Jack woke to cold light and silence.
The ceiling above him was a sterile white, the kind that belonged to clinics or laboratories, not to places where people lived. The light was too bright, humming faintly, washing every surface in a pale, merciless glow. The air smelled of antiseptic and metal, sharp enough to sting the back of his throat.
A tug at his arm drew his gaze downward. A needle was taped into his vein, tethering him to a slow-dripping IV. The clear fluid slid into him with mechanical patience, drop by drop, as if time itself had been reduced to this rhythm.
His body felt… wrong. Not broken. Not bruised. Just hollow. As if something essential had been scooped out of him and replaced with nothing.
He sat up with effort, every muscle sluggish, his breath shallow. The brightness stabbed at his eyes.
"Where… am I?"
No answer.
"Azura?" His voice cracked, too small in the sterile silence.
Instinctively, his hand rose to his face—to the place where his eye had been torn away.
It was there. Whole. Sighted.
His breath caught. "My eye…"
He touched the skin again, harder this time, as if pressure might reveal the lie. But there was no pain, no scar, no trace of the wound. His body felt new, untouched, as though the fight had never happened.
Like none of it happened.
[Finally. You're up.] Azura's voice slid into his mind, dry and unimpressed, as if she'd been waiting for hours. [Took you long enough.]
"Up?" Jack croaked, his throat raw. "How long was I out?"
[Too long.] Her tone sharpened, carrying weight.
[They caught you.]
The words hit him like a blow. His stomach dropped, his pulse quickening.
"Caught me?"
[Yes. The Association. You burned Calder. That kind of noise doesn't go unnoticed.]
Jack looked around the room again—white walls, no windows, a single door with no handle on the inside.
A cell dressed like a clinic.
He swung his legs off the bed, but the floor was freezing, and his muscles trembled beneath him.
"Azura… what did they do to me?"
[Nothing yet. But they will. And you're not ready.]
Jack's fingers curled around the steel bunk rail. He squeezed, expecting the metal to groan, to bend beneath his grip.
Nothing.
His stomach dropped. What? I can't use my powers.
[They've injected you.] Azura's voice was sharp, edged with disdain. [A serum. The Association uses it to sedate unstable supers.]
Jack let go of the rail and sank back onto the thin mattress, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. "Can you get it out of me?"
[I'll work on it.]
The door clicked open.
A woman stepped inside—blonde hair tied neatly back, white uniform crisp against the sterile walls. She carried a clipboard, her eyes cool and assessing.
"Mr.…" She glanced at the page, then back at him.
"Do you know where you are?"
Jack's throat was dry. "No."
His voice sounded smaller than he wanted it to.
The nurse's pen scratched against the clipboard. She didn't look surprised.
"Do you remember your name?" the nurse asked, one eyebrow raised.
Jack blinked at her, disoriented. [Carfuale… Mouse?]
She tilted her head. "Ar you with me, Mr…?"
Jack hesitated. "Yes. I mean—no. I don't remember."
"Ah," she said, scribbling something on her clipboard. "Really?"
"Yes," Jack replied, voice flat.
"Well," she said with a faint smile, "it's common for new supers. When their powers awaken, they sometimes experience temporary amnesia."
"Really?"
She nodded. "Yes. It's nothing to worry about."
Jack stared at her, unsure if she was lying or just very good at sounding like she wasn't.
"Now rest, Mr…" She paused, then smiled again. "I'll call you Mr. Unknown."
She turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Jack lay still, the IV tugging at his arm.
What is happening in Thre?
[I found it.] Azura's voice surged into his mind, sharp and focused. [I'm erasing the serum from your blood. You can help me by removeing the IV.]
Jack didn't hesitate. He reached over, pulled the needle from his arm, and turned onto his side, masking the motion with a slow breath and closed eyes.
[Good. Now stay quiet. Rest a bit. At night, we escape.]
Jack opened his eyes. The clock on the wall glowed faintly: 8:00 PM.
The room was dim, quiet.
[The serum's almost gone.] Azura's voice was low and steady. [Your strength will return in pieces. Don't rush it.]
Jack flexed his fingers beneath the blanket. They tingled—like static crawling under his skin. Not power. Not yet. But something.
