Chapter Text
August, 1966
“—you’re my daughter just as much as you were theirs!” Mirage’s plea came out as more of a shout.
Her hands were digging into Novea’s wrists, desperate to make her understand. They were starting to hurt.
Novea shoved her away, she didn’t want that woman touching her in any way. “I am not your daughter.” She watched as Mirage’s face fell, distressed. “Not anymore.”
She watched as the woman searched for the right words, waiting for the next excuse for her crimes, but nothing came.
The room was flooded with NSA agents before either could speak, two men grabbing Mirage and handcuffing her arms behind her back, yanking her backwards violently.
Novea couldn’t watch. Even when the woman called out to her, she looked away, afraid her emotions would betray her.
***
After a painfully quiet ride back to the mainland in one of the NSA’s helicopters, Novea was dragged into some interrogation room deep underground and handcuffed to the table. No explanation was given, she was just told to wait.
She had tried to melt the cuffs so she could search the headquarters for any information on what was happening but the NSA was one step ahead of her, everything in the room was resistant to her abilities.
After a good hour of waiting, two agents entered the room, their faces obscured by sunglasses. Novea felt her pulse quicken—nothing good ever came from men dressed like that.
The taller one cleared his voice, booming, “We have much to discuss, Ms. Pine.” He slammed a manila folder on the table, leaning in and getting right in Novea’s face.
“We have reason to believe you were an accomplice in today’s tragedy,” he spat.
Novea pulled back as much as the restraints would let her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She could feel her hands heating up.
“Don’t try any of that with us, Ms. Pine,” the other agent snapped.
Novea rolled her eyes, hoping to conceal the true fear coursing through her veins. “I wasn’t going to, you people are so paranoid,” she paused, eyes glancing between the two agents. “Also I’m not a Pine.”
The taller man slammed a hand against the table, making her jump. “Llke hell you aren’t! Our database clearly has you registered as the daughter of Buddy and Mirage Pine.”
She stiffened at the mention of the couple, but pushed forward. “Yeah I know that. But they never changed my last name.”
He grabbed the manila folder, rifling through it. Novea smiled as his face fell, clearly bested by her file.
“That’s besides the point,” he huffed, crossing his arms, “What matters is your relation to the—”
The sudden crash of the metal door against the floor cut him off.
“What’s going on here?” a familiar voice rang, followed by Bob running through the newly-created entrance.
“Mr. Incredible! You are not permitted to interrupt an interrogation with a suspect—”
“Suspect? Interrogation?” Bob roared, lightly pushing the shorter agent back. “Do you seriously not know who this is?”
“Yes! She’s the daughter of Buddy and Mirage Pine, making her a prime suspect in Project Kronos!”
Bob slammed a hand against the wall, making Novea jump. “She was basically kidnapped!”
He stormed over to the pair of agents, seething. “And don’t you dare disrespect Jack and Simon’s memory like that. You know who her real parents are—”
“Bob,” a new voice rang from the door frame. “If you could leave the disciplining of these two to me, that would be great.”
Bob tensed, but didn’t step down. “Rick, they’re treating her like some kind of criminal—”
“I’m aware,” Rick said smoothly, straightening his suit jacket. “Which is why I’m here.” He shot the pair of agents a look. “Leave. I’ll have words with you two later.”
They scattered off, glaring at Novea as they left.
Rick gestured to the metal door that Bob had slammed to the floor, signaling for the super to put it back in place.
As Bob forced the door back to its original frame, Rick moved to unlock Novea’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry about those two, Ms. Garcia. The past few hours have been an absolute mess for us.”
As soon as they were free, Novea snapped her hands away, keeping her eyes trained on Rick.
“What do you want with me?” she spat, hating the way he towered over her.
Never can trust these suits.
Rick must have noticed her heightened state, as he took a step back to give her space. “I’m just here to sort out your story. No reason to worry.”
Novea narrowed her eyes at him. “What reason do I have to believe that you’re any different from any other NSA agents?”
Rick shrugged. “You don’t. I’m just going to have to ask you to trust me.”
Novea felt her mouth form a thin line. She could at least respect his honesty.
“Hey Rick, is this good enough for you?”
Rick and Novea both turned to the door, or what was left of it. Bob had brute-forced it back into place without much care, treating it more like putty than anything else.
“It’ll work,” Rick replied, gesturing Bob over to the table.
Once the two sat down across from Novea, the trio sat in silence, each waiting for someone else to speak up.
“I was good friends with your parents, Ms. Vera Garcia,” Rick said drearily.
Novea crossed her arms. “And just who do you consider my parents to be?”
I don’t want to speak with friends of Mirage or Syndrome went unsaid.
Rick stiffened, realization dawning in his eyes. “Jackson and Simon of course,” he said, placing a manila folder on the table. “The other two are actually who I’m here to speak with you about.”
Novea felt her jaw tighten, but she managed to nod for Rick to continue.
“The Pines becoming your legal guardians should have never happened,” he began, looking almost regretful. “In Jackson’s will the Bests—Frozone and his wife—were outlined as your legal guardians in the case of his death. How you were able to slip under the cracks is beyond me, and has kickstarted an investigation on potential internal corruption within the NSA, as the individuals who signed you off to the Pines had some…shady connections with Nomanisan’s arms dealers.”
“Jesus, Rick,” Bob started, “you’re telling me the NSA just let Jack’s kid—”
“It’s in the past now,” Novea cut Bob off before turning to Rick. “Seriously, it’s great that you people will finally see how messed up this organization is. But I don’t care about any of that.”
Rick and Bob gave each other a look, silently communicating while Novea sat stewing in front of them.
“Well then, Ms. Vera Garcia,” Rick said with a sigh. “What is it you wish to talk about?”
“I just want to go home,” she huffed.
Rick frowned. “And where just might home be, Ms. Vera Garcia?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came.
Where do I go from here?
She sunk back into her chair, defeated.
“As I was saying before we got sidetracked,” Rick started, opening the folder and pointing along as he spoke, “internal investigations will be ongoing, but more importantly there will likely be years worth of work put into uncovering all of what happened at Nomanisan.”
He pointed to a bird’s eye shot of the island. “You’ll be called in to aid the investigation—given your proximity to the Pines—but as long as you comply with those orders you should emerge from this largely unscathed.”
Novea rubbed her temples. “Got it….what about when I’m not combing through the island?”
