Stylo’s eyes shot open. The door had shut, and his sister was gone.

He carefully sat up in his cot. He looked over at the cot that Gallop, his sister, was sleeping in. He had an incredibly keen sense of hearing, so she should’ve assumed he’d be able to notice her leaving. Stylo carefully swung his legs over the bedding and pulled his boots on. He shelled his palms behind his ears, listening attentively. He heard her footsteps, heels clacking against the concrete floor. He waited for it to slowly die out as she walked off. She had excellent hearing herself, so if he was to follow Gallop, he wouldn’t want her to know.

This was unusual, though. It’s not uncommon that Gallop would walk off in the middle of the night. Sometimes she gets bored and goes to check on the captives, other times she has a meeting with the bosses, but she’d always tell Stylo. They don’t keep secrets. They’re not supposed to keep things from one another. Something was up.

As he finally heard her footsteps disappear, he stood up and inched carefully towards the door. He grasped the cold metal handle and yanked it. His head poked out the doorway. He turned his head to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching. He stepped out and silently shut the door behind him.

“Gallop, where have you gone,” he mutters to himself. Well, that wasn’t really her name, but that’s what they all called her. Ever since the siblings had joined this team of… people, they needed new names. Stylo was not really Stylo, and Gallop was not really Gallop. They couldn’t call each other by their real names, no matter what.

The gloomy, dim lights buzzed over his head as he strolled down the hallway. The rusted metal and cracked stone within the walls made the prison repetitive and stale, but at least he had somewhere to stay. Their room isn’t so bad, he always said to himself. Plus, the captives don’t even get bedding, but that’s how he likes it.

He continued down the hallway, almost to the corner where the wall ends and the railing in front of the cells begins. Right before he was about to turn the corner, he heard his sister’s voice.

“What was it you needed me for?” Her voice echoed at the bottom floor of the unit. Stylo peered from behind the wall, looking down at her and two other figures.

“They’re trying to escape,” the young woman to the left says. Her hair was shoulder length, and a braid was tucked behind her ear along with her ebony locks. She looked rather young, no older than 17. Another girl similar in appearance stood next to her. She had the same face, but she looked much more sorrowful. He hair reached her back and she had a similar braid on the opposite side of her face.

“This is the closest they’ve gotten to success. We needed to discuss this with you,” she told stalely. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, opposed to the one beside her who’s hands were buried in her jean pockets.

“All due respect,” Gallop bellowed, crossing her arms. “But I’d like this to be as quick as possible. Stylo has a keen ear.”

“Yes, we’re well aware,” The one on the left nods. “It’s that man with the chameleon ability. He’s much more trouble than we expected.”

Stylo’s eyes narrowed. He’s well acquainted with everyone in the prison; The guards, the captives, all of them. He doesn’t like the captives, he taunts them often, but he’s not such a fool that he wouldn’t be aware of their bizarre abilities. Given the way these girls speak, no…no, there’s no possible way these girls are his bosses. He joined this gang for security, but he’d never met the bosses. Why do they trust his sister more than him? What was his sister hiding?

“If his spirit can become invisible, he could be listening to us as we speak,” Gallop scoffs. “This discussion defeats its own purpose. Have you tested his limit?”

“We have, indeed,” the girl on the right mumbles. “That’s why were on the opposite wing rather than the roof, I hope you understand.”

The left one steps forward, her hips jutted out in a wide stance. “Let me get straight to the point,” she announces, taking a hand from her pocket. “Floyd found that the police may be aware of this place. Sara and I have a plan: we’re blowing this place to the ground. Bomb’s going off in 24 hours.”

Stylo caught a gasp in his windpipe. He clasped his hand over his mouth. These girls are the bosses. Easily, without any shadow of a doubt. His throat began to feel tight, and he inched backwards. The air around him began to feel hotter. He turned on his heel and sped back to his room. What was to happen to him? Why can’t he know? Are they going to kill him?

He’s not to be frightened, they’re his bosses. They’re the ones that took him and Gallop in, they’re the ones that kept them from dying on the streets. They couldn’t possibly get them caught in an explosion! He’s overreacting!

Stylo scrambled to open the door to his room and slammed the door all too loudly. He panted with his back up against the door. Slowly, he slid down and his tailbone hit the ground. His chest heaved as he grasped it, and his eyes darted every which way. His throat felt hoarse. His hands were clammy, and he felt a cold sweat flake off his forehead. His teeth gritted in fear and a hand reached up to grasp at his short, bubblegum pink curls. Not another bomb, God, please not another bomb.

“Stylo.” His sister’s voice muffled through the door.

He swore to himself under his breath. He was in such a panic he hadn’t realized she already finished her meeting. Or did they all hear him sprinting down the hall and shutting the door? Were his bosses waiting outside the door ready to beat him? Why the heck was he thinking like this anyways?

“It’s just me,” she says, as if she were reading his mind. Stylo lets out a breath he had no idea he was holding. He tried to catch his breath, trying to calm the hard thrumming of his heartbeat in his ribs. Sluggishly, he reached up and turned the door handle.

And there she was. Gallop loomed over her brother, him still sprawled on the floor in fear. She stepped forward, her face stoic as ever, and offered a hand to him. Stylo’s eyes darted between Gallop’s face and her hand, but he stretched out his trembling fingers to meet hers.

“Listen,” she bellows. Her grasp on Stylo’s hand tightened. “We need to talk.”