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The first indication that something was wrong came at eleven forty-three on a Friday night, when someone knocked on Simon and Jack’s apartment door.
It was not an ordinary knock.
Ordinary visitors knocked twice and waited. Bob knocked hard enough to rattle the hinges. Helen used the brass knocker because she had manners. Dash knocked in a rapid, uneven rhythm, usually while shouting that whatever had happened was not his fault.
This knock was soft.
Three hesitant taps, followed by silence.
Simon looked up from the paperwork spread across his lap. Beside him, Jack remained stretched across the other half of the sofa, one ankle resting over Simon’s thigh and a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his stomach.
Another three taps came.
Jack turned down the television. “You expecting someone?”
“At midnight?”
“You have strange friends.”
“You are my strangest friend.”
Jack placed one hand over his heart. “After everything we’ve been through, you still introduce me as your friend.”
“I don’t introduce you at all if I can avoid it.”
“Cruel.”
Simon moved Jack’s foot off his lap and stood. The television painted the apartment in shifting black-and-white light behind him. Some detective was explaining an unnecessarily complicated murder to a room full of suspects. Jack had insisted they watch it, then spent the past hour complaining about the investigative inaccuracies.
Simon glanced through the peephole.
All traces of amusement vanished.
He opened the door immediately.
Violet Parr stood in the hallway.
She had dressed carefully that evening. Simon remembered because Jack had spent most of dinner teasing Bob over the fact that his daughter was old enough to date. Her dark hair had been pinned up when she left the Parr house, and she had worn a violet dress with a pale cardigan Helen had helped her choose.
Now the cardigan was buttoned crookedly. Half her hair had fallen loose, and her mascara had left faint grey shadows beneath her eyes.
She kept her face angled toward the floor.
Simon’s voice softened. “Violet?”
“Hi, Uncle Simon.”
Jack was off the sofa before she finished speaking.
“What happened?”
Violet flinched.
Simon glanced at him.
Jack stopped several feet away. His entire posture changed in an instant, shoulders lowering and hands opening at his sides. The electricity that had begun to crackle instinctively between his fingers disappeared.
“Sorry,” he said, much more gently. “Hi, kid.”
“Hi.”
Simon stepped aside. “Come in.”
Violet entered without looking at either of them. Simon checked the hall before closing the door, half-expecting to find Bob, Helen or an injured teenage boy somewhere nearby.
There was no one.
“Do your parents know you’re here?” he asked.
Violet’s mouth tightened.
That answered that.
Jack and Simon exchanged a look.
Simon’s said, We need to call them.
Jack’s said, Obviously, but not yet.
It was one of the rare occasions when Jack’s instincts were more patient than his own.
Violet stood in the middle of their living room with her arms folded tightly across herself. She looked painfully young, though Simon knew she would resent anyone telling her so. At seventeen, Violet existed in the uncomfortable space between wanting her family to protect her and wanting to prove that she did not need protecting at all.
Simon understood that better than he cared to admit.
Jack approached the problem the way he approached most sensitive situations: by pretending it was not sensitive.
“You want popcorn?”
Violet stared at him.
“It’s only slightly burned.”
“It is mostly burned,” Simon corrected.
“Some people prefer texture.”
“You set fire to it.”
“The instructions were misleading.”
“They said three minutes.”
“My powers interfered with the microwave’s timing mechanism.”
“You forgot about it.”
Violet’s mouth twitched.
Jack saw it and, for once, had enough sense not to celebrate.
“I can make something else,” he offered. “Toast. Eggs. A complex seven-course meal consisting entirely of things Simon knows how to cook.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“All right.”
Jack sat on the arm of the sofa instead of pressing her further. Simon crossed into the kitchen, filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
Behind him, Violet asked, “Do you have any tea?”
Simon looked over his shoulder. “Of course.”
Jack made a face. “We have the depressing kind.”
“Chamomile is not depressing.”
“It tastes like someone described flowers to hot water.”
That earned him a tiny, unwilling laugh.
Simon took down the tin of chamomile.
Violet perched on the far end of the sofa. She sat so carefully that it seemed she was prepared to disappear at the first wrong question—not metaphorically, either. Her hands already flickered faintly where they rested against her dress.
Jack noticed.
He did not mention it. He simply reached for the remote and switched off the television, taking away the shifting light that might make her feel as though they were watching for changes in her skin.
