"I didn't say that to Will, though," I protest.

"I told you once. I will tell you a dozen times. Each statement you made that night was yours. The apathy was yours. You may believe that I enable you to act, but it is more likely that the rush of no longer having to answer for your actions had lead you to pin me as a convenient scapegoat." Anthem stares at me, unmoving, her blank eyes fixed on my own. Her needle teeth curve into a sharp snarl. "Did you have anything of legitimate importance to ask me, or did you merely come down here to test my patience?"

"I'm just going to talk to Megan in person," I say.

"Hm."

"Is there a problem?" I ask, as Chief. I can hear the pitch in my voice drop.

Anthem's eyes are a hundred hues of gold. "I gave you them, Adam. Megan would never have talked to you had you not been in possession of the Diosite, and you never would have talked to Evan. That, at least, I will take credit for," Anthem says, with a flick of her tail like a snake aiming to strike. "I can sense the resentment broiling behind that mask, but it is only because you see my point. Nonetheless, while I find your situation with your brother to be a conundrum beyond even my means, if you want me to assist--"

"No."

I can feel Anthem's grip around my ribcage, as a warning.

Megan enters.

She looks at the chair I'm on and throws herself around the arm, using the back of the chair as an armrest. In a frank, slumped gesture, more in-character for Evan, she peers out across the room. "So."

"So."

She adjusts her arms.

"Siren."

"What?"

"I can tell you're upset," I press. "I just wanted to say, in person, that we need to do a better job with our alter-egos."

"You can't possibly be pressing me about theming right now. I could care less about how coordinated we look as a group, it doesn't matter if we die, or if--"

"Megan," I start again. "The other alter-egos."

Megan goes silent. "Oh."

"I was thinking... you and I... should sit one of the next few days out from training and go to a Naval Brigade meeting. You seem upset that you don't get to go to them anymore, and I could quell my brother's fears, so it would be a good way to reassure everyone in our lives that nothing's wrong," I suggest.

"You're going to make them worry more," Megan says, old humor crackling into her voice.

"Really?"
"Sure, but it's a good idea. Let's do this."

"Megan."

"I'm serious. You can't back out of it now. You're going to have to go to nerd club, Adam Rosenbloom," she says. She taps my nose with a finger. When I look up, she's smiling, alright. Had I just wanted to see her in costume, again? Siren is never at rest, always a series of rolling waves and rushing streams. Even here, with Megan dormant and exhausted under the costume, she's stunning. I never would have seen all this in her had Anthem not pressed me into it. It would have been there, no matter what, just hidden behind my terrible, terrible vision, and I think I hate that more than anything.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"About the Naval Brigade?" she asks.

"With all of this, too."

"No," she laughs. "Of course not. Everything's rough with my friends, everything's even rougher with our missions, and I was still excited just for an excuse to be down here. We both were, weren't we?"

"Is there anything I can do?"
"Just be there," Megan says, and I can see the frame closing around us, on our narrative, as she grips one of my hands. Even through metal on my side and fabric on hers, I can feel an electric impulse pass between us, and I can feel the heat of the girl underneath.

"Always."

She smiles, wryly, and I know I've played right into some fantasy of hers. "I never would have guessed," she says, "when we first met, that you were so sentimental. You always manage to surprise me, Rosenbloom. In the best way."

"Of course," I say.

She stands. "Was that all you wanted?"

No.

"Guess so," I say. "See you tomorrow?"

She waves on her way out.

---

"I want to come to a Naval Brigade meeting," I tell my brother, honestly as I can, on the way to school that morning. We don't talk half as much as we used to on these, so it's not that surprising that he startles that second I say it.

"You do?" asks Will, all the sourness condensing back into hope. I feel my heart twist a bit. 'Honestly as I can' is apparently not honest.

"Yes," I say. "Geez. You don't have to seem so surprised about it."

Will squints. "I mean, do you actually, or do you just want to see Megan, or--"

"I have a legitimate, completely valid interest in your nerd thing," I say. "Don't push it, alright?"

Will grins.

"Stop that."

Will grins harder.

