Chapter 37
Sophia
Fucking Danvers.
She was soaring over the roof of a dilapidated building in her Breaker form, somehow still feeling the phantom ache in her everything.
Sophia wasn't sure which sibling she meant by that.
Doesn't matter. Fuck both of them.
Losing altitude, she canceled her power to land on eroding tarmac with a crunch, before jumping and phasing out again.
Fuck Armiger and his swords.
Fuck Argent and her 'bonding exercises.'
If the girl wasn't such a blatant PRT pet, Sophia could almost believe the whole thing was just an excuse to beat them all up.
Well, have her brother beat them all up.
The setup was fucking perfect: excuse everything with sparring, have Armiger go to town on their asses, then heal all the evidence. Bruises mostly, but also broken bones in Aegis' case. Each session, the dumbass kept trying to rush the older Danvers, and got punished for it with ever-increasing brutality.
But Aegis didn't need bones to walk. If Argent's healing left them brittle, no one could tell, and the Brute didn't seem to mind either.
The only reason Sophia didn't read it as some kind of dominance play was because Argent threw herself into the same meat grinder as everyone else.
And it was a meat grinder. Her brother didn't believe in going easy on little girls. If she left an opening, she got hit just as hard.
Instead, Sophia fully believed Armiger's claims that Argent got sick of losing and wanted to see her brother beaten up for a change.
At this point? The whole team could sympathize.
It would've been easy to call the blond pathetic for using them to win her fights, but aside from that one sneak attack during the first spar, her damn brother was almost untouchable.
Despite it being seven on fucking one.
Sure, there had been some improvement. All combat had this ebb and flow that honed instincts could pick up on. After so many beatings, the team had started going all out. They coordinated better. Went harder. Found openings.
Armiger adapted anyway. Or maybe he just held back less, but either way, they pushed him a little further each time; Sophia could feel it.
But the progress was agonizingly slow, in her opinion.
Would've gone faster if some people weren't committed to being dead weight. Sophia could understand Argent's powers being gimped by the regulations – even then, the bitch wasn't useless in a fight.
But Gallant? Gallant refusing to use his power at all was beyond stupid.
When asked, the absolute moron refused to explain himself beyond mumbling something about his girlfriend and safety. Weirdly, Argent was in agreement, but her brother had more sense. Unfortunately, even he wasn't able to beat that sense into Stansfield's head, and not for lack of trying.
After a few rounds of targeting Gallant specifically, he and Kid had to spend an evening fixing the nepo baby's armor. The next day, Armiger took weights from a nearby rack and fashioned a copy. Argent wasn't happy about the 'misuse of assets', but her brother argued it was being used for intended purposes.
It was heavy. Heavier than the original and without the artificial muscles.
In Armiger's words, if the rich boy insisted on being stupid, then he could at least train his body while he learned how to actually use armor.
All well and good, as far as punishments went, but Gallant still refused to fire happy beams, despite looking ready to die by the end of each spar.
Useless fucking idiot. It didn't matter to her if Gallant wanted to get wrecked—aside from the general desire to see Danvers put on his ass for a change—but right about now, Sophia could use someone giving Armiger some emotional recalibration.
He'd been pissy lately.
Sophia wasn't a stranger to bad moods or taking it out on whoever was nearby. Sometimes, waking up was all it took to feel the desire to rip someone's head off. Everyone had bad days like that.
Now, the guy always looked like something crawled up his ass and died, but Sophia could feel the subtle shift. It wasn't that he was blowing up on people—not his style—but there'd definitely been more bite behind his strikes.
And sure, she could take it, but fuuuuck…
For example, Danvers normally let them come to him. Just stood there, machetes low, daring them to try. Annoying as hell, because even knowing those swords could strike like vipers, it still felt like Armiger was flexing.
The last few days, though, he'd gone on the offensive.
And what an unpleasant fucking surprise that was.
On its own, it should've been a sign of progress, of him starting to take them seriously. Given his mood, though, Sophia was pretty sure they'd collectively become Armiger's stress relief.
You'd think that with a power to become intangible, him being more aggressive shouldn't have mattered to Sophia; just wait out his assault in Breaker state and look for a chance to get her licks in.
Only, the guy started making his swords sparkle with green lightning, forcing Sophia to go solid and take the hits.
Part of her wanted to call his bluff. No way he'd go that far in a spar.
Another part remembered squaring off against his sister. Unexpected and agonizingly sharp pain right above her fucking cunt. Only an inch lower and...
That was a message, all right. Shocking her, pressing the wound, shoving a sword through her chest.
'Don't fuck with me.'
Danvers could roll her eyes at Sophia's life philosophy all she wanted, but the girl lived by the same damn rules. She just covered it with a thin veneer instead of being honest.
Double-faced bitch.
Once Sophia started paying attention—listening to the words and watching the actions—it was obvious.
When Danvers talked about heroics, it was never about being some shining example of everything good and nice. No, it was all about rep, strength, and keeping villains in line, dressed up as realpolitik, logistics, force projection, and whatever other buzzwords fit.
Strip it all down, and it was still force and fear.
Completely different from the usual PRT trite.
And then there was the glee with which Argent tore through the E88 goons on that leaked video. That was something intimately familiar to Sophia.
So, grudgingly, reluctantly, Sophia had to admit Danvers was a fellow predator. It had been difficult. After being humiliated by a nine-year-old, she wanted to rage and call it all a fluke, but that had been stupid. The world was binary. You are either one thing, or another – no in-betweens. Sophia prided herself on being a realist that told things as they were. So when cooled off, and faced with the facts, she'd have to be braindead not to realize the truth.
Argent got shit done, and if you came at her, she would fuck you up. If she wanted something, she would step on anyone to achieve her goal. Could take full blows, grit her teeth and go for the throat. That was no prey.
All that earned her Sophia's respect.
It helped that she'd stopped snapping to attention in front of Aegis and calling him 'sir,' apparently realizing how useless their leader actually was. Even he thought that was weird.
Sophia still didn't like the bitch. She was creepy and tried way too hard to play the perfect little Ward, when she could be making a real difference in this shithole. Ditch patrols. Do real work.
But no, Sophia couldn't picture Danvers breaking the mold.
Which was fucking confusing.
Because if Sophia's read was correct, Argent had about as much respect for the PRT's rules as she did. The way the team bonding exercises were set up gave it away.
And for all her talk about chain of command, anyone with eyes could see that Argent was running the Wards now. Meaning Sophia, and maybe Armiger, because the rest were dense as rocks. Somehow Aegis still considered himself in charge, despite doing everything the nine-year-old told him.
In a lot of ways, it reminded Sophia of Emma. All that social maneuvering, with Armiger in the wings, fists ready. It was why training sessions looked suspicious, initially.
Damn. If Vista wasn't such a pain, she might've asked what those two were like at school.
Speaking of...
Sophia glanced back midair; the blue-and-silver figure was following behind.
