with Miss Stepford."

  "Are you insane?" Lisa cried. "Alec, run!"

  Alec shook his head, a strange smile playing at his lips. "Rachel's not the only one who might want their head fixed, even if it comes at a cost."

  Rachel loomed over him, reaching out with a hand that was now large enough to engulf his shoulder. Alec winced at the pressure. "Gently!" he complained.

  Rachel tried to follow the others to the window, but her transformed body, now too bulky to fit through the frame, couldn't squeeze through. She slammed a fist into the wall beside it, leaving a small crater in the plaster.

  "Don't you dare run!" she bellowed after them, her voice deep and rough. "Stay right there!"

  But the remaining three were already clattering down the metal stairs of the fire escape, taking them two and three at a time in their desperation to put distance between themselves and their transformed teammate.

  They hit the alley below at a run, Brian's darkness spreading to cover their retreat as they fled into the maze of streets beyond.

  "What now?" Sophia panted as they ducked into another alley several blocks away. "She'll track us."

  "Not with Brian's darkness masking our scent," Lisa gasped, bent over with her hands on her knees. "At least not right away."

  "So what's the plan?" Brian demanded, glancing back the way they'd come. "We've got nowhere to go. The loft is compromised. Rachel can track us eventually. And now we've lost Alec too."

  Lisa straightened, her expression hardening with resolve. "It's time to see the Boss in person.”