The images streak across her vision like the sudden rake of a knife -- Ahiru, the mute figure in black, and a boy who looks much like the Joe she knows . . .

This Icarus Winged, for a moment human and whole.

"No!" The word tears out of her, but she either cannot stop the attack or doesn't know how; the light intensifies, searing through the creature, shredding it even as it changes back. It utters a high-pitched scream, almost humanlike . . . and goes silent.

The alley darkens, and the mirrors vanish. The feathers on Dove's arms are alert, piqued, then slowly settle, flat against her skin. For a long, long moment, Dove's eyes are closed, blocking out everything.

"'M White Dove," she murmurs. "'M sorry."