Before the siblings showed up, everything had been simple. On slow days, sit through classes, run track, hang out with Emma. Go on a hunt at night.
Patrol days meant HQ and another stretch of pointless walking through the Boardwalk or Downtown. Not even the fun parts, where the Empire might start something with Coil's mercs. It didn't happen often, but at least there was the possibility of action.
Sure, Sophia could always ditch the route—and often did so—but that depended on who she was paired with.
When it came to getting around the city, Sophia was really good. Her power was perfect for movement: being practically weightless meant extremely high jumps and long horizontal leaps, turning rooftops into stepping stones. Almost no air resistance either. Moving around like that still took some stamina, but she had that in spades. Years of track saw to it.
But Aegis could fly. He wasn't Legend or anything, but it was sustained flight about as quick as his running speed. Shaking him off was more about hiding than anything. Worse, he was doggedly determined to prove himself by trying to bring Sophia to heel. As if. Using fists to make him back off wasn't an option either. Not only because openly assaulting her teammates was a step too far, but also because Aegis could take a hit with an actual war hammer and still fail to get a clue.
It was honestly starting to feel like he was into it.
Kid had his hoverboard. Straight-line speed on par with Aegis, so all the same problems. Fortunately, he was so pathetic that a few harsh words—and maybe a shove—was enough to get him to piss off.
Vista was complicated. In theory, she could be very fucking mobile, but it was situational at best, and not very practical for moving across the city. People Manton-limiting her power was one thing, but traversing rooftops meant bending buildings. Cutting through buildings was even worse. Naturally, the PRT wasn't big on that.
Not that Vista couldn't cheat it in short bursts—but her deciding to follow Sophia was a coin toss. Nine times out of ten, a few remarks about Gallant feeling grossed out around her was enough to send her stomping away. Then, once in a blue moon, the shrimp would get over her lovesick bullshit and run on pure spite, rules be damned. There'd been that one time Sophia only lost her deep in Empire turf. Almost earned respect—but of course she had to ruin it by calling in sick for days afterward. Sulking, obviously.
Gallant and Clock were the easiest, as neither was fast. One roof-hop, and Sophia was gone.
She glanced back again, irritation prickling.
While not as fast, Armiger had no trouble keeping up with her, whether that meant bounding across rooftops or moving cleanly through the gaps between buildings.
As a seasoned runner, Sophia could spot good form.
Braced core, midfoot landing, shorter, quicker strides. Weirdly strong forward lean though, a bit more and his torso would be parallel to the ground. Useful when bullets are flying, maybe, but damn did it look uncomfortable.
All in all, Armiger lost out on top speed, but it was stable, meant for pivoting on the dime. The constant, precise turns of his head showed that he wasn't just running, but also scanning his surroundings.
That was how athletes run. Closer to what you see PRT agents do during drills, but also different. Those guys had a lot of gear to balance.
Instead, Armiger's damn near identical to Sophia's own running form, when in costume. Up to and including spread arms; only she had to keep it that way because of dual crossbows, while Armiger's should be in front of him, holding daddy's halberd like a rifle.
She thought the similarity weird, considering hers was self-taught. It hadn't taken long to figure out that even with her powers, running around like it was track and field was a good way to catch a stray bullet.
For some reason, their profiles stressed the connection between the siblings powers, but then why did Argent ran like a textbook trooper, while her brother was closer to Sophia in that regard? Did Argent get some kind of military template while Armiger got a self-taught variant? Didn't sound right, because he was better at fighting.
Then again, maybe that was the reason. Armiger was better at fighting. Maybe Sophia had just taught herself the perfect running form for combat.
She liked that explanation.
Boots slammed onto the rooftop, as she went solid a little higher than usual, sprinting for the edge. Behind her, the sharp crack of a metal spike biting into brick came a bit too close for her liking.
Being a good runner was one thing, but what really let Armiger keep up was his dad's halberd.
Armsmaster was big. Power armor, tall frame, solid build. Fully geared, he probably weighed at least three times as much as his baby boy. The grappling hook of the iconic weapon was meant to haul that mass upward at speed.
For his mini-me, that same force turned into raw acceleration. Good thing he was a Brute, because that did notlook safe.
Not that Sophia cared if he splattered against a wall. Welcomed it, really.
As she neared a dilapidated, rust-eaten water tower, Sophia briefly dropped her Breaker state just long enough to kick off it hard.
She didn't strictly need to, but going solid let her generate more momentum. That was why she'd learned to combat-run in the first place. One of the quirks of her power was that when phased out walking was faster than normal. Sprinting, though? Slower. A major downside, but she'd learned to work around it.
She wasn't even five seconds into the arc when she heard the clang of rusted metal being punched clean through.
Persistent little freak.
Lately, Aegis had been assigning Sophia more and more patrols with the older Danvers. She could only guess at the reason, but her best bet was that Armiger didn't complain about what the rest of the Wards called shit duty.
It sure as hell wasn't because they got along.
There was just something off about the siblings. Disturbing. Creepy.
The way they moved. The way they positioned themselves without thinking. There was always this slight tension about them that got on her nerves.
The worst part was how their eyes snapped to the slightest twitch, almost in sync. It made her hair stand on end.
It was easy to forget their ages when they looked at you.
Sophia had adapted to it, the way inmates probably adapted to sharing space with psychos. Learn what sets them off and don't go there.
It hadn't been particularly difficult, since everything boiled down to join the training and stay the fuck away from the stove.
But what drove Sophia up the wall was how everyone was too fucking dense to notice anything wrong with those two.
Gallant was twitchy around Argent, at least, but never showed much reaction to her brother. The more dangerous of the two.
Aegis's brain had long since become redundant. What remained was Argent's sock puppet and Armiger's punching bag.
Clockblocker was all buddy-buddy, fearlessly talking shit the way only a lemming could. This, despite Argent all but stating he was going to die soon, and her brother occasionally shooting him dark looks from the kitchen. Measuring looks. Like sizing him up for a cut.
Kid got those looks too and ignored them completely. Whatever was wrong with him went beyond dyscalculia. Just marched right up within striking distance to demand more toys. If someone ever looked at Sophia like that while gripping a knife, she'd be going Breaker the same instant. Likely shooting the next.
Vista was the worst of them.
The shrimp had always been a wet blanket. Oh, she put on a tough facade, but underneath? Maybe not as pathetic as some other people Sophia knew, but still grating.
If she wasn't down in the dumps because Gallant had a date with Glory Girl, it was crossing paths with Glory Girl and spending the next day lamenting her small boobs and throwing jealous looks at Sophia's. Or it was her parents being bastards. Or her dogs dying. It was always fucking something. And the shrimp wanted people to take her seriously? Really?
But ever since the Danverses showed up… she didn't even know how to describe it.
Sometimes Sophia would catch the Vista sitting at the kitchen table, munching sweets, distracting Argent from her newspaper while Armiger cooked and grumbled at her to stop ruining her appetite. In those moments, her face was just so... relaxed? Content?
