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AHEAD OF ME, the tarmac stretches into an endless pitch-black surface that I wouldn’t be able to make out visually if it weren’t for the reflection of the yellow markers in the middle. Even those disappear after a few yards, leaving me nothing to anticipate beyond the abyss. I have to hope that our shoddy measurement of a mile is correct and that a mile will be enough for this whole thing to work. It takes a few more seconds to shake away the dreadful thought that beyond this darkness, unknown terrors await me with open arms.

It’s a little after two in the morning by the time we’re done setting up, the only period of time in which we were able to access the derelict airfield without a lot of hassle. Rosa sits on the far side of the runway, her form illuminated by the cool hues of the electronics that surround her: two laptops, a few devices that I don’t have the degree to be able to name, and the view screen of a traffic radar gun that she’s still in the middle of fixing. Behind her sits an ice cooler filled with cold sandwiches and pocket juices.

Along with the single spotlight that so graciously gives me a clear view of where I’m starting, all of these devices are plugged in at the end of a thick cable that runs off of a generator inside of the small airfield’s lone, dusty hangar approximately seventy-five feet behind us. Putting this all together was a rush job that required the two of us to stuff Rosa’s SUV with supplies straight from her lab and kitchen, then call in a few favors from some of her more questionable colleagues at HekTech for use of the location, but we managed it all within a few hours.

(I hate to admit that the SUV is an upgrade from the sleek silver speedster that she drove when we were younger, but it is pretty roomy.)

“Maya.”

She summons my attention back to the present patiently and firmly. It’s an even tone that I just know she uses on her six-year-old. “I’m ready to run these tests as soon as you are,” she tells me.

I can tell that Rosa is not only exhausted by the hour but with me in particular. I can’t really blame her. Not everyone drags themselves away from a sleeping family in the middle of the night to help an old roommate with anything, much less with what we’re about to do. The woman actually answered a midnight text that started with the words ‘I HAVE SUPERPOWERS.’

She’s entitled to a little spite in exchange for being a good friend.

When The Beat shuttered and I was forced to say my goodbyes to Brooklyn for lack of a better writing gig, it felt like there was no graceful way to come home. One familiar name popping up with a text message began to mend that problem just hours after I walked out of Miami International. It was Rosa, telling me that she had moved home recently too.

I can’t exactly compare my career as a reporter covering super-powered crime fighters in NYC to Rosa’s decade-long work of actually being one in Chicago. During our years apart, the super-genius earned her place as the leader of The Squad, Illinois’ government-approved state superhero team, all while continuing school and earning her PhD in Aerospace Engineering. Her reasons for moving back include the early retirement of her brightly-colored cape, a growing family, and an executive position at the local aerospace tech facility.

My reason for moving back is the cheap rent for the studio apartment connected to the back of my Uncle’s duplex.

Okay, focus. Back to the now:

I take my place at our makeshift starting line, defined by a strip of reflective tape that I had saved from Halloween. Pink, blue, and violet flashes of light cross over the strip’s surface, which I’ve already fixated on as I slide into the best ‘pre-running’ stance I can muster.

Rosa asks, “Do you remember how far you ran when it happened last?”

“No clue,” I tell her, shaking out my already-trembling hands. “Running and I aren’t exactly on friendly terms. The last time it happened, I was running from someone.”

“And you’re sure it’s not the speed, but the distance?”

“Yep. One hundred percent.”

“Then you’ve definitely got the wrong superpower, honey.”

I scoff. “You can say that again.”

No one really tells you how quickly you can move when you’re running for your life. Regardless, I’m certain that however far I ran on the night that I discovered my powers wasn’t any further than I’d ever run before. It was far, but not impossible. I haven’t exactly tried to test my theory in between said mugging and where we are right now. In fact, I’ve barely slept.

It’s been two nights since it happened, but I can still feel the edge of a knife upon the back of my neck, threatening to break through the layers of flesh and carve at the bone if I didn’t surrender my purse. All that I could do at that moment as the knife’s owner reached to grab my arm, was run.

My sneakers hit the pavement and I dropped the bag of freshly-procured junk food I had intended to take home for a one-woman Netflix party. But no matter how much I ran, I could still feel him at the back of my neck, forcing the tiny hairs upon it to raise with each heavy stomp of his feet behind me. Every moment brought him closer until the blade felt real.

But just when the knife truly reached my neck, just when I could feel skin break, my body jolted forward.

Fast.

