Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

For a moment, it looked like they had it.

Shroud was still standing, but barely. Whatever control the Astral Pulse had given him was already slipping, his movements just slightly off in a way Mandy didn’t miss. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough to make him dangerous in a different way—unpredictable, unstable, forcing control back into place instead of holding it naturally. Around him, the Red Ring followed, their formation breaking as the power turned against them, giving the team the opening they needed.

They moved on it immediately.

Mandy stayed focused on Shroud.

She saw the exact moment he steadied himself again, dragging control back through sheer will, his attention snapping forward with that same precision he’d carried throughout the fight. It locked onto Robert without hesitation, sharp and deliberate despite everything that had just gone wrong.

Mandy stepped forward on instinct, already calculating distance, already knowing before she fully committed that she wouldn’t make it in time. The realization settled in at the same moment Shroud raised the weapon, his movement rough but purposeful, the aim steady where it mattered.

There wasn’t enough time.

The moment stretched just long enough to make it worse, to make it feel like something could still interrupt it if anyone reacted fast enough.

Something did.

Mandy didn’t see the approach. There was no warning, no buildup, just a sudden shift in the space between them that cut cleanly through the moment. Shroud’s movement stopped mid-action, not because of anything thrown or fired from a distance, but because something had gotten close—close enough that it didn’t need force, only precision.

A blade drove straight through his throat.

He just dropped.

Mandy stilled, her gaze fixed on the space where it had happened as her mind caught up in sharp, deliberate pieces. There was only one person who would close that kind of distance without being seen, only one who would strike that cleanly and leave nothing behind but the result.

“…Visi,” she murmured under her breath.

She watched.

Mandy’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze sharpened slightly as the Astral Pulse left Invisigal’s hand a second later, tossed back towards Robert with an ease, like the line she had just crossed didn’t carry any weight at all.

Then she stepped back.

There was no hesitation in it, no pause to reconsider or stay. The presence that had filled the space disappeared as quickly as it had come, the air settling almost immediately in her absence.

Gone.

“Visi—!”

Mandy shot upright in bed, the name leaving her before she was fully awake. The sudden movement sent a dull ache through her head, sharp enough to make her wince as she pressed her fingers lightly to her temple, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the pain settled in.

Right.

She’d gone out drinking with Z-Team last night.

The memory came back in pieces—noise, drinks she probably shouldn’t have accepted, someone laughing too loudly, someone else insisting on one more round. Mandy exhaled slowly through her nose and reached for her phone, squinting slightly at the screen.

Saturday. 9 AM.

She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, then let her hand fall back to the bed.

“…great.”

Mandy exhaled slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed, steadying herself before standing. The house was quiet as she stepped out into the hallway, the kind of quiet that felt normal until you paid attention to it for too long.

She didn’t think much of it at first, moving on instinct towards the kitchen, one hand running loosely through her hair—

Then she stopped.

Her gaze caught on the door to the spare room.

The one with the sign.

The sign was still there, taped slightly crooked against the wood, the letters uneven and bold like they’d been written without much care for neatness.

‘fuck off!’

Mandy stared at it for a second longer than she meant to, her steps slowing before stopping entirely.

That used to mean something different.

It used to come with noise—footsteps that didn’t quite line up with anything visible, a presence that lingered just a little too close on purpose, a voice that would cut in at the worst possible moment just to get a reaction out of her. It used to feel like something she had to deal with.

Now—

It was just a door.

Just a sign.

Just a room that wasn’t being used anymore.

Mandy’s jaw tightened faintly as the thought settled, heavier than it should have been. She hadn’t realized how much of that space had been filled until it wasn’t anymore, how something that used to feel constant could disappear so completely it left the rest of the house feeling… off.

Quieter than it should be.

She stepped a little closer before she could stop herself, her gaze still fixed on the sign as if it might change if she looked at it long enough. Her hand lifted slightly, like she meant to take it down, but the motion stalled halfway, her fingers hovering for a second before dropping back to her side.

Mandy let out a sigh.

At first, she’d expected something else.

Not a return—she wasn’t naive enough to think Courtney would just walk back through the door like nothing had happened—but something small, something easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. A drawer left slightly open, something missing from the clutter. A shift in the room that said she’d been there, even if only for a minute, even if only to grab what she needed and leave before anyone noticed.

Mandy had checked more than she cared to admit.

It started off casually, just passing by, letting her gaze linger a second too long as she walked past the door. Then it became deliberate. She’d open it, step inside, stand there longer than necessary, her eyes moving over everything like she was trying to catch something out of place. Something gone. Something moved. Anything that proved Courtney had come back, even briefly.

But every time, it was the same.

Nothing changed.

The room stayed exactly as it had been left. The bed was still unmade, sheets half-pulled like Courtney had never cared enough to fix them, and everything else sat where it had been, scattered but familiar. Nothing packed, nothing missing, nothing even slightly out of place. It didn’t look abandoned so much as paused, like she’d stepped out in the middle of something and simply never came back to finish it.

It should’ve made it easier, having something left behind like that. Something that proved she hadn’t just disappeared completely.

It didn’t.

If anything, it made it worse.

Because it meant she hadn’t come back. Not once. Not even when it would’ve been easy. Not even when no one would’ve been there to stop her.

Mandy swallowed subtly, her gaze lingering on the door a moment longer before she forced herself to look away and move on. She headed towards the kitchen, but the weight of it followed anyway, settling somewhere she couldn’t quite shake.

That same certainty from the dream threaded back in, quiet but persistent.

She hadn’t hesitated.

Not when it mattered. Not when she left.

Mandy’s steps slowed as she reached the counter, her hand coming to rest against it as she leaned into it slightly, her posture still controlled even as the thought settled deeper than she wanted it to.

Her gaze drifted back towards the hallway without meaning to, her mind pulling her right back to that door, that sign, that room that still looked like it was waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

“…you didn’t even come back for your things.”

It came out softer this time, less like a statement and more like something she hadn’t meant to say out loud at all.

Mandy exhaled slowly and straightened, pushing herself upright as she reached for a glass. She grabbed the bottle of headache medicine, shaking one out into her palm before taking it dry for a second, then immediately following it with water. The motion was automatic, something to ground herself in something simple, something routine.

The house stayed quiet.

And no matter how long she stood there, nothing about it changed.

She stepped into the living room first, reaching for the remote and turning the TV on before heading back towards the kitchen, letting the low hum of the news fill the house as she started on cooking something simple.

She didn’t rush it. Grabbed a bowl, cracked a couple of eggs into it, whisked them absentmindedly while the pan heated on the stove. Butter hit the surface first, melting quickly, and she poured the eggs in after, letting them sit before pushing them gently with the spatula.

Bread went into the toaster next. Simple.

The anchor’s voice carried from the living room.

“…reports of increased villain activity across multiple districts this past week—”

Mandy glanced up briefly, not really watching, just listening as she cooked.

“—SDN has issued a statement earlier this morning assuring the public that response teams are being reallocated accordingly—”

She flipped the eggs, turning the heat down slightly out of habit.

“—and in other news, Mecha Man has officially announced his return to active duty following his appearance during the Red Ring raid—”

That made her pause.

Only for a second.

Her hand stilled briefly on the spatula before she finished what she was doing, sliding the eggs onto a plate just as the toaster clicked. She grabbed the toast, set everything down, and reached for her phone when it chimed.

The screen lit up with a string of notifications, most of them from the Z-Team group chat and a few from Robert.

She’d been added to it recently, the group chat. Something Prism—Alice—had insisted on with a grin and a half-baked excuse about “making communication easier.” Mandy had agreed, with one condition: no work talk. Boundaries mattered, especially now. If they were going to treat the space like something casual, then it stayed that way.

They’d agreed.

But they didn’t really follow it.

The chat was filled with half jokes, half updates, and someone sending something completely unrelated in the middle of it. Still, they tried. And more than that, they treated her differently there. Less like their boss, more like… something else. Someone they could talk to without watching every word.

Mandy didn’t mind it.

Another chime came through.

She paused this time, her thumb hovering before tapping the notification.

