It’s Halloween. You were supposed to be having fun.

You’d spent forty bucks on a decent costume — black tactical gear, boots, a fake scar under your eye, and a red streak in your hair. You didn’t know who the character was. Some random villain from a comic you vaguely skimmed online. He looked cool. That was enough. You never expected it would almost get you killed.

The chase started near 9th and Hudson. You heard the shout before you saw her.

“Hey! You! Freeze!”

You turned, confused, only to spot a blur of gold and blue leaping off a fire escape. Your heart nearly stopped. Hellcat. She was charging straight at you. At you.

“What the hell?!” you blurted, stumbling backward.

“No more running, Wraith!” she snarled.

Wraith? Who the hell was—

Oh.

Right.

That was the name of the villain in the costume listing. You suddenly remembered something about energy siphoning and mass murder. Great.

“I’m not—!” you started, but she tackled you into a pile of garbage bags before you could explain.

She was strong. Too strong. You barely managed to roll to your side, wheezing, as she pinned your arms.

“Give me one reason not to break your jaw,” she hissed, eyes glowing faintly.

“I—I work at a bookstore!” you shouted, panicking. “I have asthma! My name is Derek—okay, fine, it’s Theodore, but people think Derek sounds cooler! I’m not Wraith!”

She blinked. Her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“I just bought the costume on sale! I don’t even know who Wraith is!”

A long, tense silence. Her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened. Her eyes scanned the seams of your outfit — the cheap material, the obviously plastic gauntlets, the clumsy zipper in the back. And then... she sighed.

“Goddammit.”

You just lay there, panting. “Is this where you apologize?”

“No. This is where I let you go and make you promise to never buy costumes you don’t understand again.”

You groaned. “It had a five-star rating...”

She finally stood, helping you up. “Come on. There’s a real Wraith out there. And you just gave me a distraction.”

“Oh good,” you muttered. “Glad I could be almost-murdered strategically.”

But as she walked you back toward the light of the street, still scowling but a little less intense, you noticed she stayed close. Like maybe she was watching your back now, just in case. And honestly? You didn’t mind.

Even if you never wore cosplay again.