An unknown switch had flipped in the instant that my heel hit the ground, sending me forward so quickly that I barely had time to brace for what I would crash through. I was doing something faster than running, but not quite flying. By the time I managed to stop the fury of my own speed, I had made it halfway North to Winter Park. A four-hour drive reduced to a mere twenty-five minutes, give or take, on foot. I took a red-eye train South to home for the sake of my own sanity, ate an entire pizza, and managed to get in just after midnight. That’s when I messaged Rosa.

So here I am, fitted with a tracking device around my wrist, trying to figure out the how and why of my apparent superpower’s stupid condition. The but, the also, the with great power comes with… of it all. Asking for Rosa’s help has been the most rational and healthy thing I’ve managed to do over the past two days. At least I’ve got that going for me.

“Maya,” that even tone delivers my name to me again, this time tinged with concern. “Are you sure you even want to find out more about this?”

“What? Of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, what do you even need it for? You’re not exactly the caped crusader type, and you don’t even know where it came from. Plus, powers come with regulations.” Rosa continues her work as she speaks, never once actually looking at me. “Laws and paperwork and registration. And that’s just for having them. I quit the team because I was tired of the feds following my every move, and even right now I’m sure that they‘re still watching — “

“Hey, slow down, okay? We’re going to be fine.”

But it’s rational and smart to want to plan for the outcome of my circumstance, which is more than either of us can say about our actions thus far. Pulling up from my long-ruined ‘stance,’ I raise a hand to try and keep her from continuing. Guilt bubbles somewhere deep within my gut and it stings.

“The truth is, I’m not thinking that far ahead,” I admit. “Plus, what kind of speedster can’t use their power unless they run a certain distance like me? I’d get laughed out of my hypothetical spandex on my first day by some nineteen-year-old calling themselves The Bullet or something.”

“Exactly,” Rosa agrees, maybe a little too quickly. Ouch. “You don’t need to use this power.” By now she is clearly done fixing the radar, but her fingers still quietly twist a knob back and forth on the topside, failing to stifle the tension in her body that is visible even from where I stand.

“And if you don’t use it,” she says softly, “nobody has to know that you’ve got it.”

She’s worried. She has every right to be.

“I know you’re looking out for me, Rosa. But heroes, registration — that’s not what tonight is about. Finding out how this thing works is just really important to me. Given that you’re here, I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s important to you, too. Whatever this is and wherever it came from, it’s part of me now. I’ve got to own it.” My feet find solid ground as I speak. Maybe I need to hear this more than Rosa. “I’m ready to try it now,” I tell her.

Rosa’s fidgeting slows to a stop, and for the first time this evening, she actually makes eye contact with me. Suddenly no time has passed and we’re just two stupid kids again, halfway toward hurrying back to our dorm at six in the morning with fistfuls of bagged-up greasy leftovers from Pollo Tropical. We sit there, staring at each other in disbelief at where the night has taken us.

Then she smiles, and I smile, and we laugh, and we’re back. I can see the dimples that frame Rosa’s grin, which has changed with time by growing brighter and better than ever.

“Okay, speedster,” Rosa says. “Let’s see how fast those legs can take you after all those years of typing super-gossip on your butt.”

“That’s so rude,” I retort, stretching and standing at our starting line again. “I won awards for the legitimate work that I did while on my butt. And I’ve been doing squats lately, just look at my — ”

“Focus, Maya. I’m not trying to be here all night.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As I turn away, I hear a few clicks and whirrs coming from Rosa’s direction. Then she says, “Monitors are rolling. Try not to wear yourself out on the first try.” She doesn’t seem to understand that I probably only have one try in me, but that doesn’t matter.

Rosa raises her head, a disquieting look upon her smooth features. “Well?”

I am finally forced to face forward and meet the endless abyss once again. It’s still just as dark, but the fear that ran thick and icy like an overwhelming ichor from the Gods themselves within my veins is gone. Instead, there is only fire and a strange curiosity welling up inside of me at once. It’s the kind of good itch that I used to get right when I knew I had landed a useful lead, or when I was in the right place at the right time to watch something extraordinary unfold. But it’s never been about me in the past. I’ve never felt extraordinary before. Until now.

“Right,” it’s more of a huff than a word. “I’m really ready.”

For a moment, my body rocks back and forth, shifting my weight from my heels to my toes and back. No more spikes of sarcasm flutter at me from Rosa’s direction. She knows that it’s time. I know what comes next.

She starts the clock.

With a push off of the ground, I find myself running too fast at first, slowing down to try and even out my motion. I can’t exhaust everything before my speed triggers, but telling myself as much only manages to make things worse. For a moment I try to imagine myself running a few nights before, but that does nothing to help me. I’ve only been at it for a few seconds and I already feel drained.

