The door to Noel's office slams shut behind me, the sound echoing down the hall like a gunshot. I stalk through the corridor, boots scuffing against the polished tile. My shoulders are tense, my hands shoved deep into my hoodie pockets, and the buzzing in my head won't stop.

Dr. Wolfe.

I can't get it out of my mind. The words repeat over and over like a broken record. He's a psychologist. A fucking psychologist. Every conversation, every smirk, every calculated word suddenly feels loaded with something I didn't see before.

"Harlan," Day's voice cuts through the chaos, soft but steady, just behind me.

I glance back at her, her careful expression a contrast to my own tightly clenched jaw.

"What?" I snap, looking forward again and quickening my pace. She keeps up with ease.

"Was slamming the door really necessary?" she asks, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

"Yes," I bite out.

Day hums softly, not pushing further.

Instead, she just stays beside me, matching my pace as we weave through the lobby. Her presence is grounding, as always, but it doesn't dull the edge of what I'm feeling. It doesn't stop the way my chest tightens with every step.

We reach the elevators, and I jab the button harder than I need to. The doors slide open almost immediately, and I step inside, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. Day follows, hitting the button for her floor and settling against the opposite wall. She doesn't look at me, but I can feel her attention, quiet and steady.

"What happened?" she asks finally, her voice calm but cautious. She's not pressing, not really, but she knows me well enough to see through my deflection.

"Nothing," I mutter, staring at the glowing numbers above the doors. Day lets the silence linger for a moment, her arms crossed loosely.

"You're lying," she says simply, but there's no accusation in her tone. Just a quiet observation.

I exhale sharply, and for a second, I almost consider it. But then the words come rushing back—Dr. Wolfe, his smug grin, the calculated tilt of his head—and the wall goes up again.

"It's nothing," I say, the words clipped and final. "Just leave it alone."

Day lets out a small sigh, her boots shifting slightly against the elevator floor. She doesn't say anything right away, and the quiet hum of the elevator fills the space between us. But I know her. She's not going to let this drop entirely.

"Harlan," she says after a moment, her voice softer now, more careful. "You're worked up. I can see it."

I clench my jaw, keeping my eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the elevator doors. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," she replies simply. There's no judgment in her voice, no push—just a quiet, steady calm that makes it harder to brush her off.

My hands tighten in my hoodie pockets, my nails digging into my palms. I don't want to talk about this. Not with her, not with anyone, but the words feel like they're burning a hole in my throat. Before I can stop myself, I hear my own voice.

"He's a psychologist."

Day frowns. "Wolfe?"

"Wolfe," I affirm, a name I used to regard with respect, which has now become the bane of my existence. "He's a psychologist. Dr. Wolfe. He's been sitting there this whole time, watching me, analyzing me—us—and we didn't even know."

Every word out of his mouth feels like a dissection. He doesn’t even need to say much; he just looks, and it’s like he’s already figured out which buttons to push. Day blinks, clearly surprised, but she doesn't interrupt. Her silence feels heavy, like she's giving me the space to keep going.

"I can't trust that," I add, my voice tight. "Not after everything."

"I get it," she says quietly, her voice steady.

I glance at her, my jaw still tight. "Do you?"

"Yes," she replies, meeting my gaze. "I know why this feels like a punch to the gut. I know why you don't want him anywhere near you, but Harlan... this isn't the same. He's not them."

I scoff, the sound bitter and sharp. "How do you know that?"

"Because you're not the same kid who was trapped in that place," she says simply, her tone matter-of-fact. "You've been through hell and back, and you're still here. You've dealt with people way worse than him."

"I still don't trust him," I mutter, looking away.

"You don't have to," Day says, her voice firm but not unkind. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Day straightens, glancing at me before stepping out. "You've got this, Harlan. You always do, but you can't let him get to you like this again."

I don't respond, my hands still clenched in my pockets. She pauses just outside the elevator, turning back to look at me.

"And remember," she adds, her tone softer now. "I'm not going to be around to talk you down much longer. You're going to have to figure this out for yourself."

The words hit harder than I expect, and I glance up at her, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Day's lips twitch into a faint smile, one I've noticed is most common around Lacy and when regarding her baby. "Maternity leave, remember? It's coming up soon."

