JUNE MILLER POV
The fluorescent lights of the Neon Skillet felt like they were vibrating against my skull. Every time I reached for a heavy coffee pot or stretched to wipe down the high shelves, my body reminded me of exactly how human I was.
I'd done a professional-grade camouflage job in the bathroom mirror this morning. A thick layer of heavy-duty concealer hid the dark, mottled fingerprints Jeremy had left on my throat—a grim necklace that felt like it was still tightening every time I swallowed. My knees were a different story; the raw, angry scrapes from vaulting that concrete wall in the park were hidden under thick denim, but they throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that made my limp hard to disguise.
"June, you're daydreaming again. Table four wants their check, and I think they're about to start eating the napkins," Becky hissed, nudging me with her elbow as she glided past with a tray of milkshakes.
She looked incredible. Whatever "arousal" she'd experienced after her Rift-induced coma had left her with a weirdly high amount of energy. Her skin was glowing, and the dull, sickly grey tint was completely gone. She was the only one who knew that my "fall down the stairs" story was a total lie, and every few minutes, she'd give me a look that was equal parts worried and "I-can't-believe-you're-dating-a-literal-sun-god."
"On it," I muttered, grabbing the bill.
I walked toward the table, my sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. I was tired, my body felt like it had been through a car wash without the car, and I was still mourning my lost phone. I kept checking the front door, half-expecting Jeremy to walk in, but mostly hoping for a flash of white silk.
But the person who walked in wasn't a Noble, and it wasn't Adam.
The bell chimed, and a girl stepped inside who looked like she'd been edited into our reality by a high-end fashion magazine. She was wearing a slate-gray leather trench coat that probably cost more than the entire diner, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail so sharp it could have been a weapon. She took one look at the greasy interior, wrinkled her nose, and then spotted me.
"Eve?" I blinked, holding the check for table four mid-air.
"The one and only," she said, strolling toward the counter with a grace that made the regular customers look like they were moving underwater. She hopped onto a swivel stool, her movements effortless. "The Father has taken Adam and that loud boy—Brandt, was it?—to some lighthouse for a 'geological resonance' check. Apparently, it's a boy's club afternoon. So, I decided to investigate the local habitat. Specifically, yours."
"You came here? Alone?" I asked, finally dropping the check and leaning against the counter.
"I'm never alone, June. I'm a Masterpiece. I'm my own security detail," she said, though she lowered her sunglasses to peer at me. Her sharp, intelligent eyes narrowed, scanning my face with the precision of a laser. "You've done a decent job with the pigment-cover, but your thermal signature is uneven. Your neck is radiating a healing-frequency, and your knees are inflamed. Who touched you?"
The air in the diner suddenly felt very thin. Eve wasn't smiling anymore. A faint, silver shimmer began to dance around her fingertips—a low-frequency vibration that made the spoons in the napkin holders rattle.
"It's nothing," I whispered, glancing around to make sure Phil wasn't watching. "Just a... disagreement with some people from the church. They're gone now. Really."
Eve stared at me for a long beat. "Adam is going to be insufferable when he finds out. He's already hovering like a satellite. If he sees those marks, he'll probably accidentally turn Sector 4 into a glass floor." She sighed, the silver shimmer fading as she leaned back. "But today is not about Adam. Today is about 'Girls' Time.' I've seen it in the digital archives. It involves beverages, gossip, and a mutual disregard for logic."
Becky chose that moment to slide over, her eyes wide. "Wait, this is the sister? The one who obliterated the Nun?"
"Obliterated is a strong word," Eve said, giving Becky a dismissive but not unkind look. "I simply redirected her frequency into a recursive loop until she ceased to exist. I'm Eve. You must be the 'Anemic Friend.'"
"Becky," Becky said, sticking out her hand.
Eve looked at the hand like it was a strange specimen, then reached out and gave it a singular, brisk shake. "Acceptable. Now, June Miller, you are finished with your 'shift.' I've already sent a digital spoof to your manager's terminal. According to his records, you've been granted a paid leave for the rest of the day due to 'exceptional service.'"
"You did what?" I looked toward the back, where Phil was staring at his computer screen with a look of utter confusion.
