Chapter 1

Brie

​

They say never meet your heroes.

I don't know if that's the best advice. 

I do know it's an eye-opening experience.

I was currently sitting in my boss’ office, waiting for the briefing to begin.

The large room slowly filled with coworkers. Editors, assistants, interns, social media managers and graphic designers.

Jennifer Manning had been my idol for as long as I could remember. She was an incredible investigative journalist, interviewer, and for the last decade, the Editor-in-Chief at the renown Epoch Magazine.

My boss. Six years running.

My best friend, Chantelle, had gotten me this job. She went through hell working as an unpaid intern at Fash under Gabriel Armitage. Gabriel was the fashion Editor-in-Chief from hell. But Chantelle was not deterred. As one the most gorgeous, charming woman I'd ever known, it wasn’t long before, she got me a shot at an internship at Epoch magazine, working for Jennifer Manning. The job in question? Personal assistant to her personal assistants. 

“Come on, Brie. Throw your hat in the ring. You're better than half the candidates, and you've already got an in... me,” she said brightly as we walked home to our apartment, only days away from graduating. We'd been friends since we were kids. Growing up along side each other in an offshoot neighbourhood of Mercer City, Langford. 

“I don't know,” I said. “You got that internship because you're you. There's no way Jennifer Manning is going to see anything special in me.”

“Girl, stop,” Lori, my other best friend for life, said. I'd known her just as long. Lori was one of the strongest people I knew, and she was unapologetically true to herself. I'd always loved that about her.

“Stop playing small. You can out write any of those grads gunning for this job. You're talented as all hell. Own it already.”

It had been my literal dream to work for Jennifer.

When, I was a kid, I'd read her articles and watch her interviews on TV, thinking, One day, I'll be a woman like that.

A woman who mattered. 

A woman people listened to, who made people stop and pay attention.

Sadly, I was never the kind of girl or woman who got noticed. I was one people never looked twice at.

I was just... Brie Emerson.

Senior Editor at Epoch Magazine, which meant I organized and edited other people's articles. Someone else usually did the writing.

Not me.

I hid behind line edits, copy edits, bylines, and developmental rewrites.

I was the eldest daughter of a construction worker turned general contractor from Langford.

My mom died when I was twelve. After a long battle with cancer. 

After that, it was just Dad, my little sister Ivy, and me.

And then, I was the one who made sure everyone else was taken care of.  

If it hadn't been for Chantelle and Lori cajoling me into applying for the internship position at Epoch, I wouldn't even have this job.

I'd busted my ass for Jennifer for years before working my way up and finally earning the title of Senior Editor.

It's funny how dreams shift once they collide with reality. 

Because working for a prominent global news magazine and brand in publication media these days?

Brutal. 

Hard work was what kept me in the game.

Hard work proved I could do the job and then some.

I took every assignment, met every deadline, wrote pieces for other publications under Epoch Media's umbrella when they needed help, and did everything Jennifer asked of me.

I worked until my fingers cramped.

All in the hope that, eventually, it would make me someone worth listening to.

But I wasn't quite there yet. 

If I ever would be.

And all of it became even more complicated because of one very elusive man. 

When I became an editor, I thought I'd be working on stories about politics, scientific breakthroughs, and cultural shifts.

But around the time I finished my internship and started climbing the ladder at Epoch...

He showed up.

Yep. 

That’s right. 

Mercer city had its very own caped crusader.

Stratos. 

At least, that’s what everyone called him. 

He was all sleek, clean lines and powerful presence. Bits of black, gold and blue accents highlighted his white armour. He looked like some sort of high tech archangel had dropped from orbit to protect us. And he wasn’t just powerful. He was impossible.

Flight. Super strength. Speed. Invulnerability. And then some. 

He was an anomaly, one powered by the atmosphere itself. Our world seemed to feed his strength somehow. That’s why they called him Stratos. He wasn’t from here, but for reasons no one could quite believe, he chose to protect us. 

Too noble to trust. Too mysterious to ignore.

Jennifer looked up and took in the room.

She crossed to the front of her desk with the kind of confidence that made everyone else sit up and stand a little straighter. She was wearing wide-leg tan trousers and a crisp white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to soften the otherwise immaculate look.

Jennifer’s office was a sleek, white-and-gold finished room, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Mercer City’s downtown core. 

Behind her, the shelves were lined with the books she'd written, alongside framed photographs of her with celebrities, public figures, and artists she'd interviewed. Her many, many awards and  accolades were all carefully arranged like pieces in a curated exhibit. Her Pulitzer Prize shone like a beacon in the morning light, reminding me of my goal. 

Everyone was standing, reviewing notes when Jennifer finally looked up from her computer screen. 

She paced once in front of her desk.

Then she stopped and looked at me.

Anxiety shot through me. 

I cleared my throat, tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear, and glanced at the floor.

When I looked back up, she was still watching me with that sharp, appraising stare.

She was in her late fifties, with dark brown hair swept into a flawless updo, neat bangs framing her forehead, and reading glasses perched low on her nose. 