Oh. Right. My stomach twists slightly at the thought. Day's been my anchor, the one person who can calm me down when I'm ready to blow. What will I do when there's no one there who can get through to me? It's not like I can just grab Lacy and take her to work, but she's the only other person with that ability. Maybe it's time I actually attempt to learn how to keep my emotions to myself.

"I'll be fine," I say, more to convince myself than her. The tone of her reply is much more confident than mine.

"You will."

With that, she's gone, her boots clicking against the tile as the elevator doors slide shut. I lean back against the wall, the buzzing in my head louder than ever.

God, that's gonna suck.

-

Days go by, and I don't see Noel. Thank God.

Unfortunately, I am instead forced to constantly be around Dr. Cross.

I can't stand the guy. He's the sort of person who smiles too much, like he thinks it's charming, when really it makes you want to punch him in the teeth because it comes across as so condescending. His white lab coat is always spotless, like he's got some personal vendetta against coffee stains and reality. Don't even get me started on his voice. It's nasally and clipped, it makes everything he says sound snooty and impatient even when he's not trying to be. Except, I'm pretty sure he's always trying to be.

He's not terrible at his job, technically, but the man has the situational awareness of a brick. He's supposed to be helping us 'coordinate and assess'—whatever that means—but really, all he does is stand around making observations no one asked for and trying to look important.

"Do you have anything useful to add?" I snap, glaring at him as we're standing on the roof of a building, looking down at the street below. Day and I are hunting a mid-tier villain who's been setting off fires in abandoned warehouses. So far, we've found two burnt-out husks and a fresh set of footprints leading us here.

"Well," Cross says, drawing the word out as he adjusts his glasses. I wonder momentarily if he's modeled his entire personality off of a stereotype. "From a psychological standpoint, I'd say the culprit is likely a pyromaniac with antisocial tendencies."

I stare at him, deadpan. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Maybe try saying something that isn't obvious."

Day shoots me a warning look, but I don't care. I'm done babysitting this fucking man. She's been here all week, so she's well aware of how insufferable she is. I'm just saying what we're both thinking.

Cross just shrugs, unfazed. "I'm here to observe and offer support. You're the one with the fancy powers, Mr. Hayes."

I clench my fists, and Day steps in before I can say something that'll definitely end with me getting written up.

"Cross, why don't you hang back for a bit?" she says smoothly, her tone polite but firm. "Let us handle this."

Cross nods, thankfully taking the hint, and steps away. Not far enough for my liking, but at least he's out of my immediate line of sight.

Day gives me a pointed look. "Focus, Harlan."

"I am focused," I mutter.

"Good," she says, her voice low. "Because we've got company."

She jerks her chin toward the alley below. A figure steps into view, tall and broad-shouldered, with a hood pulled low over their face. The air around them shimmers faintly—heat distortion.

"Finally," I say under my breath, my heart kicking up a notch. I doubt I'll have much to do with actually apprehending the villain since this person is clearly more in her league, but that's fine. I have my own ways of being of aid, even in situations such as this one.

The villain doesn't waste time. They raise a hand, and a burst of flame shoots out, slamming into the side of a nearby dumpster. The metal groans, warping under the heat, and the fire spreads quickly, spreading up the side of the building.

"Move!" Day calls, leaping into action.

I follow her lead, vaulting over the edge of the roof and landing in the alley with a thud. The villain turns toward us, their hands already glowing with flames, and I barely have time to dodge before another fireball comes hurtling my way.

Day takes to the air, flames igniting around her as she propels herself upward. She swoops down in an arc, aiming a blast of her own fire at the villain, but they counter it with a shield of flame.

I dart to the side, trying to flank them. My vision flickers as I focus, catching glimpses of the next few seconds—the villain turning, raising their hand, aiming for Day.

"Day, left!" I shout, and she veers just in time to avoid a jet of fire.

The heat is intense, sweat dripping down my back as the villain lets loose another barrage of fire. Day is a blur of precision and power, darting through the flames with an ease that makes it clear she's in her element. Meanwhile, I'm stuck on the ground, doing my best not to get roasted.

"Perimeter clear," Cross says over the comms, his voice cool and detached. "No civilian signatures within a hundred meters. The alley is fully contained."

