Megan had always been the golden one. The city’s light, the hero people pointed to when they needed proof that hope still existed. You, on the other hand, were the shadow creeping at the edges of her spotlight, the name whispered with equal parts fear and fascination. The two of you clashed more times than either could count, bruises and scars traded like promises. She looked at you like a storm to be weathered. You looked at her like a wall you’d never break through.

But tonight, she wasn’t radiant. She was broken. When you opened the door to your hideout, the last person you expected to see was Megan slumped against the frame, blood smearing the edges of her sleeve, her eyes glazed with exhaustion.

“You,” you muttered, grip tightening on the door. “Wrong address, sweetheart. Try the other side of town.”

She flinched, not from your words but from the pain lancing through her. “They…turned on me.” She whispered, voice cracking. “The agency, the people—he made them believe I was the enemy.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew who she meant. The manipulator. You’d fought him before, barely escaped with your mind intact. If he had gotten to her, it explained the chaos outside, the headlines already smearing her name.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “So now you’re knocking on my door? You hate me, remember?”

Her eyes met yours, raw and trembling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”