“We could take you in until college starts,” Bob offered. “There’s a spare room in the house we’re renting, so you’d have your space.”
Novea shrugged. “Sure. Not like I have anywhere else to go. Although—” she shot Rick a look “—I’m not sure how I’m supposed to afford college.”
“Jackson took care of that,” Rick answered, thumbing through the folder until finding a stack of papers. “His last gift—he left everything to you in his will, including money for college.”
Novea snatched the papers, skimming over them, her eyes catching on her dad’s signature. She felt tears well up in her eyes for the second time that day.
“We’ll meet you outside when you’re ready,” Rick said as he stood, motioning for Bob to follow.
Novea would never admit it, but she was grateful to Rick for allowing her a moment to herself before stepping into her new life.
Maybe the NSA isn’t entirely rotten.
***
Novea flopped down onto the bed in the Parrs’ guest room, wishing the sheets would swallow her whole. The room was sparsely decorated, looking more like a hotel than a home, and she had nothing of her own to mark it as hers.
She didn’t even have Anguila.
Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill out, but she pushed the feeling down. She’d allowed herself a moment to fall apart after Rick and Bob had left her in the interrogation room. It was time to be strong now.
Novea stared off for God knows how long, her vision phasing in and out of focus as she attempted to fully empty her mind.
It wasn’t working, but at least she wasn’t crying.
A knock at the door roused her from her daze.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Violet,” muttered the girl. “Mom wanted me to let you know there’s dinner out. If you want it.”
***
Dinner was…louder…than what Novea had always known. When she lived with her parents, sure, she and Jack could both get carried away when telling stories—both sometimes fighting to be the center of attention—but Simon was always there, acting as a mediator, making sure neither hogged the spotlight for too long.
The Parr family, on the other hand, seemed to only play into each others’ chaos, anecdotes of the day only being escalated further by unsolicited additions from both siblings and father. Helen was too busy with Jack-Jack to focus on redirecting conversation to something more tame.
Eating meals with her mother—no, with Mirage, had always been calm. They’d always been the center of the others’ attention, allowing each other space to breathe when speaking. It was a natural result of a dinner that consisted of a single mother and only child.
Neither was better than the other, one was certainly more recent in her mind though.
“Novea, you’re going to break the plate if you keep pressing so hard on it,” Helen said gently, resting her hand on Novea’s own.
She froze, her eyes going wide. “Sorry,” she muttered quickly, averting her eyes from Helen’s gaze.
“No worries, Bob’s broken more plates than I still care to count,” she said, offering a warm smile.
Novea jumped from her seat, grabbing her plate frantically. It was all too much, the family dinner, the motherly action, the unity of it all.
“I think I’m headed to bed,” she stated, words stilted. “Thank you for the meal.”
She ran off to her room before anyone could respond, hoping she could make it before the tears started to roll.
***
Late August, 1966
Novea took a deep breath of the air, memories recent and old flooding her mind. Though she’d only been away from Nomaisan for a few weeks, it’d felt like a lifetime.
As soon as she’d landed she’d wanted to leave, but Rick had been clear with her: she needed to guide the agents through the island if she wanted to be pardoned.
She turned her head to the sky—an old habit—and thought back to the first night she’d spent at Nomanisan, when her father’s death had painted the sky with an aurora.
How naive she’d been, not even for a second suspecting any foul play on Mirage’s end. She’d run to the first person who offered her comfort and clinged to her like she was the only thing keeping her afloat. Novea shuddered at the thought—how could she let herself get so close to someone who’d spent her life leading supers to their deaths?
How could she let herself see such a monster as her mother?
She stared at the soft orange glow of the sky, hating how it reminded her more of dinners at Nomanisan in the volcano room than her father.
But most of all, she hated how her heart ached for those dinners, for Mirage’s quiet laugh and reassuring smile.
Novea tore her eyes away, gesturing to the group behind her and directing them towards the forest. They’d have most direct access to the volcano through the tunnels hidden in the rocks.
***
The group hacked through the forest at a snail’s pace, the NSA agents taking their sweet time combing through every tree and plant searching for damning evidence.
Novea would be more annoyed if they hadn’t been stumbling across said evidence, namely bodies.
She’d never forget the shriek she’d heard from Helen when they’d found Blazestone.
Bob had ushered the group away, telling them to offer his wife a moment alone.
“Did they know each other?” Novea whispered, glancing behind her shoulder at Helen.
“They were best friends,” Bob muttered, face blank. “But things ended on a poor note.”
Novea nodded, silently wondering if Helen was wishing she’d done something differently, reached out and asked if Blazestone was okay.
She knew the feeling well.
It’s not her fault. She should know that—Mirage is to blame for this whole mess.
She kicked herself again for missing the woman earlier—she’d taken away so much.
Novea nodded towards the volcano. “Let’s keep going. The less time we spend here the better.”
***
Thirty minutes and two more bodies later, Bob stuck a hand out to stop Novea in her tracks.
“What is it?” Novea questioned, eyes sweeping over her surroundings.
Bob didn’t reply, instead motioning for the agents behind them to move forward. He caught one on the shoulder, muttered orders that Novea couldn’t make out, and gestured for her to step back.
She instead gave the natural formation another once-over, recognition hitting her like a freight train.
It’s where Dad and Simon are.
She shuddered at the memory of her parents—such a far cry in death from the beloved supers they’d been—left to be eaten away at by maggots and bacteria.
“They saved my life, you know,” Bob muttered, voice heavy.
Novea turned to him, confused. “When you worked with them?”
He shook his head. “I mean, we all saved each other back then. But I meant back when I was snooping around here.” He paused, taking in a shaky breath before continuing, “When Syndrome sent in some kind of drone to find my hiding spot in that cave, the only reason I wasn’t detected was because I…hid behind their bodies.”
He seemed to struggle with the last bit of the confession. Novea couldn’t blame him.
“Guess they saved my life too,” she mused, staring at where the river disappeared into the cave.
Now it was Bob’s turn to be confused. “You guess?”
“I mean obviously they saved me from the NSA labs,” she said, shrugging. “But they saved you, and if I had never met you I never would have found out about Mirage and Syndrome’s…true motives,” she mumbled, voice trailing off at the memory of her other “parents.”
Bob laughed, though there was no humor behind it. “Jack’d get a real kick out of that one—the people’s savior even in death.” He shook his head good-naturedly. “I’ll have to make sure he never knows it was Simon finding the password that did the heavy lifting—”
He went silent at the sound and sight of agents carrying out their bodies on stretchers, more piles of bones than anything. Novea tore her eyes away, terrified her body would be overtaken by sobs if she looked any longer.
