02/17/19, New York, New York.

Alana Jobson stepped through the door, boots scraping lightly against the hardwood floor. Her pulse still raced from the mission, the aftermath of MHG’s temporary high wearing off. She hated the dependency, but today, there had been no other choice. She couldn’t push herself any further without it.

She needed a break. She needed to walk away.

But not yet. Not today.

“Hey, babe, I’m back!” she called out, trying to sound cheerful, masking the exhaustion and guilt creeping up on her. The door clicked shut behind her as she dropped the empty MHG bottle into the trash, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She forced herself into a hug, burying her face in his chest, trying to act normal.

“It’s so good to see you,” she added quickly, as if the words could make it true. She pulled back, scanning the kitchen. The smell of food filled the air, grounding her for a moment.

“So whatcha cooking?” she asked, trying to shift focus, her voice a little softer now, though her mind was still on the chaos she’d left behind.

She longed to throw the Jackpot license in the trash, to walk away from the constant missions, the never-ending fight. But every time she tried, something pulled her back in. MHG made it easier, helped her cope, but she knew she couldn’t keep pretending forever.

She had been playing the role of the hero for too long. Now, she just wanted out. But the deeper she fell, the harder it was to leave behind the life she had built.

And yet, there was no turning back now. She just hoped the questions would stay away—at least for today.