warning signs. High-pitched alarms blare from each cavernous hall, and random paperwork scatters across the glossy floors. I’ve never seen it like this, not even that time two years ago when a hacker broke into the system and gave all the heroes false missions. Warrior Nation employees have always felt like corporate drones to me, gliding from room to room without emotion or thought, simply following whatever it is those tablets they carry say to do. But today, real fear flashes across their faces, the strain of panic pushing them to race back and forth. I knew having the entire chapter gone would be bad, but this is much worse than I expected.
After getting through security, I make my way to what I’ve nicknamed the “Bad News” room, a pseudo Zen garden complete with bubbling fountains and bonsai trees where Millie and Co. most frequently deliver difficult news. Maybe they think this setting will soothe away distress, but in my experience, no amount of looped harp sounds can wipe away the feeling that someone you love may die.
Currently, the room is filled with Warrior family members, most of whom I recognize. Houston and Anna huddle near their partners’ parents; a lot of them are crying or pacing in tight circles. I search for Claire, finding her in the back corner, sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes are red and puffy, with a pile of Kleenex at her feet. Her hoodie is soaked with tears.
“Claire!” I exclaim, dropping my stuff as I drop down next to her.
She looks up, bloodshot eyes widening. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here!” she sobs, reaching out for me. I hold her close, the sound of her tears inspiring some of my own. “I…I didn’t know what to do! My mom wouldn’t let me leave so I snuck out…. She’s gonna be so mad…but I had to be here, you know? Just in case.”
“I totally understand.” I nod, giving her a warm smile. I know she’s only three years younger than me, but where she stands—experiencing a missing hero for the first time—feels like a lifetime ago, the beginning of a journey I would not wish on my worst enemy. I only hope I can help her make sense of it.
“Have you heard from Joy at all?” I ask her gently, already knowing the answer.
She sniffles. “No. I mean, yeah, I saw her yesterday. I was gonna officially ask her to be my girlfriend….” Her lip trembles. “What if I never see her again?”
“Don’t talk like that, okay? Joy is super strong, inside and out. Warrior Nation will figure a way out of this. They always do.” But even as I’m saying the words, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true. No chapter has even been through something like this, and I can’t imagine how they’ll come out the other side.
“But how?” Claire cries, reading my thoughts. “They’re ALL trapped—all of them—and that’s never happened before.” She pulls out that giant journal of hers, frantically flipping through the pages. “See? Nothing, nothing like this on record.” She looks at me with great urgency, begging me to have the answers. How many times have I sat in panic, crying myself to sleep, unsure if Matt would be alive when I woke up? That uncertainty—the unknown—is the worst part.
Just then, Roy Masterson walks in, hushing the crowd. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him in a situation like this: a real hero moment, not just a flashy parade or celebration. Mr. Know-It-All has always excelled at signing autographs and posing for pictures, but leading a team? Not so much. Unfortunately for Warrior Nation, they operate under an archaic rule that only former heroes can assume the top leadership positions in the organization, and very few superheroes are willing to give up their capes to go corporate. Matt once told me he’d rather die a slow, gruesome death than have to work every day at HQ, which is how Roy, the most ineffective hero in history, got to be the chapter president. He stands before us all, haircut and bow tie both flopped to one side, nervously swinging his scarecrow arms, trying to figure out where to begin.
Beside him is Millie, dark circles hanging under her eyes, her normally perky bob drained of all its luster. Teddy lurks in a corner, frantically typing on his tablet. I can’t imagine they’ve had much, or any, sleep in the last