By the time the nurses come, I’m starving, but I start asking questions anyway as they check up on me and order food, because it wouldn’t do to not at least try to learn more. Luckily, the trio of women are very talkative.

  The first thing I learn is that I’m not actually in a hospital, but the infirmary at the Foundry Bowl. The second thing I learn is why they need such a large infirmary: unlike Dr. Hennessy, the local healer is not a miracle worker, and struggles to deal with the majority of injuries. As an ability like Dr. Hennessy’s is still decades away from replicating through synth gear—apparently, I don’t really know the details—they’ve picked up the slack with dozens of regular, albeit skilled, doctors and nurses, as well as a much larger ward so that the injured can stay and heal the normal way.

  The third and final thing I learn is why I was brought to the Foundry specifically. Apparently, though there are nearly thirty major cities still in the USC, only three are closer to the Angel’s city than the Foundry—and I, of course, was just shipped to the nearest one with an opening. Every other major city is too far south, too far north, or on the other coast. As much as I’ve learned about my country, I don’t think it ever quite struck me just how low our population density is.

  I’ve never really left my home to find out.

  That embarrassing thought aside, the nurses here are quite the relief to talk to them being not only rather personable but also more than used to comforting traumatized heroes who aren’t allowed to say why they’re traumatized. It was rather disarming to listen to them, until I realized the full truth of it.

  There was a reason, after all, that they had so much practice.

  I even got to see the healer hero in question—he stopped by only briefly, acting more like an administrator signing off on the nurses’ work than actually checking up on me, but I suppose he was busy. It was almost comical, the way he came rushing in, hair disheveled and wire-frame glasses askew, hurriedly signing some papers and leaving just as fast as he came.

  Almost. I still haven’t forgotten why he was so busy.

  I let an hour or two pass like this, let the food settle in my stomach and the nurses slowly drift out, before I finally muster the courage to contact anyone. They gave me my phone and a small tablet that could connect to it if I wanted a bigger screen. I use it to pull up my contacts, and stare at the embarrassingly short list of names for a few moments.

  Then, with a spurt of motion so as not to have enough time to reconsider, I tap the call button next to the contact simply labeled ‘Mom.’

  It doesn’t even ring thrice before picking up.

  My mother’s face fills the screen, and immediately my chest tightens, shame and regret and grief all at once, because she does not look well. The last time I saw her, she had her signature neatly-tied military bun and hard gaze. Now her hair is draped loose—and noticeably more gray—and her eyes are bagged and stark with worry. She straightens her own screen, scanning my face, and hardening at the sight. Were she a different woman, I might’ve expected a tear to form in her eyes, but that was never my mother.

  I do, however, almost feel like shedding some myself.

  “Charlie,” she says hesitantly, as if afraid of startling me away, “I…did not think you would call me, much less so soon.”

  “It…has been a while,” I reply, “But I figured, if nothing else, you deserved to know I was okay.”

  “Charlie, I read the reports,” she says, with the grim and tired tone I’d expect of anyone who could claim such a thing, “You almost died, then you threw yourself back out there and nearly died again of the crossfire and ability burnout both. And that isn’t even counting what you must have seen. I am your mother, and no matter how well you hide it I know you’re not okay.”

  I feel like some part of me should be startled, that she was keeping tabs on me. Perhaps betrayed. But all I can muster is a grim satisfaction, because of course she was. I knew that, deep down, she would never cut ties with me so completely as I’d convinced myself I’d wanted her to. She had the power to keep track of me through other means, and so she would. That was all there was, or ever would be, to it.

  “I am,” I say, “alive. For now that will have to be enough.”

  She dips her head down, places a hand just below her hairline, and sighs—a painful, haunting sound that might almost be her version of a whimper, “I wish…you did not feel as though you had to keep it all from me, locked inside. There was a time…once…that you might’ve told me what troubled you, and trusted me to help.”

  “I-” I start, but she will not allow it.

  “I have been through war, Charlie,” she interrupts, “Through The Upheaval. Do you think you are the only one to have watched a city die? To see the lives of the people you’ve sworn to protect snuffed out like candles in a storm? I’ve buried more friends than foes over the decades. I’ve seen a lifetime’s worth of desperation in a single dark hour.”

  “Before…” I say, near enough a whisper, “You would’ve hid such things from me.”

  She makes a bitter noise, “It’s a little late for that, I think.”

  She is, I know, not wrong. That worries me to an admittedly irrational degree.

  “I…” I hesitate, “I have seen…very many things, since last we spoke. I’ve done a lot of things, many of which I regret.”

  She only nods. The silence speaks volumes.

