The thunder had woken her up. For a few minutes, she'd lain still in bed, listening to the rain pattering the window, the distant rumble of thunder, the way the wind blew against the mansion. Storms like this were rarer here than they'd been back home.

Storms were different for her, now. Everyone in her head had a different opinion of them, and her thoughts were influenced by them.

Easing out of her bed, she moved to the window seat, pulling the blanket there around herself. She pressed one hand against the glass, and closed her eyes. Even so, she was aware of the flash of lightning.

Rain. It was raining when they brought me in. It was raining when I escaped. I stood in the rain, the metal singing all around me, and I killed them. I killed them all, and I laughed. I wonder what I looked like to them, when the lightning danced behind me, and they were shot with their own guns.

She sighed softly. He was stronger in her head at night, when it was quiet, when she was vulnerable.

Fingertips traced patterns in the condensation inside the glass, and as lightning lit the sky again, she saw the lawn, wet and puddled. The basketball court, empty and forlorn. The forest at the far edge of the property, and then it was too dark to see anything else.

Eyes closed once more, forehead resting against the cool glass. She didn't fear the storms, but he did, sometimes. Not in any conscious way, but he did. She felt the Logan in her head tremor when lightning flashed. What would it feel like, to be struck, to have electricity dance through your whole body, along metal-laced bones? Sure, he'd heal, but it'd hurt like hell.

Then there was John. He was mostly indifferent. He didn't like the water, but the lightning entranced him. It was a fire of a sort. It could cause them, anyway. He wondered if he could harness lightning the way he did fire, but he doubted it. It was too different.

She wondered where John was, now. If he was near enough to watch the storm, or if he was somewhere else entirely. When she opened her eyes, lightning flashed, and thunder growled, and she saw what she'd drawn on the window.

A heart, with an arrow through it, and initials inside of it. She swallowed hard, because while her initials made up one pair, the other set was not Bobby's.

She hastily wiped the artwork away, but that couldn't erase the picture in her head. Shivering, she carried the blanket with her to her bed, slipping beneath the covers, closing her eyes.

Inside her head, one of them laughed softly.