"Okay. So the rules are simple. Freshmen sit in the back, normally, but they can challenge for seats towards the front, and Amanda and I have managed to make it to the second row. Megan's also second row, and I'm allowed one 'visitor' a semester, but we might pawn you off on Megan, if she comes. There are some juniors from the Dungeons and Dragons club who might challenge for today, assuming we aren't doing that watch-through of Evangelion... the school looks down on that one, apparently. Something about leaving the Freudian psychology to the Psych I class?" Will pauses.

Oh please tell me he's done. If there's any mercy in the world he might actually be done.

"Just a joke. The school board's not that hip. So, about food. There's a system for that too, but it depends on who brings the food in-- if you bring it in, you make the rules. There's a good chance you might have to card battle for a cookie, and since you don't do collectible card games, maybe just don't go for any..." This continues all the way until we go to school. I am better educated in Naval Brigade lingo and custom than I ever wanted to be. I will not remember any of this by the time the afternoon rolls around, and even though Megan Briggs would likely leap into my arms if I got on board with it, I refuse, for the sake of the little dignity I still have, to stoop to that level. When Will finally stops to take a breath, the bell is ringing, and he stops in the hallway. The man really can not tell, after all these years, that we're not in the middle of an anime. "Most important rule, though? You don't mess with my friends. Okay?"

I wouldn't define what I want from Megan Briggs as messing with her. "Alright."

He goes his way. I go mine.

The days blur faster around me than ever before, which I'm going to chalk up to puberty, since my parents are always griping about the fact that days go through their hands like water. I think what does it is how mundane the actual schedule is: when all your thoughts are about sneaking through an abandoned nuclear power plant, sword in hand, with the best people in the world waiting on your next call with baited breath, everything is boring by comparison. So I feign interest in casual conversation, nod along with teachers, look over my notes until I think I've memorized every pointless factoid about protein synthesis or Napoleon's failed conquest of Russia (good going there, buddy), and sit down at the table with my friends, even though Megan's over with Amanda, Serena's in the library doing homework, and Evan sits alone.

"Was nice to see you at the Halloween party," Jack says. "At least. You coming to TSA this week?"

"Next week," I promise.

Jack's trying really hard, harder than I am, to keep up that fake, placid smile. "What've you got going on, bro?"

I glance over towards the Naval Brigade table, and then shut my mouth. There's no way I'm going to throw Megan under the bus like that, by insinuating that I'm in something as mundane as a relationship with her, and it feels like an oversimplification, even then. I'm missing something obvious, and I have no idea what it is. "Today, I promised my brother I'd come to his club. Usually? Homework."

"Really?" Jack asks. "You're going to go to Naval Brigade?"

I shrug. If there was one time in my life I could stand to be cold as everyone seems to think I am, that would be now, so I play it up. I'm Adam Rosenbloom. Impenetrable fortress. "'Course. We're siblings. I'll be there next week, and past that, we can plan something in a few weeks." Do I ever mean anything that I say? It's up for debate.

"Alright," Jack says. "If you want to do 'homework' at my house, it's usually open."

"Sure." I can feel something forcing a smile up onto my face, where it is awkwardly propped up and skew, like an amateur taxidermy.

"Your funeral." Jack pats me on the back. I barely register the gesture, numb as I am from my legitimate lack of sleep and a growing sensation of dread for the 'meeting' both. The bell rings again. The day goes on. I don't think it's hard to see why this is fast becoming excruciating.

I meet Megan in the hall, and her hand sneaks its way under my own, and I clutch it hard as I dare. If I can trace the movement of her steps in battle with ease, counter every blow in training, then walking together should be like riding a bike with training wheels. It is, in some ways, but I keep getting the impression I am about to fall.

Outside the door, noise already blaring from the interior, she pauses.

"It's not the elevator," I tell her. "It's just a classroom full of obnoxious high schoolers."

"My friends," she corrects me.

"Does that make it better or worse, Meg?"

She punches me in the side, then opens the door. I think it hurt a lot more than she intended, but I'm not going to call her on it, now, because as Chief, I need this to go well, and as Adam, I don't want to distress her. I wait for a minute for her to go through, putting my hand on my side and feeling the impact area vibrate with nervous, jittery emotion, before nonchalantly walking through.