“Raided the fashion closet again, Emerson?” she asked. “That's the second time this month.”

I looked down at the corset top, leather jacket, and wide-leg pants Chantelle had picked out for me and nodded. 

The reality of Jennifer Manning was that she was every bit as terrifying as she was brilliant. Always ten steps ahead. And nothing, I mean nothing, escaped her sharp eye for detail.

“Chantelle has impeccable taste,” Jennifer said matter-of-factly. “You should really get her to set you up with a new wardrobe. This look? It’s working. Definitely better than your usual blazer and jeans combo.”

Ouch. 

And yet…

I nodded. 

“You got caught in an attack,” Neema, my desk mate and workplace bestie, whispered as she sat down beside me on Jennifer's pristine white couch. 

She looked impeccable in a golden-yellow sleeveless mock-neck top and wide-leg pants, her dark hair styled in loose waves.

“It happened right along my route,” I answered quietly.

“Were you trying to get a look at Stratos again? You know that's against policy now,” she said, sing-songing the last part with a teasing smirk.

I let out a huff.

I'd gotten caught up in Stratos and the Ascendants' latest crusade. 

Yeah.

And willingly, I might add.

At least... partly.

Which, as Neema, so casually reminded me, was against Epoch Media’s policy. Too many editors, journalists, photographers, and interns had gotten hurt, or worse, trying to snap photos of Stratos, and his friends, clashing with whatever nightmare he was taking down that week. 

But I was chasing the kind of story that would finally get me some notice.

In a world where a literal demigod-like being could fall out of the sky, the only way to do that was to unmask the air-bender himself or land an interview that answered the questions everyone was asking.

I wanted something from him that would help me tell the story of who he was beneath the suit.

Every news outlet, media brand, and influencer covered everything he did the moment he appeared.

So, I needed the kind of story that would actually cut through the noise.

I wanted a cover story.

I wanted to put myself on the path that would lead me to becoming someone like Jennifer.

Fearless.

Relentless.

Tough.

Decisive.

Writing and telling the stories that mattered to people.

The problem? 

Stratos didn't do interviews. Ever. 

He'd been Epoch's Person of the Year twice, and he'd never shown up for a photoshoot or sat down with a reporter. 

He never gave the press anything.

He just disappeared into thin air. 

He was about as elusive as smoke.

And this morning, I'd come face-to-face with him when a massive alien creature had appeared at the intersection of Loriad Street and Fifth Avenue on my way to the office.

I thought it was my chance to get closer to him and see if I could get what I needed.

It hadn't gone the way I'd expected.

At all. 

And honestly?

I was still processing it. 

Jennifer exhaled sharply. “You really need to move, Emerson. Centennial Park is a known hotspot for cape battles. Wide, open, highly visible. Perfect terrain.”

“Yeah. I know,” I said. 

And I did know, which was exactly why I wasn't planning on moving any time soon. 

“But rent in this city is murder.”

Jennifer smirked. Maybe. Barely.

“Alright, people,” she barked, turning her attention to the room now. “Epoch is facing a crisis. We are losing subscribers at record speed. We need to create an issue that sings. The last three have been mediocre at best.”

Everyone collectively groaned.

​​

​

Chapter 2​

Brie

​

“No. No groaning. We lock in. We produce an issue no one can dismiss,” Jennifer said, leaning against her desk and clapping her hands together.

“Print media is dying. That’s gonna be impossible,” Gareth said. He was another senior editor, covered Politics. Unsurprisingly, he was also a pretentious asshole. He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers through his sandy brown hair. A smug look on his face.

“It’s been dead for a while now. So not exactly the most astute observation, Gareth,” Neema shot back.  

Neema was the Culture and Lifestyle editor, so she knew what she was talking about. 

A few of our coworkers rolled their eyes. Some made comments at Gareth, others at Neema. 

“Yes, but we were making headway with paywalls, cinematic photography, and long-form think pieces,” Jennifer reminded us. 

“Then that blubbering idiot, Senator Merone, tanked our readership with that press conference last week, saying we were dinosaurs. That we didn't know what the hell we were talking about. Printing fake news.”

We all collectively groaned again.

“I need ideas, people, not groans. That's not what you're paid for,” Jennifer scolded. 

“Gareth. Dazzle me. Go.”

“What if we do a piece on the senator? Bet he changes his tune if we give him a feature.”

“That's called a puff piece, and Epoch is known for being politically neutral,” I shot back.

“That's the problem, Emerson. Loyalty to ethics gets you nothing in this world except passed over,” Gareth said, wagging his head at me.

Jennifer shook her head.

“Stop being an asshole, Gareth. Give me something usable. Now.”

Gareth huffed.

“We do an entire issue on the capes. Everything that comes with them. It’s what people want. We need to debunk and illuminate all the… mystery.”

Stratos had crash-landed into our lives about five years ago and saved us from some batshit crazy supervillains and a few otherworld, unexplainable creatures, that started crawling out of the woodwork soon after he appeared.

Not to mention an entire team of capes that called themselves the Ascendants. 