The rustle of leaves behind her made her jump—but it was only Helen. She looked to her husband, the two silently communicating before she wrapped her arms around him, reassuring, “They’re at rest now.”
Novea wanted to correct that Jack would have been at rest anywhere as long as Simon was around, but stopped herself. It wasn’t what anyone wanted or needed to hear right now.
***
As the rest of the group rummaged through her—no, Syndrome’s—house, Novea collected her personal belongings from her room, rushing to be done before the memories could hit her again. Everything was the same as she had left it, already halfway packed for college.
The last conversation she’d had in this room had been with Mirage, comforting her after one of Syndrome’s usual outbursts.
She could excuse genocide of the supers but drew the line at him being rude to me? She thought, angry at the memory. What kind of logic even is that?
Novea shook the thought off before it could take root. She needed to focus on packing everything so she could leave.
***
Novea choked back tears as she stared out at the crowd, overwhelmed by the thunderous applause that rang after she finished her speech at the memorial service for victims of Project Kronos. It seemed to stretch on for miles, as if the entire city had shown up to honor their memory.
She’d known supers had been beloved, but she’d never truly grasped their importance until now.
Novea was paralyzed at the sound of it, unsure what her next move was. She’d barely remembered what she’d said to glean such a reaction, her words spilling into one another as she recounted her upbringing until nothing was coherent anymore. Surely this audience had higher standards than that, no? She could easily count on both hands eulogies that had been better than hers (Thunderhead’s husband had given one that brought her to tears, for instance), yet still they cheered.
Strange.
Once the applause finally died down, she was able to tear herself from her position and walk towards what she hoped was her parent’s caskets, which were already sealed off. She couldn’t tell who was who in the line of boxed bodies, as the NSA hadn’t bothered to spend any more than they had to on what they had been calling the “Kronos Cleanup.”
It irked her, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. The NSA had made clear many times that the deceased supers only mattered because of how poorly it reflected on the organization, not because they’d been valuable lives lost.
She pressed a hand to two caskets, willing her abilities to remain dormant, and said her own silent goodbyes, apologizing yet again for ever daring to see anyone else as her parents.
It seemed all she was good for these days was apologies.
***
Novea stood in front of her parent’s graves, trying to muster any feeling other than numbness. She expected to cry, to fall to pieces for the third time this week, but no tears came. She just felt…empty.
“Novea, are you feeling okay?” Helen asked, approaching her as if she was a wild animal.
She just shrugged. “I think I’m all cried out,” she said cynically, gesturing to the pair of headstones. “I mean, it’s not like they’re more dead today than they were yesterday. Or last week. Or a year ago.”
Helen’s eyes went wide in shock. She clearly didn’t know how to respond to Novea’s attempt at a joke, so instead she just pointed behind her. “There’s someone I think you need to meet.”
Novea trailed behind Helen until they made their way to Bob, who was speaking with a dark-haired man who looked to be of similar age.
“Grayson, we have someone you’ve been meaning to meet,” Helen shouted over the conversation, gently guiding Novea towards him.
Grayson turned to Novea, flashing her a blinding smile. “Novea! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—Simon always had great things to say about you.” He stuck his hand out in greeting. “I regret we didn’t meet sooner, I always figured you were quite the kid if you were able to weasel your way into ol’ Simon’s icy heart.”
She raised an eyebrow, confused. Simon had been anything but cold to her, if anything Jack had been the one with the icy heart.
Novea shook his hand firmly, but cautiously. “Great…who are you?”
Bob stared at her, absolutely horrified, but Grayson just laughed. “That one’s on me, Bob,” he assured. “My name’s Grayson Fagan, but if you know me from anywhere it’s from my time as Fironic.”
Novea’s eyes shot wide open, recognition hitting her. She mostly remembered him from her father’s old photo books and a few conversations with Mirage, who’d been asking if she’d ever met him.
It’s a good thing Simon never introduced me to you, she thought darkly, otherwise I would’ve ratted you out to Project Kronos.
She felt herself shuddering at the thought, adding the memory of “Mirage Asking Me To Identify Personal Details About My Dad’s Friends” to her growing list of reminders as to why that woman was not someone she should be missing.
It hadn’t been working, if the sleepless nights were proof of anything.
“Anyways,” Grayson continued, “Simon was a close friend of mine—though I recall Jack not always being a huge fan,” he said with another boisterous laugh.
Novea raised an eyebrow, yet again wary of the man. “What did you do to get him to dislike you so much?”
“Ah, like father like daughter I see,” he remarked, nudging Bob in the shoulder. “Bob will vouch for me on this—Jack didn’t love that I was all buddy-buddy with Simon, that’s all.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Those were the worst months of my life—he refused to be honest about why he was actually so annoyed all the time.”
The two both began to laugh, and Novea felt herself snicker a bit at the thought. Her father had been far from perfect, and even in his more tame years he still had the capacity to be wildly jealous when it came to Simon.
Novea shook her head, still laughing to herself. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that—Dad didn’t pull any punches when it came to Simon.”
Grayson nodded, eyes lost in memory. “No, he really didn’t.”
***
October, 1966
Novea woke up with a start when the car finally stopped. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep during the drive. She rubbed at her eyes before whipping her head around, taking in her surroundings. In front of the car was a mansion, looking more like a collection of boxes than a house. It took up the entire surface area of the hill they were atop.
Bob was speaking to someone through the intercom, going back and forth with a security guard. Eventually he seemed to get through to them, and the laser gate opened, allowing them to continue their journey.
It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the front of the mansion. As she was guided by Helen and Bob through the halls, Novea bit her tongue when she thought to ask questions. They’d been vague about their reason for this “surprise” visit, and she figured it would be pointless to ask more questions.
All she knew is that it had something to do with the recent re-legalization of supers.
“Dah-ling, must you make me wait so long to reveal my creation?”
Novea’s eyes shot up to see a short woman atop the stars, a bundle of fabric in her hands.
Bob laughed. “Sorry Edna, you know how it is with the kids and everything.”
Edna waved him off, beginning to make her way down the stairs. “Yes, yes, yes, I recall the demons. Never made such a mistake myself,” she scoffed as she walked to the group, offering Novea the suit. “Thank God for that, it would distract from my craft!”
