Seven years. It had been seven years of trying to recover from the lost of Sidestep. Seven years of sobering up and ignoring the memory of watching Sidestep jump out a window. Seven years that meant nothing since Sidestep had come back, apparently alive and well the whole time.

Ortega was tapped the side of his beer glass, literally buzzing with excitement that Sidestep had agreed to dinner at Hoots. He could feel the static building up in his palms, hoping that tapping the glass would discharge it before they got here. He had shocked them enough back when they were heroes together. Ortega wanted to believe the static was from excitement to see them again and not anxiety about that lingering feeling that Sidestep might the new villain from the gala.

Ortega cleared his throat and plastered on a charming grin as the restaurant door swung open. He tried to suppress a chuckle at the way they walked hunched over with a hood up. Just like old times.