The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

Chapter 308: 308 | Your Problems Are My Problems [PS BONUS]

I pocketed the phone and picked up the pace. The bond between us pulsed with exhaustion and something that felt like emotional overload, which probably meant Sloane’s afternoon had been as interesting as mine, just with more childhood hero worship and fewer insurance fraud implications.

The cafeteria operated at reduced capacity during the three o’clock hour, the dinner rush still two hours away and the lunch crowd long since dispersed. I found Sloane at our usual table by the windows, her pink hair pulled back in a ponytail that had seen better days, her training uniform rumpled in ways that suggested extensive physical activity.

She looked up when I approached, and her smile carried exhaustion around the edges.

"You look like someone put you through a blender," I said, settling into the chair across from her.

"Radiant moves like the air itself wants to get out of his way." She rubbed her shoulder with one hand. "Also, he’s terrifying in person. Like, genuinely terrifying. Not scary-movie terrifying. More like standing-too-close-to-a-nuclear-reactor terrifying."

"But you survived."

"Barely." The bond pulsed with complicated emotion, pride mixed with something closer to religious awe. "He made us run scenarios. Combat scenarios with actual tactical complexity, not the baby exercises we’ve been doing. Team coordination, environmental hazards, multiple objectives." She paused. "I was good at it."

"Of course you were good at it."

"No, I was really good at it. Like, scary good. Radiant noticed." Her voice dropped. "He asked to speak with me after class."

The bond carried a spike of something that wasn’t quite anxiety but wasn’t quite excitement either. Something between the two, with edges I couldn’t identify.

"What did he say?"

"He said my tactical instincts were exceptional for a first-year student. He said my combat awareness suggested prior training that wasn’t documented in my file. He said my mother had done excellent work preparing me for academy life." Sloane’s fingers drummed against the table. "Then he asked if I was planning to follow the agency track or pursue independent licensure."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I hadn’t decided yet. Which is true, mostly." She met my eyes across the table. "Then he gave me his contact information and said if I ever wanted to discuss career options, I should reach out to him directly."

The Oracle Feed stayed silent, but something in my chest tightened anyway. Radiant doesn’t hand out personal contact information to first-year students unless they’ve caught his attention in ways that matter. And Sloane catching the attention of America’s number one hero meant complications I wasn’t prepared to think about yet.

"That’s good," I said, because it was. "That’s really good."

"Yeah." The bond carried uncertainty beneath the pride. "It is."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the afternoon light shifting across her face and highlighting the exhaustion in her features. Her training uniform clung to her body in ways that reminded me exactly why the Oracle Feed tracked her as my primary heroine target, curves and muscle definition combining into something that bypassed rational thought entirely.

"How was your afternoon?" she asked eventually.

"Educational. Also potentially career-ending."

Her eyebrows rose. "Want to elaborate on that?"

"Percy figured out my documentation has discrepancies."

"What kind of discrepancies?"

"The kind that could get me expelled, arrested, and banned from hero work permanently."

The bond carried a spike of alarm that cut through her exhaustion like a blade. Sloane leaned forward, her blue eyes sharpening with the focus I’d seen during combat training.

"How much does he know?"

"Enough to be dangerous. Not enough to prove anything yet." I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache building behind my eyes. "He offered to help me research the regulatory implications."

"That’s good, right? If he wanted to report you, he would have done it already."

"Maybe. Or maybe he’s being thorough about understanding the situation before he decides what to do about it."

Sloane reached across the table and grabbed my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine in a grip that was half comfort and half possession. The contact sent warmth flooding through the bond, her determination bleeding into my consciousness until the distinction between her resolve and mine became academic.

"We’ll figure it out," she said.

"We?"

"You think I’m letting you handle this alone?" Her grip tightened. "You’re mine, Lukas. That means your problems are my problems. Your secrets are my secrets. Your potential career-ending documentation fraud is my potential career-ending documentation fraud."

The bond pulsed with fierce loyalty and something deeper, something that felt like the kind of commitment that didn’t come with exit strategies or reasonable limitations. It should have been terrifying. Instead, it felt like coming home.

"I love you," I said, because the words were true and because the moment demanded honesty.

"I know." Her smile carried smugness and warmth in equal measure. "I love you too, which is why we’re going to fix this before it becomes a problem."

"And how exactly are we going to do that?"

"I don’t know yet. But we have advantages Percy doesn’t know about. Resources he can’t access. Connections he can’t match." Her blue eyes held mine with intensity that made the afternoon light seem dim by comparison. "Also, I’m very good at solving problems that threaten things I care about."

The bond carried absolute certainty, the kind of confidence that came from never having failed at anything that mattered. It was intoxicating and terrifying and exactly what I needed to hear.

"Besides," she continued, her voice dropping into the register she used when she was being deliberately provocative, "if worst comes to worst, we can always run away together. Live as fugitive vigilantes. Very romantic."

"Is that your solution to everything? Running away together?"

"Not everything. Just the problems that can’t be solved through superior firepower and aggressive negotiation." Her smile turned wicked. "Also, you’d look good in a leather jacket. Very badass fugitive aesthetic."

The image of Sloane in vigilante gear hit my brain like a freight train carrying inappropriate thoughts. Dark leather that hugged her curves, her pink hair loose and wild, her blue eyes holding the kind of dangerous confidence that came from operating outside legal constraints. The fantasy lasted exactly long enough for my body to respond in ways that made sitting at a cafeteria table uncomfortable.

"You’re thinking about me in leather," she said, watching my face with satisfaction.

"I’m thinking about a lot of things."

"Mostly me in leather."

"Mostly you in leather."