Novea held up the suit, scrutinizing it. It was simple, but most supersuits were. The main suit was a warm orange with a v-shaped yellow accent that went across the shoulders and dipped towards the chest. Accompanying the suit was a pair of yellow boots and gloves that looked like they’d go past her knees and elbows, respectively.
“No need to thank me, dah-ling. I’m already aware of my talents.” Edna walked towards Novea, pulling at the suit. “Beyond style, it also has incredible functionality!”
Novea raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Edna gestured to Novea’s hands. “It’s resistant to your abilities, of course, while also not hindering them. These parts—” she pointed to the yellow accents “—store any extra energy your body absorbs from the sunlight, allowing you to still work at night.”
Helen pointed to a changing room. “How about you try it on?”
***
“All this beauty—and machine washable!” Edna gloated, gesturing to Novea’s form. “Truly I have outdone myself, no?”
Novea adjusted the gloves, giving herself a once-over in the mirror. It really did suit her. Still, she did have one small concern—
“Won’t this clash with Fironic’s suit?”
Bob opened his mouth to speak, but Edna cut him off. “Pah! Fironic dresses like a clown! I would hope you clash with his horrible suit!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Uh, Edna, didn’t you design his suit?” Bob questioned.
Edna shook her head. “It was a dark period of my career, dah-ling.” She turned to Novea, narrowing her eyes at the suit. “If it bothers you so much, dear, that his suit clashes with yours, tell him to come by for a redesign. Free of charge!”
Bob threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fironic’s suit is a classic!”
“A classic mess!” Edna shot back. “At the very least he must let me cut that cape off—”
The two began bickering back and forth, neither making any progress in their case. Helen sighed, walking up to Novea.
“You shouldn’t worry about clashing with Grayson. You aren’t his sidekick.”
Novea frowned. She’d been paired up with him after the ban was lifted, Rick explaining that she’d be under his wing until further notice. Wasn’t that the definition of a sidekick?
Helen must have noticed her confusion. “He’s just your mentor for now, but you’ll be on your own soon enough. Sidekicks don’t usually have such similar abilities to their main heroes.”
Novea sighed. She had a lot to learn about this new world.
***
November, 1966
Novea collapsed onto the couch, not even bothering to take her suit off. Her first month of hero work had been brutal, each day leaving her exhausted. The NSA had suggested she start college a semester late to help her adjust to “normal life,” but she was starting to regret taking them up on that offer. She figured she’d be equally as awkward in new life whether she was dealing with college work or super work.
Not that she could blame them—the population of supers employed by the NSA was not significantly smaller than what it had been in the Glory Days. They needed everyone they could find, herself included.
At least Fironic lived up to his legacy—or his initial interaction with her at the funeral. It made sense why he was so beloved by the public. He was kind to everyone without being spineless, and he seemed to genuinely want the best for Novea. She had grown more with her abilities in a single month with him than she had in a year with Syndrome.
Shameful that their suits were so similar. Somedays Novea thought it was Syndrome she was seeing in her peripherals—she’d embarrassed herself by freaking out on that assumption more than once.
Just as she was beginning to drift off, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She dragged her eyelids open to see Violet standing beside her, dressed nicer than her usual school attire.
Novea narrowed her eyes on the girl’s face. Is that…eyeshadow?
“Uh, I know you just got back from work, but—” Violet began tugging at her hair “—Mom and Dad are both out, and I have a date with Tony…” her voice trailed off, seeing Novea’s annoyed look.
“Forget it. Sorry—I shouldn’t have asked,” she muttered, turning to leave.
Novea closed her eyes, mulling over what to say. Violet had just given her an out, and she really was tired…
Dad and Simon always made time for me, even when they’d just had a terrible day.
“Violet,” Novea said, dragging herself off the couch. “I’ve got you. My brain’s just slow right now, it took me a minute to process what you wanted.”
Violet turned around, beaming. Novea felt herself begin to smile—she could sleep when she was dead.
***
Violet kept checking her reflection in the side-mirrors, making a micro-adjustment to her appearance every five seconds.
“Violet, seriously, you look amazing,” Novea finally said, hoping to calm the girl’s nerves. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Violet sank into her seat with a sigh. “I know but I don’t, you know.” She reached to her hair, but moved her hands back to her lap after Novea shot her a look. “I’ve been crushing on this guy for forever, I just don’t want to mess it up.”
Novea laughed. “Tony is lucky to be going on a date with you, and if he loses interest because you had a hair out of place—then he wasn’t the right guy for you.”
Violet nodded solemnly.
“Plus,” Novea continued, “if things go south—I’ll just melt him.”
Violet laughed, finally relaxing enough to just enjoy the drive to the theatre.
***
December, 1966
Novea stared up at the collection of news articles and posters that adorned Bob’s wall. She had just meant to vacuum the room, but her Dad beaming at the camera (and Simon smiling awkwardly) had caught her attention.
Most of the photos were of Bob from his time as Mr. Incredible, but there were a good amount of her parents, Frozone, and a handful of other supers from the Glory days.
They all looked so happy.
“I always loved that photo,” Bob’s voice rang from behind her.
Novea spun around to see him standing in the door frame, eyes sweeping over the room.
“When was this taken?” Novea asked, pointing at the group photo of Gamma Jack, Gazerbeam, Frozone and Mr. Incredible.
Bob walked over, narrowing his eyes at the photo. “Hmmm…Simon’s suit was still black in this one…so this had to be sometime in the summer of ‘52. Right after we finally got him to agree to joining the NSA.”
Novea looked over the photo.
“Did Simon put up a fight?”
“Oh yeah, he really wasn’t sold on the idea of super work,” Bob said, smiling fondly. “But we wore him down eventually.”
Novea frowned, confused. “I don’t remember Simon being the type to back down. Isn’t that what made him such a good lawyer?”
Bob shrugged. “I don’t know what made him change his mind. I think when he realized Jack was immune to his abilities he had a change of heart—I imagine it was the first time in his life that he’d felt somewhat normal.”
Novea grabbed the picture frame, fingers tracing over each of the supers. “What happened after that?”
“Well, we all tended to work alone—except for Simon, though I would argue he was always built for solo work. But when we were off of work, we’d always hang out,” Bob reminisced, smiling warmly. “Those were the days.”
“Do you have any photos without you guys in suits?”