And it became painfully clear, to everyone, that the government had been hiding a number of things from the general public beyond ballet miscounts. About life beyond our little planet. As well as, a number of other scary, unknown things… that didn’t just came from deep space.

Some were manmade.

Government experiments.

Biological weapons.

Science projects gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Variant humans with abilities that no one could explain. 

Being in current affairs journalism these days felt more like writing speculative sci-fi.

Government black sites. 

Secret labs.

Military installations no one had ever heard of.

Alien coverups.

Spy briefings.

Top-level denials.​

It had all gotten… weird.

And none of it helped with the exhaustion.

Living in a world where the impossible was now just Tuesday morning, made inferiority, anxiety and existential dread a full-time job to manage. 

The general population of Mercer City was stressed, maxed out, and quietly terrified all the time. They wanted answers. They were desperate for them. 

“You want to do a whole issue on Stratos? The cape who doesn’t do press?” Jennifer took off her glasses and chewed on the end of one arm. “Could work. Let’s flesh it out.” 

“Emerson. Health and Sciences,” she said, pointing at me. “Go.”

“Uh...” I stammered. “Stratos for the whole issue?” 

I swallowed. 

“Health and Sciences could focus on... the emotional and physical effects of...”

“Climate,” Jennifer cut in.

Dammit.

Took too long to answer. Yet again.

“The storms that seem to be growing in both frequency and intensity. The weather anomalies. There's been some speculation that it's all connected to the White Knight,” Jennifer added.

“Right. I’ve heard some of the chatter,” I said, lying through my teeth.

I'd come prepared with a completely different pitch, one about the male loneliness epidemic and how to cover it in a real, authentic way.

I was not prepared to pitch my ‘How Stratos Works and Who He Is’ story.

“What happened to your pitch about telling men they suck and that's why women won't date them?” Gareth snickered.

“You’d be on the cover,” Neema shot back without missing a beat.

I pressed my lips together to keep a chuckle from escaping.

A few laughs rippled through the room.

“No. It’s been done. Climate,” Jennifer said, her tone firm. “Something's stirring. If it is Stratos, then that's cape interference. Extraterrestrial interference. Run with it.”

I nodded.

“Assign as you see fit,” she added. “And isn’t Jason’s brother some kind of weather scientist?” 

“Jason,” I blinked.

“Is there an echo? Yes. Jason Tavares at LQ,” she said.

Oh, I knew Jason.

He was the human embodiment of a bro-coded headline. Wrote for Luxton Quarterly (LQ), the mens’ lifestyle publication. Jason specialized in pieces like ‘How to Dress Like a God With Air-Bending Powers’ and ‘What Women Want Now That Capes Exist.’

That last one was especially brutal.

“Interview him. The brother, not Jason,” Jennifer said. “He talked my ear off at a Christmas party once. Jason, not the brother. Just get some sound bites. Quotes. From the brother…”

“Not Jason,” I finished for her. “On it.”

* * *

I sat at my desk, surrounded by glass, wood, and cold metal trim, trying to collect what was left of my sanity. The space was sleek, minimal, like everything at Epoch, right down to the desks that could shift from sitting to standing at the click of a button. A feature I never used.

Neema sat across from me, partner-in-crime since our intern days under Jennifer. She was dramatically recounting her treacherous hike from Stockton, the neighbourhood just west of Forest Hill where I lived, near the university and the park, just to make it into the office.

I was half-listening, downing the last of a burnt pot of editor’s room coffee. There was almost enough non-dairy creamer and sugar to mask how utterly awful it was. Almost.

“Your mom should really stay in today,” I said, grimacing and seriously considering a trip down to the lobby coffee shop for a ten-dollar latte. At least it would be a drinkable cup of coffee.

“I tell her that. You think she listens to me? No. It’s always, ‘But Neema, I have to go shopping.’ Like we’re still living in Delhi. Bad things happen, life goes on. That’s her whole thing.” She typed wildly on her phone, clearly arguing with her mom as she adjusted her glasses with her index finger.

“I mean, she’s not wrong. But I get your concern.”

“She’s in her 60s. If something happens while she’s out walking to the market, I’ll never forgive myself. And my papa’s no better. He’s out at the coffee shop like it’s just another Tuesday. Meanwhile, a literal alien was stomping around the streets until the Ascendants dragged it off to who knows where. It’s deeply disconcerting.”

I nodded.

The Ascendants had taken down a huge creature this morning along my route from Forest Hill, then it had promptly vanished. Cleanup crews from Maddox Tech, the city’s go-to deep sweep team, were already on the streets, clearing the wreckage.

“The world truly feels like a dumpster fire, sometimes,” Neema said. 

“And we were all just scrambling, trying not to get caught in the blaze,” I added.

 

Chapter 3

Brie

​

Earlier That Morning...

 

After maybe three hours of sleep, and spending most of the night doing online research, following random cape bloggers and superfans, obsessing over my Stratos piece, I trudged to work.

My headphones were in, and I was clutching a coffee the size of my forearm.