The room was silent. No cameras he could see. No vents big enough to crawl through. Just the door.
[Move.]
Jack slipped off the bed. Onto the floor. Silent. Fast. He crouched beside the door, breath steady, heart pounding. His fingers dug into the seam where metal met frame. He pulled. The door creaked.
The compass pulsed once in his gut.
Jack widened the gap, just enough to slip through. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, sterile and silent. He stepped out, barefoot, every muscle tense.
[Left. Then down. There's a service hatch near diagnostics.]
Jack moved.
The diagnostics wing stretched on in silence, machines humming faintly behind glass. Jack kept low, every step measured, every breath shallow.
[Keep moving.] Azura's voice was a whisper in his skull. [Don't look back. The serum's almost gone—you'll have enough strength to run, not to fight.]
Jack's fingers brushed the wall as he moved. Cold steel. Sterile. Endless.
Then—air.
A draft, faint but real, brushed against his skin. He froze, following it. At the end of the corridor, half-hidden behind a stack of supply crates, was a service door. No guards. No cameras. Just a red light above the frame, blinking in a steady rhythm.
Jack pressed his palm against the seam. The compass pulsed once in his gut. The lock clicked.
The door swung open.
Beyond it, a stairwell spiraled downward, the air colder, fresher. He descended quickly, bare feet slapping against concrete. His pulse thundered in his ears.
At the bottom, another door. This one was heavy, industrial, painted with peeling hazard stripes. Jack shoved it open.
Night air hit him like a wave.
Cool. Sharp. Free.
He staggered out into an alley behind the Association building. The city stretched before him—neon lights flickering in the distance, traffic humming faintly.
Jack leaned against the wall, chest heaving. His body still trembled, but the tingling in his fingers had grown stronger, steadier.
[You made it out.] Azura's voice was calm now, almost proud. "Don't you think that was easy?" [No, I'm your guide, so it was easy because of me.]
Jack looked up at the night sky, one hand pressed to his stomach where the compass pulsed like a second heart.
Jack burst upward, the ground splitting beneath him as he shot into the sky. The cold night air slammed against his skin, sharp and clean after the suffocating sterility of the clinic.
For a moment, he just hovered there—weightless, suspended above the city. The lights below sprawled like constellations turned upside down, streets glowing like veins of fire.
His chest rose and fell, each breath tasting of smoke and freedom.
[Are you feeling good now?] Azura's voice curled through his mind, steady but edged with fatigue.
"Yes," Jack whispered into the wind. "Thank you… for helping me."
[I'm only returning the favor.]
Jack smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite the ache in his body. "So… what do we do now?"
[Your nightpulse is full. You have a month. If you don't call for him—or you summon me.]
Jack nodded, the words sinking into him like a warning. "Alright."
He tilted forward, wings of force unfurling from his back like shadows stitched with light. The city blurred beneath him as he flew, the wind tearing at his hair, the stars wheeling above.
Every rooftop, every alley, every neon sign passed in a heartbeat. He felt the compass pulsing in rhythm with his flight, like a second heart guiding him home.
At last, the familiar outline of his house appeared on the horizon—small, cracked, and lonely against the desert's edge.
Jack slowed, hovering above it. For a moment, he just stared down at the place that had always been his refuge, wondering if it could still be called that.
He dropped lightly to the balcony, slipped through his window, and landed in his room.
The hospital gown clung to him like a brand. He stripped it off, folded it tightly, and shoved it beneath the bed. Then he collapsed onto the mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
The silence pressed in.
[You didn't give them your name.] Azura's voice was calm, almost reassuring. [And while you were out, they didn't take your fingerprints or blood. You're still a ghost to them.]
Jack exhaled, relief and unease tangled in his chest.
Outside, under the old tree, the air shimmered.
A woman stood there—blonde hair, white eyes, her form cloaked in invisibility until the moonlight caught her outline. She pressed a finger to her earpiece.
"Did you find his lair?" a voice crackled through.
Her lips curled faintly. "No, mistress. Just an old house in the desert."
"Good. Stay behind him."
"Roger."
The woman's form blurred, vanishing again into the night.
Inside, Jack closed his eyes, unaware of the watcher beneath the tree. The compass pulsed once in his chest, steady and ominous.