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I’m not used to being denied things. At home, when I want something to open, I just press my palm to it and—Oh! The wall moves beneath my touch, sinking in and twisting until an archway and door forms in the surface.

The wall, now with door, stops moving. I gnaw on my lip and try touching my hand to it again. The metal surface warps under my fingertips as if it were a pool of water instead of a solid surface. Ripples flow from where I touch, widening in a circle until a familiar MOD finally reveals itself. “Welcome to Research and Development,” the screen says in a posh woman’s voice. This place is fancy.

I select Evan’s name from a list of two names. The other name is gray and marked as unavailable. Just like at home, the MOD calls him and I stand awkwardly, my boots covered in sand as I wait for him to answer. It takes several rings before he picks up.

When he says hello a burst of nervous butterflies explode in my chest. I say hello back and then he says, “Maci?” and suddenly I’ve forgotten my own name. “Uh, yes,” I say.

The MOD shuts off and the door wrinkles back into steel before my brain can put together the fact that I told him my name and he hung up on me.

“Well …” I kick the sand and let out a sigh. “… shit.”

“What’s up?” An amused voice appears out of thin freaking air. I spin around just in time to see Evan fall from the sky and land with a thwap that shoots sand everywhere.

“Where’d you come from?” It sounds like I have a speech impediment as I spit sand out of my mouth. Evan’s wearing khaki cargo shorts, a pair of Nike shoes, and no shirt. I repeat—no shirt. My eyes need somewhere else to stare, so I sweep my hands across my now-dirty Hero suit, pretending to care about getting every last bit of sand off it.

“I was on deck when you called,” he says, nodding to a platform above us; one I hadn’t noticed until now because it’s made of glass. He shrugs. “It’s faster to jump down than go back inside and take the elevator.” His eyes sweep over me, making my stomach tighten. “That’s a sweet suit, Maci.”

My lips squish to one side of my mouth. “I thought you hung up on me.”

“Nah,” he says, taking a step forward as his hands dive into his pockets. “What’s with the hair? Are you trying to be ironic?”

“Huh?” I sweep my hair across one shoulder and peer down at it. A chill runs through my body at the sight of my former brownish hair. It’s as black as the fabric on my suit. In horror, I bring my eyes up to Evan’s, having no energy left to close my gaping mouth. “I—I—didn’t …” The stammering continues for a painfully long time.

“You didn’t know your hair was darker?” Evan plucks my thoughts out of their incoherent sentences and places them in order for me. I nod numbly.

“That’s odd,” he says.

I throw my arms up in frustration. “Some serious shit is happening and you’re asking about hair? Come on, Evan. We should go inside.”

“I’m sorry but what do you mean when you say serious shit?”

I toss my hair behind my shoulder so I don’t have to look at it. “This lockdown isn’t just a drill. It’s real—there are villains and I saw them—”

Evan grips my shoulders. “Slow down, Maci. What lockdown?”

My eyes widen in the universal gesture for duh. I swirl my finger in the air. “The lockdown?”

“We’re not in lockdown.”

“Yes we are.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

I burst into tears.

“Whoa. Oh holy shit—” a gentle pat on my shoulders, “—um, it’s okay?”

I sink my face into my hands as the sobs burst from deep within me. Warm hands move from my shoulders to my back as Evan pulls me into a hug. My wet cheek presses against his tan skin and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut in an effort to stop tears from escaping. His chin rests on top of my head. The gentle pat on my back is comforting.

“Listen, Maci,” Evan begins, his mouth moving on top of my hair. “You’ve obviously had a bad week, and you’re upset about it. But we aren’t in lockdown. I mean, no one tells Research freaking anything lately, but I’d know if we were in lockdown.”

The way he says the last part—in a gentle tone as if I were a child—really pisses me off. I swing back an arm and punch him in the stomach. He bowls over and curses, gripping his abdomen while waiting for the pain to subside.

I wipe away tears with the back of my hand, their absence bringing a renewed energy to my voice. “Don’t call me a liar.”

Evan releases his stomach and returns his body to an upright position. There’s a swoosh in the air and then I’m knocked straight on my butt by a swinging Nike shoe. “Don’t treat me like a villain.”

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath while spitting out, for the second time today, a mouthful of sand.