Matthew stared into the mirror, meeting eyes with his morbid reflection. With a cosmetic brush in hand, he dipped it in a dark purple eyeshadow and painted a deep bruise around his eye. Then paused to examine his work.

No, he thought. Darker.

He coated the brush with a black and darkened the bruise, finally satisfied with its gruesomeness. Perfect. Matthew picked up a separate brush—one that looked more like it should be dipped in paint—and popped open the container of faux blood. He cringed at the smell and lathered it over the faint outline of a wound on his forehead. When he was finished, he stepped back from the sink to examine his work.

The gash on his forehead was in the same place as last mission's, but what had previously been a faint bruise was now a deep, black eye. Matthew certainly looked like he had gotten into a bad situation with some street thugs. His skinny body and horrid wardrobe only made it more believable.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he began putting away his collection of supplies— makeup brushes, pallets of eye-shadow, pale flesh-tone powder foundation, and blush—all forgotten by guests who had stayed at Pardus's estate or had conveniently gone missing from their rooms. He felt horrible for stealing, but Pardus had never made anything easy for him. He just expected him to make do with the situation.

Once his workplace was cleaned, Matthew washed off his hands in the sink, ridding them of the grimy mixture of powder and blood. Then, he dried them on a towel and slipped out of the powder room, carrying his little grocery bag of cosmetics back to their hiding place. If he was thankful for anything, it was the privacy he had. Pardus had given him a hallway closet for a bedroom for a reason, and part of the reason had been he didn't want to bother himself with Matthew's existence. He was confident enough that Matthew wouldn't rebel.

He was mistaken.

Once Matthew found his room he slipped the stash of cosmetics under his mattress and stood, taking a long look at his bedroom. This would hopefully be the last time he stood here, slept within these walls, and lived under this roof. And a part of him, despite all the scarring memories that came with this place, was sad.

Matthew ran his fingers along his blankets, laying down on his mattress one last time. And for a moment, he just took it all in—the smell of his room, the darkness, the stuffy air. He wouldn't miss it, but it would be strange living without it. Pleasant, but strange.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, the same ceiling he would stare up at when he couldn't sleep at night, when he awoke from a fitful nightmare, and when he had nothing better to do than ponder aimlessly. Despite the horrible memories that haunted here, this place was his haven—a quiet, stuffy place free of the torment around him. This place was the only place he'd miss. His bedroom.

After a long moment, he finally willed himself to sit up and sift through his meager collection of clothes. He didn't have another pair of shoes, and his red Converse were beginning to look a little sad, but what little clothes he did have were stuffed into a worn backpack. Then, Matthew slung it around his shoulders and turned for the door.

With one last solemn glance at his bedroom space, he closed the door.

And from there on, Matthew slipped out a window on the lower level and headed for the road. He had never liked goodbyes, though he felt bad for leaving Beatrice without thanking her. He would rather leave her confused and worried than risk running into Pardus during his departure. He didn't want to be reminded of the responsibilities he wouldn't be fulfilling.

So Matthew tightened his backpack straps around his shoulders and slipped away from the den of despair that he had called home for three years now.

And hopefully, when he returned, he wouldn't be a resident anymore.

He would be free.

And so would the heroes that were trapped in their icy prisons.

~     ~     ~

Amberchase was lovely, as always. Grey skies, rat-infested alleys, crowded streets, angry pedestrians. However, today, Amberchase seemed...brighter. The sun was just barely peeking through the heavy layer of smog that hung overhead, the air was a perfect balance between chilly and warm, and the citizens seemed in better spirits. Maybe it was because it was a Sunday.

Matthew had his hood pulled over his head and his hands stuffed into his pockets as he headed down the streets, passing families that tugged small children behind them, tittering teens that were no older than him, and doting couples. No villains were in sight. No heroes, either. Which was strange for a city like Amberchase.

Matthew sighed. It could take him days to locate White Lotus in a city of thousands, especially in costume. Even if he had done research, it was almost impossible to figure out a hero's true identity—their name, their family, where they lived. That information was all protected by the government to prevent villains from gaining unwanted leads. It would take a seriously talented hacker to crack open the vault of heroes' personal information, and Matthew was anything but that.

Unlike his previous missions, Matthew had to target one specific individual—one specific hero. All the other times had been sheerly based on which hero he ran into first. And Pardus didn't seem to care how long it took, so long as he came back with someone important.