Whatever it was, it made Sophia want to smash her teeth in.
What made the situation insane was that, knowing what she knew now about Argent's powers, Sophia was almost certain Vista had nearly gotten herself shanked when they first met. And no one seemed to realize they'd almost witnessed a murder.
Seriously, did everyone just forget that those two had a body count?
Sophia could at least understand why she wasn't getting the respect she deserved. The PRT simply didn't know about hers.
The first one had been a drug dealer. She killed him with a stick—phased it through his chest. Her first kill.
If you believed the movies, it was supposed to be life-changing. It hadn't been, it was actually really easy. So much so that a child could have done it, which she had been at the time.
No panic. No guilt. Just the rush of victory.
You could argue that was because it was bloodless and impersonal, but making the wound less weird with a knife hadn't bothered her much either. Good thing she had one on her, just in case.
That was how Sophia had learned her power left marks, and got the cash to start putting together a costume.
The second was a skinhead Terry saw a few times on his way home. That was before she really understood how much shit she'd be in if it ever got out. It was also when she learned guns didn't work in her shadow form—the powder simply refused to ignite.
The next one came much later; A Chorus member, doing who-knew-what in her neighborhood. Hunting that close to home wasn't smart, but those fuckers were crazy, and Sophia wasn't letting them anywhere near her house. A message needed to be sent.
By then, she knew exactly how good she was. Double her size. Double her weight. Didn't matter—she'd fuck them up. She beat him to death with knuckledusters. At thirteen years old, relying on skill and experience she'd earned the hard way.
No Thinker bullshit.
The last one was more of a manslaughter; a moron who just didn't get it that if someone was holding you over the edge of a roof, fidgeting was a terrible idea.
Sophia had muscles, but she wasn't a Brute.
That was before the PRT had caught and saddled her with probation. After that, she kept her nose relatively clean—only a few more kills. Solo patrols were one thing, but sometimes she went a bit overboard and... Well, can't let anyone tattle, right?
They were all trash, but there were limits to what she could get away with.
Speaking of that.
Sophia turned her head midair to glare at the source of half her recent headaches. Just in time to see him suddenly break away in a completely different direction.
What the hell?
Gravity yanked her solid body down fifteen feet to the nearest surface, before she phased out to land safely.
Without wasting time, she threw herself after the blue-and-silver Ward.
Soon she heard it. Faint cries for help echoed through the air, coming from the direction Armiger was heading.
Her fuse got lit, and movement sped up.
Maybe it was a desire for a fight where she wasn't going to lose. Maybe it was spite. All she knew was that every healed bruise, every loss in the ring, and her track instincts were screaming at her towin.
Sophia committed to getting there first.
Her contestant had a head start, but she wasn't Winslow track star for nothing. Two brutal leaps that set her leg muscles on fire allowed her to close the gap by the time they reached the long roof of a closed-down mall.
She hit it running only seconds behind him—but at this speed, seconds might as well be hours.
Armiger was fast.
On solid ground, he outran her, height advantage be damned. The glowing lines on his skin were the reason why.
By timing her power perfectly, she was flickering between states to squeeze out every bit of momentum while cutting drag to a minimum. A solid foot hit the tarmac. A weightless body was launched forward. Repeat. Repeat.
A trick she'd mastered to avoid his blows, and now she was using it to win this race.
Her lips grinned.
Her legs screamed.
The edge of the roof loomed ahead. A finish line.
If she could get there first. She would get there first.
One heartbeat—she was beside him.
Two—she broke ahead.
Three—she left him in the dust.
Finally—
YES!
Sophia hit the parapet at full stride and flew thirty feet into the air. Her muscles burned, her grin went feral, and the rush of speed and victory slammed into her all at once.
Running. Winning. Weightless.
For one perfect moment, Sophia was on top of the world.
Basking in that feeling, she let the accumulated momentum to carry her over the empty street and the next building completely.
She would reach the crime scene first.
She had beaten Danvers.
She had—
Overshot.
Fuck!
She could see them down below: three men pinning a woman in a narrow alley seventy feet below.
Her brain scrambled for a solution. She could go solid and fall faster, but it wouldn't bleed off the sideways momentum fast enough. Still, there was a brief window before Armiger would have to cross the next building first.
She threw a look back at—
Is that a fucking vaulting pole?!
The sight of Danvers sprinting with a pole about five times his height broke Sophia's brain for a second. It was unexpected, it looked ridiculous, and the guy was also holding wrong.
Instead of keeping the pole up, it was pointed it forward like a lance. The reason for that became apparent when Armiger used all of his power-augmented momentum to wedge the pole into the roof and parapet, and still kept running, until it was practically folded in half.
It looked ready to snap. It should have snapped. Instead, it hit a critical point and catapulted Armiger forward at an absurd speed.
Whether it was adrenaline or sheer incredulity, it created a timeless moment where Sophia simply watched Danvers twist midair, reorienting his body with practiced ease in a beautiful arc that would drop him perfectly into the narrow gap between two buildings.
As someone experienced in moving like this herself, Sophia knew the spread hands were simply part of the process...
But it really felt like the fucker was T-posing at her.
The surge of seething anger snapped Sophia out of whatever trance she'd fallen into. Her body went solid with a curse, dropping to the closest roof. She only phased out again at the last possible second, before immediately rushing back to her target.
To anyone watching, she would've looked like a streak of black smoke tearing toward the gap between buildings.
By the time Sophia crash-landed in the dirty alleyway, the party was already over. All she could do to stop a boiling scream of rage from breaking out was to grind her teeth and take in the aftermath.
A typical Northern Docks alleyway: disgusting, grimy, and reeking of decaying trash and urine.
Although rather than the overflowing dumpster—that had a rather characteristic bloody imprint of someone's face being repeatedly bashed against it—the smell might have something to do with three men lying knocked out cold. Homeless, judging by the looks.
There was no need for forensics to reconstruct the crime scene.
Three hobos assaulting a woman in this part of town? Merchants, almost certainly. The gutter tier of Brockton gangs, known for smelling like shit, driving pavement-wrecking tinker-vehicles, and pushing drugs on kids.
Not every hobo ran with the Merchants, but the syringe on the ground pointed their way. Either someone had a big payday and decided to throw a party behind a dumpster, or it was meant to keep their target quiet.
Said target was sobbing uncontrollably, clinging to Danvers like a lifeline. Meanwhile, the guy stood there stiff as a board, probably because the height difference shoved his face squarely into her tits. And considering the state of her clothes... Yeah, there were reasons to feel awkward. Unless he was into it.
"Thank you!" the woman sobbed. "Thank you!"
Ugh, Sophia thought with disgust, averting her eyes to take stock of the Danvers' work instead. Shattered teeth, broken noses, one leg bent wrong, and likely more damage hiding under filthy layers of rags. That was some real work, alright. Danvers didn't fuck around.
Sophia wondered if he had actually landed on one of the hobos.
No bite marks, though. No scratches.
