I race around the apartment, hastily grabbing clothes, toiletries, and everything else I need and shoving it into a pair of suitcases sitting open on my couch. Everything goes in haphazardly, with little to no real organization. With more time and patience, I could probably reduce the load to only one bag, but I can’t even slow down enough to consider the possibility. I’m already almost late.

  Today is the day I leave for the Hero Exhibition.

  Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door. I’m so startled I almost throw the kitchen knife I have in my hand. Why do I even have this? I set it down as calmly as I can manage then hold myself back from sprinting as I walk over to the door and open it.

  It’s Rowan, carrying a pair of boxes wrapped up in bows like gifts.

  “Hey, princess,” she says holding up the boxes, then frowns, “Are you okay?”

  I do a mental check of myself to try and figure out what she’s referring to before I realize I haven’t slept since the night before and probably have dark circles under my eyes.

  “Just a little stressed,” I reply, “Is there, uh…something I can help you with?”

  She gives me a raised eyebrow, “I brought your new clothes.”

  “Oh,” I say, “Oh! Right! Sorry, come on in.”

  I duck back into my apartment, leaving the door open for Rowan to follow. Hesitantly, I take a look at my suitcases before deciding I probably don’t need my entire desktop for a one-day trip and take it out to make room for the boxes.

  “Is that a monitor?” Rowan asks, putting down the boxes on my kitchen counter before walking over, “And a box of pencils? Charlie, you’re not moving out, it’s just an overnight stay”

  “I’ve literally never had to pack before,” I reply, stress leeching into my tone, “The only time I’ve stayed anywhere without the understanding that I’d be staying permanently was my exile, and I didn’t exactly get the time to prepare. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  Rowan chuckles, “Alright, princess. Need some help?”

  I study her amused expression for three seconds before relenting, “Yes, please.”

  Rowan peers down at my two suitcases, then starts taking a few things out. I wince as I watch her remove a box of my favorite snack bar, but I remind myself it's only one day. I’ve been without them before. I need to trust her expertise.

  “Your friends couldn’t help with this?” Rowan asks as she continues sifting through my bags.

  “Allacia’s in the same boat,” I answer, “and even if Elias could help, their flight was yesterday. They’re already waiting in The Angel’s City.”

  “They leave you behind already?” Rowan quips, turning to smirk at me.

  “Ha ha,” I reply, “They’re there for me. It’s not my fault I can’t go with them; Vermillion insisted I travel via portal.”

  “Janus is taking you? Lucky,” Rowan sighs, “You have no idea what I'd do to use teleportation more often—it’s by far the best form of travel. Rhea’s taking us in a crop duster because she’s on the no-fly list." She reconsiders for a moment, “Well, more like the ‘call every reaper and their mother if you even think you see her near a federal building’ list, but you get the point.”

  I can’t help but shudder a little at the thought, “She’s coming too?”

  “Of course,” Rowan replies, “The alternative is me spending a day in what is famously Jonathan’s city with more heroes and reapers around than have any right to be in one place, all without any backup. Odds are, she won’t let me out of her sight the entire trip. It’s honestly a bit stifling.”

  I sigh wearily, “Well, at least she’s also unlikely to try anything while there for much the same reasons.”

  “Of course she won’t,” Rowan says matter-of-factly, “because I told her not to do anything that would ruin the Exhibition. Not that I think she would try anything, but it doesn’t hurt to cover my bases.”

  “It is mildly worrying how much trust you put in the nigh-unkillable former murderer you live with,” I tell her.

  “Only mildly?” Rowan replies snarkily, “She’s more trustworthy than Jonathan, if nothing else.” With a flourish she zips my suitcase closed, expertly leaving me with only the one and even some extra room. Something tells me that is not a skill I will ever learn.

  “Just make sure she doesn’t follow you to the after party,” I sigh, “Young SAUs only.”

  “Sure princess,” Rowan smirks, “See you on the big day!”

  Then she leaves, shutting the door behind her and dunking me headfirst into silence.

  No dwelling on that, however—I have a portal to catch.

