The moonlight bathed the streets of Guarly in a pale glow in the early hours of Monday. A woman wearing a balaclava sprinted down the road with two shadows in pursuit for about nine blocks. She made a sharp turn and slipped through the narrow gap between two buildings; by inertia she knocked some trash cans over and pressed her back against the wall, peering toward the building ahead. Something moved at the end of the alley, so she raised her hand and aimed — but saw nothing. Something leapt from one rooftop to another; she looked up and noticed someone finishing the climb onto that roof. Before she could return her gaze to the street, a bat slammed into her face and a few teeth flew out.
Topacio wore a yellow jacket, gym pants, running shoes and two yellow scarves that covered part of his face. He muttered "homerun," while his partner in the gray tracksuit left the thief tied to a bench bolted to the ground and jumped to another roof. The two vigilantes continued their patrol between buildings until they reached a small antenna. Plata sat there to think. Tyron took off his two scarves, noticed his friend's depressed posture, and put the scarves into a pocket. Sitting beside her, he could only see her eyes — glassy. He thought for a moment, then said, "Hey! I didn't know it was so hard to run with a scarf over your mouth and nose, haha."
Emily looked at him for a moment, unmotivated. "Yeah — it's hard," she answered, returning her gaze to the streets.
Tyron stared at the starry sky, serious. "I know you miss how things were before that week, but…"
Emily let a tear fall. "You can't help it. Since Alexa told us the truth and we saw her powers, neither she nor Fran have been coming on patrol."
Tyron closed his eyes. "Yeah. You know how proud those two are — they won't make up until one of them admits the other is right."
Emily wiped her tears. "I know, and even though I get along better with Alex than with Fran, I can't deny she's right: if Alex had used her abilities, maybe we wouldn't have failed the city."
Tyron squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes. Worst of all, even if those two sort things out, it doesn't mean we can go back to training with the master."
Emily stood up. "This was my fault. I deserved to stop training. The others didn't."
Tyron opened his eyes, rose, and placed a hand on Emily's shoulder. "No! The master is right, and we support you too. We believed, as you did, that it was best for Guarly. We didn't stop to think we were breaking the rules."
Emily looked into Tyron's eyes through her tears. "I'm sorry."
Tyron hugged her and let her cry on his shoulder. "Calm down, Emi. You'll see. Time will fix this. And meanwhile…"
A distant police siren roared. Tyron checked his phone: a message from the detective read, "Run — armed robbery on Ninth Avenue!" He pocketed his phone, smiled at her and finished, "…let's protect the city." He leaped toward a building. Emily brightened, then realized he had forgotten something and shouted, "Cover your face!" He didn't understand until mid-air — he hadn't put the scarves over his face. When he tried to put one on while airborne, he lost his sense of landing and smashed into a wall. Emily winced, sympathized, then jumped down to help him and together they went to stop the criminals.
Dawn broke over the city. On the helipad of the Liz Tower, Boris shook his wet black hair, stretched, and looked down, admiring the morning calm. He put on his green Kevlar vest and descended the stairs into the building with a smile. The woman with glasses immediately raised her hand in salute; he kept walking while she grabbed a tablet and hustled after him.
Boris: "Did you prepare the suits for the schools?"
Jane: "Yes, sir!"
Boris: "Did you restrict access to the top ten floors?"
Jane: "Yes — the highest they'll get is the observation deck."
Boris, smiling: "Good. The more hostages, the better. How many soldiers did you place in the conference room?"
Jane: "Eight, sir. All armed with M4s. It's the best place for guards — floor seventy-five, solid concrete walls, only two entry doors, and the vents are too large for adults."
Boris entered the Executive Communications office carrying several metal boxes on his belt. "Perfect. Are our businessmen clean and presentable?"
Jane: "Yes — all clean and presentable, locked in the gala kitchen freezer."
Boris: "Great. And the old man?"
Jane: "In a body bag, stored carefully — also in the freezer. And sir, I have a suit in case you nee—"
Boris drew his sword. "Don't worry about that. I'll be waiting for Plata and his friends on the roof. Remember: you're the guide today. Get ready."
He jogged down the stairs, then remembered something. "Ah! Send two soldiers to— When will you lock up the hostages?" Jane checked the time until the schools would arrive. "In about three hours." Boris leapt with joy. "Perfect. Tell two soldiers to set traps at the entrances, get the businessmen and take them to the roof. I'll carry the old man up myself." She nodded and typed the message on the tablet, then rode the elevator down to change into her guide uniform.
