The couch groaned quietly under my weight as I sat in the living room, the room dim with the setting sun casting gold through the blinds. The air was thick with the sort of silence that followed aftershock. It had been only a day since the broadcast. Since the truth. Since I had shown the world who I was and what we were up against.
Outside, everything was still on fire. Politically, socially, culturally. But in here, in this apartment, we had fallen into a strange stillness. The kind that settles when there's nothing immediate to fight. All four girls were home, none of them had gone back to their respective jobs. It wasn't like they could. Not after the Masked Syndicate's identity was revealed. Not after my identity was revealed.
