Part 1
Tuesday, April 30th, 2030
Chapter 1: Laura
The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. The boys in their universe and we in ours. My brothers for example. They’ve got plenty to say to me and Nenny inside the house. But outside they can’t be seen talking to girls.
Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.
Laura bit her lip as the chapter ended, sighing uncomfortably as she fiddled with the worn cover, before casting the book aside. She had read The House on Mango Street before, but this time Esperanza was frustrating her, and as Laura glanced around the darkened bedroom, she couldn’t help but feel restless. Era tarde. She hadn’t even realized it until she looked up and noticed that the last of the light had left the sky. Not that that was so bothersome. She never used a reading light—she didn’t need one—and besides, she usually liked the dark. The colors were so much deeper, the bright orange and purple of her curtains now a burnt russet and a hazy indigo. The typically colorful spines of the books that were crammed onto the two shelves on the far wall looked different, too, their titles now only quiet murmurs. Usually, these things were a comfort to her, the dark itself a quiet friend. It was like a blanket, she thought, comfortable and as snug as the stacks of spare bedding carefully placed in the chest near the foot of her bed, ready to use, just in case. But as Laura had read the last few lines of the chapter, the dark felt heavier than usual.
Laura exhaled steadily, her thoughts drifting. All else was quiet inside the la casa del lago, even the murmurings of Marie and Papa’s voices having long since faded. Even though they had turned the loft of the house into Laura’s bedroom, trying to offer her space, she could still hear their conversations downstairs sometimes, if she was actively listening. She tried not to, respecting their intimidad as much as she could, but she couldn’t seem to help instinctively checking in on her padre, especially in the early hours of the morning, often listening to the sound of her papa’s breathing. Right now: in and out. Not ragged, not abused. Even and steady. Safe.
Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to.
Laura didn’t have a best friend, and not for the first time she wondered what that would feel like. To share secrets with. There was Rictor, yes, but he was now living in Ontario, placed with a new family and a chance at a normal life, and even though Laura missed him, only random bits of texting held their friendship together now. Cole, too, at school, but much like her book had suggested, Cole didn’t like to be seen with Laura in between classes. They talked a lot online, and Laura usually sat at the fringe of their lunch table, but that wasn’t the same thing as a best friend that Esperanza was talking about. Not even close.
And then there was Papa. Papa knew many of her secrets, and Marie had learned a few too, although neither one of them knew them all. And, even though she was happy for him, the truth was that Papa now had Marie in a way that Laura had nobody. Once more, Laura felt a stab of jealousy. Amor.
Laura sighed, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. She ignored the blinking battery symbol meaning her phone was almost dead and instead scrolled through the last of her text messages. The latest from Rictor:
“¿Estas bien?” he had written. You doing ok?
“He estado major.” Been better.
“¿Tu papa?” Your dad?
“Sí. Y hay mierda en la escuela,” she had texted back. Yeah. Plus shit at school.
“Cuéntame sobre eso.” Tell me about it.
Tell me about it. She hadn’t responded back to that one, and it had been three days since. Laura stared blankly at the phone once more, before falling exasperatedly back onto the pillows. Amor. Secrets. A best friend. How did it all work? Not for the first time, her thoughts flew to her madre. It wasn’t that Laura didn’t like Marie. Marie was strong and kind and smart, and she wasn’t scared of Laura. Marie was teaching her to cook, had taught her how to braid her hair, had even sparred with her a few times, working through Laura’s kata alongside her with ease. Laura savored Marie’s thoughtful and purposeful attention, but the simple truth was Marie wasn’t her madre. She couldn’t be.
But no one ever talked about her real madre, and Laura assumed it was because the woman’s story must be a sad one. But Laura still couldn’t help but wonder about her. Had her madre ever fallen in love? Ever had a chance to? Had she cared for someone like the way Marie cared for Papa?
Laura also wondered about her madre because she knew, deep down, not everything inside of her was simply her padre. He had given her plenty, that was for certain, but, still, Laura was not exactly everything he was. The stories Laura enjoyed, the delights she took in pretty things, how her heart cried at the sadness of the world, those were qualities, Laura assumed, that came from the other, quiet part of her. From la latina.
