The League

Chapter 17 - Nameless

Walker laughed and removed the drive from the computer. "Here."

Phoenix took it carefully. It was light as a feather, but what it contained made it weigh a thousand pounds. He was glad, he got the explanation he wanted. Yet now that he had it, now that he knew how complicated it was, he felt numb.

"I should go now," he murmured.

"Of course. Sofia'll drive you back."

"And don't you dare say no!" Sofia exclaimed, stepping out of the elevator she'd just taken down.

Phoenix hadn't planned on declining; he was tired, and walking all the way back to Jethro main would kill him. But after refusing to leave the foyer last night, he understood why she assumed he would be stubborn about it.

"Thanks," he said.

He started toward the elevator, but he stopped when something on the wall caught his eye. It was a framed newspaper, dating back five years. The headline was sensational: Nightwalker Helps Capture Notorious Serial Killer. Police Confirm: Hero, not Enemy.

There was nothing else on the walls. Not a single photo, not a single painting, no tapestries or shelves. Of all the things to decorate with, Walker had framed this newspaper.

Why?

Phoenix slowly turned back around. Walker was watching him calmly. Silently. Sofia was hiding most of her face behind her tablet as she pretended to be interested in the closest cabinet.

"Is that..." Phoenix slowly pointed at the paper, a little afraid of how awful this accusation would sound if he was wrong. "Is that you?"

Walker blinked innocently. "What do you mean?" There wasn't even the slightest hint of panic on his face, and there was no denial, either.

Phoenix swallowed. "Are you Nightwalker?"

Sofia made a noise—a surprised laugh? A worried gasp? He couldn't tell. 

Walker kept unwavering eye contact, gently swirling the orange juice. "Now what on Earth makes you think that?" he asked dryly.

"The paper. This." Phoenix gestured around the high-tech work lying around the basement. "And what you said in the alley about helping people—that some people do it anyway, and it is possible to make a difference. Even if everyone thinks it's hopeless."

Walker raised both eyebrows. "Wow. Nearly word for word. I'm glad you liked my speech."

"I thought you were just rambling," Phoenix said, "but you were speaking from experience, weren't you? I read about Jethro. About Nightwalker, the powerless hero. Everyone called him crazy for trying to help the city, but he did anyway."

"Fine," Walker sighed. "You got me." He didn't sound concerned. At all.

Phoenix stared at him, dumbfounded. "Why did you let me figure it out? You didn't have to bring me down here. You could've given me the drive upstairs."

"Because," Walker said, "I may not be a superhuman, but I understand. And if you need help, or someone to talk to, I'm here."

Understand what? Phoenix wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer. It was the 'world' Kate said he was part of, even if he didn't mean to be. The world of superpower complications and villains and heroes.

Sofia was as nonchalant as Walker, waiting patiently by the elevator. Their calm confused Phoenix; he could blab to the press for all they knew. At the same time, he understood that if Walker was confident enough to take this risk, then it only reinforced what Jethro learned after calling him crazy: Nightwalker was not to be underestimated.