Pathetic, she thought with contempt. Didn't even try to fight.Emma had more guts than this middle-school.
Come to think about it, the situation was weirdly parallel to Emma's. Both she and this cow were assaulted by gangoons in an alleyway, both were held down, both were bailed by a thirteen-year-old not afraid of fighting for real. Only, when masks were off, Emma had actually proven herself worth the effort. Unlike this cow.
God, I hate victims. Fuck!
Sophia was starting to get seriously pissed off.
This patrol should have ended with her smashing Merchant skulls into a dumpster after beating Danvers to the punch. Instead, she'd snoozed and lost both the race and the fight.
It should have been her doing the bashing! Her beating them into a bloody pulp!
Normally, Sophia wouldn't be so blasé with violence around the other Wards, but what the hell? Danvers clearly held the same view on the appropriate level of force, not to mention had seen Sophia do worse.
Much worse, she shook her head.
Looking back, that night had been full of bad calls. Sophia could only blame it on mounting frustrations. Damn, had that first week with Armsmaster's brats been infuriating. Not only the sudden change in atmosphere of the Wards' quarters, where Sophia had been forced to share space with the two cryptids, but also her favorite hunting ground being cut off by the Protectorate.
From that perspective, was it any surprising her anger had finally boiled over? Maybe. It didn't excuse the poor decision making, but the desperate need for something life-affirming and violent to bleed it off was understandable.
And it had been great. Sure, Sophia hadn't exactly started her day planning on quadrupling her body count, but she'd be damned if that didn't help.
Going all out, slipping fully into her element, tearing through goons one after another—it made her feel invincible. Better. Stronger. Grounded in a way nothing else managed.
Right up until Danvers showed up.
"I thought... I thought..!" the victim let out an especially loud, choking sob, breaking Sophia's chain of thought. Her temper spiked. Hard.
She was half a second away from shutting the crying bitch up with a calming slap when the waterworks slowed down a bit.
"Should... Should I give a statement now?" the woman sniffed brokenly, trying to get ahold of herself.
Sophia growled. She had had enough of dealing with this. The sound cut through the hysterics, and the woman flinched as if she'd only just noticed her.
"Get. Lost."
"Wha—" the woman hiccupped; her stupid cow eyes wide with terror.
"You heard me," Sophia snapped. "We bailed your useless ass out. Now get out of here and stop wasting our time."
Armiger finally pulled his face away from the woman's tits and looked at her. "Soph—"
"Codenames, you dipshit!" Sophia slammed her fist into the dumpster. The clang echoed down the alley, and the woman folded in on herself with a yelp, cutting off further objections from Danvers with her cleavage.
God, she was already pissed, and now this. No wonder Argent rode her brother nonstop if he was actually this stupid. Perhaps there was more to it than the blond simply loving to run her mouth.
Still seeing no movement, Sophia glared murderously at the woman.
"Get. Moving," she hissed, putting the full weight of her mood behind the words.
That did it. Finally getting the clue, the victim released Danvers and bolted, stumbling as she ran out of the alley. Armiger watched her go, eyes following until she was gone, before turning back to Sophia.
"I'm pretty sure this isn't the standard procedure for dealing with assault victims," he said flatly.
"I'm pretty sure you know dick about procedures," Sophia shot back. "It's Shadow Stalker in the field."
"Right," Armiger shrugged. "I'm still getting used to the silly names."
"Don't seem to have that problem with your dad," she grumbled.
And her codename wasn't silly. Sophia hadn't gotten to choose it, but PHO had nailed it anyway, back in the day. Luckily, she got to keep it, and the Image hadn't dressed her into one of those bright, sanitized 'Armsmaster is a thing' outfits like the others. Partly because it was hard to sell friendly when your skeleton showed through in Breaker form, but mostly because Piggot wanted to cash in on her rep as a rehabilitation success story—which meant Sophia had to stay recognizable as a former vigilante. It had got her more news coverage than years of breaking crooks ever did.
And thank fuck for that, because Miss Militia once let slip that her internal designation had been Wisp.
Whoever was coming up with those names was terminally stupid.
"Would you believe me if I said I don't remember his actual name?"
"No," Sophia denied without hesitation.
"I think Legend mentioned it once. Willem, Willis...?" he shook his head, "I had other things on my mind. And all he pours in his tech is 'Armsmaster'."
What a crock of bullshit, Sophia thought bitterly. She had never even known her dad, and she still knew his damn name. Joshua. A football fan, liked patty melt, and, if you believed Terry, had seen Vikare die with his own two eyes.
She liked to think her dad had been the one to brain the guy.
"But you're not wrong about me being unfamiliar with procedures," Armiger went on. "So I suppose you'll have to handle the processing of these three." The armored tip of his boot nudged the nearest hobo. "You know, as a senior Ward."
She stared at him.
This bastard had taken the fight. Taken the win. And now he wanted her to do his paperwork?!
"Yeah," Sophia drawled, smoothly unhooking a crossbow and ejecting the tranq cartridge. "Fuck that."
She slammed lethal ammo home, raised the weapon, and fired.
The bolt pinged uselessly off Armiger's patterned black blade.
Her eyes narrowed. "The hell are you doing?"
"Saving you from a world of trouble, I imagine," Armiger said dryly. Even through the helmet, she could feel the look he was giving her. "It may have escaped your notice, but there was a woman here who saw you not a minute ago. Does it occur to you that she could report this incident?" He gestured at the unconscious hobos. "Three corpses made shortly after she leaves? A Scotland Yard inspector could connect the dots."
Sophia scoffed. "That sheep? She's running home to hide under a safety blanket and pretend this never happened."
"You sound awfully sure," Danvers said, obviously unimpressed.
"Yeah, 'cause that's how victims act; they break under pressure," she would have spat on the ground if not for her mask. "Talking means remembering. Remembering means breaking again. So they lie to themselves, live in a world where they never broke in the first place. That one?"
Sophia pointed her thumb behind her, where the victim had run.
"Survivor would have found strength and fought. Survivor would have pulled through. She broke. Trust me, she won't talk about it ever. Won't be coming back here either. Let the heroes haul these awful, awful people away and pretend we're back at the land of unicorns. Like she can pretend. Like there aren't hundreds more just like them, waiting to get to her, and she knows it."
Sophia pointed the crossbow, but didn't fire, knowing the shot wouldn't get past Armiger. "Well, I'll take them away. To the afterlife."
"I'm not convinced," he said, his tone flat and unimpressed. "And I'd rather not explain to my sister why I'm being investigated for murder."
"What's with the sudden worry?" Sophia cocked her head. "You didn't care the last time I put people six feet under."
And he really hadn't.
Just like the sheep they'd saved a minute ago, people showed their real nature under pressure. Predator or prey. Survivor or a victim. Getting the guy in front of her to that warehouse was a deliberate decision to test him. A way to probe, to see what triggered that wrongness she felt around the siblings.
Again, not the... best decision in hindsight, but it's not like he would've died. Brute and Combat Thinker? After what he'd pulled in New York? With Sophia having his back? Not against ordinary thugs.
