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Chapter One

Chapter One

TYLER

The first thing Tyler heard was loud footsteps as they echoed down the halls. Then, heavy breathing. And lastly, several people shouting his name, fear lining every word.

He leaned back in his chair, draping one of his legs over the other. He waited for the group of people to enter his room, before calling out a lazy, "What?"

"He got Ray."

Tyler shot up, at full attention. His eyes narrowed as he got to his feet, feeling the phantom itch of his powers at his fingertips.

Pete Wentz, who was the head of their patrol group, stepped forward.

"No one even knew that he was gone. We found him while we were doing our daily rounds." Pete explained, readjusting his grip on his fist; curling and uncurling his fingers.

"Take me to him," Tyler commanded, not even bothering with niceties.

Pete nodded and darted off down the hall, leaving Tyler to run after him. He only slowed down to toss a "stay here!" to the others.

They climbed out of the underground camp that Tyler had built and founded for his merry band of superheroes. They monitored police scanners and helped when they could, doing their best to keep the streets of Chicago safe. He wasn't sure why he had been assigned to manage such a large force, especially in a city like Chicago. There wasn't much he could do, even with a crew as large as his was, crime rates were rising, and the heroes numbers were falling.

A new villain came to town, close to half a year ago now, and hadn't wasted a moment in

attempting to take down every hero he could. Except, he didn't just incapacitate them, or kill them, no—he did something much, much worse. He took their powers.

Tyler wasn't sure how he did it. There had only been one previous record of a superhero or villain possessing the ability to take another Talent's power, and that villain was immediately sentenced to death after she got out of control. But, the villain, who called himself The Nighthawk, had never been caught, and no one, not even the Academy, knew who he really was underneath that mask.

But, because the act of removing a power didn't just take the Talent's power—it took their entire soul—Tyler and his crew had been tasked with the challenge of taking him down. But, before they had even begun to think about doing that, the Nighthawk began picking off their teammates, one-by-one.

His most recent target: Ray Toro, a curly-haired man with the power to control the weather.

"What condition is he in?" Tyler asked, breaking out of his thoughts as he followed Pete down toward the forest.

"Just like all the others: no power, no soul, won't move, talk, or even look in our direction," Pete said, voice breathless as he slowed to a halt outside of a ravine. "He's at the bottom. Patrick and Haley are there with him." Pete added, sounding hesitant.

Tyler nodded and moved to go walk down to them, but Pete held an arm out, stopping him.

"Boss, you should know," Pete started, pausing as if unsure how to phrase this, "He left a note, this time."

Tyler stopped in his tracks. He snapped around, inhaling sharply. "What?" He demanded.

"We don't know who it's to—just go look, you'll see what I mean," Pete said, sounding audibly resigned. He gave Tyler a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

Tyler moved down the ravine, walking carefully over the loose dirt and rocks. He spotted Patrick, kneeling over a figure that lay pushed up against a tree. Tyler had to restrain a gasp of disbelief. It never truly sunk in that it was one of his own—someone he was in charge of, someone he failed to protect, lying there—until he actually saw them.

Haley gave him a passing glance, before diverting her eyes downwards.

Patrick looked up when he heard the rustling of leaves as Tyler neared them both. He smiled, his lips tight as if he was trying not to grimace. He didn't succeed.

Tyler winced at his reaction and knelt down next to him. He took Ray's hand in his own. Tyler opened his mouth, moving to speak, but shut it.

Patrick looked at him expectantly.

"The note?" Tyler asked like he didn't want to see it.

Patrick moved slightly to the side.

Blood pooled around the left side of Ray's body, dripping down from his arm. Seven words were carved into his arm, a warning—a threat. He knew exactly who this message was meant for.

Tyler stood up, letting out a yell—a roar. Flames spiraled upwards, fueled by his breath.

Nighthawk had the audacity to take one of his own, and carve a threat into them, and it wasn't even aimed toward one of his crew members. Tyler was going to punch something. So he did. Repeatedly.

Haley came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. She was practically oozing calming-vibes.

Tyler gritted his teeth and practically snarled out, "Not. Now. Haley." He turned around, breaking the contact and paced furiously back and forth. He was going to kill him. He was sure of it now. He was going to kill him, and then he was going to kill Nighthawk.

As if she could sense what he was thinking, Haley called out from behind him, "You're not going to kill him. You can't."

"I can, and I will. I'm going to kill him." Tyler countered.

"We need him," Haley said.

Tyler stopped moving. "How? How could we possibly need him?" He sneered.

"You know that they worked together. He has insider information, and if Nighthawk is going to go after him, we have bait," Haley pointed out.

"Plus, he's smart and he's got more connections to the whole villain part of Chicago than we do," Patrick added.

Tyler slumped, his anger fading to a low simmer. He hated to admit it, but they were right. He glanced back at the now scabbing note.

'Look alive, Spooky—while you still can.'

He needed to find Josh.