A strong gust of icy wind rose from the sea on Tuesday, sweeping across the island, so that many of the students were forced to wear the jackets that were appropriate to their Dorms, which had been provided by the school and stocked neatly into their drawers when they had initially been settled into their rooms. High-collared, with thick leather sleeves, sleek wool bodies, and shining buttons of silver, gold, and bronze trailing along the front, Alec had to admit that they were quite handsome, like customized Letterman jackets. As he crossed the school that morning for his first lesson, hands folded deep in his pockets and snuggling beneath the material, he passed many other students who were covertly trying other methods to keep themselves warm.

He glimpsed a glowing ball of green fire hovering behind the backs of a group of older Poseidon students, several of whom were keeping watch for teachers; a fourth-year Zeus boy whom Alec had met underground during their previous nighttime challenge was surreptitiously using his superspeed to rub his hands together to generate more heat.

How lucky they were, Alec found himself thinking suddenly, to have such useful powers, and not the causes of such immense destruction that Alec had been cursed with. The first lesson of the day was Gym, with Professor Elliott, who had made a full recovery a short time ago, to the undisguised disappointment of many students. Alec breathed a mental sigh as he entered the Gymnasium, but rearranged his features entirely as he saw what was happening inside. The students looked incredibly excited rather than apprehensive, the Gym floor had been reverted to its original state rather than decked out with some new virtual level that entailed some sort of hidden challenge, like the classes before. And, most surprising of all, there was someone else at the front, beside Professor Elliott in his too-short shorts with his black whistle glittering at his throat.

"What's going on?" Alec asked, sidling up to Ethan. "Why is the Grey Wailer here?"

He was referring to the woman who accompanied the Gym teacher, a woman in a silver-plated bodysuit that gleamed so brightly it was almost dazzling, with dark brown hair pulled back into a large, neat bun, hands at her hips and a wide smile revealing straight teeth almost as bright as her uniform — stereotypical hero pose. Alec thought it looked rather stupid in real life, quite unlike in the comic books he and Dusty had so loved. She was the same hero who, according to Professor Shields, had defeated the villain from whom they had obtained the forcefield generator that Alec had procured in their first Weapons and Equipment lesson.

"Dunno," Ethan said carelessly. "Guess we'll have to wait 'n see."

Alec could see Maddison in the crowd, wearing her own jacket, eyes fixed on the heroine ahead; Javon was near her, looking equally excited. A short ways from him, Alec could see Damon, at least a head taller than anyone in close proximity, clad in the brilliant gold-and-white Letterman-like wear of the Zeus Dorm. He looked more like a stereotypical jock than ever, burly and strong-jawed, in the footballer's jacket, surveying the teacher as fixedly as everyone else, but his gaze was heavy: his eyes were drooping, though everyone else was too busy staring at the Grey Wailer to notice. He looked exhausted, as though he had stayed out all night again.

Alec moved away from Ethan and stopped nearer to the front, watching as Professor Elliott called the class to order.

"Okay, okay, I know you're excited, but let's get the register done first, yeah? Apollyon?"

He took a few minutes to clear the register. Then, when everyone had been checked as "present," he gestured back to the hero. "So, I imagine you're all eager to know what an actual, costumed League member could possibly be doing in our Gym. Well, Grey Wailer is here to share some things with you lot this morning. I trust that you will give her your undivided attention. Have a seat," he said, motioning at the floor with a flourish, then as they sat, he moved away with a courteous bow to the Grey Wailer. She strutted forward. She had a model's figure, but was rather firmer than most, with her smooth, dark skin.

If Heroics doesn't work out, she can always try the runway, Alec thought, eyeing her figure with an appraising eye. He wasn't the only one either: he was sure that most of the other males in this class were less intrigued by the prospect of what she had to say than how well her uniform fitted.

"Good morning, Class 101." She beamed. The first years, on the events they had shared classes with the other Dorms, were separated into three groups, 101, 102, and 103. "I'm here to talk to you this morning about practicality in the field." She oozed confidence, striding among them as they sat upon the gleaming, white-tiled floor. Professor Elliott had surreptitiously adjusted the temperature in the room and they now stripped off their jackets, adjusting to the soothing warmth.

"Now, as you should know, powers are divided into two major categories. Can anyone tell me what they are?"

A Poseidon girl to Alec's immediate right raised her hand tentatively. Alec wished she hadn't, as it would put him right in view of the Grey Wailer, whose eyes had been wandering the crowd for a volunteer to answer. And sure enough, her cornflower-blue eyes lingered on him for a fraction of a second longer than he felt comfortable with. Then they settled on the girl.

"Your name, dear?"

"Alyssa," she said.

"And the answer to my question, Alyssa?"

"Passive and Active," Alyssa said.

"Quite correct. And what are the differences between the two?" she went on, addressing the crowd at large once again.

This time Maddison assumed the challenge.