Simon placed a mug in front of her several minutes later. Violet wrapped both hands around it, though the tea was still too hot to drink.
Neither man asked what had happened.
That appeared to be what finally broke her.
“I’m stupid,” she whispered.
Jack’s expression hardened immediately. “No.”
“I am.”
“You’re categorically not.”
“I thought he liked me.”
Simon took the chair opposite her. “Who?”
Violet stared into her tea.
Jack leaned slightly toward Simon. “Tony?”
Simon ignored him.
Unfortunately, Violet’s face crumpled at the name.
Jack’s eyes widened. “It was Tony?”
“Jack.”
“What did he do?”
“Jack.”
“I’m asking calmly.”
Electricity snapped between his thumb and forefinger.
Violet hastily wiped beneath her eyes. “He didn’t do anything.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Jack,” Simon said for the third time.
Jack closed his mouth, although his jaw continued working as if he were chewing through all the questions he had been ordered not to ask.
Simon waited.
Eventually, Violet said, “We went to a party.”
She spoke quietly at first, each word reluctant. Tony had invited her to a classmate’s birthday celebration. She had spent all afternoon getting ready. Helen had helped with her hair; Dash had been threatened into keeping his opinions to himself; Bob had hovered near the front door and asked Tony several questions that Helen later informed him had sounded like an interrogation.
The party had been crowded.
Violet had known only a few people. Tony had promised he would stay with her, but his teammates were there, and they kept pulling him into conversations. Every time Violet tried to join them, she felt as though she were intruding.
“He wasn’t being mean,” she insisted.
Simon nodded. “All right.”
“He kept coming back to check on me. At first.”
Jack’s fingers curled around the sofa cushion.
Then a girl named Marcie arrived.
She was confident and bright and loud enough to be heard over everyone else. She had known Tony since they were children. She touched his arm when she talked to him and knew stories about him that Violet had never heard.
“They looked good together,” Violet said, staring into her tea. “Everyone thought they were together. One of his friends asked if they’d gotten back together.”
Simon felt something cold settle in his chest.
“What did Tony say?” he asked.
“He laughed.”
Jack stood.
Simon did not even look at him. “Sit down.”
“I need the bathroom.”
“The bathroom is in the opposite direction.”
“I’m taking a scenic route.”
“Sit.”
Jack sat.
Violet’s shoulders shook with a breath that was dangerously close to another sob.
“He said they were just friends,” she continued. “Then he looked for me, but I’d already—”
She raised one hand.
It vanished from the wrist upward.
“I didn’t mean to. I was embarrassed, and everybody was looking at me, so I—I disappeared. I went upstairs because I couldn’t get the force field to work while I was upset. I thought if I stayed somewhere quiet for a few minutes, I could calm down.”
Simon leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.
“But Marcie came upstairs,” Violet said. “She didn’t know I was there.”
Jack went very still.
Violet’s hand gradually became visible again.
“She was talking to her friend. She said Tony only asked me out because he felt sorry for me. Because I’m weird and quiet and he’s too nice to tell me that he doesn’t really like me.”
“Oh, I’m going to kill her too,” Jack said.
“Jack.”
“What? I said it quietly.”
Violet finally looked up. Her eyes were red, her expression stricken. “What if she’s right?”
“She isn’t,” Jack answered instantly.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“That doesn’t mean Tony likes me.”
“No,” Simon said. “It doesn’t.”
Jack turned toward him in outrage.
Simon held Violet’s gaze.
“We cannot tell you what Tony feels,” he continued. “Only Tony can do that. Marcie cannot, and neither can the people at that party.”
“But she knows him better.”
“Perhaps she knows him differently.”
“She’s pretty.”
“So are you.”
“She’s not afraid of everybody.”
“You aren’t afraid of everybody.”
Violet gave him a miserable look.
Simon amended, “You are afraid of many people. That has never prevented you from facing them when it mattered.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Being a Super is different.”
“Why?”
“When I’m in the suit, I know what I’m supposed to do. I know where to stand and who to protect. I know what everyone needs from me.”
Simon’s expression softened with understanding.
“And when you are simply Violet?”
She looked down. “Nobody needs anything.”
Jack made a wounded sound. “Kid.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It better not be. You know your father calls us whenever the remote stops working?”
“He calls you,” Simon said. “He calls me when he needs actual assistance.”
“The point is, the Parr family would collapse without you.”
“That is demonstrably untrue,” Violet murmured.