Robert:
Good morning, Mandy. Just checking in if you’re alright. You drank so much last night.
If you need anything, just message me.

Mandy’s gaze lingered on it a second longer than necessary, something in her chest tightening just slightly before she exhaled and leaned back against the counter. He’d been the one to get her home last night, steady and patient even when she’d clearly gone past her limit. It hadn’t been a big deal for him, he’d handled worse—but for her, without the amulet, without anything cushioning it, the alcohol had hit harder than expected.

Embarrassingly so.

She knew he’d noticed. She wasn’t blind to the way he looked at her, the way he feels for her.

It wasn’t subtle, not really. And she’d let herself acknowledge it, even entertain it for a moment—just enough to see where it might go, what it might feel like if she leaned into it instead of shutting it down.

Mandy glanced down at her phone again, her grip tightening for a brief second before easing. She didn’t reply, just let the screen dim on its own, the message left sitting there unanswered.

It would’ve been easier, if her thoughts had been clear. If her head wasn’t already occupied by something else—someone else—who refused to leave, no matter how much she tried to push it aside.

Mandy huffed a breath through her nose, her gaze drifting away from the phone as the image surfaced again in her head without permission. The way she moved, the way she chose, the way she closed the distance before anyone could react.

One moment Shroud had his gun raised, the next she was just there. Close enough that it didn’t take force, only precision. The blade went in clean, up through his throat before he could even react. He didn’t get to fire. He just dropped.

And she didn’t stay.

She lingered just long enough to return the Astral Pulse to Robert, then slipped away as easily as she’d arrived. Gone without hesitation, without looking back, like nothing had been holding her there in the first place.

“…you really just walked away,” she murmured under her breath.

The words sat heavier than she expected.

Because she wanted to chase her.

That was the part she didn’t like admitting, even to herself. The instinct was still there, sharp and persistent—to find her, to corner her somewhere she couldn’t slip away from, to force the conversation she never got to have. To ask her why. To tell her she didn’t have to—

Mandy stopped herself there, her jaw tightening faintly.

Didn’t have to what?

Leave?

Be better?

Be something she wasn’t ready to be?

Her grip on the phone loosened as she set it back down on the counter, her other hand reaching for her plate more out of habit than hunger. The food had already cooled slightly, untouched since she’d finished cooking it.

"...do you even think of us?” she added quietly, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting, like she’d held onto them longer than she meant to.

Mandy pushed herself upright, forcing her attention back to something tangible as she picked up her fork and started eating. The TV kept talking in the background, the steady stream of updates filling the space, and her phone stayed quiet on the counter, untouched for the moment.

But the thought didn’t leave with the silence.

It lingered, just beneath everything else, persistent in a way she couldn’t quite push aside—no matter how much she tried to move on, it stayed exactly where it was, just out of reach.

Mandy decided it wasn’t healthy or productive to stay cooped up in her house any longer. The decision came after the memory had already looped through her head too many times. Sitting with it any longer would only make it worse, and she knew that pattern well enough by now.

So she moved.

The shower helped more than she expected—not enough to clear everything, but enough to take the edge off, to give her something else to focus on besides the thoughts she couldn’t quite shake. The water ran cold over her skin, steady and grounding, and by the time she stepped out, dried off, and pulled on something comfortable enough for going out, she felt a little more put together.

Not better. Just… manageable.

She reached for her phone as she adjusted her sleeve, pausing briefly before opening it. Her thumb hovered for a second before she typed out a short message, simple and to the point.

Mandy:
You free this afternoon?

She didn’t expect the reply to come as quickly as it did.

A yes. Then they quickly decided on a time and place.

Mandy let out a sigh, a small smile tugged at her lips. It was enough to make the day feel less heavy than it had a few minutes ago.

She needed this. Something normal for once.

Moving through the house felt easier after that, her actions falling into place without much thought as she grabbed what she needed—a tote bag, her book, and the small things she always carried with her. She checked the stove and the lights out of habit, her mind already shifting towards getting out instead of staying in.

When she reached the door, though, she slowed.

Her gaze drifted towards the hallway again, drawn there before she could stop it, settling on the door she hadn’t opened today.

Mandy stood there for a second longer than she meant to, keys resting loosely in her hand as if something might change if she gave it enough time. It didn’t, and she already knew it wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop the pause from happening anyway.

She exhaled softly through her nose and shook her head once, grounding herself before turning back to the door. The lock clicked behind her as she stepped out, the sound sharper than it should have been in the quiet hallway.

Her hand lingered on the knob for a moment before she pulled away.

Then her attention shifted, settling on the small potted plant just beside the door.

Mandy crouched slightly, her fingers brushing lightly against the rim, the motion absentminded but familiar. It was undisturbed. The key was still there, exactly where it had always been, hidden in a place only one person would think to check.

It hadn’t been touched.

That key had never been for anyone else. Not Robert, not the team—no one except her. A way back in without needing to ask, without needing to explain. Something that meant ‘you can come back whenever you want’ without ever having to say it out loud.

And it was still there.

Mandy straightened slowly, her hand falling back to her side as something tight settled in her chest, quieter now but no less present. She told herself she wasn’t expecting anything anymore, that she’d already made peace with it.

But the fact that she hadn’t moved the key, hadn’t even considered it, said otherwise.

She let out a quiet, humorless breath, her gaze lingering there for just a second longer before she finally forced herself to step away.

Because hope didn’t disappear just because she decided it should.

She’d told herself to stop hoping, but something in her hadn’t heard it.

Mandy decided to take the long way to the meeting place and walk.

She just didn’t feel like arriving too early. So she took a slower route, one that let the city fill in the gaps her thoughts kept slipping into.

The area was busy in that familiar weekend way. People moved around her in steady patterns, some heading somewhere with purpose, others lingering without much urgency. Conversations overlapped, distant laughter carrying through the air, the low hum of traffic threading everything together in the background. It wasn’t loud enough to be overwhelming, just enough to remind her that things kept moving.

She walked through it quietly, her pace unhurried as she took it all in without really focusing on any one thing. A few familiar faces passed by, neighbors, people she’d seen often enough to recognize without needing names. She greeted them with small nods, the occasional “morning” slipping out automatically, just enough to acknowledge without stopping.

They smiled back. Some paused briefly. Most kept going.

Mandy did the same.

Her phone buzzed lightly in her hand, breaking through the rhythm just enough to catch her attention. She glanced down, expecting the time or maybe another message from the group chat.

Instead, it was her grandmother.

She opened it as she slowed her steps slightly.

Gran-gran 💕:
Mandy dear, are you free today? Could you stop by the bank for me… I need to fix something with my account… and they said someone can go on my behalf, I’ll send you the documents… thank you, sweetheart.

Mandy:
Hi gran-gran! Of course, yes I can. I’ll head over the bank right now :)

Gran-gran 💕:
You’re the best dear…

The documents and explanation came through shortly after. Mandy went over them once, then again, making sure everything lined up before she started heading towards the bank.

The bank was busy, though not packed. Enough people to fill most of the seats, enough movement to keep things from feeling still. The air inside was cooler, quieter in a controlled way, the kind that came with people waiting their turn and keeping to themselves.

Mandy approached the front desk, explained briefly, and was handed a number after they checked the documents on her phone.

She took a seat, her bag resting on her lap as she glanced up at the display.

A few people ahead of her.

Of course.

She leaned back slightly, settling into the wait as the routine of the place took over—the soft chime of numbers being called, the shuffle of movement as people stood and sat, the low murmur of conversations that didn’t quite carry.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time, it was the group chat.

She glanced at it, the corner of her mouth lifting faintly as messages piled in—Sonar and Flambae arguing over something trivial, Prism making it worse on purpose, and the rest chiming in just to keep it going. It was chaotic, but that’s usual for them.

She didn’t reply, just read the messages for a moment longer before letting the screen dim in her hand. Another number was called not long after, and Mandy glanced up briefly before looking back down, her thoughts drifting despite herself as time passed in slow, steady increments.

Then her number appeared.

“Now serving, A-42.”

Mandy pushed herself up from her seat, adjusting her bag as she started towards the counter, her focus already shifting back to the task at hand—

—and the disruption hit before she got there.