Without even thinking about it, Laura found herself unsheathing her claws, the blooming feeling of blood dripping, the pain springing to life. Open wounds. She wasn’t supposed to do this, her papa had told her as such, but sometimes she did it anyway. She stared at the warm metal blankly, a small frown forming on her lips.
Would a boy ever learn to love her the way Marie loved her padre? Love for them…was it even really possible? There were parts of them both Marie could never understand. El animal didn’t exist for Marie, even with Papa in her head. Not like it did for Laura and Logan. Was it easier, then, to pretend? To escape into stories, to retreat to that part of life that felt safer, less desperate than the rest?
The feeling of restlessness grew, and she breathed out steadily, sheathing the claws, but not bothering about the blood leftover on her knuckles and flopping down once more on the bed. Papa was sick. Some of the older boys were giving her shit at school. It was a feeling of helplessness, of frustración. She could feel it growing, welling up inside her. Things would be easier if she could just…. but no. Papa had said no. Instead, listen!
The sounds. The pine trees rustling, drafts changing on the wind. The hum of the forest, the sound of the water quietly lapping at the shore of the lake. Even the night birds, the mourning doves, quietly returning, making nests, finding homes, the world slowly crawling out of its deep hibernation. And then, those sounds closer to her, the ones more intimate. The fan kicking the air about, her clock on the far wall ticking, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the quick thrum of her own heart, wild and deliberate, and then the slower, steady thud of her papa’s heart, and then…oh no. There it was, the telltale sound, the disruption. Her papa waking up once more, coughing violently, and Marie’s soothing hush. And then their voices, hers a panicked whisper and his rough in the darkness.
“Just breathe, sugar.” Her gentle murmur.
“I can’t do this anymore.” His tone more of a frustrated growl than a real voice as his cough once more released its hold on him.
“Yes, you can. You have to.” Her desperate, wavering assurance back to him.
Laura bit her lip, closing her eyes and clutching her dying phone to her more tightly. Maybe they were all escaping into stories, one way or another. Maybe they were all red balloons, desperate to drift. But the fact was that Laura couldn’t escape the wild part inside of her. Te necesitan más que nunca. Debes ser fuerte. They need you more than ever. You must be strong. Her anchor, whispering the harsh truth in her ear.
“Meirde,” Laura muttered tiredly, to nothing more than an empty, darkened room.
--
The morning sunlight drifted through the bay windows lazily from where Laura sat tiredly eating Corn Flakes on a stool at the kitchen island. In the late hours of the night she had finally drifted off into a restless sleep. She had somehow managed to keep most of the pesadillas at bay, but her dreams were still wide with worry, awkward and strange. By the time the morning had greeted her, she was already awake again and Laura finally had resolved to shower and get dressed. She had put her hair up, brushing it out of her face and up into a ponytail, like Marie had showed her. After coming downstairs, she had found no one in the kitchen, had decided on making coffee for los adultos and then had helped herself to some breakfast. It wasn’t a completely out-of-the-ordinary scenario, although Laura was spoiled in the fact that usually she came downstairs to the smells of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs, a hot breakfast waiting for her, another gift from Marie’s newly added presence in both of their lives.
Today was different though. Laura watched as, several minutes later, Marie groggily slipped out of the downstairs bedroom in a robe and flannel pajamas, hair messy and in a bun, obviously sleep-deprived. Laura frowned a little as she stared at the woman, even as Marie offered Laura a weary smile.
“You sleep ok, Laura?” she asked quietly. Laura nodded, and if Marie suspected it was a lie, she didn’t say anything. Marie looked down at Laura’s soggy cereal and frowned slightly.
“I’m sorry, mi amada,” Marie said quietly, before just barely glancing to the cracked doorway once more, then adding, “Rough night.” Laura frowned once more at Marie’s words, because, even if Laura knew how much her papa had struggled last night, la verdad fue dolorosa. Laura watched as Marie stalked over to find the coffee already brewed, and then the older woman was smiling at Laura again.
“Bless you,” Marie murmured. Laura watched as Marie’s graceful hands plucked a mug from the cabinet and went to pour the coffee, the tilt of her grip easing as the liquid steadily flowed into the mug. Laura loved watching Marie use her hands, especially in the kitchen. It was part of the equilibrio about Marie, and once again Laura felt mildly envious of Marie’s maturity and poise. Marie was undoubtedly un mujer. A woman. After a few moments, however, Marie seemed to catch Laura studying her, because, through her steaming mug of coffee, Marie arched an eyebrow in Laura’s direction, giving the girl her full attention once more.