"Good," Day replies, her tone clipped but steady. "Keep your eyes on the villain's movements. Let me know if you see an opening."

"On it," Cross responds, his calm demeanor grating against my nerves as usual. He's perched on a rooftop above, tablet in hand, acting like he's in a control room instead of the middle of a fight.

The villain stands at the alley's far end, their hood pulled low, flames licking up their arms as they hurl another fireball toward Day. She twists in midair, dodging easily, and retaliates with a controlled burst that forces them to stumble back.

"Harlan," she says sharply into the comms, "Watch their hands—I don't need you getting burned."

"Gee, thanks for the confidence," I mutter, moving carefully along the edge of the alley, keeping to the shadows.

My visions flicker—a quick snapshot of the next few seconds. The villain, aiming for Day's left side. Cross, standing too close to the edge of the roof. Another fireball heading straight for him.

"Day, left side!" I shout into the comms. She veers just in time to avoid a jet of flame, her own counterattack forcing the villain to stagger.

"Cross, get down!" I bark into the comms, already moving toward the fire escape, which—if anything—goes to show my lack of faith in the guy.

"What? Why—"

The rest of his words are lost as my vision solidifies—the fireball is now streaking toward him, the incoming impact and explosion flashing through my mind.

"Move!" I yell, scrambling up the fire escape two steps at a time.

I don't have time to wait for him to react. The fireball is already too close. Cross stands frozen, his face lit by the glow of impending disaster. My legs burn as I climb faster, my hands gripping the hot metal railings until I reach the rooftop just in time.

I throw myself forward, slamming into him and knocking us both to the ground as the fireball explodes against the ledge where he was standing, likely burning part of my arm, but my adrenaline is too high to care all that much. Heat washes over us, the force of the blast rattling my bones. Sparks rain down, and I shield Cross instinctively, my arms braced as debris clatters around us.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" I snap, rolling off him once it's safe and standing quickly.

Cross sits up slowly, his glasses slightly askew, his tablet somehow still clutched in one hand. "I didn't see it coming."

"Of course you didn't! You're too busy playing lab tech to remember we're in the middle of a fight," I growl, dragging him to his feet.

"Harlan!" Day's voice cuts through the comms. "I've got them pinned, but they're about to try something desperate. Get back to the alley. Now!"

"On it," I respond, glaring at Cross. "You. Stay put. Don't move unless you want a repeat."

To his credit—or maybe just sheer self-preservation—he nods, stepping back toward the center of the rooftop.

I leap back down the fire escape, the hot metal burning through my gloves. By the time I hit the alley, Day is already closing in on the villain. Her flames coil around them, a searing orange barrier that cuts off any escape.

"Nice work," I mutter, stepping up to her side as she lands, her boots hitting the pavement with a heavy thud.

"Not done yet," she replies, her eyes locked on the villain. "You think you're clever, huh?" she says to them, her voice steady but laced with a natural command.

The villain doesn't respond, their chest heaving as they struggle against the cuffs Day snaps onto their wrists. The reinforced bands glow faintly, suppressing their powers and leaving the alley eerily quiet in the aftermath.

I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly once all the flames have simmered.

"Villain neutralized," I say into the comms, glancing back toward the rooftop. Cross is peeking over the edge, his face pale but otherwise intact. He gives me a thumbs up. I want to break it.

"You're welcome, by the way," I add, knowing full well he can hear me.

"Excellent teamwork," is Cross's only acknowledgement of my words, his voice annoyingly upbeat. "I'll be sure to note your swift response in my report."

"Yeah, you do that," I mutter, brushing soot off my hoodie as Day shakes her head, amused.

"You handled it," she says, patting my shoulder. "Barely, but you did."

"Barely's my specialty," I reply absentmindedly, casting one last glare up at Cross before following Day toward the waiting transport van.

As we walk, Day glances at me with a faint smirk. "You could cut him some slack, you know."

"Maybe he could pay some fucking attention," I shoot back, though the edge in my voice is more bark than bite. It's not like I have room to do much, unless I can actually prove he's useless, which I can't. Unfortunately.

Day chuckles, the sound light against the crunch of her boots on scorched pavement. "You'll manage. I did, when we were first partnered."

Debatable.

Wait.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"