I'd thrown my blazing red hair, which was natural and had acted like a beacon for bullies my entire life, into a ponytail and done a half-assed job with my makeup. Mascara. Eyeliner. Blush.

It was what it was.

At least I tried.

I was wearing my usual work uniform. A gray tweed blazer over a white button-down, paired with jeans and ballet flats. My thick-rimmed glasses kept sliding down my nose as I hurried along, trying to make up for lost time.

I was running late. 

I wove in and out of the flow of people on the sidewalk. Morning rush hour in Mercer City had the streets packed. Cars, construction, shops, coffee joints, and commuters all competing for space. The city's chaos buzzed around me, but I kept moving and kept my music blasting.

I was listening to my favorite artist, Sarah Swan.

She was everyone's favorite, really. Another one of those remarkable women you couldn't help but stop, admire, and listen to. It was painfully basic that I liked her, but what else was new?

I stopped at the intersection of Loriad Street and Fourth Avenue, held up by the aftermath of a crash.

A biker had been hit by a bus.

The guy seemed okay, but the bike was wrecked. The bus driver was arguing with someone in the crowd, while some bikers and pedestrians took in the scene. A few bus passengers had even gotten involved.

It was a mess.

And it had everything backed up.

As if my morning needed an even bigger, more catastrophic event to make me even later for work, the bus driver's head suddenly snapped toward the sky.

I followed his gaze from where I stood among the crowd of onlookers.

And I saw it. 

A streak of white cut across the bright blue sky.

A stream of clouds and vapor shimmered behind him as he flew overhead like a comet in broad daylight.

Everyone looked up.

Everyone watched.

We all knew what it meant.

Stratos. 

We watched as he landed somewhere in the distance, and then an unmistakable sound followed.

Screaming.

Never a good sign. 

In fact, it was a very bad one. 

People started flooding onto Loriad Street from the Riverside District, where all the fish markets were, moving like a human tidal wave.

I yanked my headphones out. 

"Oh shit," I muttered, my stomach sinking.

I’d worn the worst possible shoes for running for my life. These stupid, red ballet flats, Chantelle had talked me into buying. Saying they looked cuter than my usual scuffed runners. Pretty didn’t matter right now. They weren’t broken in. They were made of hard synthetic leather, and they rubbed my heels raw and bit into my skin like plastic blades at my heels.

I ran anyway.

The crowd surged forward, that chaotic momentum you either matched or got flattened by.

I couldn’t see what was happening behind me until a bright blue beam of light tore through the side of a building in the distance.

Yeah. Stratos shot beams of light out of his eyes. And his hands, as far as anyone could tell.

Debris rained down like confetti from hell. Glass. Metal. Plaster. Stone.

I stopped and watched as people behind me ducked for cover or got pelted by the debris.

Not good.

I looked ahead and saw I was maybe two blocks from my office building.

I could make it before they reached the intersection, but would I truly be safe there? 

That really depended on who, or what, Stratos was fighting.

Another wave of panic hit. People screamed all around me as more debris fell and the destruction got closer.

I risked another glance back, and caught a glimpse of it.

Panic surged through me. Pure, blinding fear.

A massive grey-and-green scaled alien creature lumbered through downtown Mercer City. It looked like it had slithered in from the river. Some sort of extraterrestrial kaiju on a wild bender. 

Holy fucking hell.

It was breathing some kind of white and blue flame, bright and searing, leveling the sides of buildings like it was casually clearing its throat.

The closest Earth-based comparison I could come up with was a Komodo dragon.

Or maybe an alligator with a snake head, on like... a good day. If that gator-snake hybrid had bulked up on steroids, discovered existential rage, and learned to stand on its hind legs.

Where the hell did something like that even come from?

I genuinely wanted to know. Needed to know. More like.

High above, Stratos circled the beast. With his hands, he carved glowing rings of light into the air, forming an effervescent halo.

I stopped to watch as he bent the sky, the clouds, even the light itself, as if it were some kind of magic at his command. It was fascinating to watch him work. Or fight, I guess. 

I was completely mesmerized.

And also completely fucking terrified.

He started manipulating the atmosphere, adjusting the air pressure around the creature. Trying to flatten it. 

in the alien creature down and trap it mid-rampage. 

The thing slammed into the ground with a thunderous THUD, and it felt like an earthquake ripped through the city. The pavement rippled beneath my feet.

I did not like that feeling.

My stomach roiled. Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me.

Time to take cover. 

I ducked beneath the heavy stone archway of the Imperial Building at Fifth and Loriad, as stone and glass fell to the pavement. Not exactly the safest place to hide mid monster attack, but it was better than standing in the open and getting sliced to ribbons by debris.

The creature let out a screech, a guttural blend of eagle and T. rex. The sound was piercing. The vibration of it rattled my bones.

And I watched, stunned, in a mix of awe and terror, my breath held in, as my life and the lives of everyone in that street quite literally hung in the balance. Relying on the failure or success of one man. 

Stratos.