The front doors burst open with a force, the sound sharp enough to snap the entire room into silence. One of the security guards barely had time to react before he was struck down, his body dropping where he stood, the other following just as quickly under a threat that left no room for resistance.

The shift was immediate. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, movement stalled, the controlled quiet of the bank collapsing into something tense and uncertain.

Mandy’s head turned, her attention locking onto the entrance as three figures stepped inside like they owned the place, their presence alone enough to hold the room in place.

Masked. Armed.

And very clearly not here for anything legitimate.

“Hands up! Now!"

The command came fast, cutting through the room before anyone could even think to react.

Mandy’s body moved on instinct, her weight already shifting forward as she measured the distance without thinking. It was automatic, the same reflex that had carried her through every fight she’d ever stepped into—close the gap, take control, and don’t give them time to escalate.

Then it stopped.

Not because she hesitated, but because there was nothing there to follow through with. No amulet at her chest, no power waiting to answer, just her standing a few steps too far with three armed people and a room full of civilians who would pay for it if she got it wrong.

The realization settled quickly, sharp enough to ground her where she stood.

Mandy forced herself to still, lifting her hands with everyone else’s as she lowered herself down, her posture controlled in a way that didn’t draw attention. Around her, people followed without question, the shift immediate as fear settled in—bags dropped, phones abandoned, and voices cut off mid-sentence. The three of them moved through the bank like they’d done this before, one taking the entrance, another heading straight for the counters, and the last pacing just enough to keep everyone on edge.

She tracked them anyway, quietly, without looking like she was. The way they positioned themselves, the way they spoke, and the way they communicate with each other—it wasn’t random villains just teaming up together. There was structure to it, something practiced beneath the surface.

A sound broke through it.

Soft at first, uneven, then harder to ignore.

The woman a few feet away was crying, her breath catching in a way she couldn’t control no matter how hard she tried to keep it down. Her hands shook where they covered her face, shoulders tight as the sound slipped through anyway.

“Hey!” one of them snapped, his attention snapping towards her. “you—shut up!”

She didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

His patience went with it. He stepped towards her, raising his weapon without hesitation as his voice sharpened. “I said shut up!”

Mandy was already moving.

Not forward into a fight, just enough to interrupt the line he was drawing without crossing it.

She stepped between them, hands still raised, placing herself in his line of sight as her voice came out even and steady. “Or what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “You’re going to shoot her for that?”

His attention snapped to her immediately.

“Move.”

Mandy didn’t.

She held his gaze, her tone calm in a way that didn’t challenge so much as redirect. “Everyone’s cooperating,” she said, glancing briefly around before settling back on him. “You’re the one turning it into a problem.”

For a second, it almost tipped the wrong way.

He stepped closer, his focus narrowing onto her completely now, the weapon still raised as irritation sharpened into something more volatile. “Don’t push your—!”

“Hey.”

The interruption cut through cleanly, not loud, not rushed, but controlled enough that it didn’t need to be.

“Get a fucking grip.”

The voice came from the third one, the masked woman who hadn’t said much since they came in. She stepped just enough into the moment to pull it back, her posture loose, like she wasn’t worried about whether she’d be listened to.

He paused, irritation still there but redirected now. “She’s—”

“She’s not the fucking problem,” she cut in, sharper this time. “You are, if you keep this shit up.”

A beat passed, tension stretching just enough to feel it.

Then he exhaled, lowering the weapon with a muttered curse as he turned away, the moment slipping before it could turn into something worse.

The room didn’t relax, not fully, but the tension eased just enough for things to fall back into place, the situation contained again within whatever plan they had walking in.

Mandy didn’t move right away.

Her gaze stayed forward for a second longer before it shifted, lifting just slightly—

—and met the masked woman’s.

It wasn’t obvious, just a brief glance that could’ve been nothing, gone as quickly as it came.

But Mandy felt it anyway.

Something in the way she held herself, in the way she stepped in and her voice—distorted through the mask, flattened and roughened just enough to hide it—carried something Mandy couldn’t quite place, like she’d heard it before in a different context, under different circumstances.

Not enough to name, just enough to feel something familiar about it.

Mandy looked away first, easing back into place with the rest of the room, her hands still raised, her posture steady as if nothing had happened. Then, quieter, more deliberate, she shifted just enough to angle herself back towards the woman behind her.

“It’s okay,” she murmured under her breath, her tone low and steady, meant only for her. “Just breathe… you’re okay.”

The woman’s breathing stuttered, uneven at first, before she tried to follow it, her hands still trembling as she lowered them slightly from her face. She nodded weakly, swallowing back the rest of it as she leaned into the reassurance more than the words themselves.

“…thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Mandy didn’t respond, not out loud. She just stayed there for a second longer, steady, grounding, before easing back into stillness again, her attention returning outward.

Her phone buzzed against her pocket, the vibration subtle but persistent against her thigh.

Mandy kept her movements small as she shifted slightly, using the moment when the others were distracted to slide her hand just enough to check it. Her screen lit briefly, and in that small window, she managed to type out a quick message before slipping the phone back where it belonged.

SOS. Bank. Three armed.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

She just hoped it reached the right people.

Her attention lifted again, settling back onto the situation as it unfolded. There wasn’t much she could do without making things worse, not like this, not without her powers. So she stayed where she was, watching, waiting, and keeping track of every movement as one of them forced the manager to open the drawers, his voice sharp with impatience as he pushed for it to go faster.

“Move,” he snapped. “You’re taking too long.”

The manager’s hands shook as he worked, fumbling slightly under the pressure, and Mandy felt her jaw tighten just a fraction at the sight of it. Rushing him would only make it worse.

But they didn’t care.

A few steps away, the other two had fallen into a quieter conversation, their voices lower but not low enough.

“How much time?” the pacing one muttered.

The masked woman answered without hesitation.

“Few minutes,” she said, like she didn’t need to think about it, her tone easy in a way that didn’t match the situation. “Depends how busy they are, but we’ve got a window. It’s the weekend, fewer teams on call, and if this reaches the independent heroes, they’ll respond too.”

Mandy’s attention locked onto her.

It wasn’t just the answer. It was how she said it.

Not a guess. It was with certainty.

Most people wouldn’t think about SDN like that, wouldn’t factor in staffing patterns or response gaps unless they’d seen it up close, worked around it, and understood how it moved beyond what the public saw.

That wasn’t something you picked up from the outside.

That was the kind of thing you knew from the inside.

The main one exhaled, nodding once as he processed it, his attention flicking briefly towards the entrance before settling again. “Good,” he said. “Then we stick to the plan.”

He paused, then added, more pointed this time, “If things go south, you take the money and leave.”

The other man snapped his head towards him immediately. “What?”

“She’s the one who won’t get seen,” he continued, like it was obvious. “Best chance of getting out clean.”

Mandy’s attention snapped to her, the phrasing settling in a way that didn’t sit right. Not fast, not strong, it was unseen. It wasn’t how most people described someone unless they meant it almost literally, and the certainty behind it confirmed it further.

“That’s bullshit,” the second one shot back, irritation rising fast. “We’re not splitting like that—”

“You want to get caught, be my guest!” the first one cut in, sharp and dismissive. “I’m not losing everything because you can’t keep up.”

The tension shifted again, something in their coordination slipping at the edges even if they tried to hold it together.

Mandy’s gaze returned to the masked woman, more curious now.

She didn’t react. No argument, no pushback, and nothing to suggest she cared one way or the other. She just stood there, like the decision had already been made long before it was said out loud.

Mandy looked away after a second, but the thought lingered anyway, quieter and harder to ignore the longer it stayed.

Could it be her?

The manager was pulled forward from behind the counter, a duffel shoved into his hands hard enough to make him stumble.

“Fill this up!”

He hesitated before scrambling to obey, fumbling with the drawers as he unlocked them and started pulling out stacks of cash. His hands shook the entire time, grabbing more than he could hold, bills slipping between his fingers as he shoved everything into the bag without counting, without organizing, just trying to keep up with the pressure hovering too close beside him.

“Faster,” the one next to him snapped, leaning in like he was waiting for a mistake.

