Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 34: She didn’t look back

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

Her laugh grew—louder, unhinged—cursing herself for every flinch, every bow, every time she'd let them rule her.

The truth sank in, cold and hard: she was strong, stronger than them, stronger than anyone. She didn't need to touch them to end them—her will alone turned them to ice, her power a crown she'd never drop, forged in that moment of blood and frost.

She stood slow, knees trembling but spine straight, and kicked the ball—hard—watching it bounce off the freckled boy's frozen skull with a dull thud, rolling into a puddle that iced over fast.

Her chest heaved, breath pluming thick, and she laughed again—sharp, triumphant—as the realization settled: she was no one's mutt, no one's shadow.

She was Freya, and she'd rule herself from now on. She is born to be a Queen.

The alley stayed quiet—too quiet—after that, the ice glinting dull under a gray sky as she turned away, boots crunching a path through the frost.

She didn't look back—not at the bodies, not at the ball, not at the life she'd shed like a skin too tight. Blood pumped fast in her veins, her hands steady now, the cold humming alive under her skin as she walked out, the city sprawling ahead, a playground for her new strength.

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She'd been weak—pathetic, spineless—but that girl died in the alley with those kids, buried under ice she'd never thaw.

Hours later, word spread—whispers of frozen corpses, a freak storm—and she'd grinned, hiding in a squat, her fingers tracing frost patterns on a broken window, knowing they'd never tie it to her, not yet.

Days turned to weeks, then months—her power sharpening, her will hardening.

She tested it—froze her neighbor's kid while he licked an ice-cream, iced a drunk's bottle to his lips—laughing each time as their eyes widened, their breaths stopped, her control a blade she honed with every kill.

She took what she wanted—cash, food, space—leaving frost in her wake, her name a murmur in the dark corners of the city.

Villains sought her, heroes hunted her, but she bent to no one, her pride a fortress, her ice a throne. That first day stayed with her—etched deep—the rush of power, the snap of fear into nothing, the crown she'd claimed when those heartbeats faded.

She'd never be weak again, never beg, never bow—not to kids, not to gangs, not to Kael and his damn rehab.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr ~~~~

Her stomach growled once more, pulling her from the memory, and she straightened on the cot, blue eyes narrowing at the door, her foot still tapping that steady beat.

Hunger could gnaw all it wanted—she'd starve before she begged, die before she broke. Kael thought he could crack her, but he didn't know her fire, her ice, her will.

She'd wait, silent and unyielding, a queen in a cage, ready to strike when the lock turned.

_____________

Night fell fast for Kael, the city's glow dimming as his last appointment wrapped up, muscles aching from hours of kneading knots out of tense backs. His pockets jingled heavier now—decent cash from a swarm of clients—and he'd stopped by a takeout joint, bags swinging in his hands: spicy noodles for Rhea per her request, a thick burger for himself, and a grilled chicken wrap for Freya, a peace offering he hoped might smooth over the day she'd spent unfed.

He trudged toward the Haven, boots scuffing pavement, the weight of the morning's chaos—Rhea's breakdown, that wild kiss—still buzzing faint in his head.

What does she think of it?

Freya, though, nagged at him sharper. He just hoped she wouldn't mind much about not being fed for a day. She didn't seem like the type to get upset over missing a few meals—tough, cold, unbending.

But can Kael really be blamed entirely for this?

With all the chaos in the morning—the shouting, the crashes from Rhea's outburst—Freya had made no sound at all. Nothing. Just silence.

It was as though she hadn't existed, as if the room had swallowed her whole. He and Rhea had both completely forgotten about her.

She's still there, isn't she?

The thought struck hard, lodging deep, twisting his gut. His grip tightened around the bags, and his pace quickened, the rustling of supplies loud as he pushed through the streets toward the Haven.

He hit the Haven's door, key scraping in the lock, and stepped inside, the familiar hum greeting him as he kicked off his boots, the takeout's heat warming his palms.

First stop—Rhea's room. He turned the key, the click sharp in the quiet, and the door swung open to her springing off the cot, crimson hair bouncing as she landed light on her feet, amber eyes glinting bright at the sight of him.

"Hey, you," she said, voice warm with a grin that softened her usual edge, stretching wide as she crossed the room. "Goddamn, I was bored out of my skull in here—walls started talking back." She paused, leaning close, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she added, softer, "Kinda missed having you around to talk with." Her smirk flickered—subtle, teasing, but her eyes lingered longer than her words.