The hallway at St Dymphna’s was hot that summer morning. Pretty soon the heat would be unbearable, save for the pockets of cooling that the clunky AC units brought them. It had taken Joanie a few minutes to rouse herself from the sofa she had found her sweaty back stuck to when she had been called.

Mrs Qadir had been waiting for her near the door to her office. She smiled as she approached and Joanie quickly realised she wasn’t alone.

“Joanie, this is Trey,” Mrs Qadir said, her voice gentle as she stepped aside.

A boy emerged from behind her. Thirteen, twelve, maybe. A young kid with dark skin and curls that stuck out in uneven directions, as if he had tried to flatten them and given up halfway through. His eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the hallway as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look at anything for too long. When he finally let out a smile, it was bright and warm and completely unguarded. It lit up the whole hallway.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand in a small wave. He was clearly nervous yet masking it behind a front of confidence.

Mrs Qadir gave Joanie’s shoulder a soft squeeze before leaving them alone.

The silence that followed felt thick. Joanie stared at him, unsure what she was supposed to say.

Trey shifted his weight, glancing at the scuffed skirting boards, then back at her. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

“Um… I can show you where we play outside. If you want.”

“Yeah. That’d be cool.”

She started walking, slow enough that he could keep up. The hallway stretched ahead of them, warm light spilling across the floorboards. She felt a small flicker of pride at showing him around.

They reached the front door and Joanie reached for the handle.

She froze. Something was wrong.

The light shifted. The air thinned. The colours bent at the edges.

A cold ripple ran through her chest.

“This didn’t happen…” She whispered it before she even understood why.

Trey’s voice faded mid‑breath.

She turned to find he wasn’t there. The hallway was empty.

Her pulse spiked.

“Stop.” she whispered. Her voice echoed here.

A cold presence seeped through the hallway like frost creeping across glass. She felt him
behind her, not as a body but as a pressure. A cold intelligence. A searching hunger.

“Turn your head.” He ordered.

Her neck moved before she could stop it.

She faced the wall.

“Interesting.” His voice threaded through the memory. “This architecture. Mid‑century municipal. Reinforced beams. Narrow corridors. Built cheaply but meant to last.”

Joanie’s stomach dropped.

He was looking through her eyes.

A strange ache bloomed in her chest as the truth settled. This was not like Marth. Whereas the touch of his mind had had a softness to it, this was the opposite. It felt like it was pressing into her skull like ice water.

“Look at the ceiling.” He commanded.

Her gaze lifted against her will.

A faint vibration ran through the plaster barely visible, as she clenched her fist at her side. It was barely audible, but enough to form a small crack above the doorframe, thin as a pencil line.

He didn’t notice though, he was too busy taking in the building.

“This style was common in the east of the city,” he murmured.“Near the river. Or the old industrial quarter.”

Her breath hitched.

“Get out.” She panted

“Open the door.”

Her hand moved toward the handle. She fought it, her fingers trembling.

Her breath shook. “No.”

The crack widened, dust drifting from it like falling ash.

The hallway flickered.

She became her at eight years old, backpack too big for her shoulders, walking toward the same front door with Mrs Qadir’s hand in hers.

Joanie’s breath caught. She tried to stop her younger self’s hand from reaching the handle. She pushed against the memory, forcing her arm to lock at the elbow.

The door vibrated and the frame shuddered.

The crack above it split wider, jagged like a faultline.

“Show me.” he commanded, speaking angrily though Mrs Qadir. His voice was more firm this time. Gone was the calm and composed tone he’d begun with.

“No.”

The hallway warped again and she was fifteen, moving down the steps with Mina in toe. The sound of rain emanating from beyond.

Her fifteen‑year‑old hand reached for the handle.

“Stop.” She begged.

The crack tore downward, splitting the frame as the vibration deepened. The air hummed.

“You cannot hide it forever.”

“I’m not hiding.” she said. “I’m fighting.”

The memory flickered and she was back to first thing this morning, about to leave for her first day at Marth’s family’s B&B. Her bag was slung over her shoulder. She remembered the excitement. The nerves. The hope she’d do well. Oh how today had changed.

But her hand rose toward the handle again.

“I’m not doing this.” She stated, gritting her teeth as she fought against the force of his control. “You can’t make me.”