  “I would likely not admit it to many,” I say, “but…some part of me, here and now, understands. Why you chose what you did, I mean. I still think it was wrong, but I am no longer so sure I would not have made the same choice.”

  I had expected hope, upon saying that, for her to see a path to reconciliation. I was surprised, then, to see the defeat that marred her gaze. I almost flinched away from it.

  “I made that choice,” she replies grimly, “hoping you would never have cause to understand it. I wanted you to grow up never knowing. I have done some thinking, since we last spoke, and I can admit now that it was nothing but foolishness, to expect you to see things my way when my life’s goal was ensuring you never would. And now I have failed.”

  It wasn’t an apology. Nor, I suspected, would one be offered. Even now, she didn’t regret it—not the lies, nor her hand in the reapers. She likely never would.

  But, in a way, she was still trying. Maybe that was dangerous, but even if it was sentimental, I chose to take it at face value. She was trying; that would have to be enough.

  “I don’t have much more to say,” I told her honestly, “and I still need to speak to my friends. It was…better to talk to you. Better than not.”

  I wouldn’t, couldn’t, call it ‘nice,’ nor anything that meant the same.

  She nods carefully, “One last thing—I would give you some motherly advice before you go, should you accept it.”

  I nod in return.

  “Your meeting with the Upper Council,” she says, ignoring my surprise—I did not think she would know, not that, of all things, “I would warn you. It is not a mere debrief, as you might suspect, but even then whatever they tell you, trust that it is not the real purpose. I cannot say more, but they will be judging you, and it is of the utmost importance that you do not present yourself as anything they might take issue with. Do you understand? Be careful with them.”

  I nod, “I understand. I, uh…thank you—for the warning.”

  She takes one last look at me, with sad eyes, then waves to the camera. I only somewhat halfheartedly wave back.

  Then the call ends, leaving me in silence.

  —

  The next person I call is Allacia.

  This time, it takes quite a bit before the call connects. Maybe a dozen rings pass before finally the screen changes to a pair of familiar faces—both Allacia and Elias, each looking quite a bit tired and bedraggled. For a beat, I wonder why, then I remember that I actually have no idea what time it is outside—I never thought to ask.

  My stomach twists into knots at the realization of what that means for my mother.

  It’s quickly chased away by the beaming face of my oldest friend, “Charlie!” Allacia says, joy mixed evenly with relief in her tone, “Are you okay? Did you just wake up?”

  I nod, unable to keep the barest of smiles off my face, “I’m fine. I woke up a few hours ago—sorry for not checking in sooner, I needed to settle a little first.”

  Elias nods, his expression grim, “That’s easily understandable—dealing with ability fatigue must have had you in a poor state, physically and mentally.”

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  That, I think, sounds like he’s had some experience.

  “Have you had it before?” I ask.

  He stiffens, “Once.” Allacia subtly shakes her head at me, and immediately I decide to drop it. Elias isn’t very loose-lipped about his past, even after meeting us. As far as I know, the only one he’s told is Allacia, and I’m not about to pry further.

  “My sympathies,” I say instead, “I’ve had it while awake for less than half a day, and I can already say I’m sick of it.”

  Allacia pouts, “You really shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard.”

  My entire body goes cold, and I duck her gaze—even though we’re speaking online, so eye contact has no real meaning. It’s an instinct, and I suppress it in an instant, forcing my eyes back to the screen, but I can tell they both noticed.

  “We,” Elias says, “will be having a chat when you return. Until then, it’s good to see that you’re alright.” Allacia nods in agreement.

  “We were so worried,” she said, “Even before you ran off to help with the rescue operations, you nearly died. It was…not an easy thing to watch, especially when I couldn’t do anything about it.” She sighs, “At least it’s over now.”

  Elias doesn’t add anything, but from the stern look in his eyes, I can tell he will later.

  I just nod, “I’ll be staying for a little while longer—at least until I get my ability back fully, if not longer. I’m supposed to be meeting with the Upper Council later today, and who knows what they’ll want from me.”

  Two pairs of eyes widen, but it’s Elias who speaks, “That, Charlie, is not something you say casually. This is becoming something of a habit with you lately.”

  I flush, more from the reminder that this isn’t the first time, “Sorry. I guess things have gotten so weird by now that it barely even registers.”

  He nods, but looks unconvinced, “I suppose there’s not much to say about that. The Upper Council is not something any of us has experience dealing with, though I will remind you to be on your best behavior. Dealing with legends like Jonathan may have made you too used to treating them like people. Do not treat the council that way. They are, and will always be, power personified. They can kill you at a whim—all it would take is your name on a list. Jonathan especially would likely leap at the excuse.”