  —

  Finding where we’re leaving from was the easy part: the angry faces of the people who’d been waiting for me to arrive was what clued me in. I’m not the only one taking the Janus express over to the Angel’s City—in addition to Vermillion, Jayce and the Captain are also there with the blonde, portal-opening reaper. They’re all dressed in civilian clothing, even the Captain, who I swear I’ve never seen out of military uniform. It would be almost comical if not for the look in her eyes that says ‘I could kill you if I wanted’ far more effectively than any clothes.

  Speaking of the angry drill sergeant, she gives me a stern glare as I approach, “Clearly I should have emphasized punctuality more in our lessons, recruit. I’ll be sure to rectify that when we get back.”

  I wince at that—she means that, and I’ve been working with her long enough to know her way of ‘emphasizing punctuality’ will probably end up involving 100 G laps in some way.

  “Are we all ready?” Operative Janus asks in a heavy accent I don’t recognize—Norwegian, maybe? Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve heard him speak. It’s a little eerie.

  Of course, we all give our respective acknowledgements, and without another word, the air begins to ripple before us. A dark circle materializes in the air, wide enough for a car to pass easily, then suddenly becomes transparent. No sooner do I spot the city beyond than we all step through, and at once we find ourselves in an entirely different place.

  My first impression of the City of Angels, the grand official capital of the USC and official hometown of Jonathan Alston himself, is that it's a complete tourist trap.

  There’s places like this all over Newest York—places where you get the sense that the people here either actually believe they’re living in literal paradise or they’re trying to scam you. Usually it’s the latter.

  The city certainly looks like it would earn its name, but not for the reasons you might hope. All around are golden statues of angels—from my view I see at least three plazas with one or more each, several storefronts with some outside, and even a few on rooftops. Scratch that, they aren’t angel statues, they’re statues of an angel. One in particular.

  Wings of Freedom—Jonathan in all his arrogant glory.

  In Newest York it’s the “I??New York” merch and the people dressed up as famous heroes—most of which don’t even live in the city—and the old remnants of once-interesting locations like the big tower or that one old theater they called ‘widestreet’ or something. Here, however, they clearly have just the one gimmick, and that’s their city’s guardian angel—literally.

  It’s a wonder mom ever lived here, even in the middle of a war where the rest of the country was dangerous. Though I guess it probably wasn’t like this back then. Not as much, at least.

  “Stop gawking, recruit, you look like a tourist,” the Captain says gruffly, bringing me back to reality. Everyone else has already started the rest of the way up the hill to the BCCSI Headquarters of the Angel’s City—its very own Bowl. Except this one has some awkward protrusions that make it look more like a pot with handles. Apparently the city has some absurd apartment prices, so the BCCSI’s standard of nearly free rooms for heroes and their families is much more appealing. They added the extra wings for housing alone.

  Not that the place doesn’t have its own benefits over Newest York’s. For one, it sits grandly at the top of a large hill overlooking the city—closer to a mountain, really, but standards for mountains are much higher this close to the Rockies. This gives it that grand view I experienced mere moments after arrival, but also makes it quiet up here. People only travel this far up if they’re headed to the Bowl themselves.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Of course, all this I know only from online tourist sites and secondhand accounts, so it may be different. Janus did feel comfortable teleporting us outside of the building itself though, which speaks to it being relatively free from prying eyes. In fact, I don’t even seem to see any heroes out and about.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask nobody in particular as I catch up to the others.

  “Not here,” the Captain replies unhelpfully.

  “Heroes living in the headquarters full-time are sometimes asked to move out temporarily in advance of the Exhibition, so we can provide housing for the heroes involved,” Vermillion graciously explains, “Such things are the price of living in government subsidized housing, I suppose. Especially somewhere like the Angel’s City, where the headquarters is already too full to even have a little extra room available. A similar situation might go differently elsewhere.”

  I catch myself frowning a little at the explanation. It hardly seems like that’s the best option, given how many of the heroes living here don’t have anywhere else to go, but maybe if it’s only for a few days once every few years, then it’s fine. I hardly know enough about the logistics to be confident in that assumption.

  “So I guess we’re all staying here too,” I muse, “Is there a reason we couldn’t just have Janus take us right before the Exhibition, to spare everyone else the trouble?”

  “Let the poor boy rest!” Vermillion says with amusement, “He already spends all day ferrying us around, and it's best we save the time-sensitive transports for emergencies.”