The crack ripped across the wall.

The floor trembled. The vibration ran up her legs like a warning.

“Enough.” he said.

“Then get out.”

Her power stirred. So she let it out.

A tremor erupted from her, running through the memory. The hallway shook and the walls shivered. The floor cracked like ice. The crack above the door split open, jagged and violent, tearing through the plaster like a wound.

The Icelander’s voice faltered.

“…what is that?”

Joanie’s eyes burned. “Me.”

The quake hit.

It was a seismic burst of thought. A shockwave of will. A mental tremor that tore through the memory like a faultline splitting open.

The hallway shattered and the entire image collapsed into dust and light.

---

The world rebuilt itself around her, but it wasn’t hers. It was cold and bitter. Snow pressed against her boots. A grey sky hung low over a sparse wood, the trees thin and crooked, their branches rattling in the wind like bones. Joanie’s breath fogged in the air, but it wasn’t her breath. Her lungs felt smaller. Her coat felt thinner. Her hands were smaller, trembling inside sleeves that barely kept out the cold.

She wasn’t herself. She was him.

She realised it with a jolt that made her stomach twist. She was seeing through his eyes. Feeling his breath. Hearing his heartbeat hammer against his ribs.

And he was running.

Branches whipped past her face. Snow crunched underfoot. Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. She stumbled through the trees, desperate to get away from the voices behind her.

“Haltu, gráhúfa!”

Stop, gray‑head.

“Komdu hingað, skrímsli!”

Come here, monster.

“Grákrakki!”

Gray brat.

The insults hit her like stones. They were cruel and spat with the venom of boys who had learned to hate before they even learned to shave.

She understood them. She didn’t know how. But she understood them.

Three boys crashed through the trees behind her, older, broader, wrapped in thicker coats. Their boots thudded against the snow. Their laughter was jagged, cruel, echoing through the wood.

“Þú ert ekki eins og við!”

You’re not like us.

“Hættu að fela þig, gráhúfa!”

Stop hiding, gray‑head.

Joanie’s breath hitched. She felt the panic rising in his chest. Felt the sting of cold on his cheeks. Felt the humiliation burning under his skin.

She tripped over a buried root and fell hard into the snow. The cold swallowed her. Her palms stung. Her breath shook.

The boys reached her.

One grabbed her sleeve and yanked her upright. Another shoved her back down. The third kicked snow into her face, laughing as it stuck to her lashes.

“Sjáðu hann.”

Look at him.

“Veikburða.”

Weakling.

“Grákrakki.”

Gray brat.

Joanie felt the shame like a physical blow. She felt the helplessness. Felt the fury simmering
beneath it, small and quiet and dangerous.

The tallest boy picked up a rock and threw it.

It struck her cheek with a sickening crack. Pain exploded across her face. Warm blood trickled down her skin, stark against the cold.

Joanie gasped.

He gasped.

Their breaths were one and she hated it.

The boys laughed as she touched her cheek, wincing slightly at the pain.

Something seemed to happen at that moment. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet; a small, internal break. As if a line had been crossed.

Joanie felt the shift. She felt the cold inside him sharpen into something else.

He stood slowly.

The boys faltered as she outstretched her palms towards one.

“Hvað-?”

What-?

She reached for the nearest boy and Joanie felt her fingers close around the boy’s face. Felt the skin under her palm. Felt the boy’s breath catch.

Then she felt the drain.

It wasn’t physical. It wasn’t visible.
It was a pull.
A hollowing.

A quiet, terrible hunger. The boy’s eyes widened as his skin paled. His body shrivelled in seconds, compressing against his bones, before he collapsed into the snow, lifeless.

Joanie screamed inside her own mind.

“Stop. Stop, please stop!” She begged.

But he couldn’t hear her.

She moved to the next boy. They tried to run but unfortunately he didn’t get far.

She grabbed his wrist, yanked him close, and drained him too. The boy’s knees buckled and his breath vanished. His body fell limp beside the first.

Joanie felt sick. She felt horrified. She felt the cold hunger tearing through her like a storm.

The last boy, the tallest one who had thrown the rock, stumbled backward, tripping over a tree root. He fell hard, scrambling in the snow, eyes wide with terror.