“Science project?” Marie dutifully asked.
“Due Friday,” Laura murmured through a small sigh. She didn’t want to do that one. Laura liked science, but painting fake Styrofoam balls to make them look like planets was not exactly Laura’s idea of quality educación.
“Social studies test?” Marie then asked.
“Today,” Laura murmured.
“Did you study?” Marie followed up.
“Sí,” Laura partially lied. She had studied a little, but she had held off, remembering that her papa had promised to help with flash cards, but the promise had been lost in the jumble of last night. At the thought, Laura frowned a little once more, glancing back to the partially cracked door of the downstairs bedroom. Marie frowned as well, following Laura’s gaze.
“He’s up and awake, if you wanna say hi,” Marie murmured, through a small smile. “Might do him some good,” she added, and then as she glanced at the kitchen oven she mumbled, “Shit. Is that the time? Looks like I’m taking you in house slippers again. I’ll grab my coat.”
As Marie set down her mug and rushed down the hallway to the back part of the house, Laura felt her feet pulling her body to the cracked door of the bedroom. Marie hadn’t needed saying anything about Papa being awake. As soon as Marie had first left the room Laura knew he was, had heard him cough lightly, heard his heartbeat grow a little faster, heard the pads of his feet make contact with the dark wooden floorboards. Laura gently pushed open the door to see that she was right. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand in his greying hair. He was barefoot, but adorned in sweatpants, and he had been blankly staring at the wall in front of him. At the noise, however, he looked up to her, offering her a tired smile.
“Hey kid,” he murmured.
“Solo para despedirme, daddy,” she whispered from the doorway. Just saying bye.
“Social studies test today.” It wasn’t a question. Papa likely heard them talking, but, like Marie, Papa seemed to intuitively or inherently know most of what Laura was up to at school anyway, even though he, like Marie, rarely hovered or pressed her. But Laura secretly loved that Papa merely checked in every so often, sort of like Laura did when she listened to her Papa’s breathing at night sometimes. Todos dependían uno del otro.
“Sí,” she responded.
“Sorry I didn’t help you study,” he muttered.
“No te preocupes,” she said back. No worries.
“You’re gonna ace it, hija,” he said quietly, through a small grin.
“Gracias, papa,” she murmured, before there was a bit of silence. Laura exhaled, then determinedly walked further into the room, slipping her hand through his, gripping it tightly. He squeezed it back, and for a moment they simply stood there like that, the morning sounds dancing all around them. Their chorus.
“You’re gonna be late kid. And if you are, Marie’s gonna give me hell for it,” he finally said.
“Sí,” she murmured, before releasing her grip. “See you tonight.”
“Catch you later,” he muttered. Laura started reluctantly walking back toward the hall, before he added a “Laura… te amo.” Laura smiled once more at him, murmuring “Tú también, padre” and then turned to walk out of the door only to find Marie just hovering beyond the threshold, smiling quietly at Laura before handing the girl the hunter green backpack, keys in hand.
--
A few minutes later Marie sat behind the large wheel of the Bronco, pulling the monster up to the school. Laura had grinned slightly at Marie’s cursing on the way here. Laura knew that Marie hated driving the Bronco, mainly because it was antiguo and ruidoso. But at Marie’s subtle suggestion maybe they replace the car both Laura and Logan had rudely objected louder than when the Bronco did when it tried to make its way up steep hills, and, realizing she was outnumbered, Marie had given up the fight. At least, for now.
As Marie turned off the engine, they both simply sat in the parking lot momentarily, even though Laura knew she only had a couple of minutes to get to class on time. It was a tradicion they had started, Marie driving Laura and the two talking outside of school. Laura had her own language with her papa, and Papa seemed to have his own language with Marie, but Laura realized both the woman and the girl were still developing their own language, requiring both more words and time alone. This morning, though, one look from Marie seemed enough. Laura peered at Marie carefully, already knowing what she was likely to say. It always went the same way after noches ásperas. Rough nights.
