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Amanda had no idea her legs could move this fast until they absolutely had to. Every step was thunder. The sidewalk blurred beneath her feet. She didn't care if anyone saw her sprinting down the street like she was being chased by a god. In a way, maybe she was.
She didn't care if Betty was still at home pacing in circles with two backup plans and a whiteboard covered in conspiracy theories.
All Amanda cared about was Dave.
Or whatever he really was.
When she reached his house, her lungs gave up first. She stumbled onto the porch, out of breath, heart punching her ribs like it wanted to break out. Everything looked so normal.
Too normal.
White fence. Patchy green lawn. A cracked flowerpot beside the door. The scent of cinnamon and dish soap hung in the air. It was a clear, warm afternoon. Sunlight kissed everything gently. But Amanda shivered like it was snowing.
She rang the bell.
The door opened way too fast.
Dave stood there, holding a bowl of cereal in one hand and a spoon halfway to his mouth. Plain black T-shirt. Confused expression. He stared like he wasn't sure she was real.
"…Amanda?"
She tried to smile, but it came out tired. "We need to talk. About yesterday."
He blinked once. "I don't talk to people from school. That's… kind of a thing I do."
"Yeah? Well maybe update that policy. My mental health doesn't care about your personal code of brooding isolation."
From inside the house, a voice floated through the hallway like sunshine.
"Dave? Who's at the door, sweetheart?"
Amanda leaned just a little to peek inside. A woman stood in the kitchen, radiant and impossibly calm, like a sunbeam wearing an apron. Mira. She stirred something on the stove, smiling like she knew the universe would turn out fine.
The apron said:
"Time Is What You Stir It Into".
When Mira spotted Amanda, her entire face lit up like Christmas morning.
"Oh my stars… is that a girl?" she gasped. "Dave! You made a friend! Or is this—oh no—is this a date?!"
Dave's face flattened. "Mira. Not now."
Amanda, because she was chaotic at heart, smiled. "I'm not his girlfriend."
Then, grinning wider: "Yet."
Mira squealed like a schoolgirl. "I've been praying for this! You have no idea. Ohhh, Dave, go be a host—make tea, bring her that weird juice you like—do something impressive!"
Dave sighed and stepped aside. "This is a mistake."
Amanda stepped inside, eyes darting everywhere. The house was boring. Lived-in. A little dusty. There were plants fighting for their lives on the windowsill, and a paused racing game on the TV with a controller on the floor. It felt like the opposite of what she expected from someone who could punch a monster into another dimension.
"Sit," Dave said. "Don't touch the remote. It's held together by hopes and duct tape."
She flopped down on the couch anyway. "You live like someone who's given up on IKEA."
"Accurate," he muttered, leaning against the wall with arms crossed.
"You know I didn't come here to talk about algebra, right?"
Dave nodded slightly. "Let me guess. You 'figured me out.'"
"I saw your face yesterday. When that… thing attacked us. I remembered you."
His eyes narrowed. "From where?"
Amanda hesitated. Then looked down at her hands.
"When we were kids… my mom told us stories. Not fairy tales—real ones. About beings that glowed. That lived beyond the stars. That watched the universe like it was a movie they couldn't pause. She used to say they were protecting us. Hiding in plain sight."
She looked back up. "I think you're one of them."
Dave didn't respond. He didn't even blink. The silence between them thickened until Mira yelled again from the kitchen.
"Dave, I'm baking cinnamon rolls! Ask her if she likes cinnamon!"
"MIRA!" Dave barked.
Amanda laughed under her breath. "She's adorable."
"You're not staying for cinnamon rolls."
"I'm not staying unless you talk. You can pretend nothing happened yesterday, but I won't. If something's coming… I want the truth. Or at least a tiny slice of it."
Dave stared at her for a long moment. His expression didn't change, but something in his shoulders shifted. A decision settling.
"You really want to know who I am?" he asked quietly.
Amanda nodded. "Yes."
He took one step forward and reached out.
Gently, he tapped her forehead.
Everything exploded.
Not the room. Not reality.
Her mind.
She felt herself get pulled inward. Or upward. Or beyond. She wasn't sure which. Colors swirled. Time rippled. Gravity vanished. She blinked once—
And they were gone from the house.
They stood in a vast, open hallway lined with pulsing lights and sleek chrome walls that seemed to hum. Outside the transparent viewing dome: space. Real space. Not the telescope kind. Not the sci-fi CGI kind.
The kind you feel in your chest.
Endless blackness wrapped in stars.
Amanda stumbled back. "Where… where are we?!"
Dave turned to her, completely calm. "Welcome to the Celestial Arc. My ship."
Her jaw dropped. "YOU HAVE A SHIP?!"
"You wanted answers."
"I thought you'd talk. Not throw me into Star Trek!"
Just then, a hiss broke the silence behind her.
Two new figures appeared from a side corridor.
One was tall and glowing with sleek silver-blue skin, his expression flat but eyes blazing with intellect. The other radiated energy, her hair a pulsing wave of starlight and neon fire.
Zei froze. "Dave. Who's the… human?"
Zyra tilted her head, curious. "And why is she breathing in our ship?"
"She's from my school," Dave said casually.
Amanda lifted a hand. "Still right here."
"She's cute," Zyra said with a grin. "I vote we keep her."
Dave shot her a glare. "We're not keeping any more humans."
Amanda gaped at him. "You hang out with… what are you, alien tech babies?"
"They're twins," Dave said. "Born from a dying star. Long story."
Amanda opened her mouth, then closed it again. "…Okay, yeah. That explains nothing."
Then another presence entered the room. Amanda didn't see her at first. She felt her.
A quiet hum in her brain. A soft pressure in her thoughts.
The woman glided in with silent steps. Tall. Radiant. Eyes that saw through everything. Power woven into her bones. Like a queen of something older than time.
Amanda stared. "You must be Adele."
"I am," she said. Her voice was silk and gravity. "And you… are loud."
"I'm not loud," Amanda argued. "I'm… emotionally expressive."
Adele stepped forward without warning and gently touched Amanda's forehead with two fingers.
No countdown. No warning.
Amanda's mind shattered again.
She saw memories she didn't know she had—stories her mother told her, voices in the dark, images of light and war, symbols burned into her thoughts, fragments of something ancient and real deep in her soul.
And Dave's face.
Always there. Always waiting.
Adele pulled away slowly.
Her eyes widened.
She looked at Dave.
"…You didn't tell me," she whispered. "She's one of them."
Dave blinked. "One of what?"
Adele looked at Amanda again, softer now. And for the first time in a long while…
She looked afraid.
Then the ship fell silent.
Like the cosmos itself had stopped to listen.