There's a spot next to Will, squeezed up against the wall. Amanda's hand is atop Megan's, and the feeling I get looking at the pair of them makes my stomach drop towards my feet. They're both laughing about some terrible nerd joke. Everyone in this room is cackling like a hyena, except for my brother, who is just smiling earnestly, which is about equivalent. When I sit down besides Will, he whispers, "Thanks for coming."

"You thought I was going to bail," I say.

"W- I mean-- okay, maybe," Will says. "Alright, so I'm not used to you proving me wrong."

I raise an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

We're cut off by the thwick of a long pole on whiteboard. Two seniors stand side by side. One of them announces, "Our supervisor isn't here, so consider all of yourselves fugitives of the state. Education system? Don't know her. So, food battles will be to the death, we'll be watching Scott Pilgrim without permission slips, and you can legally say 'fuck'."

"Or illegally," cuts in the other senior.

This is going to be the worst two hours of my entire life. The room choruses with noise from tee-wearing, dyed-hair, fifty-different-buttons-on-the-backpack-and-counting, miniature-collecting, shit-faced-but-not-drunk nerds, hopped up on sugar and their own adrenaline. Someone puts on Scott Pilgrim, which would usually quell the conversation, in any normal social situation, but then I realize they're putting on Scott Pilgrim with subtitles, which means everyone in the room can talk even louder. Anarchy proceeds. Will is starry-eyed. I have my hands clenched on the desk, and I am surviving.

"What's up with the corner?" asks Megan.

"That's where the board of ambassadors from Ravnica is," Amanda says. "They're from the Dungeons and Dragons club. They're recruiting, but they haven't really been asking for freshmen. I guarantee they'll talk to us eventually, 'cause you know, prodigy second-row ninth graders." Amanda elbows Megan harder than she punched me.

"That's new," Megan says, shrugging the blow off.

"You wouldn't know," Amanda says. "You haven't been here."

"I come once a week."

Amanda gets up from the chair.

"Something up?"

"I don't know," Amanda says. "I really, really don't know. Will, do you want a cookie? I brought in a Beyblade today, so I'm allowed to pick from the raw tube of dough that Lea brought in."

"I... guess?" Will says. "Can you get something for Adam, too?"

Amanda surveys me like a raccoon who has crawled into a dumpster, and by her dumpster I mean her ex-girlfriend. "No, Will, I can't."

"I'll be fine," I say.

Will mutters, "Sorry."
In the background, Scott Pilgrim mutters, and the room roars. We are surrounded on all sides. Nothing in the room has broken, and no one's on tables, but besides that, yes, total anarchy. Half the class is on their phones or in a book, and somehow, that's not antisocial, either, because they're all sharing. Several people have the newest Nintendo console. I don't think that intelligent design could have created a better place for my nerd brother to crawl into. "You got lucky, didn't you?" I ask.

Will stands up. "Amanda, you need help with the Beyblade battle?"

Amanda has won the Beyblade battle already. They are plastic tops. This is underwhelming. "Nah, got the rest of the tube," she calls, lifting up way too much cookie dough for three people to consume. "You know, since I pull all the weight in this relationship."

Megan stands up. "Amanda. I'm challenging you for your spot and assets. Sword to sword. Right now."

One of the seniors pauses Scott Pilgrim.

"We're sharing the tube anyways," Amanda says.

Several people begin pounding their desks.

"We're in the same row!"

Megan tosses her hair. "Emily, the Blade of Tides."

Someone tosses Megan a repurposed paper towel roll, which is outfitted with tissue paper. She catches it in one hand, looking more like Siren than I've seen her all day.

"Me-gan. Me-gan. Me-gan! Me-gan!" call several people.

"Hey, cheer for someone who's going to stick around," Amanda says. Her paper towel roll is dually reinforced. The two of them stand in opposing corners of the room. "Alright, Siren Queen, let's see if you still have it."

My heart twists in half. The Siren what? Did she tell these people everything? She couldn't have. We have a covenant with Anthem. Anthem would make her leave if she found out. Would she seriously ditch us for this? Did it get to be too much for her?
Amanda and Megan lock blades, several times, and at one point, even though there's no way the hit should have done anything, Megan falls against an unoccupied chair with a clatter that would have sent a legitimate supervisor running to break up the fight.

