Cora's head whipped sideways with the blow to her cheek and she cried out, her neck wrenching painfully against the metal band that circled it.  Scattered drops of her blood joined those already decorating the concrete floor.

The dark-haired young woman shifted again under the shackles that pinned her to the chair at neck, wrists and ankles, but she had no real hope they'd give out.  Early on, she'd strained with all the strength in the lean muscles she'd earned through years of ballet, and her bonds hadn't budged.  Now she was battered and spent, and struggling was mostly habit.

"Give us the name," the rough voice repeated.  The man seemed tired.  Maybe torturing someone for... how long had it been, hours? ...was wearing on even one of Anarch's hardened minions?  But he'd shown no reluctance to continue, and she'd surely eventually die... the syringe he'd already used twice proved mere unconsciousness wouldn't end her ordeal.

She was afraid of dying, but more than her own life was at stake.  If she gave up Destiny's identity, these psychos could go after the heroine's mother, her brother, her nephews... hurt her where she was most vulnerable.  Not could, would.  Even if Cora was willing to put others in danger to save herself, the heroine herself, who'd done so much for the city already, was just more important.

But Cora knew every moment she endured brought Destiny closer.  Surely by now, the heroine had dealt with the bombs at the bridges, and was already using her Timesight to track what had happened to Cora, and her unnatural speed would allow her to arrive just in time.  And yet, the man acted as if he had all the time in the world.  He could just be a consummate professional, but she worried that he somehow knew something.  Not that Destiny had been blown up; he wouldn't have needed her identity anymore.  But something.

A tug at her foot drew Cora's scattered attention... the man was removing one of her shoes.  He tossed it carelessly aside, then repeated with the other.  Mad visions of bamboo shoots under her toenails flashed through her mind, but no... he hadn't removed her socks.  He was lifting something.  She blinked rapidly and her vision cleared for a moment.

It was a sledgehammer.

"You should give us the name," said the man, calmly.  "She has been diverted by a Paradox Field.  She won't find you here.  And my instructions are quite specific.  I'm not going to kill you.  That'd just piss her off.  But if you don't give me the name, we're still going to break her, by breaking you.  The theater incident last week proves she was in the audience, watching you dance.  Now, every time she sees you, thinks about you, she's going to know that will never happen again, and it's her fault, because she didn't back off."  He stepped closer, then sank down onto one knee to give himself a better angle.

Cora, who had managed to overcome her own fear of death, was utterly shocked by this new threat.  She knew it was credible, but she simply couldn't believe it could happen.  Losing ballet?  Her dancing was more than her life, it was her existence, it defined her.  Her bloodied mouth hung open mutely as she stared at the hammer.

The man watched her for a moment, then shrugged, his expression grim.  He raised the sledgehammer high and swung it towards Cora's foot.  Time seemed to slow, and she heard herself screaming.  She'd waited, and suffered and endured... but the door did not burst open, the ceiling did not crumble under Destiny's boots.

Seven individual bones, however, shattered quite readily.  A white-hot-

OKAY, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

...is there a problem?

"IS THERE A PROBLEM"?!  Why aren't you killing me?  You're just supposed to kill me!  You established in Chapter 7 that Dr. Eternal once restored life by leveraging a bond of true love, but that no power can perform major healing on another person.

Yes, and?

That's what's SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.  I get killed and Trin... I mean Destiny, tears apart Anarch's organization, and Dr. Eternal brings me back in a hospital where they can treat my internal bleeding, and we live happily ever after!

Why would I disallow healing but not resurrection if it wouldn't matter at some point?

You CAN'T.  You'd be ruining my life!  And Trin's!  It was my dancing that helped her learn to control her abilities, how we met, how we fell in love!  You're poisoning everything, so we can't take any pleasure in our gifts ever again!

I'm not, Anarch is.  Your lives, your love, are supposed to be more important than that!  The trauma will tear your relationship apart for now, but eventu-

Eventually?!  You know damn well YOU'RE doing this.  You're torturing us, CRIPPLING me, for your own dramatic satisfaction.  You're a worse monster than Anarch ever was, because you can do ANYTHING but you're CHOOSING to-

That's WRITING!  It can't ALL be happy endings!

Think harder!  If you truly care about us at all.  Please.  Please.

...

-burst of energy flared from Cora's skin in all directions, vaporizing her clothes, shredding the shackles and somehow tossing the man across the room.

Rescue had come, not from Destiny, but from Cora's perseverance... years of dance had built up a resistance to the stress hormones that might have naturally unlocked her own deeply buried powers.  Only an extended session of genuine torture had been enough to break through.

She screamed as the bones in her foot knitted themselves, but it sounded strange in her ears, almost avian.  Her pain vanished, and she suddenly realized she was hovering.  As she watched, the light from her skin dimmed and coalesced into a close-fitting white costume with a stylized feather pattern.  With a thought, she flew across the room, looming above her torturer, who gaped up at her in terror.

"Thank you," said Swan, softly.