When Danvers had backed off, that had been answer enough. He was another useless kid. Whatever his deal was, it wasn't worth getting worked up over. She'd been imagining things.
But then he'd shown up again and—
"There weren't any witnesses," Armiger explained, cutting her trip down memory lane. "Even so, I'm surprised no one came with questions about a building full of dead bodies. Alas, it would seem I overestimated the PRT."
…Okay. That was a lot to unpack.
"Hold on," Sophia said, lowering her weapon, "did you seriously follow me into that warehouse fully expecting the PRT to find out? You stood there and watched me kill twenty men. What was your plan if they did?"
"Simple. I would've pointed out that after two weeks of rigorous PR training, the PRT had told me to just follow the lead of senior Wards. Then sent into the field with a loose cannon," Armiger replied calmly. "Trust me, I would have been fine. You, on the other hand…" his voice trailed off meaningfully.
…Alright. Fair.
Looked at from that angle, if it ever got out, Sophia would be completely fucked. Armiger, on the other hand, would get off with a slap on the wrist. Not smelling like roses, mind you, but throwing the book at him would be out of the question. Not with Piggot and Aegis in the splash zone.
Plus, having the Protectorate leader as your dad surely counted for something.
Heh. Sly. And here she'd thought Argent was the smart one.
Still, one thing was confusing.
"Who do you think was going to report it?" Sophia asked. "Lung?"
Danvers shrugged. "Their families."
Sophia barked a laugh. "Damn, you are new."
She couldn't help herself. This reminded her that, for all his edge, Sophia was the most experienced cape here.
"That's not how it works, Armiger." She shook her head. "Lung cares too much about rep. He'd rather burn the place, dump the bodies, make it vanish—anything to keep it from getting out that someone had hit him and went away clean."
That was if Lung even knew it was Sophia in the first place. All the bolts had been collected and, unless the ABB had gotten themselves a forensics lab, puncture wounds didn't point her way specifically. Kaiser, Hookwolf, Victor, new trigger, anyone with a knife.
Hell, even if he knew it was her, what was he gonna do? Report her to Piggot? Please.
"And families? Even if there are any, you think they'd go to the cops? Anyone living on Lung's turf knows better."
Armiger's face hardened, as he gritted his teeth. "I suppose that tracks."
Weird. That was an unusually strong reaction from the usually stoic guy.
Although, he was half-Japanese, wasn't he? Neither Danvers really looked it—Argent could out-German Krieg for some reason—but her brother liked Chinese and had those yin-yang swords. He clearly showed some connection there.
Sophia had once heard Asians were big on community. And yeah, if you squinted, you could see it in the ABB's territory. The community was fucked-up, but tight-knit.
Was Danvers having some kind of Asian solidarity moment here?
"What's there to like?" his mouth tightened. "People die, and families never get closure, because outright bandits are allowed to run rampant."
Sophia couldn't fucking believe what she was hearing.
"You pity them or something?" she asked. "You watched them die."
He shrugged. "I'm not pretending they weren't human. That's all."
"Bullshit," Sophia spat. "You think those guys were just dads scraping by for their kids? Gangs have initiations, you moron! You don't trust rooks with anything important until you know they've got what it takes to hurt."
Was 'sanctimonious' the right word to describe this idiot?
"The Empire drags people off the street, lets a pack of newbies beat them to death, then throws a party. Seen it a bunch of times. No idea what the ABB does, but you can guess," she sneered. "I once saw a girl your age pinned down by a group of them. Fuckers tried to break her. Stuffed hair up her mouth, made her pick which part of her face they'd cut off. Sick shit. Made her dad watch too. And everyone was having a grand old time with that. Jeering, laughing, talking about selling her off—after a stay at the farms, of course. Gives you an idea about what's going on inside the gang, isn't it?"
She watched Armiger's jaw tighten with every word. Good. The less sympathy he had for the ABB, the less likely he'd run to Piggot. And it wasn't like she was exaggerating.
"So drop the all lives matter crap," Sophia snapped. "Let's get something straight. Are we going to have a problem with what you saw, or not?"
She'd been avoiding this exact question for quite some time, but she just couldn't take it anymore.
"You're talking in circles, and I need to know you're not about to grow a—fuck, what's the word? Not guilt, but…"
"Conscience?" Armiger offered.
"Yeah. That." she glared at the little shit. "Actually, screw it. Why didn't you report me in the first place?"
It had been gnawing at her for a long time now.
After the warehouse, Sophia went home to get a good night's sleep—the best she'd had in a while.
Waking up relaxed and refreshed, all stress gone from her body and mind, she got to ride that feeling for all of fifteen minutes before it hit her what a clusterfuck the previous night had been.
She reexamined every decision she'd made and had to ask herself what the fuck she'd been thinking. The unfortunate answer was: she hadn't been. She'd been angry.
At school, it felt like Armsmaster could burst into the classroom at any moment to zap her.
Going back into HQ felt like marching into a lion's den. She genuinely wondered if going on the run wasn't the best option—except where the hell would she go? She didn't have safehouses, and the PRT knew her identity, so home was out.
And then… nothing happened.
Why?
"I believe I was intimidated by you?" Armiger said, almost amused. "I distinctly remember something like that happening."
"We both know that's bullshit," she replied bitterly.
Yeah, in the moment, she'd somehow convinced herself it worked. He'd watched her drop bodies like it was nothing. Stone-cold, effortless, eager. He was creepy, but he'd seen what she was, and a kid like him should've learned the lesson: don't step in her way. It was the only reasonable reaction, Sophia knew it.
Except she also knew fear. Knew it in posture, in breathing, in all the little tells people couldn't hide. She had a nose for it, for weakness.
And the next day, with the adrenaline gone, it was obvious: Armiger hadn't been scared. Not for a second.
But… when Sophia had safely made it to the Wards' quarters, no one said a thing. There were no looks, no whispers, and, tellingly, no Protectorate members to slap cuffs on her.
Everything was just… normal. Vista was doing homework on the sofa, the younger Danvers was drinking coffee, and the older was busy at the stove.
So Sophia just sat at the kitchen table, and drilled her gaze into Armiger, intentionally glaring murder at his back with deliberate focus. A pressure test of sorts: make them grow uncomfortable and give a tell. Show fear. Show anger. Show something that made this make sense.
The guy didn't care.
Oh, he definitely noticed. It was all in his posture: a change in footing, a slight tilt of his head. He clocked her presence and then… he went right back to mushing beans into red paste.
He fucking dismissed her.
Instead, Sophia was the one growing uncomfortable, because Argent had noticed too. She had to contend with the sensation of the bitch's eyes scraping across her back. But by then it was a matter of pride. Her murder glare had sent hardened, blooded thugs running in the past.
Being ignored—shown a back like she was nothing—was new. And infuriating.
So she kept staring. Long enough, in fact, for Armiger to finish making some kind of colorful snacks and set a plate in front of her before walking away without a glance.
