Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Sebastian/Liquin
Ilanded the jet at the same time Johnny arrived home. We were too exhausted to even greet each other, so the only sound was the low hum of the cleaning bots gliding across the polished concrete floors.
I stepped into the common room first, the weight of the last twenty-two hours pressing down on my shoulders like a physical force. The scent of ozone and coffee hit me, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the gym equipment from the adjacent training room.
Johnny trailed behind me, his combat boots scuffing against the floor in that deliberate, slightly dragging way of his, as if he were already half-asleep on his feet.
Johnny flopped onto the nearest couch with the grace of a man who’d spent the last twelve hours bouncing between countries, rushing care packages to storm victims. His spiky blond hair was even more disheveled than usual, sticking up at odd angles like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly.
"Man," he groaned, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table with zero regard for the pristine surface. "If I ever see another customs form, it’ll be too soon. You’d think ‘humanitarian aid’ would be a universal passphrase for ‘let us the hell through,’ but no.
Some guy in Port-au-Prince wanted to argue about the weight distribution of the pallets. "
I exhaled through my nose, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but acknowledged the absurdity.
My own body ached in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
I had spent the past twenty-two hours containing wildfires along the California coast, siphoning moisture from the Pacific to douse flames that refused to die.
It left me dehydrated in ways even my powers couldn’t fully mitigate.
The skin around my knuckles was tight, my joints stiff.
I needed electrolytes, ten gallons of water, and about fourteen hours of sleep, preferably in that order.
"At least you didn’t have to become the fire suppression system," I said, rolling my shoulders back as I headed for the fridge. The cold air hit my face as I bent to grab a gallon of water, condensation already beading on the plastic. "There’s something uniquely humiliating about being hosed down by the very firefighters you’re trying to help. "
Johnny snorted, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Dude, you’re probably those firefighters' favorite hero. They were probably just excited to meet Liquen. ‘Oh my god, is that water? Or is it him?’" His impression of an awestruck bystander was terrible, but the sentiment landed.
I twisted the cap off the bottle and downed half of it in one go, the liquid hitting my system like a jolt.
"They were more concerned about the fact that I kept reforming every time they aimed the hose at me. One guy nearly had a heart attack when my face flowed back into place."
"Classic." Johnny grinned, but it faded quickly, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. He picked at a frayed hole in the knee of his jeans, another casualty of the trip. "How bad was it, really? The news made it sound like half the state was burning."
His concern seemed genuine, for once.
"It was bad. The Santa Anas were relentless. We lost two towns before the National Guard could evacuate. The flames were moving faster than we could track. But we held the line at Big Sur. That’s something."
Johnny nodded, fingers still worrying the denim. "Yeah. Yeah, that’s—"
He cut himself off as the door to Roger's room opened. The sudden rush of air made the loose papers on the coffee table flutter.
Roger strode in like he owned the place. Given his personality, he probably felt he did. His side-parted brown hair was still damp from a shower, the scent of expensive aftershave trailing him. The man was impossibly put-together, even at three in the morning.
"Boys," Roger said, voice carrying that easy, warm timbre that made people instinctively like him. "You’re back. Finally." He clapped his hands together once, like a coach rallying his team. "Sebastian, you look like hell. Johnny, you look like you lost a fight with a lawnmower."
Johnny flipped him off without heat. "I look like I just spent eighteen hours in transit after coordinating a massive aid drop, you overgrown frat boy."
Roger’s grin didn’t waver. He grabbed a protein bar from the counter and tore into it with his teeth, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Ah, but did you win the fight with the lawnmower? That’s what matters."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Roger, it’s late. What are you still doing up?"
"Couldn’t sleep." He shrugged, swallowing.
"Too much energy. You know how it is after a mission.
" His blue eyes flicked between us, a little too bright, a little too focused.
"Besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on this place.
It is just Matt and I here with Mandie." He pitched his voice high on the last word.
"Please tell me Matt is finally getting some sleep," I said.
Roger nodded as he guided our attention toward the kitchen, which struck me as suspicious, but I was too tired to question it. "Matt has been asleep for a good five hours now."
"Thank heavens. We need him to get some rest. We are already stretched thin with all the chaos going on. We need his help."
Johnny barked out a laugh. "Exactly. We need that man to start pulling his weight around here. He is too heavy for us to carry."
Roger chuckled, but there was something off about it.
Forced. His usual effortless charm had an edge to it, like he was performing a role rather than existing in the moment.
He moved to the couch opposite Johnny’s, but instead of sitting, he leaned against the backrest, broad shoulders blocking part of the TV screen.
"So. California, huh? You save any puppies, Doc?"
I took another swig of water, studying him. Roger wasn’t one for small talk, not like this. Not when he was bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’d had three espressos.
"A few. Mostly just contained the spread. The real heroes were the ground crews."
"Modest as always." Roger’s smile flashed, but his fingers tapped restlessly against the couch. "And Haiti? How’d the care packages go?"