The other stayed angled towards the room, keeping everyone in place with nothing more than his presence, his attention moving from one person to the next like he didn’t trust any of them not to try something. No one did. No one moved. The tension sat heavy enough that even the smallest shift felt like it might draw attention.

Mandy didn’t move either.

She watched.

The masked woman hadn’t stepped in, hadn’t said anything. She stayed just off to the side like she already knew how this would end, like she was waiting for the exact moment she needed to move.

When the bag was full, it was zipped and tossed to her without hesitation. She caught it easily, the weight barely shifting her stance.

Right on cue, the sound outside changed.

“Everyone stay calm, SDN—!”

Mandy’s attention flicked towards the entrance before snapping back, catching the look that passed between them, quick and unspoken.

“Time’s up,” the main one muttered.

His gaze landed on the masked woman, and that was all it took.

She didn’t run, didn’t even move in a way that drew attention.

Her form wavered for a second, then thinned and faded until there was nothing left where she’d been standing.

She was gone and the second one stiffened immediately. “What? No—!”

“We’re not all getting out,” the other cut in, already backing towards the side. “She is.”

“That’s not—”

“Move!”

The word snapped the moment back into place. The two of them shifted at once, one turning towards the entrance with his weapon raised, voice sharp as he started shouting over the noise outside, while the other grabbed the nearest person and dragged them up, using them as a shield as he backed away from the door.

“Back up!” he yelled. “Don’t come any closer!”

All of their attention went forward.

That was enough.

Mandy’s gaze stayed on the space where the masked woman had been for a second longer, the image of it settling—the way she hadn’t run, hadn’t rushed, just… faded. There hadn’t been a clear moment to catch, nothing to follow, only the absence she left behind.

It was all too damn familiar.

Mandy moved before the thought could fully form, pushing herself up carefully, keeping it small and quiet, just another shift in a room full of people already on edge. No one was looking at her. No one had reason to.

Their focus was on the front.

She used that to her advantage.

Mandy kept moving, already recalling the layout from memory—the staff hallway past the counters, the turn that led away from the lobby, and the exit tucked out of sight where customers wouldn’t usually go. Her steps followed it without hesitation, each turn coming back to her as she moved.

If she was leaving, it would be there.

The hallway was quieter, the noise from the lobby fading the further Mandy went until it settled into a dull echo behind her. She slowed near the turn, not stopping completely, just enough to listen, letting the silence settle long enough to catch what didn’t belong.

At first, there was nothing.

Then she heard it—footsteps, faint and ahead of her, light in a way that didn’t match the chaos she’d just left behind.

Not hers.

Mandy stilled, her breath catching slightly as she focused on it, trying to place the distance, the direction, the way it moved.

“…Visi—wait! I know it’s you!”

Her voice carried down the hallway, softer than she intended but steady where it mattered, like she was holding onto something that hadn’t slipped out of reach yet.

The footsteps ahead faltered, then stopped.

For a moment, the silence returned, stretched thin in a way that didn’t feel empty so much as suspended, like something was still there deciding whether to stay or disappear completely.

“…and so? Do you want a star for figuring that out?”

The voice came from closer than it should’ve been, and this time, the space in front of her didn’t stay empty. The air shifted, subtle at first, before her form came back unevenly—the mask appearing first, then the rest of her settling into view as the invisibility gave way.

Mandy didn’t move. She didn’t need to look around.

She already knew where she was.

“Visi—Courtney…this isn’t you,” she said, steady, even as her chest tightened. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Invisigal scoffed, low and dismissive. “You’re still saying that,” she muttered. “Like it changes anything.”

“It does,” Mandy replied, firmer now, grounding herself in it. “Because I know you. I’ve seen you choose differently. You don’t have to keep going down this path.”

Invisigal didn’t answer right away, but the reaction was there anyway—the faint lift of her shoulders, the way her stance settled heavier than before, like she was bracing against something she didn’t want to let through. She hadn’t moved, not a step closer, but it still felt like she had, the shift in her presence enough to close the space between them without needing to cross it.

“You don’t get to decide that,” she said, quieter, but more certain.

“I’m not deciding it for you,” Mandy shot back, taking a step forward before she could stop herself. “I’m saying I still believe. I believed in you then, and I still do now.”

That hung between them, heavier than either of them acknowledged out loud. Invisigal didn’t respond right away, and for a second, it almost felt like something might give, like the weight of it might land somewhere it hadn’t before.

Then she exhaled, slower this time.

“You should stop doing that.”

Mandy’s brow pulled slightly, her voice quieter but no less steady. “Doing what?”

“Acting like that never changed,” Invisigal said, and this time there was something tighter beneath it, something that didn’t quite hold together the way she wanted it to. “Like you didn’t start doubting me.”

Mandy stilled.

“You think I couldn’t tell?” Invisigal continued, her voice sharpening just slightly. “You think I didn’t notice when you started having second thoughts about me?”

Mandy’s chest tightened, her mind pulling back to moments she hadn’t wanted to linger on.

“In the way they looked at me?” she went on, quieter now, but heavier. “In the way they talked about me when they thought I wasn’t there? A liability. A fucking risk. Someone they couldn’t keep under control.” A pause. “Always the bad guy in their eyes.”

“That wasn’t—”

“It was enough,” Invisigal cut in. “And you were there, Mandy. You heard it. You knew what they were thinking.”

Mandy didn’t answer. It was the truth, she was there.

“And you didn’t say anything,” Invisigal added, softer now, but it hit harder for it.

Mandy swallowed, her jaw tightening. “I didn’t stop believing in you,” she said, quieter this time, like she was trying to hold onto something that didn’t feel as solid as it used to.

Invisigal let out a short, bitter laugh.

“You hesitated,” she said. “That’s all it takes.”

There was no anger in her voice, just certainty. Just defeat.

“And I’m not an fucking idiot,” she continued. “I know what it means when people start looking at you like that. I know what it means when they start waiting for you to prove them right.”

Mandy felt that settle in, heavy and unmoving, because there was truth in it—enough that she couldn’t push it away, no matter how much she wanted to. For a second, neither of them moved, the space between them feeling closer now but no less distant for it, like everything that needed to be said had already been laid out between them.

Then—

“You said I had a choice.”

Mandy’s gaze lifted, steady again, even if everything else felt like it had shifted under her feet.

Invisigal didn’t waver.

“I just picked the one that makes sense.”

Her form began to fade before Mandy could respond, not abruptly, but steadily, until there was nothing left in front of her but empty space.

Mandy stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on where she’d been, her breath uneven in a way she couldn’t quite control.

“If anyone can hear us, stay where you are! We’ve secured the area. Are there any injured? Respond if you can!”

The voice broke through from the lobby.

By the time Mandy stepped back onto the main lobby, the chaos had already started to settle into something more controlled.

Voices still overlapped, but they weren’t panicked anymore—heroes directing civilians out, officers securing the area, and medics moving quickly between those who needed checking. The two remaining villains had been restrained near the entrance, forced down and held in place as cuffs were secured around their wrists. One of them was still struggling, shouting and twisting hard enough that it took multiple people to keep him in place, his voice sharp and unsteady as he fought against it.

The other didn’t resist.

He just sat there, shoulders slumped, breathing uneven but compliant as they kept him pinned.

“Miss Mandy!”

She turned at the familiar call, one of the responding heroes already heading towards her, relief and concern written plainly in the way they looked her over from head to toe as if checking for anything out of place before even saying another word.

“We got your SOS, Robert passed it along,” they said as they stopped in front of her, their gaze quick but thorough, not missing much. “You alright? You hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Mandy answered, steady, even if it took a little more effort than usual to keep it that way. Her eyes flicked past them briefly, scanning the room out of habit before settling back. “How is everyone else? The civilians?”

Another hero stepped in beside them, exhaling softly as they glanced towards the entrance where people were still being escorted out. “All accounted for,” they said, the reassurance coming naturally now that the situation had settled. “No visible injuries so far. Shaken, yeah but okay.”

They paused for a moment, then let out a short, amused huff, the tension easing just slightly. “We were honestly expecting Z-Team to come crashing through any second, since you’re the one who sent .”