"Active powers are abilities that require a certain degree of conscious effort to be activated; whereas Passive abilities can be — and usually are — already in effect without the user's knowledge or deliberate intention."

"Precisely," Grey Wailer said, beaming widely again. "Now the problem is, like everyone before me, villains and lesser wrongdoers possess as many varied abilities which they can employ in any number of ways. Whether they have a linear set of powers, which develop around a specific function — like Elementals, for example — or others, whose powers are oriented around a non-specific directive. One may never know what an adversary is capable of without direct confrontation. Therefore, one thing that all heroes must be able to do is adapt to whatever abilities their opponents may display.

"Unfortunately, you'll understand that in many cases, this simply cannot be achieved. Sometimes you need a certain resource, sometimes the outcome of the battle depends on the environment, sometimes your intelligence level, et cetera. There are many things that can influence a battle, not just whether or not you can blow things up with your mind or throw heavy punches. It's a combination of characteristics and opportunity, with efficient execution.

"Which is why I'm here. A team of heroes from the League will be holding a joined workshop in a matter of days, extended as well among several other superhuman-based institutions across the country."

There are more? Alec thought bemusedly, then immediately, Of course there are. Could hardly expect all the superhuman kids in the world to fit in this one school.

"At this workshop," Grey Wailer continued, still moving purposefully among them, her confident smile still firmly in place, "we will enact several practical scenarios in which to give you an idea of the kinds of threats our heroes can and do encounter on a daily basis, and the proper ways to assess and resolve these situations."

Alec made a mental note that, should he decide to go after she had finished speaking, he would stay well away from whatever kind of "practical scenarios" they had to enact; he had had enough physicality here at Helix already.

"We will also be giving you a tour of the Hero League facilities, as well as some exposition in regards to the kinds of jobs we offer. Yes, yes," she went on, still beaming widely, her blindingly white teeth still perfectly visible, for a murmur of surprise had crossed the crowd, "hard to believe, I know, but we do not, in fact, only have positions in our forces for people who desire to punch and kick villains in the field. No, no. As I'm sure you may have learned from your classes by now, being a Hero is more than simply wearing a nice costume and rushing off to fight the bad guys." Her laugh echoed through the room, shrill and blatantly false.

"Obviously, being as young as you are, these job opportunities will unfortunately be unavailable to you. But this way, you will have ample time to weigh your options and do thorough research on any field you may be interested in, so that you may pursue it in the near future, if you wish.

"I also wasn't supposed to tell you this," she said excitedly, "but there may — keyword, may — also be an opportunity to watch some of our charges in action in the field. Calm down, calm down," she said cheerfully, as a positive torrent of excited talk erupted within the room. "I said may — and remember, you didn't hear it from me." She gave an exaggerated wink, then continued, "As it is, the Workshop will take place outside of Helix, so we will require your parents' or guardian's permission for you to go. If you desire to attend, simply come forward, place your name on this list" — she gestured at the clipboard Professor Elliott was waving — "and take one of these leaflets with more information about the event. We will contact your parents ourselves with the details."

Every single student moved forward to jot down their names and claim leaflets. As Alec moved up in line, he felt a sharp prickling feeling in the side of his neck that told him that eyes were upon him and glanced sideways. The Grey Wailer was staring at him, but all her earlier jauntiness was gone: it was a piercing, calculating look, her eyes narrowed beneath the thick, black leather mask.

She turned away as their eyes met, brown on blue, and hastily readopted her smile, though it seemed a little forced now. Alec had expected this. Of course he would be an object of intrigue to the Hero League, when he had simultaneously saved one of their own from certain death and defeated one of their more elusive antagonists only weeks ago. Yet he could tell that there was something more that had piqued her interest, and as he scribbled down his name under Peter Ellis's, he wondered whether he was making a mistake by agreeing to go.

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Lunch was a virtually silent affair for Alec. He had collected his meal, but had not stayed in the canteen, feeling violently prone to the excessive noise, the irritating stares, that had started up again at the news of his recent hospitalization. He sat down on a bench at the front of the school, which was mercifully devoid of students, wolfing down his meal. He had feared that he might be too upset to eat, but as it turned out, he wanted nothing more than to eat. Food seemed to act as his refuge.

He ate for a while in blissful silence, but then the illusion of serenity shattered as he heard the sound of feet approaching, firm heels clicking sharply against the ground, and just as he was about to announce that he did not want to be disturbed, an all-too familiar voice said, "Alexander?"

He jumped and whirled around, almost gagging on his food. He managed to swallow, then said, "Professor Wyatt!"

The Head of his Dorm stood there, tall, lean, and blonde, looking slightly puzzled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I'd heard there was a slight altercation earlier and then I saw you alone out here."

"I thought we were allowed to eat leave the canteen with our food if we wanted to?" Alec said, deliberately obtuse.

"Of course. I just thought something might be bothering you. Are you all right?" he said.