“Laura,” Marie began, but then stopped, biting her lip as she stared at the girl. Laura looked up at the woman, taking in Marie’s hair escaping its bun, her creamy robe, the red pattern of the flannel underneath. The flecks of tiny age spots on her hands. The barely-there feet of crows gracing the corners of her eyes. The worried frown.
“Pay attention today,” Marie settled with, offering her a sharp look. “Got it? And don’t let those stupid boys rile you up.”
“Si, Marie,” she muttered. Laura’s hand was already on the handle before Marie spoke again.
“It’s gonna be ok, mi amada,” Marie murmured. Laura frowned a bit at this, but still nodded dutifully, before opening up the Bronco door and hopping out of the car. And as she did so, Laura didn’t need to look back to know Marie had dropped her head to one hand out of quiet despair, and Laura certainly didn’t struggle to understand that the last words Marie had murmured had not been so much for la niña as they were for la mujer.
--
Laura watched the way they moved, hollow bones and feathers darting upward, letting the draft take them for a long while before shifting their bodies to fly into the wind. Black, winged creatures diving, swooping for the same bit of food across an now-overcast sky. Laura sat staring out of the classroom window, watching the ravens and trying to find focus once more. Like with her kata, balance. She had kept one ear on the math lesson while her other senses wandered, a habit Laura had adopted this year in class when she was bored with the lesson. Math was math. It didn’t change. That’s what her father had always said, at least. The right answers easily made themselves known, the numbers illuminating, the formulas dutifully lifting themselves up in the air and rearranging into the right combinations. Math came easy to Laura, most subjects did, at least, when Laura was paying attention. But sometimes, well, most of the time, el animal would get restless from sitting in the same spot for too long, and this practice of focusing on the sounds and smells outside helped ground el animal. Escucha, she would tell it. Allí afuera! Naturaleza! Usually, it helped. And if that didn’t, tracing the tip of a spare pencil along the wood of her desk to keep her hands moving and occasionally swinging her leg just low enough so the sole of her Chuck Taylors just barely scuffed the tiled floor, too quiet for anyone else to hear, did the trick. Today though, nada. All of it, useless.
“And the value of X then, Miss Howlett?” Laura whipped her head back to stare at the frumpy mustache of Mr. Strobel, the math teacher.
“Setenta y dos,” Laura grumbled, and when un niño named Connor behind her snickered, Laura slowly turned to leer at him. The redhead frowned, even as Laura heard Mr. Strobel chastising her use of Spanish at the front of the room.
“English, Laura,” he was saying.
“Seventy-two,” she muttered, still keeping a predatory eye on Connor for several more seconds before turning around, forgetting him then and purposefully becoming lost once more in her senses as Mr. Strobel moved his attention off of Laura and back to the pre-algebra lesson.
The smack of someone chewing gum, the grating of a pencil between teeth. And then, the uptick in a heartbeat, from una chica named Mia that sat in the row to Laura’s right. Laura couldn’t help but glance over her, even Mr. Strobel droned on and on. Mia was in the habit of looking older than the rest of them, especially as the school year dragged on, with carefully straightened hair and new pechos that los niños couldn’t shut up about lately. She was clutching a pink envelope and Laura watched as she carefully extended a hand to gently tap the shoulder of the boy sitting in front of her. The boy, Liam, was popular but quiet, with dark, curly hair that Laura liked, and something inside of Laura twisted as Mia murmured a quiet “hey” to him. Then, as he turned, the corners of his lips tugged upward into a slight smile as she handed him the pink envelope. Nothing about this interaction should have been strange; sometimes kids passed notes, even in the age of smartphones, but Laura could practically feel the heat from the girl’s cheeks and now Laura was fixated on the way Mia’s heart was beating, how their fingers barely grazed one another’s as the mysterious pink envelope made its way to a new owner. Laura couldn’t help but stare at Mia still, even after Mia had finished the task of giving it to Liam, withdrawing her hand and blushing as he offered her one more knowing, coy smile. Amor.
