I don't see them again.
Not the next day.
Not the day after that.
Not the week after.
Luke's chair stays empty. Sam's too.
At first, everyone pretends it's temporary. Teachers avoid saying their names out loud. When someone asks, the answers are vague—family matters, medical leave, a transfer still being processed.
Lies that don't bother hiding they're lies.
I catch myself watching the hallway between classes, half-expecting Sam to be there, hunched and alert, or Luke to come jogging in late with an easy grin and an apology already loaded.
They never do.
Emma notices before she says anything. She always does.
"Barry," she whispers one afternoon as we walk home, "they're not coming back, are they?"
I don't answer right away.
"I don't know," I say finally.
She nods, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. Neither do I.
—-
The house tries to feel happy on our birthday.
Nine years old. Balloons tied to chairs. A banner stretched crookedly across the fence. Family everywhere—aunts, uncles, cousins—voices overlapping, laughter echoing off the water of the pool.
It should feel light.
I try to let it.
Emma sticks close to me at first, fingers brushing my sleeve as if checking I'm still there. Eventually she gets pulled into games by our cousins, her laughter real enough that it eases something tight in my chest.
I sit near the pool, feet dangling in the water, pretending the sun is enough.
Then my mom calls my name.
"Barry ?"
I look up.
She's smiling—but it's the careful kind. The smile you wear when you're afraid of breaking something fragile. And behind her…
Luke.
He looks thinner. Paler. Like someone pressed pause on him for too long. There are shadows under his eyes that don't belong on a kid our age.
But he's smiling.
Just a little.
He holds a small, wrapped box in both hands.
For half a second, I can't move.
Then Emma sees him.
"LUKE !"
She bolts across the yard, splashing water everywhere, and I'm right behind her. We crash into him at the same time, arms around his waist, holding on like he might disappear again if we don't.
He laughs softly, surprised, then hugs us back.
"Hey," he says. "Easy. I'm real."
"Where were you ?" Emma blurts out, pulling back just enough to look at his face. "Why didn't you come back ? Is Sam okay ? Are you okay ?"
I don't say anything.
I just watch him.
Luke's smile flickers. He glances toward the house, then back at us.
"My parents… told me some stuff," he says carefully. "About me. About Sam."
My chest tightens.
"They said we were born different," he continues. "With powers. They said they knew for a while."
Emma frowns. "Like superheroes ?"
Luke hesitates. "Something like that."
"And Sam ?" I ask.
The smile fades.
Luke looks down at the present in his hands, fingers tightening around it. "Sam hurt people. Not on purpose. He gets scared, and when he does…" He trails off, swallowing. "They said he needs help. So they took him to a place that can control things better."
"When does he come back ?" Emma asks.
Luke doesn't answer immediately.
"They said when he's better," he says quietly. "When he learns how to be safe."
I hear what he doesn't say.
If.
I nod once. "That makes sense."
It doesn't.
But Luke looks relieved that I didn't argue.
I clap a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. You didn't come all this way to stand around looking miserable."
He blinks. "What ?"
I gesture toward the pool, where my cousins are shouting and splashing. "Birthday rules. You have to have fun. At least a little."
Luke looks torn. Then Emma grabs his hand.
"Please ?" she says. "Just for a bit."
He exhales, long and shaky.
"Okay," he says. "Just a bit."
We pull him toward the noise, toward the sunlight and the laughter and the fragile illusion that today is normal.
As Luke laughs—really laughs, just for a moment—I watch his face and think about Sam in a place with no pool, no birthdays, no choice.
I try to hold on to the day.
Really hold it.
The sun stays high for a long time, warming the concrete around the pool until it burns the bottoms of my feet. We eat too much—hot dogs, cake with too much frosting, chips that leave salt on my fingers. Luke lets himself laugh again, actually laugh, when my uncle pretends to fall into the pool and splashes everyone.
For a while, he looks like he used to.
Emma drags him into a game with our cousins. She cheats shamelessly. Luke pretends not to notice. I sit at the edge of the pool, watching them, memorizing the sound of her laughter because part of me already knows moments like this don't repeat.
At some point, Emma complains that she smells like chlorine and cake.
"I'm taking a shower," she announces, dramatic as always.
"Don't use all the hot water," I call after her.
"No promises," she shoots back, grinning before disappearing inside.
The afternoon slowly thins out. Relatives leave with hugs and promises to call. The sky darkens by degrees, blue fading into gray. Thick clouds roll in, heavy and low, like they're pressing down on the house.
The air changes.
Luke and I end up sitting on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, shoulders almost touching. The surface ripples lazily, reflecting the darker sky.
For a while, we don't talk.
Then Luke exhales.
"I'm changing schools," he says.
I glance at him. "What ?"
He keeps his eyes on the water. "My parents said Vought has… special schools. For people like me. From first grade all the way through high school."
Of course they do.
"They say it'll be safer," he continues, voice low. "Controlled. Teachers who understand powers. Rules."
I hear the unspoken part.
Fear
Containment."I don't want to go," he admits. "I don't want to leave."
He finally looks at me then, and there's something raw in his eyes. "Since Sam… you and Emma are the only ones who don't look at me like I'm about to explode. Even my parents—" He stops, jaw tightening. "They watch me. Like they're waiting."
That hits harder than I expect.
I stand up, water dripping from my feet onto the concrete. I turn to face him fully.
"Listen to me," I say, forcing a smile I actually mean. "Schools don't decide friendships. Buildings don't either. You're not losing us. Ever."
He studies my face, searching for cracks.
"You promise?" he asks quietly.
I nod. "Yeah. I do."
The wind picks up.
The clouds above us churn, darker now, swollen with rain. The first cold drop splashes against my arm.
Then—
KRRRRA-THOOOOM
The thunder tears across the sky, violent and close, vibrating in my chest.
I look up.
And I see it.
A streak of golden light breaks through the clouds, not branching like lightning—focused. Intent. It's coming straight down.
Straight at me.
There's no time to move.
No time to think.
The light hits me—
And it burns.
Not on my skin. Inside. Like something molten is carving a path through my chest, through my veins, through places I didn't know existed. My heart feels like it's trying to tear itself apart to make room for something else.
I gasp.
The world tilts.
The last thing I see is Luke's face—wide-eyed, terrified—as the gold swallows my vision.
Then everything goes black.