“Your mother would be fine,” Jack conceded. “The rest of us would collapse.”
A faint smile appeared before disappearing again.
Simon moved from the chair to the sofa, sitting beside Violet but leaving enough space that she would not feel crowded.
“You do not have to be useful to deserve someone’s affection,” he said.
Her face tightened.
Simon continued before she could retreat.
“I know that is difficult to believe. Especially when so much of your life has been defined by what you can do for other people. But anyone who only wants you when you are rescuing them does not truly want you.”
Violet sniffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. It is supposed to be true.”
Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Simon’s bad at comfort.”
“So are you,” Simon said.
“I’m excellent at comfort. My comforting just occasionally involves property damage.”
Violet took a careful sip of tea.
After a moment, she asked, “What if Tony really did ask me out because he felt sorry for me?”
“Then he’s an idiot,” Jack said.
“Jack.”
“He’d be an idiot with good intentions, but still an idiot.”
Simon thought about it. “That is accurate.”
Jack pointed triumphantly at him.
Violet gave a shaky laugh. It ended with her pressing her lips together, desperately trying not to cry again.
Simon opened one arm.
He did not pull her toward him. He merely offered.
Violet stared at him for a second before setting her mug down and folding herself against his side.
She leaned cautiously at first.
Then Simon’s arm settled around her shoulders, and Violet collapsed.
The sob tore out of her as if she had been holding it inside the entire journey across the city. She buried her face against Simon’s shirt, hands clutching the fabric. Halfway through her first breath, she vanished.
Simon’s arm did not move.
Jack’s face transformed.
The anger left it, replaced by something unbearably tender. He slid from the arm of the sofa to sit on the coffee table in front of them.
“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s all right, kid.”
“I’m sorry,” Violet gasped.
“For what?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to come here. I was going home, but Dad was going to ask what happened, and Mom was going to know I’d been crying, and Dash would make it weird—”
“Dash makes everything weird,” Jack said. “It’s his primary ability.”
“And I didn’t want them to know.”
Simon rubbed a slow hand over the back of her invisible head. “Why?”
“Because Mom warned me not to make Tony the center of everything. She said I needed to be sure I liked who I was when I was with him.”
“That sounds like Helen.”
“And Dad already acts like Tony’s planning to murder me.”
“That sounds like Bob,” Jack said.
“I didn’t want Mom to think she was right, and I didn’t want Dad to break anything.”
Simon glanced at Jack.
Jack looked offended. “Why are you looking at me?”
“No reason.”
“I can control my impulses.”
A spark jumped from his hand and scorched a tiny mark into the edge of the coffee table.
All three of them looked at it.
Jack covered the mark with his knee. “Unrelated.”
Violet’s head slowly reappeared against Simon’s shoulder. Her eyes were swollen, but she was no longer struggling for breath.
Simon handed her a handkerchief from his pocket.
Jack stared. “Do you carry those?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I am an adult.”
“I’m an adult.”
“No one has independently verified that.”
Violet made a wet, startled sound that became a laugh.
“There she is,” Jack said softly.
Simon saw her tense at the attention and immediately redirected it.
“We do need to call your parents.”
Her smile vanished. “Do we have to?”
“They will be worried.”
“They might not know I’m gone yet.”
Simon looked at the clock.
It was twelve fourteen.
Jack reached for the telephone. “Your father absolutely knows.”
As if summoned by the statement, it rang beneath his hand.
All three of them froze.
The telephone rang again.
Jack picked it up. “Hello?”
Even from several feet away, Simon heard Bob’s voice explode through the receiver.
“Is Violet there?”
Jack pulled the phone away from his ear. “Good evening to you too.”
“Jack.”
Violet made herself smaller against Simon’s side.
Jack’s tone changed at once. “She’s here. She’s safe.”
A long pause followed.
Bob said something quieter.
“I know,” Jack replied. “Hold on.”
He held the receiver toward Violet.
She shook her head.
“It’s your dad.”
“I know.”
“He sounds as if he’s aged forty years in the last ten minutes.”
“Jack,” Bob barked through the telephone.
Violet reluctantly accepted it.
“Hi, Dad.”
Whatever Bob said made her eyes fill again.
“No, I’m okay. I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
Simon could hear Helen in the background, her voice calmer but no less worried.
Violet listened, then looked at Simon.
“Can I stay here tonight?”
Jack’s expression brightened.
Simon sighed.