Johnny stretched his arms overhead, spine cracking audibly. "Good. Got everything distributed before the military could ‘requisition’ it. Again." He made air quotes with his fingers. "Turns out, when you shrink down and move at Mach three, customs officials get real confused."
Roger’s laugh this time was genuine, posture relaxing slightly. "I bet. You’re lucky they didn’t try to shoot you."
That humored me, too. Everyone knew Pulsewave had super speed. Fewer knew he could shrink to the size of a mosquito and still keep his strength.
"Nah, they were too busy arguing about whether I was a drone or a ‘demon.’" Johnny grinned. Then his expression shifted, green eyes cutting to me. "Hey, speaking of… how’s Mandie? She still hate us?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into a quiet pond. Roger’s fingers stilled. I felt my own muscles tense, the water bottle crinkling in my grip.
Roger didn’t miss a beat. "Yeah. She’s good."
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Just ‘good’? That’s it?"
"What do you want me to say, Boyd?" Roger’s tone was light, but there was a tightness around his eyes. "She’s asleep. This whole situation isn't easy for her."
I set the bottle down harder than I meant to, plastic clattering against the counter. "She’s not just good, Roger. She’s... in the dark. She deserves to know what’s going on."
Roger’s gaze snapped to mine, his smile fading. "Doc."
I folded my arms, fatigue suddenly secondary to the frustration coiling in my chest. "We’re keeping her in the dark about everything. Boss’s orders or not, it isn't right."
Roger exhaled sharply through his nose, broad frame tensing. "It’s not our call."
"It should be." I stepped forward, voice low. "It isn't fair that he holds us to his lies and theatrics. She’s smart, Roger. She’s going to figure it out eventually, and when she does, she’s going to feel betrayed. By us."
Johnny was watching us now, his earlier exhaustion replaced by something sharper. "You know, you guys listen to the boss a little too often. I give the guy credit for building us this hideout, bringing us together, and leading us in battle. But that benefit of the doubt only goes so far."
For a second, the air between us was charged, the kind of tension that precedes a fight or a confession. Then Roger’s shoulders dropped, expression shifting into something more resigned.
"Doc, I agree, okay? But it’s not up to me. You know how the boss operates. We follow the chain of command."
"The chain of command is missing," I snapped. "Where the hell is he, by the way? We barely see him once a week. We’re out here making life-and-death calls, and he’s, what? On a retreat?"
Roger’s eyes darkened. "Watch it."
"Or what?" I spread my hands. "He’s going to finally walk through that door and do what needs to be done?"
Johnny let out a low whistle. "Damn, Doc. Tell us how you really feel."
I shot him a glare, but the moment was broken. Roger rubbed his face with one hand.
"Look, I get it. We’re all tired. We’re all pissed. But we don’t get to make the rules."
"We should," I muttered.
Johnny raised a hand. "I say we operate on a vote instead of bowing to our so-called boss. Democracy all the way, my fellow patriots."
Roger ignored that. "You still meeting with Mandie today?"
I hesitated. The session had been scheduled for this morning. But after California… after the flight back… after this conversation…
"No. I’m postponing. I need rest. And I am sure I will have to do another session with Matt before noon."
Roger’s eyebrows lifted. "You’re postponing? Since when do you skip sessions?"
"Since I’m exhausted, Roger." I ran a hand through my hair, slicked-back strands coming loose. "I’m not going to be of any use to her like this. Or to anyone."
Roger studied me for a long moment, gaze too knowing. "You sure that’s the only reason?"
I stiffened. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Nothing. Forget it." But the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.
Johnny, ever the opportunist, leaned forward. "Come on, Doc. We all see it. You’ve got it bad."
I felt my face heat. "That’s ridiculous."
Roger’s smirk deepened. "Is it?"
"I’m her therapist," I said through gritted teeth.
"I don't think the ethics board has jurisdiction here in the Arctic." Roger’s voice was dry.
I shot them both a withering look. "Perhaps I will still have my session with her, just to get it over with. But for now, I’m going to bed."
Roger’s grin was infuriating. "Sweet dreams, Doc."
I turned on my heel, already regretting engaging. My room was at the end of the hall, adjacent to the medical bay. It was a location I’d chosen for practicality, not privacy. Right now, I wish it were a mile away from the rest of them.
The door slid shut behind me with a quiet swoosh, sealing out Johnny’s laughter and Roger’s triumphant, "Told you so."
I stripped off my shirt, stiff with dried sweat and the faint scent of smoke, and tossed it toward the hamper. It missed. I didn’t care.
The bed welcomed me like an old friend, sheets cool against my overheated skin. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to quiet.
It didn’t.
Instead, Mandie’s face swam into focus. Her sharp wit.
The way her dark eyes lit up when she was challenging me.
The curve of her lips when she smiled. The memory of her hand brushing against mine during our last session, accidental or not, sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
I groaned, rolling onto my side.
This was wrong. She was my patient. And yet, every time I was near her, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from falling.
I dragged a hand down my face.
This was going to end badly. I knew it.
I just didn’t know how to stop it.