Piece by piece, her scattered consciousness slowly coalesced. No, re-formed. Re-collected.
Here, a name: Cherie Levinson.
Here, a flash of memory: long limbs sprawled on ugly linoleum floor, a crimson stain slowly spreading.
Hers?
They murdered Cherie because her boyfriend was a superhero. They never realized she had superpowers of her own—and no intention of staying dead to satisfy their stupid little power plays.
Her first task? Saving Jeremy from seeing what they did to her body. Because they—whoever they are—don't get to win a single. Damn. Victory.
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