“You’re distracted,” Julia says quietly, appearing at my elbow. She’s in her element today, dressed in a sleek white suit, her silvery blonde hair immaculate, that sharp smile enhanced with red lipstick she reserves for public appearances ready to go. “I need you focused. This is important.”
“I’m always focused,” I say, straightening my back.
“You’re looking at the press section.”
I don’t bother denying it. “I am. Mia Baxter is here.”
“I’m aware.” Julia’s tone is clipped. “I approved her credentials myself. Try not to let her presence affect your performance.”
Way too late for that.
The crowd roars as Global Dynamix’s CEO, Conrad Marsh, takes the stage, all white teeth and Gucci suit and the kind ofcharisma that makes you want to pour bleach in your bathwater. He launches into his speech, the usual gibberish about the company’s commitment to public safety, the next chapter in American heroism, blah blah fucking blah. I tune him out, scanning the plaza instead.
That’s when I see it.
Or him, rather.
A shape descending from the sky, sleek, black, and silent.
Paragon.
The crowd’s reaction changes from excitement to awe as the figure lands on stage beside me. Where my suit is tactical, functional, designed for a soldier, Paragon’s armor is akin to an astronaut or a futuristic space solider. It’s covered in obsidian plates that seem to absorb light, a full helmet that reveals nothing of the face beneath, and his movements are so fluid, they’re almost mechanical.
Scratch that. Theyaremechanical. I can hear them whirring.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marsh announces, his voice booming through the speakers, “I give you, America’s protectors—Vanguard and our newest hero, Paragon!”
The crowd loses its collective mind, chanting, screaming, waving signs. But I barely register any of it, because I’m staring at the metal suit standing three feet away from me, and every instinct I have is screaming something is wrong. Is there even a human in there?
Paragon doesn’t acknowledge me. He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t offer a greeting or do any of the little human things people do when they’re standing next to someone. He just stands there, perfectly still, for what feels like an eternity.
Like a weapon waiting to be deployed.
“Vanguard,” he eventually says. The voice that comes through Paragon’s helmet is modulated, genderless, strippedof anything resembling personality. “I look forward to working with you.”
The words are right, but the delivery is dead.
“Likewise,” I manage to lie.
Julia steps between us, and I watch her face transform as she looks at Paragon. There’s something in her expression I’ve seen before—that proprietary gleam, that pride of ownership, that greediness at her core—but it’s different now. At least, different from the way she looks at me now.
She’s looking at him the way sheused tolook at me.
“Isn’t he magnificent?” she murmurs, low enough that only I can hear, though I have no doubt Paragon can pick up on it. “Two years of development. Our most advanced work yet.”
Our most advanced work.I almost snort. Like we’re products rolling off an assembly line.
“Why haven’t we met each other before?” I ask. “If we’re supposed to be partners?—”
“Paragon’s training required isolation and complete focus.” Julia’s hand rests briefly on Paragon’s armored shoulder, a gesture of almost maternal pride. “Just like yours did, remember? But now that the program is complete, you’ll be working together regularly. He’ll be wherever you can’t be. America’s greatest assets and new heroic duo.”
I look at Paragon’s helmet, that smooth, featureless, wannabe Darth Vader black, and try to imagine a face underneath. A person. A history. Something.
For some reason, I come up empty.
“Does the helmet ever come off?”
Julia’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. “Paragon’s identity is classified. For security purposes.”
