'Who is she?'
Quentin appeared beside him, staring down at the girl.
After she passed out, Colt knew he couldn't leave her there, half-dying in the middle of the street.
So he'd carried her home.
Her wings had made the task difficult, especially considering they were invisible. He'd lost count on how many times he'd tripped over them, hanging down from her back the way they did, dragging along in front of his feet.
His shirt had been soaked with her blood by the time he finally arrived. But none of that had seemed to bother him. His mind had focused solely on the sound of her breath, her chest rising and falling, however shallowly. A promise that this girl was still alive. And he intended to keep it that way.
Part of her ability made him ever so slightly jealous. She could hide her differences so easily. And if she ever just wanted to escape the horrors that made up the city nowadays, all she had to do was take off, the sky her own personal sanctuary.
His sister and himself had done as well as they could to bind up her wounds, especially the punctures in her side where her own wings had stabbed her.
Quentin had always been good in the medical field. In fact she was good in quite a number of fields, despite not yet being seventeen. A little genius, he often called her.
He'd tried his best to lay out Aderyn's wings flat behind her, but it was a rather difficult task considering he couldn't see them.
There were two inches of a shard – a single feather – at the very tip of her left wing that was stained crimson with her own blood. The only part that he could actually see. That had been the feather he'd pulled from her....
She had nasty-looking grazes running up her arms and, he presumed, her legs as well, from the road. He wasn't sure how many internal injuries she'd received, but Quentin, when bandaging up the open wounds on her ribcage, had noticed a wide bruise spreading across her stomach.
Had the murderer she'd mentioned been the one to do this to her?
Colt ran a hand through dishevelled hair, as he gazed down at her sleeping form.
If he'd been there, could he have saved her? Could he have stopped this from happening?
He knew the answer was 'no'. There was little he could have done to have even gotten in to Scorp Tower, let alone fight whatever beast did this to Aderyn.
But the guilt continued to gnaw at him.
'Colt?' Quentin asked, and he realised he still hadn't answered her question.
'Her name is Aderyn. Aderyn Castelle, I think she said.'
'What actually happened to her?'
'I don't know,' He shook his head.
'And.... Why were you there?'
Again he shook his head, folding his arms against his chest. But he said nothing.
He had to admit, the girl was quite beautiful, even in her beaten state. Hair as long as his arm surrounded her head like an oak-brown canopy. She was lithe in frame, with a soft, delicate face.
But what had gotten to him in the end, plucking so sharply at his conscience, were her words.
She had so willingly, so eagerly, placed herself in danger for the sake of a life that didn't even know hers existed.
And when he'd tried to warn her that it was pointless, that no matter what she did for a regular human, they'd never see past the fact that she was a mutant, she had merely shouted back that:
YOU ARE READING
In the year 2118, the people of The Lights celebrate the deeds of the Legacies: a team of superheroes that saved the city a century ago, transforming it into the utopia that stands strong where chaos once reigned. However; even surrounded by such a...