Perfect. He had time. Plenty of time.

Matthew pulled his hands out of his pockets and returned them around the straps of his backpack, waiting at a crosswalk for the light to signal. He saw a small group of teens approach and retreated further into his hood, listening in to their conversation.

"I can't believe you got that on camera, bro. That's actually insane!" One of them enthused.

Another added, "Yeah, it's going to go viral!"

"I still can't believe White Lotus did that. She should definitely be ranked higher. She's way better than that other hero—"

"You mean her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Red Sun, right?"

"Yeah, he's not a hero yet. He's a vigilante."

"Oh, and how come the cops haven't tracked him down yet?"

"I dunno. I think after that one incident with that villain—?"

"Shadow?"

"Yeah. What I was meaning to say was I think after they took him down the cops just kind of...let him off the hook."

"No way, that doesn't sound right. Are you sure?"

"I think so."

"I doubt it. Why wouldn't he get his hero license?"

Matthew didn't need to see the shrug to know that the speaker had done so. "Who knows?"

He would've stayed longer to listen, but the light signaled that he could cross the street and he was off in a matter of seconds, their conversation replaying inside his head. He couldn't help but wonder what that first kid had gotten on camera. Had he seen White Lotus? Had she been in a fight?

A pang of panic shot through his chest. If she had been injured in a fight, his odds of finding her were even slimmer than before.

Matthew pushed away his anxiety and took long, steady breaths as he headed down the street. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe any of it. He couldn't believe he was actually running away from Pardus, rebelling, and scheming to put an end to his villainous reign. He felt crazy, stupid, impulsive. It was even crazier that he actually thought he'd be able to find one woman, one hero, in Amberchase. And he had no plan. Absolutely nothing.

His attention went sprawling when he pulled up and looked over at a car that was idling by the curb, radio blaring some kind of report channel.

Yet another face disappears in the crowd. And, this time, Amberchase's darling hero couple are the ones who pay the price. Red Sun has been reported missing for almost five days. Extensive searches are proceeding as we speak, but no leads have come up. Investigators are now hypothesizing a link between Red Sun's disappearance and many other missing person's cases in the past...

The radio was droned out as a bus drove by and Matthew silently cursed it.

...White Lotus spoke to reporters yesterday and shared a message that she hopes to reach whoever is plotting such unfathomable crimes. Here is a recording of what she had to say:

Matthew felt his gut wrench as the voice of a young woman was blasted through the radio, garbled by static.

"Villain or hero, mercenary or vigilante, everyone has a chance to do what's right. I know you're out there, whoever you are, and I hope you have enough of a heart to listen to what I have to say. Red Sun is innocent. He is just a boy. And he is my entire world. So if it's me you want, I'll gladly make the trade. I'll—"

The recording of White Lotus's plea was cut short as the man inside the car grumbled something and changed the channel. Matthew felt a surge of anger and stuffed his hands into his pockets, proceeding down the street. Although, as he aimlessly wandered around, listening to the world around him, he found himself inside his head again.

"So if it's me you want, I'll gladly make the trade."

Matthew didn't know if she was serious or not, but he hoped she wasn't. Her example was exactly why heroes were teased for being such selfless, naive, good-doers. Little did she know, that by turning herself in she was only giving Pardus exactly what he wanted.

Matthew stopped when a billboard ahead caught his attention. A frown crossed his brows. It read in big, red letters: "Notice anything suspicious? Don't hesitate to call."  Then, it listed a number that Matthew silently memorized. "You, too, can help stop villains from stealing the lives of the innocent."

He felt that familiar spear of guilt slice through his middle. This billboard had surely been put up to aid in the investigator's search for Pardus. There was no doubt. Pro heroes usually had little communication devices built into their suits, which were used to call for backup, alert danger, and tracking devices. Unlike pro heroes, civilians didn't have that luxury.

Matthew only knew because he had been the one who was responsible for destroying these devices before hauling his victims back to Pardus's estate. He had run into several situations with heroes who had called for backup. Either Matthew escaped just in time, or both were taken back to the estate.

He forced away horrible memories and focused on what his mind was now telling him. Those communication devices could be used to somehow contact White Lotus. All he needed to do was flag down a pro hero. But, the more time he spent processing the plan, he realized that this idea would mean bringing another pro hero into this mess. All he needed was White Lotus.