"Fine. Just a little . . . unsettled." He decided that the truth would help to speed up the conversation.

"If it doesn't pass, perhaps you should visit the Medbay. Well —" He turned to leave.

"Sir?" Alec spoke up quickly, a sudden thought occurring to him.

"Yes?"

"Did Headmistress Lewis tell you what she told me?"

"She did, yes," he said slowly.

"And . . . um . . . do you happen to have any advice on what I should do?"

"Advice?" Wyatt laughed. "Oh, you're not looking for advice, Alexander. You want someone to tell you what to do. Well, unfortunately, I can't be that person. I must remain neutral in regards to all of my students. What I can offer you, is to simply weigh your options. Good luck."

He departed, leaving Alec alone with his violently swirling thoughts. He sank back down onto the bench, frowning now at nothing in particular, and found that he did not much care for his meal anymore. Memories rushed back into his mind, of scenes painfully familiar to the one unfolding at this moment, yet different in scenery. Back then the only worries he had were whether or not he would be able to do all his chores and still have time to meet up with Dusty for whatever plans the two had formed, or whether he would be able to complete his homework assignments on time — none of which had included things like learning how to operate hover-technology, which Professor Sheilds had told them last class they would start during this lesson, he remembered suddenly as the bell rang close at hand to signal the end of lunch.

Alec rose once more with a sigh of exasperation, hefted his tray, and tossed what was left of his lunch into one of the large grey bins littered around the school as he went. As he emerged onto the corridor leading to the designated area for the lesson, having returned the empty tray to the canteen, he joined the rest of his class heading to the Armoury.

Professor Sheilds opened the door with his usual unnerving smile, admitted them into the enormous, high-ceilinged room with the massive, highly advanced-looking vault at the other end of it, bearing hundreds of weapons and equipment of all sizes, shapes, and uses, as well as similar and more progressive models to the vehicles that were presently laid out in front of them.

"Unfortunately, you're not ready to ride them just yet," he said, when the class had finally settled, gesturing at the three hover-carriers. "For now, we'll simply be observing. Get out your books, and let's take some notes. This one," he went on, when they had done so, "is known as the Zetawing."

He referred to the first vehicle in the series, which resembled a scooter; it had two handlebars attached to a thick stem, with a rounded base upon which to stand, though there were no wheels at the bottom. It was hovering a good inch above the ground. The Zetawing, according to Sheilds, was the slowest of the three vehicles presented, but the most durable and easiest to pilot. He tilted it a little so that they could see its underside, where they found a glowing, circular disk-like protrusion that was keeping the vehicle afloat by producing a small antigravity field that only affected the area immediately underneath it.

The next was the Zetaboard, which looked almost like a regular skateboard: black, technologically advanced, with two smaller antigravity field projectors attached to the bottom.

The last was known as the Zetacycle, and it was the one that caught Alec's attention the most. Like the other two, it resembled a more futuristic version of a regular day-to-day vehicle operated in modern society, this time a shining grey bike, but with no wheels; instead it was rounded like the Zetawing, with a large, rectangular, rocket-like thruster attached to each side.

Professor Sheilds demonstrated how to correctly mount each vehicle, at the same time giving a brief tutorial on the controls and manipulation of each, but, though the interest of the class was at its peak, refused to do anything further than provide exposition on their anatomies. He chuckled as he told them, "You'll get your chance, children, you'll get your chance!"

The single period ended after a short session spent jotting down more notes, and the class filed out, speaking in awed voices about the vehicles they had seen, and the more impressive models that must surely be hidden behind the vault doors.

"You know, Weapons and Equipment might actually be my favourite class," Javon said, grinning, as he and Alec maneuvered through the tide of chattering students.

"Yeah. It's a shame he chose this lesson to start acting responsibly, though," Alec replied, with sardonic bitterness.

Both he and Javon chortled, then Javon said, "So which one would you have chosen?"

"All three of them are cool, I guess. But if I had to choose, I'd definitely take the Zetacycle."

"Really?" Javon looked genuinely surprised. "I'd take the Board. It's smaller, more efficient, the fastest of all three — and what could be cooler than surfing on air?"

"Revving your flying bike in midair so that the riders stuck on land can look up at it and seethe with envy?"

There was a short, contemplative pause.

"Okay, that would be awesome," Javon conceded. "But I'd still take the Board."

They walked on, still debating the pros and cons of both the Zetaboard and the Zetacycle, and Alec felt the unpleasant sensation of eyes fixed on him once again, laser-like in intensity. He did not stop walking, but cast a casual sideways look to his left, so as not to alert Javon or his target of his suspicions, and once again found the Grey Wailer staring intently at him as she walked across the fourth-year block, which rose two floors from where Alec and Javon were. Neither of them broke eye contact this time, and only when she had disappeared behind a stretch of wall with Professor Vera, to whom she was speaking, did Alec return his gaze to the school in front of him, sure that something was most definitely amiss.