​

Chapter 4

Brie

​

Some people pulled out their phones and started recording. Others did what I did and simply stood there, watching in terror. 

I should have been running towards my office building.

I looked from the fight to the Epoch Media. It loomed up ahead in the distance. A twenty-story steel-and-glass fortress that housed the empire of Epoch Media Group.

Everything was there. The national news network. The celebrity gossip division. The high-fashion glossy. And, of course, Epoch magazine itself.

The crown jewel of the company. 

One big, slightly dysfunctional media family.

But, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the battle. And I didn't want to. 

Because this could be my chance. My chance to get close enough to see him. Get anything out of him. Even one tiny detail that everyone else usually missed would be enough. 

Stratos was snatched out of the air by his cape and hurled in a wide arc. He recovered mid-flight, twisted, then shot straight upward.

A heartbeat later, he came crashing back down like a thunderbolt, slamming into the creature with enough force to shatter a mountain.

The monster stumbled backward, and a chunk of a nearby building cracked free and hurtled toward the street below.

A group of people stood directly beneath it.

They ran. 

They weren't going to make it.

Stratos intervened, throwing up another barrier of air and light that caught the debris just before it hit.

He launched the debris in the opposite direction. It crashed into the park in an explosion of dust and shattered trees. The creature reared up, taking advantage of the distraction. Stratos took the full force of a hit from the creature's massive tail.

The impact was bone-shaking.

Stratos went hurtling toward the ground.

He hit the pavement like a meteor and slammed into the street with a brutal crash that sent chunks of asphalt flying in every direction. His body gouged a trench through the road that stretched an entire city block.

Everyone started panicking as the beast reared up with what felt like a victory cry and began trying to get through a building to get to the fallen hero.

The air felt thick, hard to breathe.

Stratos wasn't moving.

Neither was I. 

Even as the creature charged toward us.

Everything around me seemed... still.

I took a breath and knew what I had to do. 

This was it.

But did I have the guts to act? To prove I was more than just some ginger from Langford?

I sprinted into the street, skidding across broken asphalt, clambering over shattered pavement and mangled pipes spraying, hopefully just, water.

Stratos was lying in a ditch carved by his own impact. Cracked tar, dust, dirt. Metal sticking out every which way.

Oh god. 

Was he dead? 

He can’t be dead. 

He’d taken harder hits. He always came back. 

He was just… hurt. Maybe worse.

He needed help, not some girl trying to rip off his mask.

So why was I still moving?

At this point, I had no idea.

I was running on instinct, adrenaline, and stubborn principles.

And before I knew it, I was climbing down into a ravine carved out by a fallen superhero, right in the middle of a cape battle.

I kneeled down next to him and looked him over.

His white armour looked grey and scuffed, the edges of his cape were worn and tattered. 

Up close, he was huge. So much taller and broader than I ever realized. I’d only ever seen him from far away, usually flying at speeds too fast to clock.

“Lady! What the hell are you doing down there?!” a voice shouted. A construction worker, clearly losing his mind at the sight of me kneeling next to a fallen god.

I looked around wildly, my mind racing.

I was standing in a literal crater like an absolute lunatic.

What the hell was I doing down here? 

Then it hit me. 

I was about to die trying to find out who Stratos really was.

It was insane.

This was insane.

I was could not do this. 

It felt…wrong.

Not just because of the danger, but because of the ethics of it. It went against all my morals. 

But what was I supposed to say to justify this level of reckless behaviour? 

“I’m... helping him!” 

It was partly true, because, I couldn't just leave him here.

Even though I was fairly certain he was indestructible.

Okay... about seventy-five percent certain.

“Could use a hand!” I added. Yelling, and gesturing to the unconscious superhero lying in front of me.

The construction worker looked at me like I had a death wish.

Then the beast let out another guttural screech as it thundered down the street.

The construction worker didn't hesitate.

He turned and ran.

Fair.

If I hadn't been kneeling in this ravine, I would've been doing the exact same thing.

I looked down at Stratos and the mask he was wearing. It was cracked along the jaw and up one cheek, exposing a glimpse of skin, his mouth, and part of his face.

He looked surprisingly human under there.

And very... well sculpted. 

I don't know what I was expecting.

I don't know why it did something to me. Knowing there was a human being under all that armor.

Handsome. Human. Remarkable.

He was breathing, though he was still unconscious. I stared at him, taking him all in.

Then I caught myself. 

Wait.

Was I seriously checking out Stratos while I was about to be trampled to death by an alien dragon beast?

Apparently.

Come on, Brie. 

Do better. 

I reached out and lightly tapped his mask.

“Stratos?”

Nothing.

“Hey Stratos.”

I smacked it a little harder.

“Wake up, mister.”

He stirred, barely, and groaned.

“Hmmmppfff…”

His voice modulator must have been damaged, because the sound that came out was human.

So human.

“Hey, pal! You’ve gotta get up.” 

I looked t at the beast lumbering towards us. 

My heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest, and my whole body was vibrating with adrenaline, fear, and shock.