"I was always stronger than you," Amanda warns, drawing the sword towards Megan's face.

"But I was always the more skillful fighter," Megan says, and with a duck under and a lurch upwards, she flicks Amanda's sword from her hand, and has her fake sword against Amanda's heart. "There's nothing else for me to do. It's cardboard. You know I can't hurt you."

"You're not supposed to say that," Amanda says. "Can we penalize her for break of character?"
Megan stands in the eye of the storm.

"I guess, but it was a pretty definitive win, Amanda," says Lea.

"I concede," Amanda says. She's smiling again. "What am I supposed to do against the sea-witch, the waterweaver, the Mistress of the Moon--"

Megan what did you tell them.

Megan, who is so far in her element that she's practically glowing, places the cookie dough on the teacher's desk, right beneath the projector. "Fellow freshmen, I offer up this roll of cookie dough to the people. Partake as you will. No food will be so easily coveted in the future, but I have no need for spoils, save for the spoils of mine adversary's heart."

Megan, please, I still want to believe you're cool.

Amanda's eyes light up. I'm twitching for the next thirty minutes with everything I need to say to Megan, and the two of them are touching in three places the whole time. I spend at least ten minutes trying to determine if they're sitting closer together than we do, on the couch, which is futile, and my brother, of all people, leaves to talk to other people. He comes back and tells me he's preparing strategy to challenge the first row, and I nod until my head hurts as he describes his plan to knock out one of the seniors at some game from Neopets.

When Scott Pilgrim ends, around 5 PM, I almost reach for Megan's hand to drag her out, but I manage to restrain myself. Will says, "Hey. Sorry if this was too dorky for you."

Yep, I think.

"I might have to come again," I say instead. It's true, there are just ulterior motives involved. Speaking of ulterior motives, Megan's waiting by the doorway for me, her hazel eyes drifting over our row, beckoning me. "I should go."

I make a break for the door, and Megan gives me a look that says nothing short of don't worry I'll explain everything, which is great, because I'm pretty sure my face says everything really should be explained, Meg.

"Wait," calls Amanda.

Megan turns. "I do actually need to leave, Amanda--"

Amanda grabs Megan's other hand, the one I'm not holding. "It's him, isn't it?"

"No," Megan says. "We're walking to the library together, to study."

"Then walk home with me," Amanda says. "We can study at my house."

"I can't do that," Megan says.

"So nothing has changed?" asks Amanda.

"Everything changes," Megan says, "But that doesn't mean I don't want to be your friend."

Will peeks his head through the doorway. "Amanda...? I just heard, um, from, an acquaintance, and we should really, uh, go call him back?"

Amanda breaks away from Megan. "Nutmeg, you take care of yourself."

"Of course, Almond," she promises with a wink, and follows my brother the other way down the hallway. We wait until they're gone, both of us watching for that second where they turn a corner and are past earshot or eyeshot, and I can feel, holding her hand, that she breathes a small, parallel sigh of relief.

"She doesn't know, does she?" I ask.

Megan shakes her head.

"Then the Siren Queen?"

Megan's face flushes, and she removes her glasses from her face so that she can massage the area between her eyes, like she's holding back a terrible headache. "An alias, from when I used to live-action roleplay. It's how we got close. Behind masks." She pauses. It's not hard to make connections. "Ours is real. I know. You don't have to say anything. It's just that... this is so much, and that's so much. I want to live this life and our life. I want to be everything everyone thinks of me, but I can't be any of those people. I'm scared."

"You can't worry about everything." I have no idea if that was the right thing to say. It was honest, but the right thing? Is she crying? Megan? Megan, are you alright?

"Oh God." Megan chokes. She's crying now, her tears like pearls on her hot cheeks. "I can't stop."

I hold her by the shoulders, and when she puts her head against my chest, it lapses into a hug. Her arms clutch my back and draw it to her face, so that my shirt is her handkerchief, and it dawns on me that I could go for a kiss, or something, that she's vulnerable in a way I never expected any girl to be around me, but she's Megan Briggs, and she's one of the best friends I've ever had. "We're going to make it through this," I promise.