  I opt to leave it at that as the four of us split off and go find our rooms. Vermillion tells me to come find her tomorrow before the Exhibition and just like that I’m once more left to my own devices. I send Allacia and Elias a quick message to let them know I’m here, and acknowledge a text from Rowan saying she just left before making my way to my new temporary apartment.

  No sooner have I gotten to the wing I’m staying in, however, than I spot a figure walking down the hallway ahead of me. I immediately recognize her, and that has me swiftly darting out of view around a corner on instinct, as my heart beats rapidly in my chest. The reaction almost feels shameful to me, and certainly unexpected, but the longer I stand there the less I find myself wanting to face her. My mind races as my brain frantically tries both to sort out my emotions and figure out a way to escape at the same time, simultaneously failing both tasks for the expanded effort.

  “We really gonna do this, C?” a lilting, feminine voice says from around the corner, “Or can we have a civil conversation like adults?”

  I hesitate. Hiding does me no good, it never did, but some part of me still doesn’t want this. I decide to quash that part of me mercilessly. Whatever else, I cannot embarrass myself further.

  Cautiously, I peek my head around the corner and, sure enough, there she is. A five foot seven hourglass-shaped beauty with long flowing curls of blonde hair, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed in full costume—a tight snow-white jumpsuit embroidered with swirling patterns of light blue and complimented by a half-cape over her left shoulder of similar shade with a white snowflake emblazoned on it. What looks like the bastard child of an ice pick and a selfie stick hangs at her side, and she wears thick platformed boots that add two extra inches of height and hide a surprise inside—pop-out blades for skating gracefully across the ice she’s known for. I remember every detail like it was yesterday, and though some of it has changed—like the absence of sleeves to account for the heat, which also happens to display her slightly muscular arms—most is all the same. The ice queen Darya Kostina, aka Khionne, stares at me with her signature cold, blue eyes, and, hesitantly, I look back.

  Even a year and a half later, her gaze still sends a delightful little shiver down my spine.

  “Have you ever considered,” I reply cautiously, and after a second more thought, “That I might have a good reason for wanting to avoid you?”

  “Not good enough,” she counters, “It’s not like we parted on bad terms, C.”

  “Is that what you think?” I protest, voice edged with pain, “Because I remember things a little differently.”

  She sighs, “I still stand by my choice, C. It was a good career move, working with Apex. Their assistance has allowed me to master my ability, rise the ranks, and make myself essential to the BCCSI. I’ve participated in more meaningful missions and learned things I could otherwise—about myself, my power, and especially my country. Losing you was painful, but…”

  “Worth it,” I finish for her bitterly, “Yeah I’m sure you learned a lot. The floodgates really do open once they tell you about reapers, after all.”

  Her eyes widen, “You-”

  “It’s been a long time, Darya,” I interrupt, “You’re not the only one who’s been busy. It’s funny, though, how I managed to do all the same things as you without leaving first.”

  Her eyes narrow, “Not everyone’s as special as you, C.”

  “No,” I agree honestly, “but a year ago, most people would’ve agreed you were even more so. Including…” I clench my fist, “including me. And including the second biggest hero in the USC and the city champion of the Foundry too, apparently, which I might remind you is kinda the problem here.”

  “C…” she says placatingly, her gaze softening.

  “No,” I say, stepping back, “No, we’re not doing this now. I need to focus on the Exhibition tomorrow and if I know anything about you, so do you. Neither of us can afford to get distracted right now.”

  “C, I know you—that’s just an excuse,” she replies, but I’m already walking away, “C, wait! Charlie!”

  She shouts only a few more times, before stopping, but I don’t turn around. I’m all the way down the hall and out of sight before I even bother slowing down.

  So much for not embarrassing myself.

  —

  Allacia and Elias finally arrive almost an hour and a half later. They claim that traffic was exceptionally bad due to the Exhibition, but the way Allacia seemed to blush when I questioned that made me leave it there. They probably aren’t entirely lying anyways—I bet it's hellish out there.

  Either way, I’d well and truly settled in by the time they knocked on my door, having spent the time unpacking, doomscrolling, and briefly trying on my new costume. All the better to keep my mind off of all the many good reasons to be stressed right now.