“Yeah,” the first one added, shaking their head lightly. “Figured we had a small window before they showed up and made this a lot more chaotic than it needed to be.”

“Can’t say we’re not a little surprised we got here first and actually contained it without them jumping in,” the other continued, the corner of their mouth lifting just a bit.

Mandy let out a quiet laugh at that, some of the tension finally slipping from her shoulders. “Well, you did a great job,” she said, meaning it. “No additional damage, no casualties… it's handled pretty well I'd say.”

One of them glanced over towards the restrained villains, their expression shifting as the humor faded into something more thoughtful. “They didn’t really put up much of a fight,” they said, nodding faintly towards the quieter one near the entrance. “Especially that guy. It’s like he already knew how this was going to end.”

The moment lingered there for a second, before their attention returned to her, the earlier concern finding its way back just as easily.

“Seriously though,” they added, quieter now but more pointed, “are you okay?”

Mandy nodded once. “I am.”

They held her gaze for a beat longer, like they were making sure she meant it and not just saying what needed to be said, before one of them gave a small nod in return.

“Alright,” they said. “We’ll take that.”

An officer approached not long after, notepad already in hand as he slowed to a stop in front of her, his attention shifting fully towards her now that the immediate chaos had been handled.

“Ma’am, we’re gathering statements,” he said, his tone serious. “You were inside when it happened, correct?”

“I was.”

He nodded as he jotted something down, the scratch of pen against paper brief before he looked back up. “We’ve got confirmation there were three suspects. The other two are in custody,” he continued, his gaze flicking towards the restrained pair near the entrance before returning to her. “Did you see the third one? The one who got away with the money?”

Mandy didn’t hesitate.

“I saw them,” she said. “But not clearly. They were masked and everything happened fast.”

The officer held her gaze for a moment, like he was deciding whether to press further, before giving a short nod and glancing back down at his notes. “Alright. If anything comes back to you, let us know.”

“I will.”

He moved on soon after, already turning towards another witness, and Mandy exhaled as the exchange ended, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly now that it was over.

She turned back towards the heroes, stepping a little closer this time, just enough to catch their attention without pulling them away from what they were doing. “Thanks,” she said simply. “For getting here when you did.”

They all gave her a genuine smile, the kind that still carried a bit of adrenaline but settled into something warmer.

“Always, Miss Mandy,” one of them replied. “It’s our job, after all.”

They didn’t linger after that, already being pulled back into the rest of the response, leaving her standing just off to the side as the scene continued to wind down around her.

Near the entrance, the quieter of the two villains was being hauled to his feet and guided towards the waiting police van outside. His partner was still causing a scene behind him, struggling hard enough that it took multiple officers to keep him moving, his voice carrying sharp and defiant as he fought against it.

The other didn’t look back.

He moved when they told him to, his steps uneven but compliant, like whatever fight he had left had already run out.

As he passed, his gaze flicked towards Mandy, lingering just long enough to register before dropping again.

“I didn’t… plan for it to go like that,” he muttered, his voice rough, like the words didn’t come easily.

The officer guiding him didn’t respond, just kept him moving.

Mandy didn’t interrupt.

“I just needed the money,” he continued, quieter now, more to himself than anyone else. “My kid… she’s in the hospital.” His jaw tightened, his steps faltering slightly before he forced himself forward again. “She’s sick. Bills just keep coming. I ran out of ways to keep up.”

They reached the van, the back doors already open.

For a second, he slowed—not resisting, just… hesitating, like there was something else he wanted to say but couldn’t quite get it out.

Then he shook his head once and stepped up inside when prompted.

The doors shut not long after.

Mandy stayed where she was, her gaze lingering on the van even after it pulled away, the noise around her settling into something distant again.

Everything was under control.

It was over.

But the weight of it didn’t leave as easily as it should have.

“Sorry I’m late, there was a bank robbery.”

Mandy said it like it was just another delay, like she’d gotten caught in traffic instead of something that had actually happened. She slid into the seat across from Brainbook, setting her bag down beside her chair.

Brainbook didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at her.

“You—” she started, then stopped, her expression tightening as she leaned forward slightly. “You what?”

Mandy reached for the menu out of habit, glancing at it without really reading anything. “It’s handled,” she added, like that was the important part. “No one got hurt.”

Brainbook didn’t move.

“You were in the bank?” she asked, slower this time, like she needed to hear it properly.

Mandy nodded once. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

Then Brainbook leaned back in her seat, dragging a hand down her face as she exhaled sharply. “I saw the alert,” she said. “I thought it was just… nearby, not—” She cut herself off, shaking her head before looking back at Mandy. “And you still came here?”

“I said I would.”

“That’s not the point,” Brainbook shot back, though there wasn’t any real bite to it, just concern that hadn’t settled yet. “Mandy, you were just in a robbery. You could’ve—” She stopped again, pressing her lips together before trying a different angle. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Mandy said it easily, too easily, her attention dropping back to the menu like the conversation was already over.

Brainbook didn’t buy it.

Her gaze stayed on her, steady, picking at the small things Mandy probably thought she’d hidden—the way her shoulders sat just a little too tight, the way her focus didn’t quite stick, and the way she’d answered too quickly.

“…you don’t look fine,” she said after a moment, quieter now.

Mandy didn’t look up.

“I am,” she repeated, but there was less weight behind it this time.

Brainbook tilted her head slightly, not pushing right away, just watching her long enough for the silence to settle.

“What happened?” she asked, softer now.

Mandy’s grip on the menu shifted, her fingers tightening just slightly before she set it down. For a second, she didn’t answer, her gaze drifting somewhere past the table like she was deciding whether to leave it there or not.

Then she exhaled.

“I saw her,” she said.

Brainbook’s expression shifted immediately, the confusion clearing into something more serious. “Her?”

Mandy nodded once, finally looking up. “Visi.”

The word sat heavier than it should have.

“She was there,” Mandy continued, her voice quieter now, more grounded but harder to hold steady. “With them. She was the one who got away.”

Brainbook frowned, her brows pulling together as she leaned in slightly. “You sure?”

Mandy let out a breath through her nose, almost a humorless huff. “I’d know,” she said. “Even if I didn’t see her at first.”

There was a pause.

Mandy’s gaze dropped again, her fingers brushing absently against the edge of the table. “I followed her,” she added, more quietly. “Caught up to her before she left.”

Brainbook didn’t interrupt.

“She didn’t deny it,” Mandy continued. “Didn’t even try to explain it away.” Her jaw tightened slightly, the memory settling back in whether she wanted it to or not. “She just… stood there. Like it made sense.”

The words slowed after that.

“I told her it didn’t have to be like this,” she said, her voice softening despite herself. “That she didn’t have to keep going down that path.”

Brainbook watched her carefully, not missing the way her tone shifted.

Mandy swallowed subtly.

“She said I hesitated,” she went on, quieter now. “That that was enough.”

A small pause.

“That I started doubting her,” Mandy added, almost like she wasn’t sure if she should say it out loud. “And that I didn’t say anything when everyone else started seeing her as a liability.”

Brainbook’s expression softened.

Mandy let out a slow breath, her gaze unfocused now. “She said she had a choice,” she murmured. “And she picked the one that made sense.”

The silence that followed stretched just long enough to feel it.

Mandy leaned back slightly, her shoulders dropping a fraction like the weight of it had finally settled somewhere she couldn’t ignore. “I don’t even know if I’m upset at her,” she admitted. “Or just…” She trailed off, shaking her head once. “I don’t know.”

Brainbook didn’t respond right away.

She reached across the table instead, her hand resting lightly over Mandy’s, grounding, steady.

“That’s not something you have to figure out right now,” she said gently. “You just went through all of that, and then you came straight here like nothing happened. Of course it hasn’t settled yet.”

Mandy didn’t pull away.

“She said you hesitated,” Brainbook continued, her voice still calm, measured. “That doesn’t mean you stopped believing in her. Those aren’t the same thing.”

Mandy’s fingers shifted slightly under her hand.

“And even if you did have doubts for a second,” Brainbook added, “that doesn’t erase everything you did for her before that. You were the one who gave her a chance when no one else would. That matters, whether she wants to admit it or not.”