Matthew's gaze shifted back to the billboard and he wondered if by calling that number he could somehow contact her without bringing anyone else into this mess. All he needed to do was call them and ask to be connected with White Lotus, if that was how it worked. However, Matthew's heart went leaping into his throat as he felt someone bump into him from behind.

He yelped and spun, hood sliding slightly off his head just enough to reveal his face. A pair of familiar green eyes settled on him, growing wide when she noticed the faux gash and black eye.

"Oh my gosh—" a young woman sputtered, quickly hanging up the phone. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you standing there."

Matthew quickly fixed his hood, avoiding her gaze. "It's fine."

She was young, probably the same age as Red Sun, and was wearing a pink sweatshirt embroidered with flowers. Long, red hair dripped down her shoulders like liquid fire, and those green eyes were full of worry and concern. She blinked, leaning forward to try to get a better look at his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Matthew took another step back, itching to flee. Though, his urge was stifled by the familiarity she radiated. Where had he seen her before?

When he didn't respond, the woman glanced around. "Do you need a ride somewhere? Like, maybe, home?"

No, anywhere but there. "N-no," he said.

"Well," the woman said, those green eyes settling back on him. "I can't just leave you here."

Red Sun's words echoed in the back of his mind.

"I can't let you fall into the hands of danger."

Matthew swallowed hard and took another step back.

The woman noticed his uneasiness and glanced around again, pulling out her phone. "Do you want to call your parents?"

Matthew looked between her phone and the billboard, then back at her phone. Perfect. This was a perfect opportunity to call that number. But, the real question was: would it work? Or would he only be digging himself into a deeper hole?

The young woman frowned and glanced over at the billboard. "What's the matter?"

Before she could stop him he grabbed her phone out of her hands and ran.

"Hey!" She roared, speeding after him.

Matthew gripped the phone in his hands, weaving around pedestrians before he made a sharp turn into an alley. But, before he was submerged fully into the darkness, a giant wall rose up from the ground in front of him. He ran straight into it, his head slamming into the concrete.

He didn't remember how he had got there, but he found himself on the ground, looking up at the young woman who was arching a brow and shaking her head.

"What's the matter with you?" She scolded.

Matthew just blinked up at her, his head throbbing with every word she said.

She reached down and pried her phone out of his grip. "I would've let you borrow it, but now I see what your true intentions were, little thief."

Matthew just blinked again.

The woman made no effort to leave, examining her phone. "Well, it isn't broken. Thank god." She turned her eyes back on him. "You're lucky."

"I'm lucky?"

This time, the woman blinked. Then, she frowned. "Tell me, little thief, do you have a family? A place to stay?"

Matthew shook his head.

The woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose before offering him her hand. "Alright, come on."

Matthew hesitated before taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet. "Why—?"

"Why am I helping you?" She finished for him, holding up three fingers. "Well, number one: you're hurt. Number two: I only hurt you more. And number three: you owe me."

Matthew frowned, touching his head. Real blood coated his fingers. "For what?"

"Because you almost got away with my phone and made my week even worse than it already was."

Matthew felt a pang of guilt spear him in the stomach. "Sorry."

She pointed to his black eye and bleeding forehead. "I'll accept your apology once we get you patched up. You look like you got into some deep shit."

Matthew frowned. She was a strange woman.

"Can I have your name, or should I continue to call you 'little thief' ?"

Matthew hesitated. "I'm Matthew."

"Matthew," she parroted, holding out her hand. "Call me Cecilia."

~     ~     ~

Matthew didn't know why he had followed Cecilia, but here he was in front of her apartment, standing behind her as she fumbled for her keys. It had been a short, awkward drive here. A drive where Matthew continuously asked himself why he had agreed to go with her.

Cecilia cursed as she fumbled with the lock, finally managing to pry the wooden door open. "Ah-ha!" She exclaimed. "Well, little thief, make yourself at home. This place has been rather...empty...lately."

Matthew carefully stepped inside after her, finding himself in a small, sparsely-decorated apartment. However, there was something about it that felt almost... cozy. There was a small, navy couch in front of a television, a blanket draped over its arm. A coffee table was scattered with dishes, magazines, and forgotten pieces of clothing, and a few pictures were hanging on the wall.