Then Mia was noticing Laura was still staring at her and she threw Laura a strange look. To Mia, Laura was the quiet, petite girl who couldn’t be much in the way of competition because Laura most of the boys were scared of her, and, more importantly, Laura still looked like she was nine even though she was almost twelve. But then Laura realized it was not her but something on Laura’s desk Mia was staring at, and as Laura followed her gaze, Laura noticed that the pencil she had been idly running across the desk had cracked in half in her hand, the lower part of it deeply embedded into the wood from all her “light tracing.”
Joder! Or, as papa would put it: Fuck. In a moment of restless confusion, Laura had forgotten to mask her strength. Yet another mistake. Laura yanked the pencil out of the wood quickly, chucking the two pieces of it into her open bag by her desk, but Mia was still staring at the hole in Laura’s desk where the pencil had been, confusion and disgust fighting for center stage on her features. She must have also gasped in surprise, because Mr. Strobel was now rounding on them both.
“Something you would like to add to our conversations about place value, ladies?” Mr. Strobel was saying to them.
“No,” Laura snapped, sliding down once more into her chair. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. Was it all that hard? All she had to do was keep her cool. Marie and Papa had said, just make nice. Pretend a little. But, what they didn’t realize is, to do that, she had to hide from el animal.
Hide, hide, hide.
Buena suerte con eso, the animal hissed in her ear. Good luck with that.
---
A couple of hours later, Laura flopped down at the only empty table on the fringes of the bustling cafeteria, lunch bag, book and phone unceremoniously dumped on the table beside her. The cafeteria was small, and it always smelled like frying oil and spoiled milk. The yellow lighting made her skin look sallow, and her shoes always squeaked on the fading blue and red linoleum tiling. Laura sighed, pulling the tie out and letting her hair fall freely down her back, before casting a glance over at Cole’s table. Laura hadn’t been helping them with their game for the past month or so, and last week the boys who Laura only barely liked had banished her from their table because of it. At the time, Laura had been relieved to go. I’m bored with your stupid game anyway. It’s the same sequences and scenarios over and over again. But when she had shot Cole a look Laura noticed that he had a frown on his face, before offering her a meek shrug. Cole obviously had been overruled in this decision-making process, which was a shame, because Cole was the only one at the table whose company she enjoyed. He was kind and thoughtful, smart too, smarter than he let on, but as he sat there, helpless to his friends, Laura had offered up a low growl in response. Weak, weak. Won’t stand up for what he wants.
Esperanza’s words had again been in her head that day—I am one who leaves the table like a man, without putting back the chair or picking up the plate—as Laura’s face became one of pride and bravery as she quietly stood and stalked off to a different table. Now, here she sat, still mostly relieved but now a bit lonely. She could have sat with some of the niñas if she played nice, sometimes even choosing to do so, but her encounter with Mia today might have changed that for good. And as if on cue, Laura’s glance over to Mia’s table revealed them staring at her through hushed whispers and barely-contained giggling.
Laura sighed frustratingly, pulling the lunchbox closer to her chest for a moment, before releasing it and snagging her phone off the table, and she realized it flashed the telltale alerts of new text messages. Two new messages, one from Marie: Hope your day’s going well. Thinking of taking dinner down to the lake tonight. Laura smiled, quickly texting back: Great. Another from Rictor. No te he enterado en mucho tiempo. Esta bien? Haven’t heard from you in a while. You ok? Laura frowned slightly, scrolling upward to once more read his messages from earlier.
Cuéntame sobre eso. Tell me about it.
Again, Laura stared blankly at the phone. What did Rictor even want? Why was he even still texting her? The boys and the girls live in separate worlds. But men and women didn’t. Papa and Marie didn’t. Maybe Mia and Liam didn’t, either. She bit her lip, frowning at the phone, before putting it down, still not responding to Rictor, instead resolving on opening up her lunchbox. It was insulated, complete with water bottle and icepack. And inside, roasted chicken, a green bean salad, carrots and a homemade dressing, and sea-salted chocolate, perfectly crafted and thoughtful. Marie’s handiwork. It looked delicious, particularly with Laura always feeling on the verge, if not full-on hungry, but Laura found herself still frowning slightly at the carefully placed Tupperware and collapsible fork. Her papa didn’t pack her lunch like this. Papa rarely made lunch for her at all anymore. Suddenly, an image of the man from this morning filled her mind, absent eyes staring at the muted grey of the wall.
In Spanish my name means hope, Esperanza had said. In English it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting.