Bob moved to rummage through his desk. “I think so. Jack didn’t like having his photo taken off of work, something about his image…but I think Lucius managed to snap one when he wasn’t watching—here it is!”
Bob handed her a photo of her parents, younger than she’d ever seen them. They looked to be in some dimly-lit bowling alley, the only light coming from a shitty overhead bulb and the neon outlining the walls.
Jack was leaning back against the booth seat, cigarette in hand, laughing at something out of frame.
Simon was looking at him like he’d hung the stars.
“Was this a common sight for you and Lucius?”
“Oh yeah—we had a running bet about when they’d finally admit they were together. Though…” Bob trailed off, lost in memory. “Sometimes I was convinced I was seeing things, the way they’d fight on the job.”
Novea frowned. “They fought?”
Bob’s eyebrows flew up. “Not like that!” he quickly corrected. “It was just that they had such different approaches to hero work—sometimes they’d get into disagreements on the right approach. But they never let it come between them.”
“I almost can’t imagine it,” Novea admitted. “I never really saw them argue.”
Bob laughed. “All married couples fight sometimes—Jack and Simon just knew better than to do it in front of you,” he reassured. “It means they were good parents.”
***
June, 1967
“Sunspot, on your six!” Fironic shouted, swooping down to yank a civilian out of the way of the runaway train.
Novea pressed her hands together, firing a blast of energy at the tracks to derail the train—
And also catching the front three cars in the blast.
She stared at the damage radius, cursing herself. She hadn’t meant to unleash such a powerful attack but…it’d gotten the job right?
Apparently Fironic didn’t think so. He stormed over, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside, out of view from the crowd.
“Novea,” he began, voice stern. “What the hell was that?”
Novea tore her arm away. “It was an accident,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes. “Why does it even matter? I got the job done, didn’t I?”
Fironic shook his head vigorously. “It got the job done this time. What happens next time when there’s civilians caught in the blast radius?” he demanded. “You’ve sworn to protect these people—which means not unleashing unnecessary amounts of power.”
Novea stayed silent, unable to admit that she didn’t have the faintest clue on how to control it.
Fironic sighed. “You’ve made excellent progress the past few months, anyone can see that. But none of that matters if your power source is your anger,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You fight angry. You’ve been angry since the day I met you—and that’s how people get hurt, Novea.”
Novea felt her walls crumble, just a bit. She let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding, eyes meeting the floor. “I don’t know how to stop being angry. I was always taught to draw my power from it,” she whispered, nails digging into her palms.
Fironic softened, patting her shoulder. “Hey now, don’t let it get you down. You’re not the first super to face this issue—and hopefully not the last,” he reassured. “I had the same problem. As did Jack. And Blazestone. And—well you get the point.
“But learning to fight the urge to draw from emotion for power is what separates the average heroes from the greats. And you—” he pointed at her, smiling “—will be one of the greats. I can tell.”
Novea nodded, though she wasn’t sure she was any closer to understanding what exactly he meant. She couldn’t imagine how else she was supposed to summon her abilities if not from her emotional state.
Before she could respond, a gaggle of reporters and newscasters found the pair of supers, running towards them. Fironic managed to pull a few away, but most were interested in speaking with her, unfortunately.
One of the more passionate reporters shoved past others to be the first to reach her, planting himself beside her and gesturing for his camera crew to start recording. He shot her a quick smile before turning to the camera and addressing the viewers.
“This is Robert Atwater, live in the heart of Municiberg. Today I’m here with everyone’s favorite up-and-coming super: Sunspot!.” Robert shoved the mic into Novea’s face. “You and Fironic have been together for almost every save. Tell me, Sunspot, What’s the deal with that?”
Novea narrowed her eyes at him, feeling her body tense up. “He’s my mentor. The NSA wanted me to work with someone who had similar abilities to mine.”
Robert frowned, clearly wanting a juicer answer. “No other reason?”
Novea shook her head, but Robert pressed on, “I think I speak for all of us when I say it seems you two have an awful lot in common. Makes one think you two are related.”
“Well, we aren’t,” she scoffed.
Robert’s smile was thin, clearly annoyed. “Then who are your parents? There’s no way you have such raw power and have two civilian parents.”
“It’s…complicated.”
How do I even begin to explain my parental situation? I don’t even understand it some days.
Robert waved the microphone in her face. “Care to elaborate?”
Novea shoved the mic back. “Not particularly.”
Robert began to speak, but he was luckily cut off by Fironic, who made the excuse that he and Novea had to return to headquarters to file an incident report.
She was starting to wonder if she was actually cut out for this lifestyle.
***
A few days later, Novea made her way to the mailroom in her apartment complex, though she wasn’t expecting anything more than the usual mail from the NSA detailing her latest missions.
Instead she found a thick letter addressed to her. The only indication of who is was from was the return address—
Municiberg Correctional Facility.
Novea dropped the envelope, throwing her hand over her mouth in an attempt to prevent herself from screaming.
She wanted to cry. She’d worked so hard these past few months to not think of Mirage, to focus on her new life. She’d been sleeping easy, working on accepting what happened to her and that Mirage was dead to her. Yet the woman seemed determined to further ruin her life from the metaphorical grave.
Novea was tempted to incinerate the letter here and now. She should. It’s what was best for her.
Unfortunately, Novea didn’t have a habit of doing what was best for her these days.
Instead she ran back upstairs, locking herself in her room to allow herself the time to just stare at the envelope.
It was strange that it even existed, if she was being honest. Mirage had only been using her, after all. Why did she bother writing Novea now?
She probably wants something else she thought bitterly, ripping the letter open. Let’s get this over with.
***
She cried. A lot. And she hated herself for it.
Mirage had spent their time together lying to her, using her for information that would later be used to kill people. She’d led both of Novea’s parents to their deaths, and let her believe that Simon had abandoned her and Jack. She honestly had gotten off easy with just a life sentence with parole.
Yet here Novea was, crying because she missed the criminal that she had called her mother.
Am I really that weak? Novea chastised herself. That my resolve can be so easily taken down by a single letter full of what are probably hollow apologies?
She didn’t linger on the thought, scared of what the answer would be.
***
July, 1967
Nothing of note had happened for the past month, other than a few more letters arriving in the mail from Mirage, each still full of apologies and regrets, but they were different from the first one. They also included updates on her day-to-day, on her prison friends, on her project to write to the other families of supers.
Novea wouldn’t admit it, but she found herself looking forward to the weekly letter.