Her eyes are dry by the time we enter the Veins. The others, looking no worse for wear, if a little irritated, are all sitting on separate chairs. Anthem rests by the embers of an open hearth. Everyone in the room watches us, expecting something.

Siren steps forwards. "What's the plan?"

"The three of us already took a mission out today," Serena says.

"What's the news?" I ask.

Seran says, arms folded, "The usual, but we did find out there'll be an induction a few days from now. That means they'll have dropped security at the front. Harper-- Umbra's been working on her shadow extension, so we can finally at least deduce what they're all about."

Umbra grins.

"Could have been more successful," Evan says. "Really could have used some support on cracking open metal structures, but whatever, I can spend thirty minutes scratching a wall open with my fingers that Adam could have torn through in a few minutes."

"I'm glad to know that I'm useful," I say.

"Did you really spend thirty minutes trying to break through a wall?" asks Megan.

"I didn't have to, but I did. Maybe if you weren't dicking around--" Evan starts.

"Evan, calm down," Serena says.

"We were maintaining our alibi," Megan says. "Serena and Harper take breaks for the same reason. You could, if you wanted--"

"And what would I do?" Evan yells.

We can't answer for him. He's not watching us, he's watching the way our hands connect.

Harper murmurs, "It's late."

Serena agrees, "You three talk it out."

"Great, thanks," I say, as they flee like birds startled by the bark of a nearby dog.

Once they're gone, Evan's still cuddled up on the couch, arms folded like a child, and his ember eyes are watching our hands with the same fierce hatred Amanda's held. "You could have told me you'd be going," Evan says. "Or brought me along."

"It would have attracted too much attention," Megan says. She edges herself around Evan's legs, and he withdraws them. "I don't want her piecing everything together-- oh, that sounds awful."

"It's fine," I tell Megan. I sit on Evan's left, and he moves to sit upright, so there's room for the three of us. "Evan. You don't have to worry about us leaving. It was awful. I hated it."

"Did you?" asks Megan.

"I mean, it wasn't as bad as I expected, but I sure didn't expect it to go well, and it sure didn't," I admit.

Megan's eyes are going to roll out of her head.

"Let me in on it next time," Evan says.

"That's going to make things more complicated," murmurs Megan.

Oh, of course that's it. "Shit," I whisper.

"Something wrong?" They both ask, at once.

"You two have to stop doing that," I say.

Megan pushes my face. "You've done it, too."

"It's probably the Diosite," I explain. "It's probably just the Diosite."

"What if I don't want it to be?" asks Evan.

I close my eyes. "We're addicts. This is disgusting."

"Is that what you just worked out?" Evan presses.

No, it really isn't. I just know what I was missing earlier. "I didn't really work out anything. Can we just sit here a minute? I think I need to recuperate from the mission."

Evan laughs dryly. "Me too, buddy."

The three of us sit in the dark while the hearth burns out. One second here is longer than an hour of the Naval Brigade. I can feel them both calming down, whatever tension the world arounds us holds ebbing back away. It's easy for me to believe that it's just me, taking care of them, but I feel stronger, too, knowing that here, behind a mask, I'm more exposed to the world than anywhere else. The costume is honest. This is telling a truth I would never be able to say with words.

"Do you two have... somewhere to be?" asks Megan.

"I don't have much homework. Or anything, really." I admit, but it doesn't feel like admission at all. It feels like an offering. It feels like 'what's next'.

Eventually, I have to get home for dinner, but I find myself up late that night making small talk with them over the group chat. Evan punctuates the conversation with bad one-liners and random trivia off the Internet, while Megan tries to explain the inner workings of the Naval Brigade. I'm able to occasionally pitch in something I heard from Will, and she's impressed. We're not saying much, especially by midnight, but we aren't talking to get anything across, anyways.

It's easier to talk to them online, to make up excuses for conversation instead of sitting in dead silence in real life. Across the phone, I don't have to see their eyes. There's a second where I can punch a message in, hesitate, rewind, and I never have to say something I'll regret the next morning.