CHAPTER THIRTEEN: OUT AND ABOUT

The city smelled like rust and sea rot. Harry stepped through the secure PRT checkpoint, squinting as sunlight hit his face for the first ti

The city smelled like rust and sea rot.

Harry stepped through the secure PRT checkpoint, squinting as sunlight hit his face for the first time in days. It wasn’t his sun—not quite—but it was close enough. The air outside carried a bite, sharper than the smog-choked London he remembered, with the faint electric tang of something wrong beneath it. Not magic. Something else.

Brockton Bay sprawled ahead in shades of gray and tired brown. The skyline, half-eaten by time and neglect, sagged toward the ocean like a collapsed lung. Roofs tarped in blue. Brickwork patched with sheet metal. A broken world, limping on.

He took a breath. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just... cracked.

“Try not to look so impressed,” said the man beside him.

Harry turned to glance at his escort.  The man was tall, messy-haired, and grinned like he was already a full ten minutes into a stand-up routine. Assault. Red costume traded for civvies today: jeans, a bomber jacket, and mirrored shades perched on his forehead.

“You’re the welcome wagon?” Harry asked, skeptical.

“Ethan at your service.” He threw his arms out wide. “They wanted someone personable. I’m personable. You want moody and terrifying, I can call Shadow Stalker, but I think they’re trying not to get you arrested.”

“Not sure being seen with you helps.”

“Ouch. Rude and British. They warned me about this.”

They started walking. The streets were mostly clear—no civilians crowding to enter the building—but a few heads still turned their way anyway. Harry’s clothes were fresh, civilian-issue but a little too crisp and clean. His boots were standard issue and sturdy, but his eyes—green like emerald polished too long—didn’t quite scream ordinary.

Ethan kept it casual, hands in pockets. “You ever seen a place like this before?”

“I’ve seen worse,” Harry said quietly.

“Yeah?” Ethan arched a brow. “Like what?”

Harry didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to a slouched apartment building, its windows spiderwebbed with old bullet holes. A laundry line hung limp from the roof, caught in a wind that never came.

“The city’s at war with itself,” Harry said, mostly to himself.

Ethan’s grin faded. “Yes, it is.”

They passed a food cart on the corner. The vendor gave Harry a sideways glance but said nothing. Further down, a group of teens loitered outside a closed bodega, music blaring from a tinny phone speaker. One of them frowned openly at Harry as he passed.

“People always stare like that?” Harry muttered.

Ethan shrugged. “If you don’t look like you belong? Yeah. Around here, you’re either a cape, a mark, or about to do something very stupid.”

“And which one am I?”

“Jury’s still out for now.”

They turned into a narrow side street. The buildings leaned in closer here, claustrophobic, and the ocean wind brought the smell of brine and rot with renewed force. Somewhere above, a power line buzzed.

Harry stopped, head tilting. “Do you hear that?”

“What—”

Boom.

The sound came from ahead, muffled but unmistakable. Then smoke, thick and dark, curling up from a building two blocks over.

Ethan stiffened. “Shit. Stay here—”

But Harry was already moving.

He broke into a jog, one hand already rising instinctively, muscle memory remembering something he no longer carried. People were shouting ahead, someone even screamed. The front of a crumbling building had collapsed inward, leaving a mound of broken timber, shattered glass, and stone. Flames licked at the edges of the wreckage, too bright against the pale morning.

Harry stood still for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing, then he stepped forward.

Ethan caught up just as Harry reached the curb. “Hey! No powers, remember? We’re not in costume, and we are not cleared for—!”

In lieu of a response, Harry raised one hand, palm open and pointed at the building. 

“Aguamenti!”

Clean water erupted from his palm in a high-pressure yet controlled torrent. It struck the blaze with a roar, steam exploding outward in a thick, hissing cloud. The resulting heat differential cracked what glass remained as flames sputtered, shrieked, and died.

Across the street, someone gasped, “Did you see that?!” 

Others raised their phones, already recording.

But Harry didn't notice or even cared. He moved closer, boots crunching over wet debris, and stared into the smoking rubble, eyes narrowed. Another spell was on his lips

“Homenum revelio.”

There was no flash of light, only a quiet pulse through the air, like a radar ping only he could feel. His eyes glazed over for a second, then widened.

“There’s someone trapped under that beam,” he said. “Still breathing.”

Assault swore and started forward, but Harry was already moving. He picked his way across the rubble, boots crunching glass and ash. He crouched beside the mound and swept both hands upward.

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

The heavy timber beam groaned as it lifted into the air, inch by inch. Dust and plaster slid off in soft cascades. Beneath it, buried in collapsed flooring and debris, was a girl: young, maybe fifteen, with blood matting her hair, streaking down one temple, and an ankle twisted at a wrong angle. Her face was pale, eyes glassy with shock, and she coughed violently.

“Shh,” Harry whispered, dropping to a knee beside her. “You’re going to be alright.”

Her lips trembled. “Can’t… move...”

“I know. Don’t try.” He placed one hand gently on her shoulder and muttered another spell.

“Anapneo.”

Her breathing, shallow and erratic, steadied. 

“Episkey.”

A soft pop—barely audible—sounded, and the girl’s twisted ankle aligned, color creeping faintly back into her cheeks. The panic in her gaze also dimmed slightly.

Harry guided her out slowly, carefully, shielding her with his frame. “You’re alright now.”

The girl looked at him, wide-eyed. “...Are you a hero?”

Sirens screamed in the distance. Emergency crews were on the way.

Ethan muttered into his comm. “HQ, we’ve got a civ rescue. Unauthorized power use. Contained, but yeah, people filmed it.”

Harry stepped back, hands slipping into his jacket, breathing a little harder now.

Though not from exhaustion.

The girl’s question had triggered a memory.

Smoke. Screams. Fire. Another building. Another city. Another world.

He exhaled.

“I didn’t mean to draw attention,” he said softly.

Ethan looked at him for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Then he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“But hey. Good work, kid.”