Origin of Power

Chapter 10

Echen Street was on the southeast side of Pasford, running alongside the Thames, giving a view of the many crater ships moving up and down the river. I followed the road, peering into the various shops and restaurants that lined it, all far beyond anything I could afford. People like me weren't meant for these places. This was where the rich shopped and the Heroes Association guarded. It was the last place I expected to find the Nighthawks, but maybe that was the point.

I reached the coffee shop a few minutes before the meeting. A faded wooden sign dangled above the front door, engraved with a steaming mug. As I reached the door, I glanced at the few people walking nearby, searching for anyone that looked like one of the Nighthawks. Seeing nothing of interest, I pushed open the door, a bell chiming above and a blast of warm air hitting me like a blanket.

I rubbed my hands together, relishing in the warmth as I surveyed the few customers seated at the tables, but none bore resemblance to the Nighthawks. The thick smell of coffee hung in the air. I didn't recognise the song in the background, but I knew it was jazz. Trumpets were fitted to the roof, groups of six shaped into chandeliers with the bells pointed down; orange lights were placed inside, filling the room with warm light.

Dad would have liked it here, I thought.

I walked up the counter, the barista—a middle-aged man in an apron—asking for my order. Glancing up at the ridiculous prices, I decided to tell him I was meeting people, then took a seat at a table at the edge of the room, facing the door.

It tapped my fingers on the polished wooden table, feeling out of place. I hated waiting, especially when I was nervous. It was like being at the doctors, a lingering fear at the back of my mind that something was wrong.

The Nighthawks didn't act like I had expected. Seeing them in person brought the brutal reality of my research to life, they killed. They had no interest in the money, it was on Dusk, and taking out a Tyrant that would kill innocents if left alone. They were just there to take out a Tyrant. Was that something I could ever get used to? If taking one life would prevent the death of ten more, killing was the logical choice.

I browsed the latest news, finding Dusk as the headline. It was confirmed, Dusk was dead and Pocket Rocket was in custody. There was no evidence of the gas leak story, as if it had never existed. Instead a rival gang was credited for the attack.

Another headline caught my attention: Druidess found dead.

My stomach lurched.

She was a famous mercenary, a powerful one at that. With the ability to control nature, she had one of the strongest area control abilities in England. I skimmed through the article. There was no Titan attack, she was shot. I found that hard to believe, Druidess was not a Titan that could be taken out by a simple bullet. Perhaps the group behind the disappearances had stepped up their game to assassination.

The bell rang and a girl stepped through the door, a couple of years older than me. She had the same silvery blonde hair that I remembered from last night—that had to be Lightshow. Even from the distance I couldn't miss her bright blue eyes, they seemed to shine. She was pretty, with none of the authority about her that I remembered from the night before. Her figure was petite, looking even shorter in the light. She wore white jeans and a black leather jacket with the zip done all the way up. She practically bounced up to the counter, cheerful and energetic enough that I almost doubted it was her.

That doubt left me as Mia walked in, tall and confident, she seemed like someone that could talk anyone down. She wore glasses, pushing her brown hair back behind her ears into a bob, revealing a face full of freckles. I put her somewhere in her thirties.