“Ekki… ekki…”

No… no…

She stepped toward him.

Joanie felt the fury. The humiliation. The years of cruelty. The cold power rising like a tide within her.

“Please.” Joanie begged. “Please don’t.”

He didn’t hear her.

He reached out to touch him.

A searing pain tore through Joanie’s skull.

A white light exploded behind her eyes.

---

Joanie snapped awake with a gasp.

The Icelander collapsed in front of her, hitting the floor hard. His body jerked once, then went still, breath ragged, eyes unfocused.

Behind her, Mina stood trembling, gripping a fire extinguisher with both hands. The metal was dented from where she’d hit him.

Her heart leapt, filling with relief.

“We need to go, Joanie.” Mina’s voice shook. “Now.”

Joanie stared at the Icelander’s unconscious form, her heart pounding, her mind still echoing with the cold of his childhood.

Then she nodded.

The air still carried the cold the Icelander had left behind as Joanie sat hunched in the chair, her wrists bound, and her breath trembling as she tried to pull herself back into her own body. That experience had been so much worse than having Marth in her head. It had felt violating. She pressed her palms against her knees and focused on the feeling of her skin. Her heartbeat. The warmth of her own thoughts. Anything that was hers.

Mina moved fast before her. She rifled through the desk drawers, shoving aside papers, pens, and all manner of stationary. Joanie watched her, taking in every detail she had been too dazed to notice before. The puffiness around her eyes. The dried blood smeared across her cheeks from the broken nose she had taken only hours ago. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in uneven clumps as if she had run her hands through it too many times. She looked battered and furious and scared, yet she kept moving with a stubborn focus that made Joanie’s chest tighten. Joanie couldn’t even express how happy the sight of her alive and free made her.

Joanie watched the faint glow of Mina’s, her veins lit with a soft shimmer. They left a series of red lines across her hands like molten cracks. She paused when she found a pair of scissors, lifting them with a grimace.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she explained, voice tight. “I melted through mine but didn’t want to risk your wrists.”

Joanie nodded, throat thick. “Thank you.”

Mina worked carefully, cutting her free. The plastic snapped and Joanie’s arms dropped into her lap. Relief hit her so hard she almost cried. She rubbed her wrists, grateful in a way she could not put into words.

Her gaze drifted to the Icelander’s unconscious body on the floor as she moved to her feet. Her fingers curled. A part of her wanted to hit him. To make him feel even a fraction of what he had forced her to see. But she didn’t dare touch him. She couldn’t risk doing anything that might cause her to feel his mind again. She couldn’t bare to feel that cold again.

Mina stepped toward the door. “We need to go.”

She moved to follow her, yet stopped as she remembered something. She turned to look down at the other body on the floor

“Wait.” She finally said, before crouching down to grab hold of his arm. “Help me with Caleb.”

Mina turned, eyebrows raised. “What, why? That dick can get stuffed.”

She was right of course. Yet Joanie couldn’t bare the thought of leaving him here. Who knows what that monster would do to him.

Besides, despite everything, he was still Caleb. Her Caleb.

“I can’t just leave him,” Joanie said. Her voice cracked. “Please.”

Mina groaned under her breath but moved to Caleb’s other side . “Fine. But if he wakes up and starts whining, I’m dropping him.”

Joanie gave her an appreciative smile, grateful for the nervous levity.

Mina grabbed her hoodie from her waist and wrapped it around her hands before touching him. Together they lifted him, his weight slumping between them. His head lolled forward, breath shallow.

Joanie glanced back at the desk. A phone lay near the edge. The Icelander’s. She grabbed it and shoved it into her pocket. Someone would need it. Police. Anyone. At the very least it would be an inconvenience for that asshole..

They stepped out into the corridor, moving slowly with Caleb’s weight between them. Joanie’s pulse thudded in her ears. She had no idea where they were given she had been unconscious when they were brought in. Every door looked the same and every hallway felt wrong.

They decided to take a left, moving down a hallway that eventually led to a stairwell. That at least was encouraging given she knew the office had been a floor up, yet the maze before her was still daunting.