  The list of damned, he need not specify.

  “You’re not the first to warn me,” I say, “Not even the second. I’ll remember.”

  “Stay safe, Charlie,” Allacia says, “No unnecessary risks, please. Not again, not so soon.”

  I nod again, “I should let you get back to sleep. I can call you later? My sleep schedule’s gonna be fucked up after this, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Better for you to rest,” Elias advises, “We can talk when you’re back.”

  I agree, and we trade goodbyes. It’s a simple thing, but heartwarming. I can always rely on those two to care, even when we don’t agree. When I end the call, it’s with marginally better spirits than when I entered it. I only take a moment to decide to make my next call—this time to Rowan.

  It doesn’t even ring once, a robotic voice informing me the number does not exist.

  Blearily, I check my old message history—yes, that number clearly did exist. I have it saved. My head still faintly throbs from the ability fatigue, and of course I’m tired, so pushing past the fog to figure out what went wrong takes me a second.

  When the answer does come, I almost bury my face in my hands.

  Her phone broke. Of course it did—mine only survived by virtue of being left at the city’s Bowl—a heavily fortified location and far from the fighting as well. Come to think of it, Vermillion or someone working on her behalf probably emptied my room out while I was asleep. I guess that’s why they had it.

  Regardless, I can’t call her, and to my irrational annoyance, there really isn’t anyone else I can call. I never got Jayce’s contact—since I met him, he has never really been hard to find if I needed him, and I never really needed him when he wasn’t, so I never bothered. That leaves who? Darya? Not a chance. Even if she might want to know, she lost that privilege.

  That leaves me feeling rather lost, so I call a nurse back in for some guidance. I quickly learn that the only other instructions they were given were to tell Apex—who, naturally, lives in the Bowl—whenever I told them I was ‘ready,’ which I took to mean ‘ready for the council,’ since she seems insistent she hadn’t been told what I should be ready for.

  I ask her if she's willing to tell Apex in an hour, to which she happily agrees. I thank them, and ask if they can bring me some clothes before settling back into the bed with a sigh. My stomach is in knots, dreading what I have to do.

  I gave myself an hour, though. I’m owed no more.

  —

  By the time I’m ready, Apex has already arrived.

  The Clockwork Man stands ramrod-straight at the end of the infirmary hallway, their eyes ivory-white and unblinking. This is the first time I’ve really got to see them up close, and I’m unable to keep myself from staring. Their body is entirely steel—a silvery mixture I would bet good money is synth metal, and where it breaks in the joints, one can see the multitudes of intricate inner workings, gears and pipes and hydraulics, softly clinking and hissing even as they stand there, eerily still on the surface.

  I take a few hesitant steps forward, and nearly jump out of my skin as their head snaps to me suddenly, ivory eyes locking with mine.

  “Ms. Gardner,” they say in a sexless, yet strangely warm tone, “Are you ready to depart?”

  “I- yes,” I say, “yes, uh…”

  “You may call me Apex,” they say, “I understand you may have issues with referring to me directly, given our difference in status, but I assure you I do not mind.”

  I almost freeze up, but quickly recover. That was…exceedingly blunt. I’d almost compare it to my first meeting with Jonathan, except even then… Is every one of the big three a weirdo? Am I gonna meet the Nimbus Witch one day and find out she’s actually someone’s crass grandma?

  Actually, that sounds depressingly plausible. Best not to dwell on that one.

  “Of course, Apex,” I say, attempting to smile, “Is the meeting place somewhere close? I would assume we’d need Janus otherwise.”

  “Operative Janus will not be necessary,” they reply, “As a security measure, the Upper Council only rarely holds physical meetings. I have extensions in the presence of each of them, readily available to communicate when necessary. We must only leave for a more secure location, as the conversation will naturally be classified.”

  I nod, pretending like I understood, though underneath I have a dozen questions. What do they mean by ‘extensions?’ Are they connected to the internet? And, of course, what does the Upper Council want to discuss with me that’s so secret? Even reaper business has been discussed rather casually before—away from prying ears, sure, but even this hospital, arguably. Yet, for some reason, we need to go somewhere more secure.

  None of this bodes well.

  “Then we leave at once,” Apex replies to my nod, either ignoring my discomfort or simply unable to recognize it—hard to tell, given they’re not strictly human. With an eerily precise motion, they turn and start leading me down the hallway, their metal feet clanking against the floor.