“I mean, you don’t have to, but that’s kind of your whole thing, right? Fighting the scary monsters? I mean, you just got your ass handed to you, so you could very fairly pack it in, I guess. Either way, you need to wake up before that thing tramples you. Us.”

I was rambling, now. I knew it.

But I was terrified. 

If I was being completely honest, I was a hair's breadth away from passing out.

“Us…? You,” Stratos said slowly, that otherworldly edge creeping back into his voice. “You need to get out of here. Now.”

Behind me came another THUD.

I flinched again, terrified. Terrified to look and see the terror that was about to be unleashed on us. 

But, when I finally turned, relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. 

The Ascendants had arrived. 

They were capes and variants alike. Heroes.

Five of them. 

A blur of color and power slammed into the street. 

At the front was Iron Ward. A literal goddess of a woman, all brutal grace and blazing fury. Sword and shield in hand, she let out a battle cry worthy of a Norse shield-maiden and struck the beast with impossible force.

“Oh, thank God. Your friends are here,” I said, letting out a breath.

“Perfect,” he groaned, starting to sit up. “Let's add more chaos to this party.”

“Well, there ain't no party like a hood-and-cape party,” I deadpanned.

“Funny,” he said. “Maybe I should hand this getup over to you. You've already got the wit locked down.” 

“All I need now are devastating powers. Oh, wait. I don't have those. I'm just a plain, ordinary girl from Langford.”

“Hardly. Consider yourself lucky you only have devastating powers in the looks department.”

I laughed and then…

“I’m sorry, w-what?” I stammered. 

I couldn't help it.

Was Stratos... hitting on me?

No.

He couldn't be.

I was, well... me.

And he was a god among men. Wanted by women and men everywhere. He probably had all kinds of people throwing themselves at him all the time.

Then it clicked.

Oh, right.

He probably said that to every girl and guy he met with slight hearts in their eyes. Especially some lame editor who was so obsessed she crawled into a crater to get a closer look at him. He didn’t know I was trying to land the story to end all stories, to prove I was worth a damn, by finding out who he was. 

I realized I hadn't said anything for several seconds. 

And he was looking at me. Or at least, I thought he was.

His mask didn't have eye holes, just two narrow slits glowing blue.  

Then his mask flicked up toward the fight. 

“Shit!”

Before I could react, think, or even breathe, the world blurred.

I was in the air. In arms that absolutely enveloped me and held me firm, but not crushingly so.

Then suddenly I was on a rooftop. A mile away.

My knees hit concrete.

“That was fast,” I croaked as nausea and shock crashed over me. I was dizzy, disoriented, the world spun.

“Too fast.”

I turned away from him and promptly threw up what little breakfast I had eaten this morning.

“Sorry,” he said. He bent low beside me, placed a gloved hand on my shoulder. “That happens more often than you’d think. Human bodies aren’t built for that kind of acceleration.”

I nodded, because yeah, clearly.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, scanning my face. 

I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my blazer and nodded again, rising slowly, lungs gulping air like it was water. 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Always am. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s sorta my job,” he chuckled.

“Right.”

Once my head stopped spinning, I looked up. He was still watching me.

“What about you? Are you okay? You just got slammed through a city block by a dragon-lizard-alien thing. Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” he said with a shrug. “Atmosphere keeps me charged. I heal quickly, and I don’t break easy.”

“The whole…” I waved vaguely at him, then at the sky.

“Stratos thing,” he finished for me.

“Still, those hits have to sting.”

“Sometimes,” he muttered.

We stared at each other for a long moment. It was oddly comforting being in his presence. He was stronger than a god, more formidable than anyone I'd ever met, yet there was something grounding about him. Something safe.

His white armor gleamed in the morning light, and his cape seemed to move with a life of its own, even though there was barely a breeze. He looked every bit the larger-than-life superhero the world believed him to be.

And yet...

Standing this close, he somehow felt impossibly human. Real. 

“Well, I should...” he said, taking a step back as if to leave.

“Your voice...” I blurted, the words escaping before I could stop them. “It's not at all what I expected.”

I couldn't let him leave.

There was so much I wanted... so much I needed to know.

I'd never been this close to him before.

Never had the chance to talk to him so openly.

And I wasn't about to waste it. 

Stratos paused, tilting his head.

“What did you expect?”

I shrugged. 

“I don’t know. Something deep. Booming. God-like. A real kneel before me, tiny mortals kind of energy.”

He chuckled.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“That seems to be your thing,” I teased.

God.

Now I was being a flirt.

Stratos scoffed, and I was certain he gave me a look somehow equal parts incredulous, amused, and exhausted. I could practically feel his eyebrows lifting beneath that damn helmet.

“Why don't you do interviews?” I blurted.

My brain running a mile a minute. Every question I'd ever wanted answered had suddenly rushed to the front of my mind.

“Why?” he asked. “What do you want to know so badly? Is it not enough that I saved you? That you're safe? Everyone always wants more.”

He gestured between us.

“I'm here. I'm protecting you. Trust that.”

“That might be easier if you revealed anything about yourself.”

He shifted.