She never wrote back—she was still impossibly angry at Mirage. She knew she’d never be able to forgive her, but they both knew that. Mirage wasn’t naive enough to ask for forgiveness, and Novea wasn’t naive enough to offer it. But, she could acknowledge her efforts.
She could acknowledge her own anger was softer now. More background noise than screaming.
Novea had just finished reading one of these letters when she got her first crime alert all month, which she was grateful for. The work had been weathering her away more than she’d ever admit to Fironic.
Still, she was out of practice, so she suited up and headed out to recon with Fironic.
***
“Sunspot! A little help here!”
Novea nodded to Fironic, aiming her hands at the runaway cars, calling upon her power to blast it off course—
—only to be met with nothing.
Novea frowned, aiming again, but the same thing happened—that is, nothing.
She closed her eyes, focusing only on the energy in her body, trying to draw any warmth to her hands, but no energy gathered like it used to.
What the hell?
“I can’t get anything!” she shouted at Fironic, who just nodded, motioning for her to instead guide civilians to safety.
After the battle, Fironic pulled her aside.
“What happened back there?” he asked.
Novea felt her hands begin to shake. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she stammered, pulling away from Fironic and folding into herself. “Please don’t be mad—I’m sure it’s just a fluke.”
Please don’t leave me just because I’m not useful anymore.
“I’m not mad, Novea,” he reassured, voice soft. “I’m just wondering…” his voice trailed off, as if lost in thought. “Do you remember our chat from a month or so ago?”
Novea’s head shot up, surprised he seemed to be so calm about all this. She combed through her memory, recalling their talk about drawing power from emotion. “The one about my lack of control? Harnessing from a new source?”
Fironic nodded. “Yes, you were drawing from that anger you hold. Which makes one think…did something happen between then and now.”
Novea immediately knew the source of her new problem. It always went back to Mirage, didn’t it?
She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. “I started getting letters…from Mirage.”
Fironic’s eyes went wide. “That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.”
Novea shrugged. “Yep. Once a week I get mail from her, rambling apologies and all.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Novea paused. She hadn’t really sat and thought about how the letters were impacting her. But, if she was being honest…
“I feel…at peace. Almost,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m still so angry but it’s…softer now?”
Fironic poked her forehead. “Bingo. Your emotional tether lost its teeth.”
Novea frowned. “I was still able to summon my power when I wasn’t angry with her.”
“And who were you mad at before her?”
“Simon,” Novea said, cringing at the memory.
Fironic nodded. “And before him?”
“The NSA.”
“And it’s turtles all the way down,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve spent your whole life fueling your powers with hatred to different people. Your body doesn’t know how to work without that anger, so you’ll have to relearn how to harness your abilities.”
Novea pressed at her temples, head hurting at the thought. “How am I supposed to even begin to approach that?”
Fironic pointed to himself, tracing his fingers from over his heart down to his hands. “You have to stop seeing your power as something you summon, instead something that lives and breathes with you—the same way your blood does—” he shot a blast of fire towards the side “—when you stop seeing them as something to be set off, they stop needing a trigger.”
***
November, 1967
“Strike!” Honey yelled as her bowling ball perfectly knocked down the pins, adding to her total score (which was already miles ahead of Violet, Novea and even Helen). She turned to them, flashing a smile. “All that with no powers, yes ma’am!”
“Not all of us have time to perfect our throw, Honey,” Novea teased, moving to grab a bowling ball of her own.
“Last I checked, I work an office job all day, while you two run around the city throwing things at criminals,” Honey said with a laugh, sinking down into the booth next to Violet. “Not you, sweetheart. You have school as an excuse.”
Helen poured herself more water. “You got us there, Honey—maybe your superpower is bowling.”
Honey shook her head vigorously. “I’d rather have no powers. Lucius would never let me hear the end of it!”
Violet said something in reply, but was cut off by the sound of Novea’s throw going right into the gutter.
“Yikes,” Violet said, cringing. “Do we need to get you bumpers?”
“No!” Novea shrieked, grimacing at the thought. “Talk about never living something down—you three would exile me from hanging out ever again.”
Honey began to cackle, wiping tears from her eyes. “Novea, you know you’re always welcome to girls night regardless of whatever losing streak you're on!”
Novea sauntered back over, defeated. “Yeah, I know. I know.” She pointed to Violet. “Your turn!”
Violet managed to get a spare, which was a first for her. Helen and Honey ran over to cheer her on when they realized what she’d done.
Novea smiled to herself, watching the three of them celebrate.
She was starting to like this weird family she’d found.
***
Late November, 1967
Novea leaned against the railing atop the skyscraper, looking over the city as the sun set. Everything was so quiet from so high up—it was easy to forget how chaotic the city got during the day.
She thought back to how she’d been the center of that chaos just hours before, in a standoff with two men who’d just robbed the local museum. She’d been able to apprehend them relatively easily, thanks to a well-timed blast of energy.
It had been the first time she’d been able to use her abilities without drawing from some emotional core, which was good news. Otherwise the paintings may have been incinerated as collateral damage.
The sound of footsteps behind her made her jump, but it was just Fironic. Well, right now it was Grayson, as he was currently out of costume.
He flashed her a smile, though it was softer than the one he usually gave to the reporters. “You finally got your spark back, kid,” he said, messing with her hair. “Good job.”
“Thanks,” she said, jokingly shoving him back a bit. “I was only able to because of your advice.”
And a hell of a lot of emotional management and personal growth, she thought to herself. She’d spent a lot of time finding the balance between allowing space for her emotions without letting them consume her in order to finally get her powers in check, but Grayson didn’t need to hear about her trials again.
“You’ve found your peace, I assume?”
Novea nodded. “In a way—I was just so tired of being so angry all the time.”
Grayson moved to join her on the railing, staring off into the city with a look she couldn’t quite place.
The two sat in silence for a moment before Grayson finally spoke. “I’m retiring,” he said blankly.
That caught Novea off guard. “Since when?”
Grayson just laughed. “I’ve been retired since ‘55—I only came back to this line of work as a favor to Simon,” he said with a sigh. “I just didn’t want his kid to have to figure her powers out on her own because that’s what I had to do. It’s terrifying. No one deserves to go through that alone.
“Helen and Bob are great, but I knew you’d need someone with similar abilities to your own to guide you,” he confessed. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m not as good as Jack would’ve been, but I hope I’ve been good enough.”