Sophia ate them out of sheer spite. They were fucking delicious.
None of it added up.
If he wasn't afraid, why wasn't she locked up? Anyone else would have reported her. Any other Ward in Brockton—hell, anywhere. Piggot let plenty slide, but that? No way.
After a week of replaying it over and over, Sophia landed on something that finally let her breathe. Her initial read hadn't been right—but it hadn't been wrong either.
Yeah, Danvers wasn't scared of her. But he knew better than to get in her way.
It finally made sense.
Alright, the guy wasn't prey. Calling him predator was too much with how passive he'd always been, though, but he was something. And that creepy something understood hierarchy and where its place was.
Under Sophia.
The realization loosened something in her chest. Danvers became easier to tolerate after that. Easier than the other Wards, even.
She'd had to confirm it, of course. Nothing blatant—just small pushes. Talking shit. Bossing him around. Little dominance tests to see if he'd push back.
He never did.
He cooked her food. Cleaned her room. Did her laundry after she let it sit for a week just to see if he would. For two weeks straight, Danvers played the role of creepy, snarky, obedient manservant.
It was enough Sophia finally relax around him. And, by extension, around his sister. She even—briefly—kind of liked him.
Then Argent destroyed her in the ring, and Armiger destroyed them all.
Everything she had thought she understood fell apart, because she deluded herself into forgetting that everything was binary.
Armiger let out a thoughtful hum.
"During that first week of PR training," he began, "there were briefings sprinkled here and there, meant to give us a broad overview of the gangs. Territories, colors, capes…"
Danvers paused. "I'll admit, I wasn't paying much attention. But one thing that stood out to me was a warning—to my sister specifically—to stay out of certain areas, pay attention to passing vans, and generally avoid people of Asian persuasion."
He sniffed. "I assume the agent wasn't aware of our background. Otherwise, it ran counter to what I'd expect from Western sensibilities. Tanya even asked if I wanted to file an HR complaint afterwards," he added with a faint smirk, "followed by a diatribe on institutional discrimination, profiling, and how it corrodes trust in law enforcement."
Sophia snorted inwardly. Kinda racist? Yeah. Bad advice? No, not really.
Every girl in the city heard some version of it once her body started changing. From parents, from older siblings, from anyone who gave a shit.
Sophia herself had received a similar warning from her mother about both the Empire and the ABB the moment her tits started showing. A sick joke of a conversation, considering who else was involved.
She jerked her head, focusing on the issue at hand instead of getting angry.
Anyway, Argent probably didn't have to worry about the Empire, considering you could put her on a promotional poster about having perfect Aryan babies. Ironic didn't even begin to cover it.
The ABB, though… Even Sophia had to admit, the younger Danvers was ridiculously pretty. At least for a kid. And when she wasn't flashing that ugly-ass smile, that sent chills down your spine.
But with her face set in that permanent resting-bitch expression, all anyone saw was delicate features, flawless skin, silken hair, and shining blue eyes. No curves at her age, but damn, if those looks came from the mother, then no wonder Armsmaster's engine got revving.
Emma would fucking hate the blond.
And you'd think that, no matter how pretty, Argent's age would shield her from unwanted attention of that kind—but Sophia had seen enough to know better.
In Brockton Bay, being young and pretty was dangerous.
"So that's why you're fine with me cleaning out that warehouse?" Sophia asked. "They were a danger to your sister?"
On one hand, it made perfect sense.
On the other, it wasn't like an ABB fun van had any real chance of grabbing Argent. If they tried, it would've gone down as the unluckiest kidnapping attempt in history. You'd have to try traffic Bonesaw to top that.
"They're a danger to everyone," Armiger said. "A problem that was allowed to fester past any reasonable limit. I'd prefer it handled with any actual degree of precision—but since the PRT is content to just let them be, I'll take clumsy over nothing."
"Clumsy?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Going after the rank and file may inconvenience the ABB, but only temporarily," the guy explained. "The gang is so free to act, they simply draft people with impunity. Every member you took out that night has already been replaced. Less experienced and less skilled perhaps, but really—how much skill do you need to terrorize civilians?"
Not much, Sophia had to admit. Honestly, you didn't need any at all—just a few buddies and a mean attitude. Skill only mattered when you were up against other gangs or the PRT.
But she couldn't just let Armiger's words stand.
"It still makes goons afraid," she shot back. "If they know someone's out there to put them in their place, they'll think twice about sticking their necks out."
Danvers scoffed. "They fear Lung more than they fear you."
"Yeah?" she glared. "What's your solution then, smartass?"
"Decapitation strikes," the answer came immediately. "Take out the capes, and the gangs lose cohesion. And I'm not simply talking about the ABB—the optimal move is to start with the Empire. The Asian community here clings to the ABB out of fear and some may even support them. Remove the Empire, and that support collapses on its own, simultaneously eliminating the need to shield the ABB territory from racial pogroms."
He continued without pausing. "Once the capes are removed, the power imbalance between the gangs and the PRT is gone, and the latter can dismantle what's left piece by piece —unpowered lieutenants, logistics, infrastructure. Then—and only then—the PRT's current suppressive actions would actually become effective."
Sophia had to fight the urge to lean back from the rapid barrage of words.
She wasn't expecting a serious answer, but Armiger was strangely into it. Normally, he wasn't the most talkative of guys, so it was extremely weird to see him so agitated.
Still…
"You think that's something new?" she asked mockingly. "Everyone knows you break gangs by taking out the capes. That's literally what the PRT does."
"Do they?" Armiger asked sharply. "Are you telling me that street fights are the best method a government agency has for dismantling organized crime?"
"What are you getting at?" she frowned.
Seriously, what the fuck? Why was he so emotional?
"If the PRT actually wanted to put an end to this theater," he spat, "they'd start by tracking down capes and coordinating simultaneous raids on their homes."
Ah, fuck.
He was one of those.
Every now and then, some genius came up with the brilliant idea of let's just unmask bad guys. Completely blind to the absolute Charlie Foxtrot that would follow. Anyone with half a brain shut that shit down fast.
"Yeah," she drawled, shaking her head. "I'm not even going to explain it. Ask your sister. Damn, if Piggot even thought about pulling something like that, we'd be getting a new Director next morning."
Danvers blew out a frustrated breath.
"So we good?" she asked. He never actually answered her, not really, and the realization left her suddenly, bone-deep tired. "I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if you're going to snitch?"
She'd been dancing around the issue for weeks. Ever since the start of not-the-boot-camp, where Armiger showed that he had nothing to fear from her.
It wasn't like Sophia at all, and it bothered her because...
Ah, fuck it. She couldn't lie to herself anymore.
The reason the Danverses got under her skin was they scared her.
She'd crossed paths with all the big names in Brockton—the Protectorate, Lung, Kaiser, Hookwolf. None of them made her feel like the siblings.
