James stared up at the dark sky, the horizon a fading turquoise chasing a long-forgotten sun. Countless stars blinked overhead, more than James had ever seen. They winked at him slyly, as if each held a secret he could never know. Beneath that clear, open sky, even the mountains seemed small. And James—he was nothing. All of the notions he’d built up over the past week collapsed, ground into dust by the enormity of the uncaring universe. He wasn’t an adventurer staring at the night sky with lust. No shooting star traced through the heavens to light his way. He was just a kid, lost and hurt and alone, drinking in the sky the way a dehydrated man drank his last sip of water, knowing it was the final sweetness he would ever taste. It was beautiful.
James fell to his side, his cheek pressed against the cold, wet snow. He was too weak to move. His leg no longer hurt. Nothing hurt. It was over.
A cold wind howled in the night, sending puffs of snow over him like a shroud. The mountains still loomed in the darkness, impossible titans, impenetrable, unbeatable. It was a lonely, desolate way to die.
It is what it is, James thought.
He closed his eyes, the final cold overtaking him, squeezing his life into nothing.
Chapter 29
Two Years Ago
James pulled at his tie, as if doing so would also make the tight dress shirt and pants less constricting. But there was no escaping this formal hell. Dressing up was an exercise in discomfort, a straitjacket you put on to show others you weren’t crazy. Comfortable clothes? Now that would be crazy.
Unfortunately, ever since Derek joined the Supers, James found himself donning a shirt and tie much more often than he’d like.
The air-conditioner blasted cool, stale air in his face, and the dark, tinted windows helped keep the hot summer sun outside the car, where it belonged. He felt very out of place, wearing a suit, riding in a fancy limo. This wasn’t his life.
“There won’t be any autographs, of course,” Ben Ralph said. The tall, skinny man who James had seen too much of lately leaned forward. “You show your face, smile for the cameras, then get inside quickly. We’re on a tight schedule.”
The PR talk disgusted James. They treated his brother like he was a movie star, not a Super. James stared out the window at the packed streets of New York City. Cars honked incessantly and the limo driver periodically rolled down his window to yell obscenities. Why would anyone want to live here? James wondered.
Derek nodded along with Ben’s stream of instructions, bemused. He seemed to wear that expression more often than not nowadays, perpetually confused at what was happening around him. James didn’t blame him. In the year since he’d finished his training and formally joined the Supers, his brother’s life had completely changed. He had learned to harness his powers and could perform amazing, breathtaking feats.
But more than that, he’d become a household name. Already, his face was on merchandise everywhere. Action figures, cereal boxes, posters. He’d even been asked to record lines for a video game. One year later, “the Bolt” was on the lips of people all over the world.
The Bolt. James had snorted at the name the first time he heard it. Supers usually dropped their Normal names when they joined, taking on a moniker that had some hidden meaning to them. But Derek had merely adopted their last name. When James had asked him, he merely shrugged and said, It sounds cool.
The limo turned a corner, and James caught sight of the crowd. Hundreds of people mobbed the plaza in front of city hall, craning their necks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Bolt. Someone spotted the limo, and they all turned at once. The crowd cheered and cameras started flashing.
Derek stared out the window at the crowd, his face pale. Ben continued to spit PR speak at him, but he didn’t seem to be listening.
James knocked his knee against his brother’s. “You ready for this?”
Derek swallowed. James had never seen his brother so nervous, even when he was called to New York to respond to his first major incident as a Super. James was with him when he received the call, and Derek had simply put down the phone and jumped into action, like he’d done it a thousand times before. It was what he was made to do. But this? This was completely out of his element.
As the limo pulled to a stop, Derek nodded. “Let’s go.”
He stepped out of the limo, followed immediately by Ben. James lagged behind, giving them plenty of space. The crowd roared at the sight of Derek and pressed forward. They were stopped only by a thin metal railing and a few security guards. Young teens screamed like they were getting murdered. Children sat on their parents’ shoulders to see. Signs were held up with phrases like We love the Bolt! and In the Bolt we Trust! Cameras flashed everywhere, and James found himself blinking away blinding bright spots.
All eyes were on Derek, though, and James walked alone, comfortably ignored. Still, he stood up straight, smoothing his jacket. If he was caught looking goofy in the back of one of the photos, his classmates would never let him hear the end of it.
After turning and giving the crowd—and the cameras—one last smile and wave, Derek disappeared into city hall. James followed, glad to be back in air-conditioning. Beads of sweat rolled down his back, making his outfit even more uncomfortable. Why did people wear dark suits in the dead heat of summer? It seemed entirely impractical.
Thirty minutes later, James found himself blinking at a sea of faces. They stared up at him—well, not at him, but
