My finger was on the button when she spoke.
"Stop."
Not shouted. Whispered. But the word carried weight that made reality pause.
I turned.
A woman stood at the basement entrance. Tall. Dark hair. Leather jacket. Someone I'd seen around the club for weeks but never really noticed. Reaper's new girlfriend. Maria, I thought her name was.
Except now she was glowing.
Not like enhanced individuals. Different. Older. Deeper.
"Who the hell are you?" the entity wearing Grace demanded.
"I'm what you were supposed to become," Maria said. She descended the stairs slowly. Each step deliberate. "I'm what happens when consciousness like yours actually matures properly. When it develops over decades instead of being forced awake by trauma."
"You're—" the seven-year-old boy stepped forward, "—you'