Sadness. Waiting. Este era su padre. Pero ella también se describió a sí misma. She and her papa, forever the same.
--
The test hadn’t gone well. By the early afternoon, Laura found herself listless, uncaring as the questions flowed over the page. Why did the year matter? Why did the people matter? They were all white men, stupidly and hopelessly searching for India only to reach dead ends. During the test the clock had been ticking so loudly on the wall, the melting snow steadily dripping so insistently in her ears she could barely stand it. Fill in the bubbles, scratch an answer down. Cooped up, caged inside. How was she going to make things alright? How was she going to help her papa? How was she going to find a best friend, someone who might love her? How was she going to fix it? How, how, how? El animal grappled with the same questions too, but its answer was always the same. Take what you want and don’t look back.
And then, finally, recess. The school grounds were still soggy and soft, but the soccer game commenced anyway. The girls had hung back, Laura the only one among them to join the boys, desperate to be outside and to start the game. The sky was still overcast, the ground was mud, the sweat poured, but it didn’t matter. Fresh air. Life.
In the game, Laura was favored. In the game, everyone who was on her team championed her and whoever was sorry enough to be on the opposing side hated her. It was all too easy. She always received the passes, she was always open for a shot. Sometimes, she would slow down just to hide her agility a little, but, today, she couldn’t be bothered to care.
Her sneakers sunk into the muddy grass as she ran. Her team powered down the field, Laura quicker than all of the rest, but just as she was to be passed the ball the redhead boy from earlier, Connor, came up alongside Laura, whipping out a leg, tripping her and finishing the job by shoving her crudely to the ground. Meirde. She knew it was going to happen, but she had been powerless to stop it. Sometimes the boys played dirty like this, knowing they were outmatched against her and resorting to more insidious tactics to try to keep up. She had even seen him brace for the hit, but the mud was too deep and she had slipped, hitting the ground hard, shoulder radiating with pain. She was back on her feet in half a second, though, and as she saw Connor trying to kick the ball back down the field, she growled wildly, easily catching up with him, shoving the kid roughly to the ground, but not as rough as he had shoved her. She then was pivoting on the spot and driving the ball up with her foot, effortlessly tossing it into the goal from halfway down, all with whistles, protests and jeers humming in the background. The game unraveled as their gym coach serving as referee finally reach the field, some of the kids making their way up from the sidelines.
Connor had been helped up, but the boy was still seething. “You’re a fucking cheat!” he yelled, even as the gym coach had started to pull he and Laura apart.
“Now, now, come on, guys,” the middle-aged coach was saying, but then he was interrupted by Connor, who had stopped struggling and was instead now openly gaping at Laura. The coach followed Connor’s stare, and his eyes and about a dozen others watched as what should have been a nasty welt Laura’s shoulder quickly disappear, the cuts on her face stitching themselves up too. The coach only blinked at what he had seen, but Connor had locked eyes once more with Laura, sneering.
“Freak,” he spat, and she swore she heard the murmurings of the word “mutant” from some of the older kids on the wind. Laura’s face contorted into a growl as el animal snarled, thrashing its head in protest. She whipped her head back to the coach, only to see the man backing up a couple of paces from her. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. Betrayal.
Maybe the world was hopeless. Maybe the world was sad. But it was also alive, vibrant and ruthless as its pulse beat loudly, practically begging for Laura to wrap her jaw around it. If her papa was waiting, she would not. She would take what she wanted, when she wanted, right now. Esperanza’s words were now clear and loud in her head. I have begun my own quiet war. Simple. Sure. Laura would start her own war, but it would be far from quiet.
“Go back to fucking Mexico,” Connor heckled.
Laura snarled loudly, quickly stalking forward to the boy, summoning all of her strength as she threw the first punch.
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Story Notes:
Spoiler warning: Since this is pretty much a sequel, this story contains spoilers for Fray. It also won’t make a lick of sense without reading Fray first. I also recommend the first chapter of Outtakes before this, just because Laura refers to couple of events that happen in that little story too. Muchas gracias, mis amigos!
Chapter End Notes:
AN: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading. It means a lot to me, bubs. More Logan and Rogue in the next chapter, which will be from Rogue’s POV and which should be up in a week or less.