As Cecilia disappeared around the corner into what he guessed was the kitchen, Matthew stepped over to the pictures, passing the coffee table on the way. A depiction of White Lotus caught his eye and he dusted away a sock to find himself not only looking at her, but her and Red Sun. Their masks were rolled up so that the lower part of their faces were exposed, and they had one another wrapped in a tight embrace as they kissed in front of what looked like a burning building. The headline read: Amberchase's Disputing Duo are Actually Dating?

Matthew reached down to pick it up, finding it dog-eared and wrinkled from being read. He looked down to find that beneath the first magazine, was another. In fact, there was a huge stack. The one beneath the first had a picture of Red Sun with tendrils of crimson energy flowing off his fists, leaping at what looked like a shadowy villain.

That must be that Shadow person those teens were talking about earlier, Matthew thought as he perused through the stack.

Every single magazine cover had a picture of either White Lotus, Red Sun, or them together. They each told two different stories: the disputing duo or the dating duo. Enemies turned friends, friends to partners, and finally to that one magazine of them kissing.

"Hey."

Matthew quickly threw down the magazines he was holding, trying and failing to act innocent as Cecilia entered the room with a first aid kit and washcloth.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I—I just was reading the magazines you had laying out."

She crossed over to him, setting down the first aid kit on the couch. "Why?"

"I, uh, like White Lotus. She's cool." Matthew mustered. It wasn't entirely a lie.

Cecilia reached down and picked up the magazine with Red Sun and White Lotus kissing and Matthew swore he saw pain dance across her face. She threw the magazine back down on the table. "She is pretty cool, but when she's with Red Sun— that's when she's even cooler."

Matthew just stared at her, not knowing what to say.

Cecilia sighed and gestured to the couch. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Matthew obeyed, carefully sitting down. He watched as she opened the lid of the kit and sorted through the supplies before gently balling up the washcloth and beginning to wipe his brow. It was at that moment that Matthew realized that she would figure out that he was wearing makeup. He stiffened. How would he explain that?

Thankfully, for now, she was working on the gash that was indeed real. He could tell because as the warm cloth touched his head he felt a sting of pain and hissed in agony.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I'll be more gentle."

The next few dabs were softer than the last and Matthew found himself calming. He leaned into the warmth of the washcloth, closing his eyes.

He could hear the smile in Cecilia's voice when she asked, "How old are you, little thief?"

Matthew opened his eyes. "Fifteen."

"So a Freshman in high school? Sophomore?"

"I don't go to school," Matthew said.

"Oh." Cecilia lowered the washcloth. "It's that bad? Don't you live in some kind of foster home? You really were living on the streets?"

"Well...yeah."

Cecilia sighed. "I'm sorry."

Matthew blinked at her before he brought himself to ask, "Why are you helping me? Why did you bring me here?"

Cecilia pulled the first aid kit into her lap, opening a tube of Neosporin. It took her a while to reply, as if she was weighing the consequences of being honest, but she eventually did. "Because the last time I rescued someone off the streets, it saved his life."

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked, cringing as she applied the Neosporin to his wound and patched him up with a gauze bandage.

Cecilia sighed. "How much can I trust you, little thief? You did steal my phone before I brought you here."

She had a point. Matthew went quiet.

"Let's make a deal, okay?"

Matthew looked up at her, nodding.

"If you tell me where you came from, and what you were doing on the streets, I'll be honest with you too."

Matthew swallowed hard. That was a risky agreement. But, perhaps Cecilia could help him find White Lotus. Perhaps she was the link to a better life—a life free of Pardus.

And so Matthew nodded, and told her everything. Literally everything. He told her about Micah, about Ben, and about Fidel and Stephen. He told her about Pardus, the white estate, and Beatrice. He told her about his horrible nightmares, and how he had almost taken his life. He even told her about his assignments—those horrible, tasking assignments. And, finally, he told her about Red Sun and how he needed to find White Lotus in order to undo all his mistakes.

When it was over, she was wearing a completely unreadable expression. He couldn't tell if she was shocked, angry, or hurting for him. Perhaps it was a mixture.

But then, she cleared her throat and all those warring emotions disappeared, shoveled away. "So your black eye— is fake?"

Matthew nodded and dragged his palm down his face, smearing the purple eyeshadow.

Cecilia watched him before looking down at her hands. "Alright, then I guess... it's my turn?"

Matthew hesitantly nodded.

Nobody could've prepared him for what she was going to say.

Cecilia's green eyes met his, and Matthew could've sworn he saw that war of emotions return. "Matthew, I am White Lotus."