Rounding the next corner, they froze. The corridor stretched ahead in a long, narrow run, its cream walls broken by a series of closed doors on either side. At the far end, the corridor bent away into another turn, though a single door stood at the end facing them. What she suspected might be their exit, was unfortunately blocked. A small group of men stood before them, leaning against the walls and chatting lazily. Their voices faltered as they noticed the three of them shuffle into view. Their expressions shifted and their bodies straightened as they stepped away from the walls and moved toward them.

One frowned. “What are you doing out?”

Another merely cracked his knuckles with a smirk.

Joanie raised a hand, instinctively. But the moment she tried to summon her power, her knees weakened and her breath shook. She felt nothing but exhaustion.

Her hand trembled in the air.

The look of heartbreak on her face quickly turned to shock as the room began to darken. Glancing past them, she watched as a darkness began to spread from beneath the far door. Shadow spilled in, and as it rose it started to come from the sides. Rising higher until the far end of the corridor was barely visible.

“What in the name of-” Half of the goons turned to face the new threat, half kept their attention focused on Joanie and Mina. “-What are you doing?”

Clearly they thought the two girls were responsible, when from the far side of the door a muffled voice could be heard.

”If you wouldn't mind…” there was a crash and the door shuddered. Another and it splintered. A third and it burst open, revealing a trio.

”Oss!” The shortest vocalized, drawing back his leg.

Did he just kick the door in?

She tried to take him in. He was in plainclothes, joined by a taller man who looked like he’d stumbled off a mystery set, and the tallest, some kind of biker?

It took her a split second to realise it was the detective; Dominic Dusk. Her heart leapt. The others were both familiar. Some kind of supes she imagined. Franklin could probably have given her their full origin stories. Maybe even Trey.

Either way she was grateful to see them. Even more grateful that the attention of the men had turned away from them to the newly arrived trio.

The biker stepped forward with a glowing blue longsword in hand, rearing his arm back and flinging the blade at one of the men facing the door. She winced in preparation for the blood, but none came. The blade bounced off of his head and sent him stumbling to the floor. As the blade began to fall, the biker pulled his hand back and the sword flew back into his grasp. ”Works every time.”

It took her a moment to realise it was made from some kind of energy. She was right; he was a supe.

”As long as you don't miss.” The shortest kicked up a chunk of splintered door into his hand and pitched it through the air. It slammed into one of the guards heads and he hit the ground hard.

The detective had lunged forward and had started to make his way towards her and Mina, ducking beneath an outstretched hand. The shadows weaved and spun around him turning him into a weird hard-to-define blob of darkness. In the middle of his turn he shouted back to the two capes. “Deal with these two, I’ll get the girls.”

Hope filled her at the words, only to be quickly snuffed out as one of the guards turned back towards them.

He broke from the group. His boots thudded against the floor as he closed the distance, eyes fixed on Mina with a look that made Joanie’s stomach crawl. He reached out, intending to grab her shoulder and shove her aside.

There was a flash of movement from her right before Joanie could even react. Mina’s hand had snapped up and met his forearm, a faint glow flowing through the lines of her hands. Heat surged through him in a violent rush as his sleeve shrivelled and clung to his arm as the fibres melted into his skin. Blisters rose in an instant, swelling and splitting as he tore himself backward with a ragged scream. He stumbled away from her, clutching the ruined limb and collapsing against the wall.

He lowered his good hand to his holster and pulled out a sidearm, but before Joanie could do anything, or Mina had recovered, Dusk was there. The barrel of his own pistol pressed up against his head. “You might want to go ahead and drop that.”

Mina stared at her own hand, guilt rippling through her.

Dusk turned his attention back to the girls, their unconscious compatriot between them. His expression softened slightly as he looked down at them. ”You girls okay? I’m not sure I like the vibe in this club, it might be time to go home.”

Joanie saw the other two over each of Dusk’s shoulders, fighting their captors, the men that just a moment ago seemed so impossible to overcome. The sword guy rammed his weapon into a guard’s abdomen and he dropped, while the short guy was wrapped around the remaining thug like a spider, restricting his movements and choking him out.

Both men quickly fell.

Turning her gaze back to Dusk, all she could manage in that moment was a nod.

