Holly Holland sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. The glow of the screen lit up her face in the cavernous dark of the abandoned warehouse. A soft chime from a game was the only sound until the scrape of a boot heel echoed from the entrance.
Trinity Theo stood silhouetted in the ragged rectangle of dusk, her blue hair almost glowing. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the shadows before landing on the small woman on the floor. She moved with a predator’s quiet grace, her fitted blue costume highlighting the powerful lines of her body. “Hey,” Trinity called, her voice low but carrying. “You okay? Got a report about a kidnapping.”
Holly looked up, her phone screen going dark as she slipped it into her pocket. A slow smile spread across her face as she pushed herself up, unfolding to her full, unimpressive height in front of the superhuman. “A kidnapping?” Holly’s voice was light, amused. “How heroic.”
She took a casual step forward, her gaze dropping to Trinity’s chest. “You’re The Tank, right?” Holly’s hand lifted, not fast, but deliberate. Her fingertips aimed for the center of Trinity’s sternum, right between her breasts. Trinity didn’t flinch. She just watched, her blue eyes cold and arrogant, a statue confident in its own invulnerability.
Holly’s fingers made contact with the tough fabric of Trinity’s suit—and kept going. Her hand phased through the material, through the muscle and bone beneath, a ghostly violation. Trinity’s breath hitched. Inside her chest, Holly’s intangible fingers solidified, wrapping around the hot, frantic muscle of Trinity’s heart. She squeezed.
A gasp ripped from Trinity’s throat, raw and shocked. Instinct took over. Her right fist, capable of shattering concrete, swung in a blur toward Holly’s head. It passed through empty air as Holly phased her skull, the force of the punch meeting no resistance. The momentum was unchecked, throwing Trinity forward. She stumbled, stepping directly through Holly’s shimmering, insubstantial body.
As Trinity passed, Holly pivoted, her arm still extended, her hand still buried deep inside Trinity’s torso, gripping her heart like a fist around a stress ball. When Trinity regained her footing, breathing hard, Holly was behind her. Holly’s arm was aimed at Trinity’s back, the limb vanishing into the blue fabric, the connection hidden but absolute. She squeezed again, tighter.
Trinity froze. Every muscle locked. A tremor ran through her legs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t swing, could barely breathe. Each ragged inhale was a shallow, desperate thing. Her unbreakable skin was a useless shell. The violation was interior, absolute. “What…” she managed, the word strained.
“Shhh,” Holly whispered, close to her ear. She applied steady, terrifying pressure. Trinity’s vision spotted. The sensation was not pain, but a profound, dizzying weakness, a direct line to her mortality. A cold sweat broke out on her temple.
From the deep shadows near a rusted forklift, two figures emerged. Nick Neo watched, his hands in his pockets, his expression one of calm appraisal. Beside him, Petra Poskova stood elegant and still, her arctic eyes missing nothing. “Impressive control, Holly,” Petra said, her cool contralto slicing the silence. “You can ease the pressure. She’s not going anywhere.”
Holly relaxed her grip a fraction. Trinity sagged, a low moan escaping her as the unbearable tension lessened to a mere, constant threat. Her heart hammered against the phantom hand still cradling it. Nick took a slow step forward, his gaze traveling over Trinity’s trapped, powerful form. “Hello, Tank,” he said, his voice a low, deliberate touch in the dark. “Let’s talk about your weaknesses.”
Nick turned his head a fraction, his eyes meeting Petra’s across the dusty space. No words were needed. Her arctic gaze softened with understanding, then sharpened as she focused on the trapped superhuman. She studied Trinity’s heaving back, the sweat-damp blue hair at her nape, the tremor in her locked knees. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer passed through the air. Petra’s lips curved. “Fear,” she stated, her cool voice definitive. “Raw, animal fear. It’s the loudest thing in her head right now. It’s drowning out everything else.”
Nick gave a single, satisfied nod. His assessment was correct. But his attention shifted to Holly, who was watching Trinity’s distress with a bright, mischievous gleam in her eyes. Trinity was squirming now, short, pained breaths escaping her as Holly’s intangible fingers flexed minutely inside her chest. “Holly,” Nick said, his tone a low warning. “Ease up. You’re toying.”
“She’s fine,” Holly murmured, not taking her eyes off Trinity’s profile. “Her heart’s really pounding. It’s kinda fun to feel.”
“Remember the gangster,” Nick said, the words flat. “The one you phased a hand into and forgot to de-solidify before you pulled it out. The one whose lung collapsed. I pulled you out of that mess. You work for me now. On contract. Don’t make me question the investment.”
Holly’s playful expression dissolved into a genuine pout. She sighed dramatically, but the pressure around Trinity’s heart vanished completely. The phantom hand remained, a ghostly placeholder, but the squeeze was gone. Trinity gasped, a full, deep inhale that made her sway. The relief was so profound her eyes fluttered shut for a second.
“Now,” Nick said, his gaze returning to Petra. “Suggest a deep sleep. In this state, she’ll welcome it.”
Petra stepped closer to Trinity, her high heels clicking softly on the concrete. She didn’t touch her. She simply stood where Trinity could see her from the corner of a bleary eye. “You are so tired,” Petra whispered, her voice weaving into the silence like silk. “The fear is exhausting. Let it go. Let everything go. Just fall. It’s the easiest thing in the world.”
The suggestion wasn’t a command. It was an offer, wrapped in the profound weariness already swamping Trinity’s system. Her body, starved of oxygen and flooded with adrenaline, recognized the truth in it. The fight bled out of her posture. Her shoulders slumped. The arrogant set of her jaw went slack.
Her blue eyes, wide and terrified, found Nick’s. They held no defiance now, only a bewildered surrender. Then the lids dropped like stones. Her knees buckled. She fell forward, a powerful statue toppling in slow motion, and hit the concrete floor with a heavy, final thud. Dust puffed up around her.
Silence reclaimed the warehouse, deeper now. Holly withdrew her hand from Trinity’s back, the limb becoming fully solid again. She shook her fingers out as if they’d fallen asleep. “So. What’s the plan for Sleeping Beauty?”
Nick was already moving. He crouched beside Trinity’s unconscious form, his movements efficient. He rolled her onto her back. Her face in repose looked younger, the arrogance erased. He placed two fingers against the pulse point in her neck. It was strong, but slowing to a steady, rhythmic beat. His other hand went to the reinforced collar of her blue suit, his thumb brushing the vulnerable hollow of her throat. He looked up at Petra. “We take her home.”