At the Wind mansion, Alexa sat before a mirror brushing her hair. She felt a great pain in her chest; a couple of tears fell and she was surprised. She tried to wipe them away several times but failed and finished getting ready. She went into the bathroom, washed her face several times and still didn't understand why. Suddenly an irritating voice echoed in her head and she spun around to check the room — she was alone. Her mind took her back to that afternoon in the cabin, back to when the blonde had said: "That doesn't justify what you held back! If you hadn't restrained yourself because of your stupid promise, we might have stopped Maximus's plan. Because of your limits and your lies to us — your stupid promise to yourself — thousands suffered like you did." She sank to the cold floor near the sink and clutched her knees, crying. A housemaid with black hair in a bun entered, worried because her young mistress had taken so long. Hearing the sobs, she came into the bathroom immediately. Seeing the girl, she touched her shoulder and asked, "What's wrong, miss? Are you okay?"
Alexa, crying: "Leave me alone, Manuela!"
Manuela, firm: "I'm sorry, miss, but I won't!"
Alexa: "Please — I want to be alone."
Manuela: "Miss, I repeat: I won't leave you alone, not when you're like this. Tell me — why do you feel this way?"
The dark-haired girl didn't want to say the real reason, so she hesitated, then admitted: "Because I hate myself. I failed myself, my friends, my family — so many people!" The maid hugged her to comfort her and asked, "Why do you feel that way?" The younger Wind poured out her pain in tears. "Because a friend made me see I'm a hypocrite and a bad person!" Manuela looked puzzled. "What kind of friend says that to another?" She allowed the girl to purge her sorrow. When the last tear fell they separated, and Manuela looked into Alexa's eyes: "Don't worry, miss. Maybe the one who said that just wanted to make you feel bad."
Alexa dried her face, eyes irritated. "She's right. No matter how I look at it, she's right."
Manuela smiled faintly to cheer her up. "Are you absolutely sure about that?" she asked, tightening her apron.
Alexa, looking at the floor: "Yes — I'm sure."
Manuela put a hand on Alexa's shoulder and offered the advice her mother had once given her at about the same age. Alexa listened closely as Manuela said, "It's normal to fail. Instead of hiding it or denying it, accept it. Tears and pain will pass, but what's done is done. You can regret it, but only by continuing on will you overcome it — accept responsibility and try to make amends." Alexa felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders, hugged Manuela gratefully, and the maid left so the girl could continue preparing to go to Forte.
At Emily's house, the brown-haired girl was about to leave when Roberto, straightening his shirt, called out: "Remember, daughter, I won't be home to make lunch today. I left money in the pantry so you can order pizza. The front door key is under the plant in the backyard and Emi—" The girl smiled as her little sister Camila grabbed their father's arm and chirped, "Hurry up, Daddy! Today will be so much fun!"
Roberto: "Yes, I know. But Emi, remember we won't be back until five in the afternoon. Don't open the door to strangers."
Emily: "Understood, Dad. But you rushed. You could have told me in the car if you were taking me to middle school today."
Camila, puffing her cheeks: "She's right. Emi, help Dad look respectable? He looks like he just woke up."
Roberto, embarrassed, laughed. "Sorry. You know I don't like dressing like this." His two daughters fixed his collar, helped tie his tie, adjusted his sleeves, and combed his hair. All ready, they left for Forte.
Tyron arrived at school, closed his eyes while still walking and shook off a chill remembering what his mother had warned him and his dad before leaving: "Remember — don't touch my kitchen. The last time I left you alone you almost burned the whole neighborhood down!" The mere thought of his mother's murderous look gave him another shiver. He smiled thinking, "Do mom and the master take the same class in intimidations by glare?" He opened his eyes and bumped into a slightly taller boy. After apologizing, Tyron realized it was the blond from the alley who had fought his old friends; the blond had almost insulted him at first but recognized him and accepted the apology, walking toward the entrance. The encounter brought to mind two things: how long it had been since he'd spoken to Antonio (who had been transferred to a new school for treatment) and the return of Kiev, Monguer and Soner — recovered from Erinios's beating.
Tyron noticed some older students arguing with those three near the entrance. He knew they deserved whatever came, but he'd learned that wasn't right. He whistled to get the group's attention. They turned, Tyron frowned and, in the roughest voice he could manage, said, "Leave them alone, or I'll deal with you!" The older students backed off nervously. Before his ex-friends could thank him, Tyron moved on, greeting Emily, Leslie and Tamara as he passed. Leslie and Tamara wondered, "How long will Alexa stay so depressed?" The four girls watched Alexa climb the stairs in silence; she avoided them, walking on, and the brunette looked at her with pity.