  “So, it happened already,” Elias comments as I finish telling them about my day so far, “I at least thought we’d have to wait until the afterparty.”

  “You think she was looking for me?” I ask, “She was awfully close to my room. I would’ve thought she’d been put somewhere fancier than the annex, given that she’s kinda higher status than I am at the moment.”

  “I think you’re underestimating yourself,” Elias counters, “and overestimating her. Remember, higher status rooms are already filled by higher status people—you really have to be someone for any of them to be kicked out for your sake. There’s a good chance that every hero here for the Exhibition is in the annex, aside from Jonathan and any city champions.”

  “Also, that’s a little paranoid of you to suggest,” Allacia buts in, “I know she has you on edge, but I doubt it's on purpose.”

  I sigh, “Yeah, yeah. Speaking of champions, any news on which will be participating this year?” I say, deciding to change the subject.

  “In addition to Jonathan, both Apex and The Nimbus Witch are purportedly in the city,” Elias answers, “Which was not easy info to get by the way—they have witch news locked down tight. She’s unlikely to participate, but I can’t see any other reasons she’d be here—then again, no news means I can only speculate. Apex is definitely participating. You know that, I know that, everybody knows that. I shouldn’t even have to say something so obvious.”

  “Any smaller big fish?” I prompt.

  “Crusader and New World,” Elias lists. The Seattle and Toronto city champions, respectively. Both cities were largely unaffected by the Upheaval and are therefore rather prosperous, which makes their champions relatively influential, as well as more willing to leave their hometowns unguarded long enough for the Exhibition. Not that hero work is particularly impactful, but that’s the thinking they still go by regardless.

  “Steep competition,” I muse.

  “Nobody is expecting you to compete with city champions, Charlie,” Allacia calmly, in the tone of an adult telling a little league team that having fun is more important than winning.

  “But if you feel like you can, kick their asses,” Elias grins mischievously, “I may or may not have taken some ‘educated risks.’”

  “You bet on me?” I exclaim in shock. More importantly, is there even a betting pool?

  “Would you rather I bet against you?” Elias replies, “I do this every year, it just so happens my friend is participating this time.”

  I turn to Allacia with a questioning look, but she just shrugs, “I don’t let him bet more than a few hundred dollars, and he wins more often than not anyways.”

  “What do you even bet on?” I ask, turning back to Elias, "It's not a competition.”

  “Engagement numbers,” Elias replies smugly, “Stats like viewership of the televised show to increases in online searches in the weeks following. It’s really the best way to quantify if a hero is ‘successful’ or not. After all, public engagement is really the goal of the Exhibition.”

  “And you think I’m worth betting on,” I repeat, as if saying it again would make it sound more reasonable. It does not.

  “Charlie, you’re going from pretty much nobody to a main-stage show. Even if you somehow flopped, people aren’t gonna stop talking about you for a while,” Elias says a little too casually, “and I’ve been involved with your training enough with you to have faith in your success.”

  “Good to know you think I’m a worthwhile investment," I grumble halfheartedly. In the privacy of my own mind, however, I feel a little surge of pride, unconsciously sitting a little straighter and puffing out my chest just a bit more. In a roundabout way, you could almost call what he said encouragement. It certainly didn’t hurt my confidence.

  —

  The rest of the night passes without incident. Allacia and Elias make their way out as the sun begins to set, and despite a bit of portal lag, I stay up just long enough to catch a text from Rowan confirming she landed safely in a desert just northeast of the city. Apparently Rhea called it ‘nostalgic,’ though neither of us seems to have any idea what to make of that. I just decide to let it go without comment and head to bed.

  That night I toss and turn for a while. When I finally get some sleep, I dream I’m in a classroom, where a figure shrouded in shadow keeps asking me questions I don’t know the answers to. The only other person in the room—a woman with a shepherd's staff—laughs every time I fail to respond, then says some gibberish as the answer and acts like it should be obvious. I wake up cold and sweating, feeling shamed and strangely helpless. As the memory of the dream fades in the clarity of the waking world, I'm tempted to brush it off. It's just my stress, and I have better things to focus on than that.

  After all, today is the day. What I’ve been preparing for the last three months—and honestly should’ve been preparing for longer, if only I could—is finally here. I slink out of bed and wearily get moving.

  The Exhibition is finally here.