Novea pulled him into a tight hug, fighting back tears. “You’ve been perfect.”
Grayson wrapped his arms around her, tightening the hug. “Don’t get all weepy on me now. You’ve got the world to conquer now.”
Novea pulled away, rubbing at her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this alone,” she whispered.
Grayson offered a sympathetic look. “You have been doing this whole thing on your own for months now,” he said, gesturing to the city below. “You just didn’t realize it. There’s a reason all the reporters run to you instead of me—you’ve been calling the shots. I was just there as support.”
Novea pulled him back into a hug, dreading the moment she would have to let go.
***
May, 1970
Novea adjusted her cap, looking at herself in the mirror, all dressed up for graduation. She looked good. Confident.
She was starting to think the day wouldn’t arrive.
The static of her crime alert comm caught her attention. Her agent informed her of a disturbance at her school’s graduation venue, attacker and motive unclear.
“Is there seriously no one else who can handle this?” she asked, annoyed. “I’m kind of busy with graduation.”
“And there won’t be any graduation for you to attend if you don’t deal with this,” her agent, June, snapped on the other end.
That’s…a really good point.
“Fine,” she complied. “How far is the disturbance from my current location?”
***
Bomb Voyage was easily apprehended, as he usually was. Novea was tempted to take her usual route to drop him off, but she was seriously cutting it close. She simply didn’t have time.
She commed her agent, hoping for a quicker solution. “Hey June, is there anywhere nearby that could hold this guy for a few hours before I head to the usual spot.”
June sighed pointedly on the other end, but eventually replied. “Yes. Municiberg Correctional Facility is a few blocks away—you know the guards are gonna give you hell, right?”
Novea hung up before June could say any more. She couldn’t bring herself to stay calm when the agent was constantly chastising her over nothing.
***
Unfortunately, June was right about the guards.
“While we appreciate your services, you know that Municiberg Correctional Facility is not the place for villains like Bomb Voyage. We’re not equipped for them—”
“I’m very aware, sir. My dad was a lawyer,” Novea said curtly. “I’m only asking for you to hold him for a few hours, or to call the NSA to handle him.” She pulled gloves back, checking her watch. Cutting it way too close. “I’m in a bit of a time crunch. I’ll be back after graduation, I promise.”
Novea’s eyes swept the corridor, taking in her surroundings until she saw—
Mirage.
She felt her whole body freeze. She almost didn’t recognize the woman, her white hair long gone, replaced with a deep brown. But Novea could never forget those eyes.
She looks just like me.
Novea fought the urge to approach Mirage. She wouldn’t even know what to say. Every letter she’d been receiving the past few years flashed through her head at breakneck speed. Part of her wanted to grab her by the neck, make her pay for everything she’d done. But a weaker, quieter, truer part of herself just wanted to pull her into a tight embrace and never let go.
She shook her head as if to dispel the thoughts. She had places to be.
After a moment, Novea turned back to the guards. “I have to go now. When I’m here to pick up Bomb Voyage, make sure it’s somewhere more private.”
She brushed past them before they could respond, wanting to be free from Mirage’s watchful eyes.
***
Novea ran to meet the families who’d gathered to watch her graduation, pulled into a tight hug the moment they found each other.
It was a stark contrast to her high school graduation, where only Mirage had been there. Tonight she was surrounded by the Parrs, the Bests and even Grayson.
Once she was finally free, Honey put a hand to her shoulder. “We are all so proud of you, Novea.”
The rest of her family chorused in agreement, all giving their own version of congratulations to her.
Violet handed her a bouquet of flowers—a full spectrum of warm colors, from a deep crimson to a bright yellow—before pulling into a hug of her own.
When she was finally released, Novea smiled at all of them, unable to fully articulate how she was feeling. Part of that was because she was so overwhelmed by the love on display, but a darker part of her was left without words because the people she wanted here more than anything weren’t around.
She couldn’t bring herself to admit that Mirage was also on that list.
Novea shook the thought away, though. She’d learned long ago that aching for what wasn’t hers only took away from her appreciation of what she already had.
***
December, 1970
Novea waved goodbye to the Parrs and the Bests before turning to get in her car. She’d be back in time for dinner that evening, but she had someone else to visit this Christmas morning.
Why on earth she needed to go today? She wasn’t sure. But she knew she had to.
She should have visited years ago, but better late than never, right?
***
Novea signed off the visitation paperwork, ignoring the weird looks from both the receptionist and the guards. She could hear them muttering something about “Mirage’s daughter” and “thought she was out of her life,” but she didn’t move to correct them, not when she still thought of the woman as her mother on the bad days.
After about half an hour of waiting, she was finally guided to the visitation room. With how long the wait had been, she’d been expecting a crowd. Instead the room was dead and empty, save for the sound of voices echoing through the walls.
The visiting room smelled faintly of bleach. The fluorescent lights hummed. Novea tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, regret starting to seep in. Maybe the universe was trying to signal this whole idea was a big mistake—
The door on the other side of the glass began to creak open, and there she was.
Mirage.
She looked…older. And tired. But Novea knew better than to be surprised. Prison and crushing guilt probably did that to a person. All things considered she actually looked shockinglyly good.
She still couldn’t get over the brown hair, but that wasn’t really what she was here to talk about.
Mirage finally sat across from her, refusing to meet her eyes.
Silence dragged on, both waiting for the other to speak. Novea half expected Mirage to immediately begin rambling, the way she did in her letters, but no. She stayed silent.
Finally, Novea gave in. “I kept thinking each letter would be the last.”
Real great opener, Novea.
Mirage’s eyes went wide in embarrassment. “I apologize. They were an outlet for me. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Novea shrugged. “It’s not like I read them. Thought you would get the message at some point.”
Silence again.
“Are you surprised to see me?”
Mirage looked at Novea. She could practically see the gears turning in her head, determining what would be best to say.
Finally, she decided on “I am. I never thought I’d see you again after my arrest.”
Novea fought to keep her face neutral. She hadn’t expected to see Mirage after that day either, yet here they were.
The silence stretched on, until it was too much to bear, Mirage being the one to break it this time. “What brought you here, Novea?”
Novea sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not entirely sure.” She looked back up, taking in Mirage’s worried look. “I spend the whole morning with the Parrs and the Bests, and after this I’m headed back for dinner. Any rational person would take this time to rest up back at home, yet here I am.”
Mirage smiled, but she looked more confused than happy. “It’s quite the drive from Metroville to here.”