The crowd went wild when Francesca's tennis shot skimmed past the dark-haired girl's racket. She bounced and fired again; her opponent ran left to intercept it, but realized too late it was a spin shot that curved back to where she had been standing. The point — and the game — went to the blonde. Frustrated, the opponent threw her cap and racket onto the court and ran off in tears. The referee blew the whistle announcing Francesca's victory. Alexandre entered the court and hugged his daughter: "Well done, Fran. You qualified to see if you'll represent our state at nationals!" She nodded, put away her things, and checked her phone. A message from Nya read: "Why weren't you bitter today? 😜😜" She sighed and replied, "Had a match. And thanks again for keeping the vigilantes secret." The Sejuks paused before a wall of silver plaques with names and photos of young athletes who died in the school shootings; they left condolences. Francesca noticed among the pictures one of a girl she had humiliated with a single throw. The image sparked a small remorse, but she kept her expression unchanged and climbed into the limousine. Alexandre noticed his daughter leaning against the window staring at the sky and wanted to say something. He took out his phone and messaged instead: "You played like never before — you must have been motivated." The girl thought of her brown friends she hadn't seen in days and answered, "A little. I needed to de-stress."
Meanwhile at Celeritas, Nya left with her backpack and ran into Gregorio. "Leaving already?" he asked, smiling. She nodded, tired: "Yes. I finished today's assignment and passed the other courses. I'll take a look at my inheritance." She dodged the athlete's enthusiastic goodbye and sat in the back of the car. "Drive — I'll call you later to pick me up," she told the driver and put on dark glasses, annoyed by the crowd and the many children running with their parents. By her father's orders she had to speak with the Director of Operations. She approached the guide with braided hair and said, "Excuse me — I'm Nya Liz. Please tell Mr… Augusto that I'm here to ask him some questions on behalf of my superior." The guide smiled, took a radio from her belt and called, "Could someone tell Mr. Augusto that Nya Liz is looking for him?" We quickly went up to the helipad where Boris set down the black bag containing the corpse the teen was seeking. He grabbed the radio and replied, "Tell him to wait on the observation deck. Augusto will see her shortly."
Nya rode one of the three elevators to the seventieth floor, crowded with children and visitors enjoying the view of Guarly. She moved close to the glass, feeling a bit afraid of the height. She remembered the brown-haired girl from a week earlier who had stepped forward to take responsibility for accusations from a strange man. Her mind drifted back to childhood — she was five or six, hair not dyed and long — defended by an overweight girl, her old best friend. The memory steadied her. She was distracted when a crying girl ran by; Nya looked in that direction and analyzed a blond boy in a leather jacket and dark jeans. Jerome sighed after rejecting his ex for the fourth time and leaned against the glass, waiting for his sister to call about the result of her match. A pink-haired girl approached and asked, "What are you doing here?" Nya frowned. "First answer: why was that girl crying?" he replied, leaning his back on the glass and closing his eyes. "I broke up with her because she had terrible manners with my sister," he said.
Nya, surprised: "And she still tries to get back with you?"
Jerome heard something odd. "Yeah. It's really annoying. What's that noise?"
Nya: "What are you talking about?"
Suddenly something fell past them, startling the visitors crowding the glass. A driver in the usual traffic saw a shadow descend and slammed on the brakes. A small accident occurred, and the businessman's corpse landed on the asphalt. People rushed from their cars to the body; it was pale, ice-cold, rigid and barely bled — but then three more shadows began to descend. The father ran from his car and saw a roof crushed by a second falling body, which then crushed him. People screamed and fled in panic. Atop the Liz Tower, Boris watched gleefully as a businessman's fresh corpse splattered brains across the street. "Two for one! Who's next?" he asked. A soldier answered, "Three left, sir!" Boris grabbed a woman of about forty by the wrist. "How is this lady?" he asked, smiling. She screamed, "Please — I have two children!" The sergeant, quick and skilled, slit her throat and pushed her off the roof. He took the next businessman; the man begged, but Boris stabbed him in the stomach and pushed him out. The last businessman closed his eyes as he fell, expecting the blade — but Boris was slow; he stapled a golden envelope to the suit, then drove the sword through the man's torso and down, letting him see some of his guts spill out as he fell. With all the victims dead, the two soldiers reentered, leaving their superior alone on the roof.
The police arrived. Detective Matias Surgiri Welter looked up nervously for any more falling bodies. The area filled with ambulances and officers. He approached the wrecked car with a golden envelope on the suit and, putting on latex gloves, opened the letter. After reading it, he shouted, "Someone tell the helicopters to withdraw — there are too many hostages, including Jerome Sejuk and Nya Liz! Notify the millionaires so they don't do anything stupid!"
At the Sejuk mansion, Alexandre jumped into his sports car and sped toward the city center. Mario sighed in the kitchen, worried for the blond boy. Francesca finished dressing for her run to de-stress; she jogged toward Forte thinking, Looks like we'll have to save our brothers. She remembered Tyron telling her that his little brother would be at the Liz Tower. Concern marked her face as she thought, Seems both of us have to go save our siblings.