Night made everything feel unreal.
Cypriana liked it that way.
The world was quieter after dark. Softer. Like it didn't expect anything from her.
Her backyard was empty, lit only by the pale spill of moonlight and the faint glow from the kitchen window.
She stood barefoot in the grass, hoodie pulled over her cheer uniform shorts, camera abandoned inside.
This wasn't for anyone else.
This was for her.
Cypriana lifted her hand.
A fallen leaf trembled.
She focused.
It rose slowly, spinning as if caught in a current no one could see.
Her breathing was shallow.
The air felt different at night—thicker, heavier, like it noticed her.
She tried again.
A pebble this time.
It scraped against the ground, then lifted.
Higher.
Steadier.
Cypriana's lips parted in quiet amazement.
Okay…
She wasn't broken.
She wasn't weak.
She just needed silence.
She needed—
Something moved at the edge of the street.
Cypriana froze.
A figure walking under the streetlights.
Hood up.
Hands shoved deep into pockets.
Even from here, she knew the shape of him.
Andrew.
He was alone.
Of course he was.
Cypriana watched him for a moment, her chest tightening with something she didn't want to name.
Why was he out this late?
Why did he always look like he was carrying something heavier than the rest of them?
Before she could think herself out of it…
She stepped forward.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Following him.
Andrew didn't look back.
He moved like a ghost through the sleeping neighborhood, shoulders slightly hunched, head down.
Cypriana kept her distance, staying on the opposite sidewalk.
She told herself she was just curious.
Just making sure he got home.
Just—
He turned onto a darker street.
The houses here were smaller.
Older.
The streetlights flickered like they were tired.
Cypriana's stomach twisted.
Andrew stopped in front of one house.
His house.
It looked… sad.
Not dramatic. Not broken-down.
Just tired.
Like it had given up.
Andrew stood there for a moment, staring at the door.
Then he went inside.
Cypriana slowed.
She didn't know why she kept walking.
Why she didn't turn around.
Her heart was beating too fast.
She approached the house, quiet as a breath.
The curtains were half drawn.
The porch light buzzed faintly.
Then—
A sound.
A sharp, ugly yell from inside.
Cypriana froze.
Another sound.
A crash.
Then a voice, slurred and furious.
"You think you can just walk around like you're something?!"
Cypriana's blood went cold.
Andrew's voice followed, muffled.
"Stop—"
A sickening thud.
Cypriana's hand flew to her mouth.
Another shout.
"You're nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"
Her body went rigid.
This wasn't an argument.
This wasn't normal.
This was—
Andrew's voice again, strained.
"Dad, please—"
Another удар.
Cypriana stumbled back, breath shaking.
Her mind screamed at her to leave.
To run.
But her feet…
Her feet moved closer.
Around the side of the house, where a window was slightly open.
She could hear it clearer now.
The sound of someone crying.
The sound of someone being hurt.
Cypriana's chest felt like it was collapsing.
Then she looked through the wrong window.
And her breath stopped completely.
A bedroom.
Dim.
Still.
A woman lay in bed, pale against the sheets, her body too thin, her face turned toward the wall.
A medical bottle sat on the nightstand.
Another.
Another.
The woman didn't move.
She looked…
Sick.
Not sleeping.
Sick.
Cypriana's throat tightened painfully.
His mother…
Her brain tried to connect the pieces too fast.
Andrew. Quiet Andrew. Angry Andrew.
Andrew filming everything like it was safer behind a lens.
Andrew with that look in his eyes when the powers happened…
Because what else did he have?
Another crash from inside.
Cypriana flinched.
Andrew's voice, broken now.
"Just stop—please—"
Cypriana's eyes burned.
She backed away from the window, shaking.
Her stomach churned with horror.
And guilt.
Because she wasn't supposed to know.
She wasn't supposed to see him like this.
She turned—
And nearly screamed.
Matt stood behind her.
Close.
Too close.
His eyes wide, voice low.
"Cypriana… what the hell are you doing?"
Cypriana's breath hitched.
"I—"
Matt glanced toward the house, hearing the muffled yelling.
His face changed.
Confusion.
Then realization.
"Oh my god…"
Cypriana swallowed hard.
"He's… Matt, he's—"
"I know," Matt whispered.
Another shout from inside.
Cypriana's hands trembled.
Matt's jaw clenched.
"We shouldn't be here."
Cypriana's voice cracked.
"Does anyone know?"
Matt shook his head slowly.
"No. Nobody knows anything about Detmer."
Cypriana stared at the dark window again.
At the sick woman.
At the sounds of violence behind walls.
Something inside her shifted.
A crack.
A new understanding.
Andrew wasn't just weird.
He wasn't just intense.
He was drowning.
Matt touched her arm gently.
"Come on."
Cypriana blinked.
"What?"
Matt's voice was urgent, softer than usual.
"Let's go. Right now."
Cypriana hesitated.
"Matt—"
"We can't fix this tonight," he said, voice tight. "But we can get out of here before he sees us."
Cypriana's breath shook.
Matt nodded toward the street.
"Fly with me."
Cypriana stared at him.
Now?
Matt's eyes pleaded.
"Please. I just… I need air."
Cypriana swallowed.
Then nodded.
They stepped back into the darkness of the street.
Matt exhaled.
Focused.
His feet lifted.
Cypriana followed, trembling, rising beside him.
Two silhouettes ascending into the night.
The houses shrinking beneath them.
The world turning quiet again.
But Cypriana's mind stayed down there.
Behind that window.
With Andrew.
Inside the Detmer house…
Andrew stood in the hallway, breathing hard.
His father's voice still echoed.
His fists still hurt.
But his eyes…
His eyes were fixed on the front window.
On the street outside.
On the feeling.
That sensation in his bones.
He knew.
He had known the moment she was there.
Cypriana Vance.
Watching.
Seeing.
Pitying.
His jaw tightened.
His hands curled slowly.
Something dark unfurled inside him.
Not shame.
Not gratitude.
Something worse.
Because now she knew.
And somehow…
That made it feel even more unbearable.
Andrew looked up toward the night sky.
Toward two figures flying away.
Together.
His expression hardened.
And in the silence, something in him whispered:
They get to leave.
I don't.