Alexandra Bedford sits in a grass field. The air is cool. A breeze rustles the empty cedar branches. Snow will come soon but not yet. Another late winter. The past two years since the war and the founding of the Allied States have been warm even in the traditionally colder parts of the country. Alex considers it a sign of the planet recovering, a sign the earth recognizes their efforts and is giving them more time to work. And, as someone once told her, there is a lot of work to do.

She sits near a tombstone – but that is not the right term. It is more of a marker, a part of a greater memorial. There is no real tomb beneath the grass, no grave. These markers are for the men and women of the Directorate and New England Alliance who died during the war. Most are from Kansas City but here in the center are those who died in Antarctica. This marker is the same as the others stretching across the grassy hills: a featureless white stone rod rising four and a half feet from a square plaque inscribed only with a name and two dates.

She comes here often, usually alone, and stays until the skies darken and the stars appear above. It is the stars that send her away. Once, when she was still young, before the team and New York, Kansas City, and Antarctica, she enjoyed observing the brilliant and clear night sky. She would imagine someone looking back from a faraway planet. Now she knows something is looking back: that darkness which took over her body and fled into space when she tried to save her father. The darkness often returns in her dreams.

She has difficulty sleeping even when Shepherd is there holding her against him. A full night’s rest has not come for as long as she can recall. The good nights are those when she only wakes up sweating and unable to remember exactly what caused her disquiet and terror. The bad nights are those when she wakes screaming or crying and Shepherd has to rock her back to sleep. Occasionally, she wonders if all of this is a dream, if she is still in Antarctica bleeding out in Shepherd’s arms.

Or still inside the sphere, she ponders. Maybe you never left.

Her abilities, the waking visions, and the black fluid that once ran through her blood vessels have been gone since Antarctica. She does not expect them to return. Sometimes she wishes she could still call herself a ‘kinetic. Then she remembers Kansas City and the Reagan.

If anything good came from Antarctica, it was Nicole’s recovery. Her friend doesn’t blame her for what happened but Alex still feels awkward around Nicole. Alex finds it difficult to look into those amber and green eyes when she knows what happened and still sees it in her dreams: Nicole vanishing into the darkness as the flesh dissolves from her bones. She doesn’t see Nicole often. Perhaps that is for the best.

Nicole and Webb are a couple now, just like she and Shepherd. Their abilities are gone, too. The pairing is strange but her friend seems happy. Alex is glad about that.

She looks at the marker. If only it were more elaborate, more fitting of the man she knew. But he probably would have preferred it this way, hidden among the hills and the other identical markers, serving as a part of the memorial to those three months in 2032.

“I miss you,” she whispers.

Shepherd’s presence registers before she sees or hears him. He is good at sneaking up on her, a trick especially easy when her mind begins to wander, but he does not surprise her this time. She smiles as he sits beside her and touches her shoulder.

“Thought you’d be here.” He is a major with the Allied military – the merger of the Directorate and NEA’s forces. He teaches instead of fights, and there are still fights, battles on the horizon as they work to reclaim the rest of the country from lawlessness and anarchy and chaos. General Park is in charge of that effort. Lunde has retired while Harrison continues to administer Colorado Springs. She has not seen either of them since the funerals. Alex wonders how long it will take for Shepherd to be called back to the front lines. This time she will have to stay home, have to watch, listen, and worry. Perhaps the rest of the team will be with him or at least nearby – all six including Ray Paul continue to serve.

“Off work early?” she says.

“Just taking a break for some fresh air.”

“You came a long way for fresh air.”

“But worth it.” He leans in to kiss her. It seems awkward, even inappropriate, in front of the marker, but she returns the kiss and closes her eyes. Eventually, they pull apart before things go too far. They will continue later that night as they often do. He takes a moment to compose himself. “How’s class?”

“Hard,” she replies with a smile.

Shepherd grins and adjusts his uniform.

She has enrolled in one of the new universities, an attempt by the Allied States to bring back the old world – or, as President Resnick is so fond of calling it, the Newer, Brighter World. Her focus is on architecture. She finds it fascinating to learn about the old buildings, their design, the terminology that allows her to better communicate the beauty and the little details she never noticed before. She appreciates the cities even more now, although that makes the loss of New York and Kansas City much more painful.

“Doing well, though?”

“Yeah.”

They sit together in silence. She feels comfortable and safe by his side. She wishes this could last forever, that it would stay sunny and cloudless and warm and that the ominous, watching stars would remain hidden by the light. Eventually, Shepherd says, “Planning on staying much longer?”

“I was, but…”

“Hungry?”

Her stomach growls. Both of them grin.

They stand up. Alex goes to the marker and places her hand on the polished white. A breeze sweeps through the field, creating waves in the grass and sending strands of her long hair across her vision. She imagines he is there beside her and Shepherd.

Maybe he is. Or just watching.

Alex and Shepherd depart the memorial holding hands. As they return to the city, full of scaffolding and construction and noise and life, her face takes on a new expression. She has achieved it after so long: her mother’s smile.