Mandy let out a sigh, her gaze dropping to where their hands rested.

“It just feels like I lost her,” she said, softer now.

Brainbook’s grip tightened just slightly, not enough to trap, just enough to be there.

“Maybe you did,” she said gently. “Or maybe she’s just… not where you can reach her right now.”

Mandy didn’t answer.

“She’s still making choices,” Brainbook added after a moment. “And so are you. That’s not over yet.”

Mandy didn’t say anything for a moment, her gaze lowered down on the table. It didn’t fix anything—not really—but it made it easier to sit with, easier to hold without everything feeling like it was closing in at once.

“…thank you,” she said finally, her voice softer now, more honest than anything she’d said since sitting down.

Her hand shifted, lifting just enough to rest over Brainbook’s where it held her. She didn’t pull away this time—just stayed there, returning the contact, letting it ground her without overthinking it.

Brainbook didn’t say anything, just let her.

Mandy swallowed slightly, her shoulders easing just a little before she spoke again.

“Just… don’t tell anyone,” she added, quieter this time, her gaze lifting briefly to meet Brainbook’s before dropping again. “Please.”

Brainbook’s expression changed, less concern, more understanding.

“Not even Robert,” Mandy continued, more firmly now, like she needed to make that part clear. Her fingers tightened for a second over Brainbook’s hand before easing again. “I just—” She paused, searching for the right way to say it without it sounding like something it wasn’t. “I need to deal with this first. On my own.”

The words didn’t come out defensive, just cautious.

Brainbook held her gaze for a second longer, then nodded.

“Alright,” she said simply.

Something in Mandy’s posture loosened at that, small but noticeable, like she’d been holding onto that tension longer than she realized.

“Thank you,” she said again, quieter this time.

Brainbook’s hand squeezed hers once, brief but steady. “I’ve got you,” she replied, just as softly.

Mandy didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either, and for now, that was enough.

The hospital halls were quieter the further she went, the usual noise fading into something low and distant as Invisigal made her way up to pediatrics. She didn’t rush, moving past staff and visitors without drawing attention, unseen as she followed the room number she’d already memorized.

She slipped inside without a sound.

The room was dim, lit mostly by the steady glow of machines beside the bed. The girl lay small against the sheets, her arm hooked to an IV, a bandage wrapped around her head where the impact had been worst. Bruises had started to fade, but not enough to miss. She hadn’t moved, not even slightly, the only sign of life coming from the quiet, consistent beeping at her side.

Invisigal paused just inside the room, her gaze fixed on her. For a moment, she didn’t step closer, as if taking it in from a distance might make it easier to carry.

It didn’t.

She let the invisibility drop as she approached, her form settling back into view before she reached the bedside. Up close, the girl looked younger than she expected.

Smaller.

Invisigal’s hand hovered briefly before she let it rest over the girl’s, careful, like she wasn’t sure how much pressure was too much. Warm. Still, but alive.

That was enough.

“Your dad told me about you,” she said quietly, her voice low in the still room. “He’s trying… even if it doesn’t look like it right now.”

No response, just the steady rhythm of the monitor.

“He ran out of options,” she added, her gaze lowering to where their hands met. “That’s all this was.”

Her fingers shifted slightly against the girl’s hand, more grounding than anything else.

“I helped him,” she went on, softer now. “So I’ll see it through.”

The words came easier that time, more certain.

“He doesn’t have to worry,” she said. “I’m here.”

Her gaze flicked briefly around the room—the chair pulled close, a jacket thrown over it, signs that someone had been staying longer than they should have to.

She stayed there for another second, her hand still resting over the girl’s before she pulled back, then she stepped away.

Her form faded again, edges softening until she disappeared completely, leaving the room exactly as it had been.

“If it weren’t for the fact that it’s you asking for this, I wouldn’t even bother ruining my Saturday with work.”

Brainbook shifted on Mandy’s couch, settling deeper into the cushions as she balanced the laptop on her lap, already typing as she spoke. The glow of the screen lit up her face just enough to show the focus setting in despite the complaint.

Mandy rolled her eyes as she walked towards her, dropping onto the couch beside her. She leaned in slightly, her attention already on the screen.

“And for that, I say thank you,” she replied, angling herself just enough to see what Brainbook was pulling up.

Brainbook glanced at her briefly, one brow lifting. “Why are we looking into this guy anyway?” she asked. “Did he say something to you during the robbery?”

After their afternoon hangout, Mandy had invited her back to her house under the pretense of continuing the conversation and staying for dinner, but this was what it turned into instead. Digging through records, pulling up whatever they could find on the two villains who’d been taken in earlier. If the system had already processed them, there’d be something.

Mandy didn’t look away from the screen.

“He mentioned having a kid,” she said. “Said that’s why he did it.”

Brainbook’s fingers slowed slightly over the keyboard.

“I figured he just needed more people for the job,” Mandy continued, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Visi was there and it didn’t feel like she was just in it for the money.”

That was enough to shift the mood.

Brainbook stopped typing for a second, glancing sideways at her before turning back to the screen, her expression sharpening as she pulled up more detailed records.

“Alright,” she muttered. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

A few clicks and quick scrolls later, the file loaded—name, prior records, nothing that stood out at first glance. Just minor offenses, the kind that wouldn’t usually lead to something like this on their own.

“Minor stuff,” Brainbook said, scanning. “Fines, a couple of citations… nothing serious until now.” She clicked into another tab. “But there’s a financial flag here.”

Mandy leaned in a little closer.

“Yeah… financial debt,” Brainbook went on, her tone flattening as she read. “Repeated charges under his name.”

She clicked again, then a hospital record opened.

“…there it is.”

Mandy’s gaze fixed on the screen.

Brainbook’s voice dropped as she read through it. “Daughter. Pediatric admission… severe trauma from a vehicular accident.” She paused briefly, eyes narrowing slightly. “Driver was intoxicated, speeding through a school zone.”

Mandy felt her jaw tighten.

“Head trauma, multiple injuries,” Brainbook continued, scrolling slower now. “She’s been unconscious since admission.”

The room felt quieter, more tension arise.

“There’s a legal case tied to it too,” Brainbook added, opening another file. “He filed against the driver, but it’s dragging. Legal fees stacking up, hospital bills not slowing down…” She exhaled, shaking her head faintly. “He’s drowning in it.”

Mandy didn’t say anything.

“And the mother…” Brainbook skimmed further, her expression tightening slightly as she read. “Estranged. It’s all on him now.”

Mandy leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting off the screen for a second as everything settled into place.

“He said he ran out of options,” she murmured.

Brainbook didn’t argue that. She tilted the screen slightly towards Mandy instead, letting her see the hospital name clearly this time, along with the room details buried deeper in the report.

“That’s where she is,” she said quietly.

Mandy’s eyes lingered on it longer than necessary.

Brainbook watched her for a second, then leaned back into the couch, closing the laptop just halfway. “So,” she said, studying her, “you think that’s where she went?”

Mandy didn’t answer right away.

But she didn’t look away either.

“…yeah,” she said finally.

Brainbook let out a small breath, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant understanding. “You’re serious.”

Mandy nodded once.

Brainbook shook her head, a faint, incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “You just got out of a bank robbery,” she said. “And now you’re thinking about chasing a villain to a hospital.”

Mandy huffed lightly, though there wasn’t much humor in it.

“I’m not chasing her,” she said. “I just—”

She stopped, then corrected herself.

“I need to know.”

Brainbook watched her for a moment before leaning forward slightly, her tone shifting into something more serious.

“If she just pulled something like that, she’s not going anywhere public right after,” she said, nodding toward the laptop. “No way. She’d be lying low tonight, keeping her head down.”

Mandy didn’t look away from the screen.

“She’s not going to risk being seen twice in one day, especially not in a hospital,” Brainbook added, gentler now. “You won’t miss her if you don’t go tonight. You can check tomorrow.”

That made Mandy pause, the urgency in her chest easing just enough to think.

“And I’ll help,” Brainbook continued, nudging the laptop shut and setting it aside. “You don’t have to handle this on your own.”

Mandy finally looked at her, weighing it for a second before nodding.