He nodded back, raised his revolver in the air and slammed it down again till the butt of the handle collided with the man’s forehead, he fell crumpled into an undignified heap. ”Watch our backs!” he called over their shoulders as he holstered the gun, looking back to the girls as he walked towards a set of double doors. ”Just a little farther ladies, if you need help carrying your friend ask one of the boys-”

Before he could finish what he wanted to say, the double doors burst open, briefly revealing the room beyond. As two armed thugs came racing through, Dusk went for his pistol, flinching with his other arm. A mass of shadow shot out from beneath his jacket, colliding with the two figures and sending them careening through the air. Dusk froze for a moment, looking down at his own hand.
”-Well that's new.”

Joanie herself blinked in confusion. She hadn't realised the man had been gray.

The group charged through the door, emerging in the main room of the club. Now that she wasn’t passing through here half-unconscious, she could get a good look at it. The coloured lights were off, leaving the place exposed and ugly. The concrete floor was scuffed and stained, and the graffiti on the walls now just looked tacky. The arena platform has been repaired, although remnants of her work were still visible. She almost felt some pride in that moment.

Joanie and Mina took the rear as they staggered forward with Caleb between them. He was still barely conscious despite the commotion. His breathing was hoarse, and she swore she could hear him mumbling her name. There wasn’t time for her to worry too much about him just yet, though. They unfortunately weren’t alone in here.

The bar staff, only three of them, had seemingly frozen mid-movement before quietly abandoning their posts and slipping towards the fire exit, eyes wide and clearly unwilling to be part of what came next. That merely left the three figures in the centre of the room who were making their way towards them.

Cinderjack seemed to lead them, as if deciding he was now in charge after Detonator Dane’s demise. He looked like shit. His breathing was uneasy, and he had a matching black eye forming on the other side now. He looked furious. The other two, the larger man known as Mudline and the smaller woman known as Pummel, seemed similarly injured, although they didn’t share the look of fury as their leader. Instead, they looked at each other uneasily.

Joanie’s protectors seemed to fan out in front of her to match them. Dominic Dusk stepped slightly ahead, revolver low at his side as his shadow seemed to flex out beneath him to match his breathing. The biker twirled his blade of energy once, whilst the short one cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck.

A tense stillness settled over the room as, for a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Joanie’s gaze drifted upwards as a flicker of movement caught her attention. Her breath caught.

The Icelander stood behind the glass, one hand braced on the frame, watching them all with the same cold, hollow expression she had just felt inside her skull. His glare cut through her like a knife, and her lungs tightened.

Her scream tore out from her before she even realised she was making a sound and her hand thrust upwards towards him. She summoned every last drop of his energy, energy she didn’t even know she had, and willed it up towards him in a violent ripple. The glass shattered in a spray of glittering shards, shooting into the office. The Icelander jerked back from the impact.

Blood streaked down his face as she moved back up into view, a shard of glass erupting from his cheek.

He touched it with two fingers, wincing slightly, before bringing up his now red fingers to take a look.

His voice carried down through the warehouse, cold and sharp.

“I want that bitch alive. Kill the rest.”

Old Rusty's Diner is not the most popular place in Calder City, but a classic diner that Yulian likes to visit on certain days. Which this day is one of these days. A break during his time moving around the city today and a good old stop to eat some food. Looking like a usual diner from the outside and most of the inside, and it was not too crowded at this hour. Yulian took one of the middle booths and waited eagerly for his meal. Nothing out of the ordinary, a hamburger, french fries, and some water. Which only the water had arrived.

The door chimed as a newcomer came into the diner, Yulian paid no mind as footsteps inched closer to him, and he heard the voice first. A voice of someone he thought he would never hear again, with a russian accent. "It has been a long time, little brother."

Yulian turned his head to the voice and was wide eyed as he said in astonishment at his older brother. Lukyan and he looked like he has not aged since the death of their father five years ago.

Yulian was speechless, and it showed as Lukyan took a seat across from Yulian at the booth. But soon, surprise turned into anger, and his face soured. What on earth is he doing here, Yulian thought bitterly. How did he find him after all this time?

Lukyan however, did not seem fazed by Yulian's expressions or his eyes that stared at him like daggers. "I know this is a surprise for you, me showing up after all of this time and finding you at this fine establishment." Trying to sound respectful despite the words fine establishment sounding fake. "I bet you have questions, and I have some answers, but it is good to see you again, little brother."