"Don't thank me. It was a simple hack," Eve said, sliding off the stool. "Becky, you're coming too. I require a local guide who doesn't have a broken body. We are going to find a place that serves those colorful liquids with the umbrellas, and you are going to tell me everything about why humans find 'dating' to be a productive use of time."
I looked at Becky, who was already untying her apron. "I mean... Phil isn't arguing."
"Fine," I laughed, the tension in my chest finally starting to ease. "But no umbrellas. It's 2 PM. We're getting milkshakes and going to the rooftop of the old cannery. It's got the best view of the city, and no one will bother us."
Ten minutes later, the three of us were sitting on the edge of a rusted-out industrial roof, our legs dangling over the side. The city was spread out below us, a patchwork of gray and brown punctuated by the violet glow of the Rift-Nodes.
Eve was holding a triple-chocolate milkshake like it was a holy relic, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's so... unorganized," she mused. "The way the streets just wind without any geometric purpose. How do you find anything?"
"You just feel it," Becky said, slurping her strawberry shake. "You learn the shortcuts. You learn which alleys to avoid and which rooftops have the best breeze."
"And you," Eve said, turning her sharp gaze to me. "You fought them, didn't you? The background noise. The ones with the blue light."
I looked down at my milkshake, my fingers tracing the rim of the cup. "They were scared, Eve. They lost their power, and they couldn't handle being... us. They thought if they killed me, their failure would go away."
"Pathetic," Eve spat. "To be so fragile that your sense of self relies on a battery-charge. Adam thinks the humans are the ones who are fragile, but he's wrong. It's the Nobles. They're porcelain. You... you're like the weeds that grow through the cracks in the concrete. You're the only ones who actually survive."
I looked at her, surprised by the sudden depth in her voice. "Is that what you think of us?"
"It's what I observe," Eve said, her tone softening just a fraction. "Adam is blinded by his own light. He sees you as something to protect. But I see the way you move. You climbed a wall with broken knees to get home. You stood your ground against a weaponized Noble with nothing but your bare hands. You aren't 'mice,' June. You're the foundation."
She reached out and tapped my chin, her fingers surprisingly cool. "But if Jeremy ever shows his face again, don't use your knees. Use the Impulse I'm going to 'leak' into your jacket later. It'll give him a shock he won't forget."
"Eve! You can't give her weapons!" Becky giggled.
"It's not a weapon, it's a deterrent," Eve corrected with a wink.
For the next two hours, the "Masterpiece" didn't ask about physics or Rift-patterns. She asked about movies. She asked why Becky liked Brandt when he was "clearly a functional mess." She asked me what it felt like to be in love with a boy who was the sun.
"It's scary," I admitted, looking out at the ocean. "Because I know he could leave. I know he belongs to a world I can't touch. But when he looks at me... I don't feel like a mouse. I feel like I'm the only person in the world."
Eve went quiet, her gaze drifting toward the lighthouse in the distance where Adam was. "He feels the same way, June. Which is why he's currently driving our Father insane by asking how to 'text' without sounding like a data-log."
We laughed, the sound carrying over the rooftops of Sector 4. For the first time since the church, I didn't feel like a victim. I didn't feel like a witness. I felt like a girl sitting on a roof with her friends, hiding from the world for just a little while.
The bruises still ached, and the memory of Sarah's face—which I'd seen on the local news ticker as a 'unfortunate accident'—was still a heavy weight in my mind. But here, with the silver-haired storm and the girl who wouldn't stop eating fries, the world felt like it had a chance.
"To the mice," Eve said, raising her milkshake cup in a mock toast.
"To the weeds," I added, clinking my cup against hers.
"And to the boys who are currently very, very lost without us," Becky finished.
As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in shades of gold and violet, I realized that Prophecy's second chance wasn't just for the Elders or the Masterpieces. It was for us. The ones who stayed behind. The ones who kept the world spinning while the gods fought in the clouds.
The clock was ticking, and I knew the "Old Man" and the Council were still playing their game of chess. But for today, the board was empty. And the popcorn—and the milkshakes—were more than enough.