“…okay.”

Brainbook’s shoulders relaxed at that, a small smile slipping through. “Good. Because I did not sign up to spend my Saturday night chasing your invisible problems through a hospital.”

The conversation moved on from there, easing into something lighter as they headed to the kitchen. Dinner was simple, more about the company than the food, and the tension from earlier faded into the background as they talked—about their coworkers, about nothing important, about whatever came up in their minds.

Afterward, they settled back on the couch, each with a book in hand. Brainbook stretched out comfortably at one end, already flipping through her pages, while Mandy leaned back into her side, book open but her phone resting nearby within reach.

The quiet that followed was relaxing, not awkward, just filled with the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional notification lighting up Mandy’s screen. She’d glance down every now and then, replying briefly to Z Team or Robert before setting it aside again, her attention drifting back to the page.

Every so often, she’d pause and read a line out loud, something that caught her attention just enough to share. Brainbook would hum in response or glance over, sometimes commenting, sometimes just letting it pass before returning to her own book.

It wasn’t constant conversation, just small interruptions woven into the quiet, the kind that didn’t break the moment but made it feel shared.

Eventually, the night caught up to them.

Brainbook checked the time and pushed herself up with a groan. “I should go before I decide I live here.”

“You already act like you do,” Mandy replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Exactly why I should leave,” Brainbook shot back, grabbing her things.

They paused briefly at the door before she left, a quick exchange about checking in tomorrow, and then she was gone.

The house quieted again once the door shut.

Mandy moved through the apartment on habit, turning off lights and putting things away as she went before heading to bed. She lay back and stayed there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it before finally closing her eyes.

The day had settled, the noise gone, everything around her quiet and still.

She shifted slightly against the sheets, her hand curling into the fabric for a brief second before relaxing again.

But even with everything winding down, even with the silence finally settling—

Courtney didn’t leave her mind.

The Sunday after, Mandy went.

It was her first time at the hospital in a long time and she didn’t stay long, just enough to see the girl for herself and confirm what she already knew.

When she asked, the answer came back the same.

The little girl was in a stable state and they were keeping a close eye on her.

And the bills were handled. Fully cleared, including everything moving forward. It was billed under her father’s name but they confirmed it was paid on his behalf by someone else.

Mandy didn’t press further. She didn’t need to.

The week had passed in a blur—meetings stacked back to back, presentations she had to lead, decisions that couldn’t be pushed off, and the constant pull of managing her branch and coordinating with different departments. She hadn’t been able to step away, not properly, but she didn’t leave it alone either. She kept in contact where she could, reaching out through the hospital, checking in on the case in small windows between everything else.

Mandy sat at her desk, eyes scanning through the last few emails on her screen, her attention steady even as her mind drifted somewhere just beneath it all. The office was quieter at this hour, most of the day’s movement already settled, leaving behind the low hum of something winding down.

A knock broke through it.

She glanced up briefly. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Robert stepped in, pausing just inside as his gaze found her. “Hey,” he said, casual, though there was a hint of something else behind it. “You busy?”

Mandy shook her head slightly, glancing back at her screen. “Just a few more emails,” she replied. “I’ll be done after this.”

Robert nodded, stepping a little further in but not quite committing to the space, like he wasn’t planning to stay long. “Good,” he said. “I just wanted to ask, Z Team’s planning another Friday night thing. They wanted to know if you’re coming.”

Mandy’s hand paused briefly over the mouse before she continued scrolling, her expression staying neutral. “Not tonight,” she said. “I already have plans.”

Robert didn’t push, just gave a small nod. “Got it.”

There was a brief pause before he spoke again.

“Are you free this weekend?” he asked, a little more tentative this time. “We could hang out… maybe lunch or dinner.”

Mandy’s movements slowed, her attention still on the screen as the question settled. She didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

Robert nodded, taking it as it was. “Alright. Let me know.”

Mandy gave a small nod in return.

He lingered for a second before stepping back toward the door. “Have a good night, Mandy.”

“You too, Robert.”

The door closed behind him, and the office fell quiet again as Mandy’s gaze returned to her screen. The emails were still there, unchanged, but her focus didn’t quite follow.

The office had emptied out an hour ago, the lights dimmed, the quiet settling as Mandy worked through the last of her emails. Her shoulders ached, her eyes strained slightly from the screen, but she pushed through it anyway.

And when she left SDN that night, she didn’t think much of it. It had been a long day—longer than usual—and by the time she stepped out of the building, the quiet outside felt almost like relief. The plaza had thinned out, security still in place but less tense now, the steady flow of people reduced to a few scattered figures heading home. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started towards the bus stop, her pace unhurried, her mind already drifting towards getting back home and finally resting.

She was a few minutes into the walk when Mandy felt something different, enough to make her slow, her attention sharpening as she began to turn—

—and a hand caught her arm.

The second came just as fast, something pressing firmly into her side, close enough to keep her from reacting the way she normally would.

“Don’t do anything. Just come with us,” a voice said low near her ear.

Mandy went still, not out of fear but because there was no clean way out of this, not here, not with how close they had her boxed in. Her gaze shifted just enough to take them in without turning her head, catching two at her sides and another positioned just off to the front.

Three.

And something sharp pressed firmly into her side, close enough to make the message clear.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice steady.

“Get in.”

They didn’t wait for her to comply. They moved her quickly, guiding—forcing—her towards the vehicle idling just ahead. The door opened, and before she could find an angle to push back, she was inside, one of them sliding in beside her as the door shut and the car pulled away.

Mandy shifted immediately, her mind already working through what she could do in the confined space, but she didn’t get far. Something sharp pressed against her neck, followed by a quick sting.

Her breath hitched.

“What—”

“Stay still.”

The drug hit fast. Too fast.

Her vision blurred at the edges, the streetlights outside stretching into streaks as her body grew heavier, slower to respond no matter how much she tried to push through it. Mandy clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay conscious, but the weight dragged her down anyway, her grip on the moment slipping piece by piece until it gave out completely.

When Mandy woke, awareness came back in pieces, dragged up through a dull, persistent ache that ran through her entire body, settling heavy in her limbs and behind her eyes. It didn’t feel natural, not like exhaustion or strain she could push through. The next thing she registered was the restraint at her wrists, pulled tight enough to bite into her skin every time she shifted, grounding her fully in where she was.

She forced her head up despite the resistance, her vision blurring before it steadied enough to take in her surroundings. The structure around her was unfinished, raw in a way that made everything feel exposed—concrete walls, steel beams, and open gaps where there shouldn’t have been any. It felt hollow, like sound wouldn’t carry the way it should.

A warehouse.

There were three of them, positioned just far enough to keep control without crowding her, watching now that she was awake.

“You’re awake,” one of them said, stepping closer, like he’d been waiting for it.

Mandy swallowed, her throat dry, her body still heavy from whatever they had used on her. She straightened as much as the restraints allowed, forcing her voice to hold. “You picked the wrong person.”

The man let out a short scoff. “No,” he said. “We picked the one with exactly the kind of access we need.”

Her brows furrowed slightly at that.

“Internal systems, approvals, money moving where it shouldn’t,” another cut in, pacing within her line of sight like he already had this planned out. “Shit we can’t touch without someone like you. So yeah, you’re gonna help us.”

Mandy leaned back just a fraction, testing the restraint without making it obvious. It didn’t give. “Why?” she asked, keeping her tone even.

The first one shrugged. “You don’t need to know that.”

“That’s not how this works,” Mandy replied, steadier now despite the weight dragging at her. “You’re asking for something that could compromise—”

“We’re not asking.”

The interruption came sharper this time, cutting her off without hesitation.

Mandy held his gaze, unflinching. “Then you’re not getting it,” she said. “Not from me. Over my dead body.”

One of them laughed under his breath, humorless and low. “Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “That can be arranged.”

Another stepped forward, less patient now, irritation creeping into his tone. “We couldn’t pull this shit when Blazer was around,” he said, looking at her like she was already solved. “Now she’s on hiatus and they stick a human in her spot? Makes this a whole lot fucking easier.”

Mandy didn’t respond.

The taser hit before she could brace.