"What the fuck do you want?" Yulian said so brazenly and clearly not thrilled to see his brother again.

Lukyan took the verbal hit well but sighed heavily. "I know we did not have the best relationship before father died and all of that chaos, but I am not here to repeat the past with you."

Repeat the past? Yulian thought angrily. "Father forced me to be his tool, and you let it happen." Yulian was clearly angry at his brother. "How long was I his slave and you benefiting from that? Twelve years." Saying it with anger. "You have alot of nerve showing up here after father died, and how did you find me anyway?"

Lukyan looked nervous, not at what Yulian was saying but at how the people around them could hear, and he sighed again. "You are not the only one to settle in this city, and I have been wanting to find you since coming to America. How about we talk in Russian?" Just so we keep our conversation private."

"Afraid of what random people will think, Lukyan?" Yulian had venom in his voice. Who would like to hear how a father abused him for power and how his dear older brother did nothing to stop or help him from his father. Of course, being an ex-mobster from Russia is not a good thing to let random people know.

Now, in Russian, Lukyan says, "I figured there would be a chance of you being upset, and I will cut to the chase for our sakes." A waitress appeared and tried to take an order from Lukyan. "No, I am good, I will not be here long." In English, and the waitress went back to another booth. Back to Russian, "as I was saying. I have settled in Calder City, and I found you since I have... some eyes around the city."

Yulian, now speaking in Russian, "You had men following me?"

"No, no, just observing, and one told me you were here, and I came here not to just talk." Lukyan took on a serious tone, "I have an offer for you, brother, and a chance for me to make amends for what father.... did to you."

"What could possibly make me agree to anything you say?" Yulian was skeptical.

"Because I have plans, big plans and I would like you to join me, as an equal in my organization." His words sounded sincere, and his eyes sold it. "You and me, together as brothers, the ones running things and being something father could never be."

Yulian took a moment to scan his brother's face and words. He thought that there was a catch to all of this. That Lukyan would force him to be his slave, like what father had done. But if his brother was lying, he was doing a very good job. Being in the mob teaches you some things, and being a good liar is one of them, but also how to tell if someone is lying. As far as Yulian could tell, Lukyan was not lying, but Yulian could not trust his words. Or maybe he was trying not to trust his words after so many years of being used as a tool and Lukyan doing nothing about it. Could he trust his brother after all this time?

Lukyan seemed to have read Yulian's face as he reached for a note in his jacket pocket. "I live at this address, and here is my number." He put the note on the table and slipped it to Yulian. "I know that you have... good reasons to hate me, but I am not lying to you, nor do I want you to be what father used you for." Lukyan's words sounded more like an apology than anything. "I mean this, we can be a proper family again, and things will be different."

Then the sound of the waitress delivering Yulian's food and his burger and fries being placed in front of him. Right next to the note.

Yulian just stared at Lukyan, "I have a family, and I left that life when father died." He said bluntly.

Lukyan did not sigh this time and only had an understanding look. "Maybe, but think it over and get back to me when you are of a cooler head." Lukyan got up from his seat, and before he left, he said these final words to him and in English. "It is nice to see you, little brother, despite everything, and I hope you take me up on that offer." He left the diner.

Leaving Yulian to sit there, reviewing Lukyan's words, his tone, his expressions. He still felt rage for his brother, and a thought repeated in his head. Family, a true family, would not do what Yulian's father did to him or just let it happen. Milda is his family, and Lukyan is just as ambitious as their father. Which could get him killed or drag Yulian into something he does not want to be in. But if his brother was telling the truth and he wants to make amends and reconcile... Yulian is not sure he believes that right now, as he stared at the note that Lukyan left him. Before forcing himself to eat to get his mind off it for a short time.

He never would have thought to see his brother again, and now that he is back and living in Calder City. Yulian knew he had to do something, and he had to tell Milda about this. Just in case, Lukyan's men were watching her too. Yulian sighed after taking a bite from his burger. Unable to say a word, today just got a whole lot more interesting in a bad way, and he still had a list of stuff to do today. But for now, he would silence his thoughts as he ate. It was all he could do right now after this... unexpected meeting.