So did I.

“Who are you? What you want? How you do what you do? Why you do it?”

He nodded like he'd expected those questions.

“The whole world is dying to know who you are under there,” I added. “Not your identity, necessarily. The man behind the mask.”

He held my gaze.

“The whole world doesn't get to know,” he said quietly. “Because if they did they wouldn’t handle it well.” 

A beat passed.

“What about you?”

He took a slow step back toward me.

“Do you really want to know all those things?”

His voice softened.

“Or am I just a story to you?”

“A byline to build your career on?”

“You are... an anomaly,” I said. “And people can't explain you. Why you're rescuing them. Helping them. Acting on their behalf. Don’t you think you owe them something?”

“No.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“They're not entitled to my story. No one is.”

His voice softened.

“Not until the world proves it can handle anyone who's different. Anyone who doesn't fit inside its very narrow definition of acceptable.”

I nodded.

“So you're scared.”

He didn't answer.

“To be truly known,” I continued. “To be seen for who you really are.”

A beat passed. 

“I can't say I blame you. I... actually... I can relate.”

My voice softened.

“But it has to be incredibly... lonely.”

He flinched.

It was almost imperceptible.

But I caught it.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “At times. But, trust me... it's better this way.”

“So you're asking for trust,” I said. “To do what you do without questions or answers.”

I held his gaze.

“That's a big ask from someone who doesn't trust anyone with even a sliver of their truth.”

For the first time...

He didn't have a comeback.

Instead, he shook off my comment and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Well, Brie...” He shifted his weight. “This has been... really nice. But I need to get back to the fight.”

I looked down the street. The Ascendants were fully engaged now. Even Whisper had shown up. She was a walking mystery in black, purple, and blue armor, with beautiful dark curls and an uncanny ability to vanish mid-battle. She was a rare sight.

“Yeah. Makes sense,” I said with a nod. “You are the Lord of the Skies, after all. Superhero of superheroes.”

He nodded once.

“Thank you... for the save,” I said, a chill running through me as the adrenaline finally began to wear off.

I hadn't gotten what I needed.

If Jennifer had been in my place, she would've walked away with the story of the decade.

I got a warning. 

And a very firm boundary.

“Likewise,” Stratos said.

He jumped onto the edge of the roof, balanced like it was nothing. And launched off with a casual step, disappearing into the mayhem.

I watched him go.

Letting the moment we'd shared wash over me.

Then my brain kicked back into gear.

Wait...

Did he just call me Brie?

How the hell did he know my name?

I looked around.

The rooftop looked familiar. Really familiar.

Holy crap! 

I was at work. He’d dropped me off on top of the Epoch Media building. 

No way that was a coincidence.

...Right?

​

Chapter 5

Brie

​

After I got my wits about me, I realized I was going to be late for the morning debrief.

I pushed through the rooftop door and scrambled down the stairs. The moment I hit the top floor, I bolted left, making a beeline for the elevators. My bag bounced against my back, and my jeans clung to my legs, damp from sweat and water. I jabbed the call button like my life depended on it.

I tried to slow my breathing.

My feet were screaming.

I was soaked.

My white button-down clung to my skin beneath my blazer, nearly transparent now.

Great.

Jennifer was definitely going to have something to say about my appearance.

And my late arrival.

When the elevator doors opened, I got off at floor 12. Which was entirely dedicated to FASH, Epoch Media’s premiere fashion magazine.

The reception desk had been abandoned.

Everyone was clustered at the floor-to-ceiling windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the mayhem outside, which was definitely against policy.

In situations like this, we were supposed to be under desks or in doorways. We’d had drills. Many drills. To minimize casualties, survive the panic, file the story.

I slipped past the gawking crowd and into the writers’ pit, more of a viper pit, really.

And there she was, Chantelle.

Without even needing to call her, she spotted me.

She leapt over the desks like a damn gazelle, all long legs and effortless grace. Her hair dark blonde and brunette woven together, framed deep brown eyes and a face that belonged on the cover of the very magazine she helped produce. 

“Oh my God, you look a mess,” she said. “Did you get caught in the panic?”

“Yes,” I muttered, dabbing at my face with the sleeve I hadn't already used to wipe my mouth after throwing up. “Also, I crawled into a... ravine, got soaked, sweated through my shirt, threw up, and somewhere along the way, I lost my coffee.”

“Damn, Brianna. That's a rough morning. But don't worry. Your highly fashionable, highly connected bestie has got you, like always. Ready to save the day,” she said. 

“I would literally be lost without you,” I said, as she pulled me toward The Closet.

The holy grail of fashion. And perfect for emergencies such as this.

It was packed with designer samples, seasonal must-haves, and enough clothing to solve almost any crisis. At least wardrobe-related ones.

We jogged down the hall and slipped in silently.

Chantelle started flipping through racks, tossing pieces over her shoulder onto my arms like she was dressing a mannequin.

“I just need a shirt,” I said.

“No, you don’t.” She shook her head. “You need a whole new wardrobe. The jeans-and-blazer combo? You are no longer an intern, Brie. And you’re wardrobe is doing nothing for you.”