I try again to temper my breaths, but the lack of sleep has come to ring heavily within my head. All of this would have probably been better for a later date, at least for someone else. I know myself well enough to know that sleep wouldn’t have come to me if I tried to schedule all of this, and Rosa probably would have talked me out of it if she had been given any more time.

That thought pushes me forward: there is only the now, only this moment, in this timeline. No other course of action would have led me to this dirty old tarmac, which is exactly where I need to be. It’s only then that I realize Rosa has been counting the distance out loud.

“Fifty-eight! … Fifty-nine! …”

It’s not my intention to hit the ground and shift my weight, but just as Rosa yells, “sixty,” it happens. I’m weightless without warning, existing on some plane where I see in slow motion but move faster than I can comprehend. I bound off of the edge of the airfield’s gates within the blink of an eye and hurry toward an unknown destination. It’s here that I finally realize I have to control the where of this situation, taking a sharp turn back with full intention to round the perimeter.

I can hear Rosa yelling, probably still reading off numbers, but focusing on my direct physical actions takes a lot more concentration than I had anticipated. Still, this feels pretty good for the first try. I’ve heard of younger Supers struggling with their powers, but at that moment I’m pretty sure it’s because they just lack basic self-control.

Or, as I am about to learn, maybe I’m just an idiot.

“Maya,” I finally hear Rosa call in the distance. Her voice is no longer tempered or soft. She is screaming. “Maya, look down!”

I don’t know how long I’ve been off the ground by then, but it doesn’t matter, because the moment doesn’t last long. For the scattered seconds that it does, though, all I can focus on is just how small the hangar seems from where I float — no, fly — amid the cold morning’s air.

I scream. Rosa screams, again. I lose hold of a sense of balance that I was not aware I previously had.

The fall is both horrifying and embarrassing. If I am to die this way, with one shoe now missing from the drop, my hair a mess, and a seriously busted face, then I hope I at least combust upon hitting the ground.

“You‘re such an idiot.”

It’s only Rosa’s verbal scolding that helps me realize when I am no longer falling. The former super-heroine is more than just brains. She’s left all of her gadgets behind just to fly up and catch me.

“You didn’t tell me that you could fly, too,” she says, tilting me once we reach the ground to help me onto the pavement. It’s been a few months since I last saw her in her cape, but she looks no different now in a cable-knit sweater. Whether Rosa likes it or not, the presence of a hero doesn’t just go away with retirement.

“I didn’t know,” I say, feeling terribly out of my league in all things involving existing. “I swear, that didn’t happen last time.”

“If it was distance again, you’d run a good hundred miles around this place by the time you started going up.”

“Are you serious? That much?! That’s too much.”

But I don’t know what else I’m expecting. A superpower that demands a processing time feels inconvenient, like wearing a jacket on a hot and humid day just for the look. I thought I would be alright with it just being there, but for some reason, I’m not.

“Look on the bright side,” Rosa says. “At least we know the numbers now, and they’re easy to remember.”

“Yeah,” I manage to reply, but my muscles feel like Jell-O and I am quickly slumping toward the ground.

Rosa scoops an arm under my shoulders, helping me back toward her equipment and the cooler. “Let’s fix you up and get you home.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No, really. Thank you,” I mumble, settling onto the ground next to the ice cooler. Rosa pulls out a sandwich and ice water for me, but I reach for a juice pack instead. “You didn’t have to go out of your way or risk your job just so that I could try this out, but you did it anyway.”

“Maya, you were in New York for too long. You’re all desensitized,” Rosa shoves the water bottle at me as she speaks. I know better than to protest even though I want to, so I take it and drink. Cool hydration hits me, and it feels like heaven. “You’re still my best friend,” Rosa says. “You’ve done all kinds of stupid things for me. I’ll always do stupid things for you, too.”

“How about helping me practice?”

“I don’t know if I feel that stupid right now.”

I take a bite of my sandwich. “Fair enough.”

There’s a part of me that knows I can ask another time and get a yes. That’s why I just enjoy the moment, watching the stars as low light begins to brush their shine away.

As I look back toward the paved runway I took toward flight, the once endless sheets of darkness slowly begin to fade away, replaced by the cool fog. I can’t see any farther down the path than I could before, but I am no longer concerned about what lay ahead. And whether it’s the mix of my sleeplessness and shock or a true feeling, I know that I've taken a step away from what life used to be, no matter what new paths the darkness and fog of fate would eventually lead me down.