  Their gate is strange not in a robotic way, but more of an uncanny valley one. It’s human, almost too much so, with even the occasional inefficiency thrown in, but it’s also perfect. It never changes, never shifts. I doubt most people would notice it, but it reeks more of a repeated command than a conscious effort.

  Robotic, unsurprisingly, would be the best word to describe it.

  Apex leads me down two flights of stairs, then an elevator cleverly disguised as a maintenance closet—on which, notably, is a bit too much out of the way to be practical for maintenance staff to access—and all the way down to a pitch-black room. I note in the dark that Apex glows faintly, especially around the eyes, but a splitting headache reminds me why that is no longer enough for me to see the room itself. Luckily, a light flicker on a moment later, and though it is dim, it is enough.

  The first thing I note is that there is a wall of screens in front of me—dozens of monitors, to a degree matched only by shut-in hackers in movies and electronics stores. The second thing I note is that the inner layer of the room is covered in a steel mesh, like a Faraday cage. For preventing electronic spying, though how we’ll communicate through that is less obvious.

  Apex strides over to a small panel on one wall, and casually places a hand on it. They stand still for a few heartbeats, then causally turn my way, keeping their hand on the panel. Notably, not in a creepy, owllike, broken-neck sort of way, but still unnerving. Just in the same way their walk was—like it was too human.

  No offense to the robot, but the sooner I no longer have to share a room with them, the better.

  “We will have to wait,” they say, “the others are getting situated.”

  I nod, and the awkward silence continues for not even a moment before they speak again.

  “While I have you here,” Apex says, “I would like to revisit your stance on my offer.”

  I blink in confusion, and I’m about to ask what offer before they notice.

  “Ms. Kostina should have informed you,” they say, “I wished to seek your help regarding a certain issue.”

  The villain, I remember suddenly.

  “Sorry,” I say, “Given…recent events, it slipped my mind.”

  “It is no trouble,” they say, “These are trying times. I understand that some things take priority over others. I merely wished to remind you of the offer.”

  I nod, mostly because I don’t know how else to respond to that.

  “If I may,” I say, “there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  “You may ask, then,” Apex replies, “I am not offended by curiosity.”

  Even so, I hesitate for a moment longer before speaking, “What do you want?”

  I wouldn’t have thought that a face of literal steel could show surprise, but somehow they manage.

  “I would ask that you elaborate, Ms. Gardner,” they say, “on the nature of that question, and your intent behind asking it.”

  “You are…one of the most influential people in the USC,” I tell them, “The mere fact that so many consider you a person at all is proof of that, from what I understand. When people—most of them, at least—talk about the country’s strongest, your name follows the likes of Jonathan and the Nimbus Witch. Given I have enmity with one, and have never met the other, and the fact that you seem interested in me, I think I should know why.”

  Ivory eyes hold my gaze for a single second—perhaps precisely one, even.

  “You are a poor hand at intrigue, Ms. Gardner,” Apex says, “Most would not simply ask that, nor would many answer.”

  I flush, but Apex continues.

  “It is fortunate, then, that I find it refreshing,” they say, “I have never understood the impulse of humans to say anything but what they mean.”

  “So…” I prompt.

  “I will admit that I find it difficult to have a reason to do anything besides what I was made to do,” they say, “and that is to protect the country of my creators in any way I can. There are, Ms. Gardner, very few lines I would not cross to do this.”

  And aren’t those words to send a shiver down my spine, when spoken by an entity that just claimed that it is beneath them to say anything less than what they believe to be the truth? I can only wonder what lines they won’t cross, but I don’t ask, instead swallowing my discomfort and forcing my gaze away from the robot. To my relief, they seem more than happy to leave it there.

  “The others are ready now, Ms. Gardner,” they say after a minute more of awkward silence, “Would you like to begin?”

  I nod, my mouth dry, as Apex twists their hand on the panel and the screens flicker to life. A dozen grim faces look down at me, not one friendly.

  I take a deep, shaky breath, and finally face the Upper Council.

  —I kinda forgot Charlie's mom existed.

  mentioned the woman throughout the entire last arc, or if I did, it was a singularly unmemorable instance, but in my defense, I kinda spent a whole chapter getting rid of her—from Charlie's perspective at least—so there was never a good time! Really, if last arc didn't end up longer than I'd expected, maybe I would've found time to throw her into a filler chapter or something—there certainly were a few of those anyway—but I just never did. I promise, I'll make her more of a character later. if it wasn't obvious, there may be some sort of redemption thing cooking up for her, plus a few cooler ideas I have stashed away to remind you—and me—that's she's more than a grumpy excuse to make Charlie not just an orphan.

  Updates Mondays @ 12:00 pm EST.