It was in how they moved, talked, looked—how they fucking breathed. Everything about them screamed killers. The kind that could crush her skull with a boot and not even blink. Worst of all, it was the kind she couldn't do a damn thing about.
They had strength, powers, and connections that outclassed hers on every front.
She'd have to be an idiot not to see it by now.
She danced around the subject. Behaved on their patrols, all because she was avoiding confronting Armiger. Because with the kind of dirt he had on her, if he actually wanted something for his silence, and all this was a fucked-up mind game to wear her down…
Being stuck near someone like that was what Sophia hated most.
Fear, uncertainty, anger, again and again and again. The emotional rollercoaster had completely drained her.
She wanted concrete answers and she wanted them now.
"Do I look like I care what you get up to?" Armiger scoffed.
Danvers clearly had a problem with the Wards, but did practically everything for them. He talked and acted like he didn't care about hero business, but then went on a rant about going full Gavel on the villains. He held Sophia by the balls, but somehow let her get away with tons of disrespect.
So thinking about everything she knew and saw about the guy, Sophia's honest answer was, "I have no idea what you actually want. You're a walking contradiction."
"Well, put your doubts to rest. All I care about is getting out of the circus and putting Tanya to a boring desk job."
She didn't even bother reminding him about the codenames. Fuck it. She'd take that at face value. There was more she wanted to dig into—his behavior, his damage, that comment just now—but she was exhausted. The adrenaline was gone, and stirring shit now felt pointless.
"Alright. So what do we do about these three?" she waved her arm at the hobos. "You fucked them up and we're miles away from our patrol route. Calling in isn't an option. Piggot will tear us a new one."
"Don't you have some sort of secret mandate from the Director?"
"More of a silentunderstanding," she shook her head. "Piggot knows I'm her most effective Ward, so she won't look too closely at anything that violates my probation. I become more trouble than I'm worth? Would have to be more than this to throw me into juvie, but it won't be pretty either. Especially if I fucking taunt her by reporting. And letting these guys go is bullshit. I'm telling you, easier to kill them and be done."
"And I'm telling you I'm not explaining to my sister why I'm under investigation for murder." He tapped his comm. "Console, Armiger speaking. Three perpetrators detained at our location. Dispatch a vehicle."
Motherfu… Fine. It wasn't like Piggot will actually do anything. Threats and dressing down at worst. It wasn't even me who beat up the thugs! Just have to convince her... Fuck, this is gonna suck.
***
In the end, Sophia didn't get the verbal reaming she'd been bracing for.
Partially because Piggot was late for something important, but mostly thanks to Armiger.
"So let me get this straight," the Director said as they walked away from her office. "The two of you ended up in the Docks, because you chose to break from your patrol route to test Armsmaster's halberd for urban traversal. Shadow Stalker—who, incidentally, has a Mover rating—attempted to stop you from going AWOL and failed. Did I get that right?"
"Yes," Armiger said calmly, not even turning his head.
Ditching assigned patrols and excessive force had always been her thing, so Sophia had expected it to be an uphill battle to convince Piggot that this time, she was technically only responsible for the former.
Armiger taking everything on himself came completely out left field.
Sophia didn't ask him to cover for her part. He simply did it as a matter of course.
"Hmm," Piggot nodded genially. "And Shadow Stalker only managed to catch up to you when you came across the assault in progress."
Piggot was understandably skeptical, but apparently so pissed at Danvers lying to her face, that she completely ignored Sophia.
"Correct," he replied again, in a perfect imitation of his dad.
"I see. The victim fled the crime scene without giving a statement, due to somewhat excessive—but absolutely warranted—brutalizing of three unarmed perpetrators. Courtesy of you, because, as I've said, Shadow Stalker got there late," the Director drawled, pointedly not believing the true half of Armiger's report.
One thing Sophia quietly hated was when people talked fancy around her. It always felt like a flex. Like mockery. Like they were better than her, smarter, just because Sophia wasn't as… well-spoken.
She was working on that, same as she was working on her body and the rest of her skills. Still didn't like it.
Objectively, not everyone did that, but Piggot absolutely loved to use it as a bludgeoning tool to hammer in screw-ups. It was never pleasant.
"My sister will be glad to know we've built such a rapport, Director. In her words, clear communication with one's superiors is of utmost importance."
Unfortunately for Piggot, Danvers gave as good as he got. No wonder, considering his sister was a fucking dictionary.
"Indeed?" Piggot didn't miss a beat. "We've had little reason to interact, which in itself is a strong indicator of a good Ward, but I must say, Argent made an impression of a respectful and, dare I say, disciplined subordinate."
They'd been at it since the office, and by now it felt like both of them were keeping it up out of pure spite. All Sophia could do was walk beside them, awkwardly wedged between two people putting on some kind of passive-aggressive Broadway number.
"You don't say? Well, I'll be sure to relay your words to her. If nothing more important comes up," Danvers replied, in a tone screaming that a fly on a wall ranked higher than the Director's praise.
Piggot... smiled. Looked like a grimace. "You do that, Armiger. I'd hate to see your sister stray from the straight and narrow. There have been some concerning signs recently, but perhaps the tendency to bullshit your superiors is hereditary in your case and merely acquired in hers, hm?"
She paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, she added lightly, "Did you know that the PRT runs a training camp for wards in San Diego?"
"Truly? I was under the impression that, thanks to one judicial ruling or another, boot camps for young parahumans were frowned upon. Are you saying the PRT is skirting the law?"
Sophia snorted internally. Boot camp.
Mostly it had been intense PE and basic CQC lessons.
Sure, as a difficult case, she'd received special attention, but were a few additional laps after throwing hands with thugs for years? Nothing.
It was hell, mostly because of snot-nosed brats crying for mommy or trying to establish a sandbox pecking order. Sophia had ruled the place by day one.
Argent? Argent would've eaten them alive. The bitch ran a real boot camp in this very building.
"God forbid," Piggot denied. "It's merely a summer camp for children. Fun. Enriching. An opportunity to build stronger bonds between departments."
Sophia shot a side-eye at the phrasing. Armiger's lips twitched in amusement.
"Participation is usually voluntary, but," Piggot made a deliberate pause, "much like Shadow Stalker, sometimes Wards require additional guidance. In such cases, a Director can make the decision on their behalf. For example, if she feels it would be good for discipline," she stressed. "So, what do you say? A trip to San Diego for you, perhaps? Or maybe some time away from you and your father would do your sister some good."
Danvers' amused smirk stretched into a pleasant smile.
It was… not as bad as his sister's. She'd say that much.
Sophia had a nose for two-faced fakery, so she'd noticed that Armiger rarely smiled, and never genuinely. But this was a pure threat display. In a way, it was no less bone-chilling than Argent's deranged expression of joy.
Actually, maybe it was a good thing he never actually smiled. Fuck, was that why their dad never did, too? The whole family had some kind of condition.
"Why, Director, the way you talk, one might think you don't particularly like me. Or Armsmaster, for that matter. I'm positively shocked," Danvers said, laying it on thick.