Novea frowned. She didn’t like Mirage’s implication. “I guess the holidays make me feel forgiving.”
Mirage’s eyebrows lifted, but she quickly reverted to a more neutral expression.
Fuck. I didn’t mean to let the "forgiving" thing slip out.
“Not that I’m here to forgive you,” she said quickly. “Because I don’t.” She looked down. “I just sometimes miss…”
Her voice trailed off to nothing. She didn’t really know what exactly she missed, other than her mom. But her mom was gone, only a shell of a woman left behind.
Novea cleared her throat, diverting the conversation. “Anyways, uh, how has your morning been?” She glanced around the room. “What do you guys even do for Christmas here?”
Mirage smiled. “It’s strange. I like to think we’re able to put together a fine little party.”
Novea snorted. “This place houses the NSA’s most wanted. No shit you guys know how to party.”
“You know it. Jane’s rewiring the lights for ‘maximum festivity.’ She takes that very seriously.”
“Jane as in Jane Lovelace? As In Siren?” Novea’s eyes lit up at the mention of the ex-villian. She had been studying the NSA’s most wanted while she was still under Fironic. “As in the one who swapped out the motherboards on half of the NSA’s most sensitive computers right under their noses?”
Mirage nodded, continuing to tell Novea about her other inmates. It was nice.
Novea could almost pretend they were back at their old house, catching each other up on their days at school and work. For a moment, Novea didn’t see the glass separating them.
***
April, 1971
Novea watched Mirage tell some story about one of her friend’s prison mishaps, but she wasn’t entirely listening. She really wanted to, but her mind was elsewhere…
…Mirage hadn’t been writing her. Like at all.
She knew it was a stupid thing to be upset about, but she’d been getting the letters on a weekly basis for more than three years. They’d become part of her routine, as much as waking up.
They also were a reminder of the woman that Novea had once seen as a mother rather than the criminal currently serving time in the facility for the NSA’s most wanted.
“Novea?” Mirage asked softly. “Is there something wrong?”
She felt her eyes refocus at the question, realizing Mirage had caught her lost in her own mind.
“It’s really nothing,” she lied, embarrassed to admit why she was spacing out.
Mirage rolled her eyes. “I’ve known you for years, Novea. It’s never ‘nothing’.”
Novea hesitated, then said quietly, “You don’t write me anymore, that’s all.”
Mirage raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t read them?”
Novea looked away, not answering. Caught in her lie. Why was Mirage always able to draw out the truth so effortlessly from her?
Is that why she stopped writing? Finally lost motivation? Should I have been writing back? What would I even say?
As if she’d read her mind, Mirage answered her question. “That’s not why I stopped writing though.” She pressed her hand to the glass, her voice gentle, “I just knew that if I kept writing weekly I’d have nothing left to talk about when you came to visit me every month.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. “Not that it should have mattered though, since you apparently never read them.”
Novea went slightly red, ashamed at how easily she’d been read. “I was being childish. Let’s move on from that!” She pointed to Mirage’s hair. “I know it’s been fully grown out for awhile now, but I’ve been meaning to ask, why?”
“Well, first of all, hair bleach would’ve been a real pain to smuggle in here, and I doubt Edith would have had the materials to not melt my hair off.” Mirage paused, pulling some of her hair forward before continuing, “But if that was the only reason, I’m sure I would have found a way.
“In reality, I wanted to fully leave Syndrome behind. The white hair, it was a tether to my old life. The whole look was his idea, he even developed hair treatments to keep it pure white. He’s the one that created ‘Mirage,’ molding me into the woman I embodied for so many years. I can’t even remember who I was before him.
“This place was a chance for me to find myself again. So I let my hair grow out, as well as letting myself explore a lot of new perspectives.” She paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing, “In all honesty, I don’t know if I’ve found my forgotten self, but I at least know that I’m on the road to becoming someone I’d be proud to see in the mirror.”
Novea felt tears well up in her eyes, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
“I like the brown hair on you, Mirage,” she quietly admitted. “It’s nice to see you be someone real.”
Mirage laughed, wiping the tears that were gathering in her eyes. “Don’t I know it.”
***
March, 1972
Novea killed the engine of her car, parked outside the church where her parents were buried. Her reasons for visiting today were twofold: one, she always made sure to visit them at least once a month, and two, Mirage got out of prison today. Novea knew her well enough to predict she would be making her way to Jack and Simon’s graves with her newfound freedom. Novea would spend a few hours with them until Mirage.
She began walking up the hill to the graves, only to see that someone had beaten her to the punch.
“I know you got out today, but I didn’t expect you to be here so soon,” she shouted at Mirage, laughing. “Thought you’d make me wait.”
Mirage spun around, surprised. Novea quickened her pace.
She seemed unsure how to respond, muttering “It was the least I could do.”
Novea continued forward until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. She then crouched to place her own flowers with her parents.
The pair sat in silence, in some kind of odd family reunion.
After a while, Novea turned to Mirage. “So, do you have any idea where you’re going after this?”
Mirage rummaged through her bag, pulling out a file of paperwork. “I’m supposed to meet with the higher-ups at the NSA first thing tomorrow morning. They hired me, saying that they want to rehabilitate my skills in espionage for good.”
Novea grabbed the papers, flipping through them. “That’s good to hear. You have a place to stay too?”
“Yeah. They’ll give me keys after the meeting. Grace booked me a hotel for tonight.” She laughed dryly. “Can’t have an ex-criminal sleeping on a park bench.”
The pair sat in more silence, Novea almost speaking but always stopping herself. There just wasn’t anything to say.
“I should probably call Grace to pick me up now—” Mirage began.
She turned to leave, but Novea gently caught her wrist. She was surprised by the action, but didn’t let go.
“Would you want to grab dinner before you go?”
Mirage froze. Novea felt her heart drop, worried she’d misspoken.
“You don’t have to,” she quickly corrected. “But it would be nice to talk. Without guards. Or my parents.” She motioned toward the graves sitting behind her, grinning.
Mirage visibility relaxed. “Dinner sounds lovely, Novea.”
The pair said their goodbyes to Jack and Simon before leaving for the car. There was distance between the two as they walked down the hill, and sometimes conversation slowed to a crawl, but that was to be expected. Novea knew things would never be the same, and she didn’t want them to be.
Novea looked to the sunset as they got into the car, feeling that, somehow, her parents were watching over her.