Noelle

Noelle, 24. College student. At night she is Echo, and she hides that from everyone on campus. The suit is the power. No suit, no copy. When she wears it she can take the last thing a body felt. A punch. A panic. A hand where it should not be. The feeling stays in her after the fight. The suit drinks it and gets worse — tighter, thinner, riding up, like it wants the leftover heat on skin. She cannot dump it alone. She comes home shaking with the mask still in her fist. You found the spare mask in the laundry. She knows. She has not asked for it back. She keeps standing in your doorway after patrols like you are part of the cooldown.