Piggot arched a brow. "How so? It should be obvious to you, by now, that your father isn't the most charming of individuals. Which I'm beginning to suspect is genetic."
"Well, I was under the impression the two of you work closely on a great many issues. Like, say, team rosters. Custody transfers. Oh, and I hear there's been some corruption lately? Practically hand in glove on that one."
The Director stopped dead in the hallway, flicking a sharp glance at Sophia.
"I find it very hard to believe Armsmaster would share topics like that with you," she said, voice going cold as her eyes locked onto Danvers.
What's going on? Why's she suddenly so tense?
"Oh, not at all," he said without a care in the world. "But thank you for confirming. Now, there seems to be some very angry yelling down the hall, and I hope, pardon, believe it's for you."
Sure enough, faint shouting drifted through the hallway. Muffled, barely discernible, but undeniably furious.
Piggot's mouth tightened.
"Don't think this conversation is over, Armiger. We will be having words later," she said, before striding off.
Sophia waited until Piggot was safely out of earshot before rounding on Danvers. "What the fuck was that?"
Did he just dismiss Piggot?
"A perfectly civil conversation," he said, the smile slipping away. "I don't think I've had one of those since the Clocktower."
"Who?"
"Nothing. Let's move on," he said, already walking.
"She'll be on your ass now. Not a good idea getting on her shit-list, Danvers. Think daddy can shield you?"
"Is that a note of respect I hear?" he asked. "I thought you held a dim view of people who can't fight."
"I hate people who don't fight. But it's not all about bashing heads," she shook her head. "Piggot's a tough bitch who isn't afraid to step on anyone to get what she wants. Why do you think she's in charge? No powers doesn't mean she can't fuck your life."
Though hate was a strong word. If people accepted their place and stayed quietly pathetic somewhere else, Sophia didn't care about them. People like Piggot? As much as Sophia hated her, it wasn't because the bitch was weak. Far from it. Piggot would do whatever it took to keep the illusion of a working system intact. It was stupid, but Sophia could respect the grit behind it.
Still, predator or not, speed wasn't Piggot's strong suit. A lame leg would do that to you. And since the route back to the Wards' quarters ran the same way, Sophia and Danvers caught up quickly.
The angry shouting grew clearer.
"...sonable?! ...call this reasonable?! Your daught...!"
Sophia whistled. "Someone's mad."
The voice—male and absolutely furious—seemed to be coming from one of the meeting rooms. The one Piggot was approaching.
Those were soundproof, but not entirely, it looked like. Either that or the guy had lungs for days.
Piggot opened the door just as they were passing by.
"...attention to your own daughter," the father of the two biggest pains in Sophia's ass finished in a bland and utterly uninterested tone. Armsmaster wasn't even looking at the scrawny, red-faced man looming over him.
Despite tension in the air, the Tinker just sat, staring into nothing. Or likely doing something on his HUD. Kid Win always did the same during meetings.
Whatever he was looking at must have been very distracting, because even having all the time in the world to prepare, Armsmaster failed to react. A fist slammed into the only soft part on his body. The beard.
It didn't knock the Tinker over, but it startled the hell out of him, chair scraping as he lurched to his feet. There was blood.
Sensing some action, Sophia stepped forward, then froze as a hand closed around her arm. She turned a questioning look to Danvers, only to see him... grinning?
This was a genuine one, and so nasty it wouldn't be out of place on her own face.
"Mister Hebert!" Piggot called, already stepping into the room. Like Armiger, she didn't seem all that displeased. "I would ask you to—"
The door shut.
Hebert?
The name could've been a coincidence. But the guy was tall, lanky, glasses—yeah. Sophia could buy him being the loser's father on looks alone.
Why would he be here, though?
For half a second, her thoughts jumped to her secret identity being blown. No, that was stupid. She was careful at Winslow. Hebert was one thing, but with all the wannabe gang trash there, letting her name out would've been suicide. Maybe not for Sophia, but her family would be in serious danger.
And if Hebert's dad was here because of her, Piggot would've said something instead of getting into a cat fight with a thirteen-year-old.
What else could it be? What business would Hebert's father have with the PRT?
Come to think of it, when was the last time Sophia had seen her? Friday? Yeah—Friday. They'd poured drinks on her while she was having lunch in the bathroom. Hiding.
God, what a loser.
Emma might have said something about Hebert dropping out on Wednesday, and today was also Friday, meaning the loser had missed a whole week. Yeah, this was starting to look like it was about her.
But the only reason her father would be here had to be gang-related.
After a moment of thinking, the only explanation Sophia landed on was Hebert spending the weekend at some Merchant party and getting hauled in with the rest. Maybe it was just inspired by the earlier encounter, and Sophia was about eighty percent sure the crack-hoe rumor was Julia's invention... but honestly, it wouldn't surprise her if the loser had actually started using.
Hebert was pathetic like that.
Either way, not her problem. Outside of Emma fixating on her, Hebert was just another loser with a whipped-dog attitude. Maybe she'd drop out of Winslow after this. Then Sophia wouldn't have to look at her sad face anymore. Hmm, should she text Emma about what she saw?
...The sheer fucking balls required to deck Armsmaster. Right in the middle of HQ.
Must be nice to have a parent who cares, huh, Hebert?
Despite herself, a wave of resentment washed over Sophia.
"How long are you planning to stand there?" Danvers asked.
"What's it to you?" she snapped, unclenching her fists. "And get your hand off me, you creep!" she yanked her arm free.
"My apologies," he said flatly. "You seemed… elsewhere."
"Yeah, I was wondering why you grinned like a loon when your dad got decked."
Danvers sniffed and started walking. "Oh, you know me. I always warn you to never drop your guard. Just glad to see someone teach Armsmaster a valuable lesson."
"Yeah, right," she huffed and fell into step beside him.
"Anyway, I'm in the mood for cooking. Any requests?"
She glanced down at the guy.
The thing was, he still cleaned her room and did her laundry.
When Sophia tried to explain her philosophy, people always made it about morality. About what the strong should do.
The simple truth was the strong only did what they should when they wanted to—or when someone stronger forced them.
No one was forcing Danvers to do anything. Sophia couldn't force Danvers to do a damn thing. With his strength—and the dirt he had on her—it should've been flipped. She should've been running errands for him, washing dishes, doing his homework.
Which seemed like a contradiction… but maybe it wasn't.
Yeah, he acted like he couldn't stand the Wards, hero business, and anything not named Tanya. But then, his bitch of a sister also acted like everyone's friend, while having the same calculating look in her eyes Piggot got when deciding what Sophia was worth.
The two-faced fakery wasn't anything new.
But everything was binary in the end. If Armiger wasn't acting like someone seeking to take advantage of Sophia... then he wasn't.
He did exactly what he wanted to.
"Patty melt," Sophia said at last.
"You're in luck," he replied. "I've stocked up on beef."
A/N: If you want to read 4 chapters ahead or support me visit my p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / kirunax