The sky over Westbridge High was too blue for a Monday. Frank hated how perfect it looked—like the universe had no idea his stomach was tying itself into knots.
Jessica floated beside him in her usual faint-blue hologram glow, invisible to everyone else. "Relax, rookie," she said, stretching in midair like she wasn't bound by physics. "First day of school—big moment. Try not to combust."
"I'm not nervous," he lied, tugging at his uniform collar.
Jessica smirked. "Your heart rate says otherwise. One more spike and I'm calling a medic."
He tried to ignore her. The building loomed ahead—red brick, glass doors, kids spilling in through the entrance. For a second, Frank imagined himself just… normal. No fragments, no system, no past lives. Just a teenager trying to fit in.
He almost believed it.
---
Classes passed in a blur. Names, faces, laughter that didn't include him. Every time he tried to speak, the words felt heavy, like his voice didn't belong here.
By lunch, Jessica had given up trying to make him talk to people. "You're killing me here, Frank. Your first quest is literally make a friend, and so far your only social interaction has been ordering rice."
He sighed, setting his tray down on a corner table. "It's not like I can force it."
"Maybe not. But you could smile. Preferably not like a serial killer."
He shot her a look, but the tension broke for a moment. He almost smiled for real.
Then the shadow fell across the table.
Three boys stood there. The one in the middle—tall, lean, smirking—had that kind of face people trusted until they didn't. His friends flanked him like hyenas waiting for scraps.
"Well, look who we've got," the leader said. "New kid sitting all alone. Cute."
Frank didn't answer. Jessica floated an inch closer, eyes narrowing. "Incoming cliché. Want me to mute your emotions?"
"No," Frank muttered. "I can handle it."
The boy leaned in. "You deaf or just dumb?"
Frank kept his gaze down. The cafeteria had gone too quiet. He could feel the heat crawling under his skin—the same kind that once melted mountains in another life.
Jessica whispered, "Don't. Not here."
He stood up. "I said I don't want trouble."
The boy shoved him, tray clattering to the floor. "Too late."
Something inside him snapped.
For one heartbeat, the world slowed. The air rippled. Sound folded inward like the universe holding its breath. Frank didn't move—the power moved through him.
A pulse of energy surged out. Tables rattled. Lights flickered. The bullies stumbled backward, one crying out before collapsing. Then everything rushed back to speed—the sound, the gasps, the silence after.
Jessica's eyes widened. "Frank… what did fu..k ng
you do—"
He stared at his trembling hands. "I didn't mean to…"
---
The principal's office smelled like polished wood and disappointment.
Frank sat stiffly in the chair, Jessica floating behind him in a dim holographic hum, her expression unreadable. The bullies were gone—sent to the nurse, their friends whispering rumors through the halls.
The door opened.
Sean Winchester stepped in first, tall and built like a man who'd worked for everything he had. Jane followed, quiet but sharp-eyed, the kind of calm that made guilt hurt more.
"Frank," Sean said, voice low, "stand up."
He did. His father's gaze was heavy enough to pin him to the wall.
"What happened?" Sean asked.
Frank swallowed. "They… pushed me. I tried to walk away. Then something—something just happened."
Jane crossed her arms. "You hurt someone, Frank. Intentional or not, that's serious."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Meaning doesn't erase damage," Sean snapped. "You're suspended for two days, and we have to meet the other parents."
Frank lowered his head. The words felt like iron. He didn't know what scared him more—his parents' anger or the thing inside him that wanted to lash out again.
When they left the office, Sean didn't say another word. Jane's silence was worse.
Jessica appeared in the reflection of the hallway window, arms folded, her teasing gone. "You lost control," she said softly.
"I know."
She tilted her head. "That power isn't just instinct. It's memory. You've done this before—somewhere else. The part of you that remembers is waking up."
He met her eyes. "So what now?"
She sighed, hovering closer, her glow faint. "Now you learn to stop letting your past lives write your present one."
Frank blinked back the sting in his eyes. "You sound serious for once."
Jessica smiled faintly. "Don't get used to it. I'm only serious when my favorite idiot nearly breaks the cafeteria."
That got a weak laugh out of him. She winked. "Come on, suspension boy. Two days off means more time to train."
"Train for what?"
"For surviving yourself," she said, fading out. "Lesson one starts tomorrow."