The shock ripped through her instantly, violent and overwhelming, forcing her body rigid against the restraints as the current locked every muscle in place. Pain flared sharp and immediate, knocking the breath out of her before she could even react, her vision flashing white at the edges before the current cut out just as abruptly.

She slumped forward, her breathing uneven as she tried to recover, her body lagging behind her in a way that made it hard to sit upright again. The room tilted slightly as she forced herself to lift her head, refusing to stay down.

“Try that again,” one of them said, watching her closely. “We’ve got time.”

Mandy dragged herself upright, every movement heavier than it should have been. “No,” she said again, weaker this time—but it held.

A faint scrape echoed from somewhere behind them, the sound of something shifting against the concrete.

One of them turned immediately, frowning. “Did you—”

He didn’t finish.

Something hit him hard enough to drop him instantly, the impact sharp and precise. The second barely had time to react before he was yanked off balance, something unseen striking him from behind and sending him to the ground. The third tried to recover, his attention snapping wildly around the space as he reached for his weapon, but he didn’t get the chance to follow through.

Another hit.

He went down.

Mandy’s breath caught despite everything, her focus snapping forward as the space in front of her shifted.

“…Visi.”

Courtney stepped into view without hesitation, her form resolving cleanly as if she had always been standing there. Her posture was tense, ready to move again if needed, but her attention had already shifted to Mandy, taking in the restraints and the way she was barely holding herself upright.

“What the hell is Invisibitch doing here?” one of them managed from the ground, disoriented and struggling to push himself up. “Since when are you—”

Courtney didn’t answer.

She moved before he could finish, shutting him down with the same precision as the others, leaving no space for the fight to continue. It ended quickly, the warehouse falling into a sudden, heavy quiet once it was over.

Mandy tried to stay focused on her, but it was getting harder to hold onto anything. The drug still weighed on her system, the aftershock of the taser lingering in her muscles, and her strength was slipping no matter how much she tried to stay upright.

Courtney was already moving toward her.

Mandy’s vision blurred as she got closer, her form slipping in and out of focus as the distance closed. She tried to hold on, to stay present just a little longer—

but it was already fading.

“…Courtney,” she murmured, the name slipping out before she could stop it.

Her head dipped, her body giving out completely.

She didn’t fall.

Courtney caught her, her grip firm and immediate as Mandy’s weight dropped fully against her. For a moment, she didn’t move, just held her there, steady and close.

“…it’s okay,” she said, quieter now, the edge gone from her voice. “I got you.”

Mandy didn’t hear it.

Everything went dark.

Mandy woke slowly, like her body hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to come back at all.

The light above her felt too bright, pressing against her eyes even after she blinked them open, and the first thing she noticed was how heavy everything felt—her limbs, her head, and even the simple act of breathing taking more effort than it should have. The steady beeping beside her grounded it, pulling her fully into awareness as the ache settled in, dull but persistent, spreading through her in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

“…there you are.”

Robert’s voice reached her first, close enough that she didn’t have to look far to find him. When she turned her head, slower than she intended, she caught both him and Brainbook watching her, the concern on their faces not even slightly hidden.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Brainbook said, leaning forward before she could say anything. “You were drugged, you were tased. Do you understand how bad that sounds?”

Mandy swallowed, her throat dry, her voice coming out quieter than usual. “I’m fine.”

Robert let out a breath, something restrained in the way he held himself. “‘Fine’ isn’t really the word I’d go with.” he said. “But you’re okay. That’s what matters.”

Mandy’s gaze shifted slightly, her mind catching up in pieces—the walk, the car, the warehouse—

—and Courtney.

She didn’t say it out loud.

“They found you before things got worse,” Robert added, more carefully this time. “By the time we got there, it was already handled.”

Mandy didn’t ask who.

She already knew.

The rest passed quickly after that. A doctor came in, ran through the usual checks, confirmed what they already knew—that she was stable, that she just needed rest, that she could go home as long as she didn’t push herself. Mandy nodded through it all, already shifting towards leaving before they had fully finished speaking.

“I can handle it,” she said once they were out, adjusting her bag as she straightened. “You don’t have to stay.”

Robert hesitated, studying her for a moment like he wanted to say something else, then nodded. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

Brainbook gave her a look that lingered longer than his, sharper, like she wasn’t convinced. “You better,” she said. “Or I’m showing up.”

Mandy huffed faintly, but there wasn’t much energy behind it. “Noted.”

The neighborhood was quiet when Mandy got back, which wasn’t unusual since it was early in the morning. She paused by the door, her gaze drifting toward the small potted plant beside it. Something about it felt slightly off, just enough to catch her attention. The angle was different, like it had been moved and set back without much care for how it used to be.

It was subtle, easy to dismiss, but Mandy still found herself crouching slightly, brushing her fingers along the rim as if that would tell her anything.

In the end, she straightened without an answer, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

Mandy moved through through the house, setting her things aside, letting the routine carry her forward for a few steps before her attention shifted again without her meaning it to. Her gaze found the hallway, and then the door at the end of it, and she stopped before she even realized she had.

The sign was still there, slightly crooked, the uneven letters untouched.

But it didn’t feel the same.

Mandy stood there for a moment, something tightening in her chest before she exhaled and walked toward it. Her hand lifted, hesitating briefly against the door before she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room hadn’t changed either. The bed was still unmade, things scattered in the same places, everything caught in that same quiet disarray that used to feel lived-in instead of abandoned. For a second, it almost made it easier to stand there, like nothing had really ended, like this was just another moment that would pass.

Then she saw it.

A small box sat in the middle of the bed.

Mandy’s steps slowed as she approached, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t ignore now. She sat down at the edge of the bed, reaching for it carefully, her fingers hovering for just a second before she picked it up and opened it. Inside was another box, smaller this time, a jewelry box that felt heavier than it should have been in her hands.

She opened it slowly.

The note came first.

thank you for everything.

That was all it said. No explanation, no name, nothing else to hint who left it. But she knew.

Mandy swallowed as she lowered the note, her gaze dropping to what rested beneath it.

A necklace.

Her necklace, the one Courtney had lost.

For a moment, she didn’t move. The memory came back immediately, clear and uninvited.

“You don’t even wear this because of that,” Courtney had said, pointing at the amulet on Mandy’s chest, her attention already drifting as she turned the necklace over in her hands. “So why are you so pressed about it?”

Mandy hesitated for a second.

“…just don’t lose it,” she said finally, quieter this time, like she had already given in before she said it. “It’s mine.”

Courtney barely looked at her, already moving on like it had been settled from the start. “Relax,” she said. “I won’t.”

But she did.

And Mandy had been upset in a way that felt stupid even then, like she shouldn’t have cared that much but did anyway. It wasn’t really about the necklace—it was about how easily Courtney said it, how quick she was to promise something she didn’t end up keeping, like it hadn’t meant anything when she said she wouldn’t lose it.

And Courtney had noticed, she always did, even when she pretended not to.

She had come back later with food, dropping it onto the table like that would fix it, lingering just a little longer than usual like she didn’t want to leave things like that.

“I said I’ll give it back,” she had insisted, more serious that time. “Just give me time.”

Mandy’s fingers curled around the chain now, the metal cool against her skin as the weight of it settled in.

She did.

She actually did.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because it meant Courtney hadn’t forgotten. It meant she had come back, at least once, stood in this room again, close enough to leave something behind and walk away anyway. Mandy felt her chest tighten around that thought, her grip on the necklace trembling slightly as it settled deeper than she wanted it to.

If she came back for this, then she could come back again.

The thought came quietly, uninvited, but it stayed.

Maybe not now. Maybe not soon. But one day, she might wake up and hear something in the kitchen, something out of place in the quiet, and she’d step out expecting nothing—only to find her there, leaning against the counter like she never left, saying something stupid just to get a reaction out of her. Like everything in between didn’t matter. Like she was fine.

Like they were fine.

Mandy swallowed hard, her head dipping slightly as she held the necklace closer, like it might anchor something that kept slipping out of reach. She knew it was a fragile thought, something that could fall apart the second she looked at it too closely.

But she held onto it anyway.

“…I fucking miss you.”