“Yes,” Violet said into the telephone. “They said it’s okay.”
“We did not—” Simon began.
Jack kicked his ankle.
Violet listened again. “Okay. I love you too.”
She passed the telephone to Simon.
Helen was on the line now.
“She really is all right?” Helen asked.
“She is upset, but she is safe.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
Simon glanced at Violet. “That is hers to tell you.”
Helen was silent for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said eventually.
“You never have to thank us for looking after her.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “That’s why she went to you.”
Something inside Simon’s chest shifted painfully.
Helen promised to bring Violet’s overnight things in the morning. Bob wanted to collect her immediately, but Helen appeared to be physically preventing him from putting on his shoes.
Simon handed the telephone back to Jack.
“Bob wants to talk to you.”
Jack lifted the receiver. “Robert.”
Violet could still hear her father’s voice.
“No,” Jack said. “I have not threatened anyone.”
Simon raised an eyebrow.
“I have not directly threatened anyone.”
The voice grew louder.
“I said I would have a respectful conversation. Those exact words.”
“Jack,” Violet warned.
“All right, fine. No conversations. Sleep well.”
He hung up before Bob could respond.
Simon took Violet’s empty mug into the kitchen. Behind him, Jack produced spare blankets from the hall cupboard and began constructing a bed on the sofa.
“You can take our room,” Simon said.
Violet shook her head. “The sofa’s fine.”
“The springs are vindictive,” Jack warned.
“I’ve slept here before.”
“Not recently. It’s become more vindictive with age.”
Simon went into the bedroom and returned with one of their pillows. Violet removed her shoes and curled beneath the blanket, her dress replaced by one of Jack’s oversized shirts and a pair of Simon’s drawstring pajama trousers folded several times at the waist.
Jack switched off the main lights. Simon left the small lamp beside the sofa burning.
They had almost reached the bedroom when Violet spoke.
“Uncle Simon?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That someone can want you even when you aren’t useful.”
Jack stopped in the bedroom doorway.
Simon looked at him.
Jack’s expression was unusually open.
For years after the ban, Simon had believed his value existed in what he could give the world. His precision. His intelligence. His ability to find the weak point in any structure, any plan, any enemy.
Then he had been stripped of Gazerbeam and left with Simon Paladino—a man with a government-issued identity, a colourless job and no idea what remained of him when he could no longer save anyone.
Jack had remained.
Jack, who loved applause and danger and attention, had chosen quiet evenings in a small apartment with him. He had stayed through Simon’s silences, investigations and compulsive need to solve problems that no longer belonged to him.
He had wanted Simon when Simon had nothing useful left to offer.
Simon looked back at Violet.
“Someone taught me,” he said.
She followed his gaze toward Jack.
“Oh.”
Jack cleared his throat. “For the record, I find him extremely useful. He remembers when the bills are due.”
Simon took Jack’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom.
“Goodnight, Violet.”
“Goodnight.”
“And kid?” Jack leaned around the doorframe. “If Tony did hurt you, I’m not going to do anything.”
Violet narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like there’s more to that sentence?”
“Because Simon will be doing it.”
Simon shut the door in his face.
Violet was still laughing when they climbed into bed.
Much later, after her breathing had settled and the apartment had gone quiet, Jack whispered into the darkness.
“I’m only going to talk to him.”
“No.”
“Respectfully.”
“No.”
“I won’t even use my powers.”
“No.”
“What if I bring Bob?”
“Especially no.”
Jack shifted closer beneath the blankets. “Helen?”
“No one is threatening a seventeen-year-old boy.”
“I never said threat. I said conversation.”
“You burned the table while discussing him.”
“That was an emotional electrical discharge.”
“You were preparing to commit murder.”
“A small murder.”
Simon opened one eye.
Jack sighed dramatically and dropped his head onto Simon’s shoulder.
“Fine. I won’t talk to him.”
“Thank you.”
“I reserve the right to stare at him.”
“From a reasonable distance.”
“While producing a small amount of electricity.”
“No electricity.”
“You take all the joy out of being an uncle.”
Simon closed his eyes again. Jack’s arm slid around his waist.
From the living room came Violet’s sleepy voice.
“I can still hear you.”
Jack raised his head.
“Sorry, kid.”
A brief silence followed.
Then Violet added, “You can stare at him a little.”
Jack grinned into the darkness.
Simon reconsidered everything he had ever taught her.