“Epoch Magazine is a business casual workplace.”

“It’s business abysmal.”

“You just think that because you’re surrounded by Jimmy Choos, Givenchy and Balenciaga.”

“I’m impressed you even know those brands.”

“Well, my best friend does work for Fash Magazine.”

“Lucky for you.”

Chantelle and I had been friends since elementary school. She moved to Langford with her family when I was in fourth grade, and we'd gone through middle school, high school, and university together.

We both love to write. We even chose the same major. Sat through the same introductory English classes. Shared the same smart-girl sarcasm and the same mutual disdain for boys, which eventually narrowed into a very specific hatred of frat boys.

But where I was completely forgettable, except for the shock of my red hair.

Chantelle was luminous.

She always had been.

She was funny, charming, and brilliant. She could work a room like she was born for it.

We shared a deep bond and had made a pact as kids to always be best friends. But over the years, I couldn't shake the feeling that Chantelle was simply too kind-hearted to cut me loose.

She started loving designer brands, high fashion, and celebrity gossip. 

I was still into manga, passionately arguing about politics, and wearing accessories that were far too bright and colorful.

Somehow, despite how different we became, she kept dragging me along through everyt stage of life.

Sometimes whether I wanted to go or not.

She was loyal like that.

The third in our little friend group was our dear friend Lori, who’d lived down the street from me when we were kids. She was now a sous chef at The Cafeteria, one of those celebrity-laden hot-spot restaurants that tried too hard to sound low-key. The three of us had been inseparable through most of our formative years. And thankfully, we still were, in our chaotic, adulting way.  

“Ooh, this.” Chantelle held up a stunning cocktail dress. All midnight shimmer, sheer lace and dramatic neckline. 

“No. I can’t wear that.”

“You absolutely can.” 

“Where?” 

“On a date,” she said. “Obviously.” 

“I don’t go on that many dates, Bowman. And I sure as hell don’t go on dates that justify a dress like that. Assuming it would even fit.”

“It’s a size five. It’ll fit.”

“Yeah, if I don’t eat for six weeks.” I glanced down. “Thank God oversized fits are still in fashion.”

“Stop.” Chantelle rolled her eyes. “You’re gorgeous. You’re body is gorgeous. You wear this, you own any room. That auburn hair, with crimson red lips? You’ll stun.”

“Chantelle,” I said. “Please. Help me. I can’t wear that… anywhere. And I have an editor’s meeting that is starting in two minutes. Jennifer is going to destroy me if I walk in looking like I came from a cocktail party.”

Suddenly, the building rumbled. 

The floor trembled beneath us.

Chantelle barely flinched. “Well, if the building is in ruins, you don’t have anything to worry about.” 

I nodded slowly. 

“Honestly? At least, we are among the fashion greats. Probably the best place to die.”

“Maybe for you,” I said.

Another rumble. Louder this time.

“Should we head to the basement? The vault they built for this kind of thing?” she asked, glancing at the ceiling.

“Maybe. But I think they’ve got it handled.”

“Who?”

“You know… Stratos and the capes.”

“The capes?” Chantelle said, waggling her eyebrows. “What exactly happened out there?”

I just shook my head.

“I might've... gotten a rescue.” 

“And?” 

“Okay, I got closer to Stratos than I ever have before.”

Her eyes went wide.

“What?” she practically screamed. “You got rescued by the golden boy himself?”

I nodded.

“What about Stalker? I fucking love that guy. His whole vibe, really. Very dark-daddy-dangerous.”

“Ew. No. Just from Stratos,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Holy shit, Brie,” she gasped. “Did you get anything?”

She grabbed my arm.

“Seriously. If you got so much as a soundbite from Stratos, Jennifer would probably make you co-editor-in-chief.”

“I know,” I said, throwing my head back as disappointment washed over me.

“You'd be on the next cover for sure.”

“It all... happened so fast. And... I don't know. He seemed... very human. More human than I thought he would.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just... you know...”

“Did you chicken out?” Chantelle asked, tilting her head, her arms crossing over her chest.

“I didn't chicken out. I just didn't get anything noteworthy.”

“Brie, you've been obsessing over this guy for over a year.”

“Yeah, well... after he rescued me, he made sure I was okay. Then he left.”

“That was it?” She threw her hands in the air.

I nodded weakly.

“Unreal,” she said, shaking her head. “That's like winning the lottery and never cashing the ticket.”

“That's not...”

I frowned.

“It’d be a really messed-up lottery to win. I almost died.”

“Still.”

I let out a sharp, annoyed breath.

“You have to write about it,” she said, her eyes gleaming.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “But there wasn't much to go on.”

Why did I suddenly feel the need to protect what I knew?

They aren't entitled to my story.

His words echoed in my head.

What was his story?

I wanted to know now more than ever.

Especially after hearing the sound of his voice. Seeing the shape of his jaw. Sharp, square, with a slight tawny warmth to his skin. 

Who was he under that mask?​​