[i]She was falling. The cut of wind against her body, and the moisture this high up cutting like shards at the speed with which she fell isn’t what scared her. It wasn’t the lack of sight or sound. Nor the metallic gag in her mouth, stretching the corners of her lips until they cracked from dryness—only to be salted by her tears. It wasn’t those same metallic restraints also binding her hands and legs. It was that she knew she shouldn’t be falling, but all she knew was falling—she could remember nothing else past this moment. Not even her name. 

But something burned inside her. Even in this wind and this plummet, it was a scent of peace. Older than her name. Older than her. Starting in her chest and working its way up, the heat flushed against the walls of her throat and spread over her skin. Instinctively flexing her wrists, the metal began to bend, but it did not break. The burn came again, this time faster and panicked. It sat in her throat and smoldered to an inferno. [/i]

--

The boy crumpled against the wall, the sound of his heart flooding his ears. He was almost killed on the same day he buried his father. That would have been it, no one would have known. “No one would have cared…” he spoke to no one—except the unconscious men before him. He couldn’t move, shock gripped his bones and froze his muscles.

[color=darkorange]“I would have cared.”[/color] The voice came from behind him, and for a moment, the boy—Marco—froze. A straggler that came to finish him off, because that was his luck, wasn’t it?

But instead of hoisting him, the hand he felt [i]helped[/i] him up, and he found himself face-to-face with the second hero he’d ever met in his life, both in one night: Feral. [i]’Woah. He’s taller in person.’[/i]

The second Maverick pointed to where IllAdvised must have bounded off to. “And so does he, he just doesn’t always know how to show it.” Feral turned to face Marco, [color=darkorange]“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself…” he paused, his cowled brow seeming to furrow. “Now with your heart as heavy as it is.”[/color]

Before Marco could respond, he saw a purple glow emanate from Feral. Feral reached out and touched him on the chest, the glow spreading to him. “This will get you home safely. It’s a protection.” The glow brightened until Marco had to close his eyes. When he opened them again, Makarios was gone, but he heard above him: [color=darkorange]“And just know—someone always cares.”[/color]

--

[i]She was falling, breaking through what felt like the moisture of clouds, when the inferno burst through her mouth that could not scream and into her ears that could not hear, ringing them like a—like something from when she was someone. They rang in agony until she accepted her fate, and let the falling take her to the end.

Except she didn’t end—she stopped. Someone stopped her. Someone caught her and though her eyes did not work, she could still [b]see[/b] the same burning she’d felt before, hazed over her. She heard no words but felt a vibration that shook like reassurance and protection. A promise emblazoned on that something that was older than her. [/i]

--

There was always something about the air in New Lilith. Not the freshness—God, no. That left the city long before Makarios came to be. It was the familiarity. Even as he was now, the familiar scents of oil, salt and exhaust combined in a way uniquely [i]home[/i] for him. It made him almost forget that he couldn’t bound the way he did before. At least, not for now. Feral had adjusted to these new limitations in accordance with his Pact. But not Makarios—who couldn’t help but feel the nostalgia in each leap over a rooftop. 

He caught up with Chuck, the Maverick leader surveying the Lower East atop a radio tower. [color=darkorange]“You know, you could have at least checked to see if the kid was alright.”[/color]