"Even if it helped, it still kills us. He sounds insane." i said
Behind me, someone gave me a look, and that will soon lead to my downfall.
It's now November 3rd, 2028.
Two days had passed since they last talked and ran into each other.
The city didn't soften in those two days. It didn't forgive anything. It just… waited.
Mira felt it in the way the mornings stretched longer than usual. In how the nights didn't immediately demand her attention. Phoenix stayed quiet. Or maybe they weren't loud enough to matter right now. Either way, Mira didn't chase them.
They stayed out late most of the time, but not hunting and not stalking rooftops or scanning alleys for movement.
They talked.
They sat on rooftops with their legs dangling over the edge, the city far below them humming in layers—traffic, voices, distant sirens that never quite came close. They ate food that melted too fast, ice cream dripping down wrists and onto knuckles, and they laughed about it instead of getting annoyed.
They argued about places they'd never been. Owen talked about deserts so spicy they burned your tongue for hours.
Irene talked about beaches and firelight reflecting off water.
Alec mentioned quiet towns, places where nothing happened, where nobody cared who you were.
Mira mostly listened.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't bracing herself for impact every second.
And that concerned her.
Because peace felt temporary.
Because stillness felt like a lie.
Because every time she relaxed, some part of her waited for the moment it would all be taken away again.
For the first time in a long while, Mira wasn't bracing herself for impact every second.
That scared her more than the fights ever did.
Earlier That Day
Varin's lab was too quiet.
Not empty.
The smell was sharp and sterile, metal layered with something chemical that burned slightly in the nose if you breathed too deeply.
Varrin hated that smell. It reminded him of unfinished work and progress reminds him of something.
He set his tablet down slowly.
"How were you guys planning to make the "cure" without me?" he asked.
Joel stood near the counter, arms crossed loosely. Hiro was seated nearby, reading a magazine, his movements calm but distant.
Crystal leaned against the far wall, listening.
"We didn't have an exact plan, but we were just gonna try," Joel said at last.
Varrin blinked. "That's… not smart."
"We looked for more info on the origin of the powers, we searched and kept doing so," Hiro added, eyes never leaving the magazine. "But now you're here, so we have some hope."
Crystal smiled faintly. "Which means we owe you one."
The words settled more heavily than they should have.
Varrin let out a breath through his nose. "That's reassuring I guess." Crystal pushed off the wall and stretched. "Anyways I'm going for a walk."
Joel looked over. "Now?"
She nodded. "Just need air," she said with a smile
The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, and something about the room shifted—like a load-bearing beam had been removed.
Joel waited a moment.
"Varrin," he said quietly. "I need to ask you something."
Varrin sighed. "I have a feeling it's gonna be something deeply uncomfortable."
"When I die," Joel said evenly, "take care of my sister. And Crystal."
The machines kept humming.
Varrin stared at him.
"…What?"
Joel didn't repeat himself.
"You're gonna die?" Varrin snapped. "We just built this lab not only that, but we met each other recently, and I can't do much with only two people I need a large team. And—your sister? Who? I can't take care of someone I haven't even seen!"
"The air manipulator," Joel said. "The one who attacked us."
Varrin's mouth opened, then closed.
"…You're joking."
"Nope."
"But you manipulate ice," Varrin said slowly. "And water too I guess."
Joel nodded. "Yes I can manipulate both, but someone in our family can manipulate air, that's where she got it from, it's a rare scenario but not impossible."
Silence stretched.
"Hiru," Joel continued. "That was her hero name. She always wanted to be one, like from the TV shows."
"Our parents died from overusing their powers," he said. "They pushed themselves past what their bodies could handle. We were teenagers, they were hella hard workers."
Varrin said nothing.
"We were sent to an orphanage," Joel went on. "She hated death. Couldn't accept it. Wanted to stop it. She trained constantly."
His jaw tightened.
"We got separated. She ran away."
"…And now?" Varrin asked carefully.
"Now she is a dangerous person and is always holding back," Joel said. "At any time if she wanted to… she could burst lungs instantly."
Varrin wasn't shocked.
"Could?," he murmured. "She can, and honestly from what I'm hearing, she's just a lost child."
He looked around the apartment. "Also- this place is expensive, well it looks like it is how do you guys afford it?"
Joel sighed. "Crystal."
"…what?"
"Her family lends her money monthly," Joel added. "We all pay rent. But she could sustain us for years.
Varrin stared in confusion. "Then why did we need to visit Sylvia, for equipment?"
"Well Crystal, only gets enough money to
pay rent ironically, the equipment would be way too expensive for her to buy.
There was silence, but Varrin then broke it.
Varrin seriously stared at Joel
"Frankly you don't get to assign people responsibilities after you're gone," Varrin continued, sharper now. "You don't get to decide that you're expendable and everyone else just has to deal with it."
Joel finally shifted, leaning his weight against the counter. Frost crept faintly along the metal edge beneath his palm, then receded as he forced it back.
"I'm not trying to be dramatic," he said. "I'm being realistic."
"That's worse," Varrin snapped. "Realism without contingency planning is just pessimism with confidence."
Hiro turned another page of his magazine, the paper making a soft, deliberate sound. He didn't look up, but his presence grounded the room, as an anchor dropped quietly into deep water.
"You've survived this long," Varrin pressed. "You don't talk like someone who plans to die. You talk like someone who thinks they deserve to."
That landed.
Joel's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I've seen what happens when people hesitate," he said. "When they assume they'll have time later."
Varrin stopped pacing.
"And your sister?" he asked more carefully now. "You think handing her off to me fixes anything?"
"No," Joel replied. "But it gives her a chance, I want you to at least take care of her, I am gonna die not even Sylvia can prevent it. I want good things to happen before and after I die. My parents were hard workers. Everyone said that like it was a compliment. It wasn't, they hardly had time for us.
They used their powers every day—long hours, no rest, always pushing because they thought the world needed them and the system didn't care how tired you were as long as the job got done. They believed effort was enough to protect you from consequences.
It wasn't.
I still remember the day they didn't come home.
No alarms. No heroic last stand. Just overuse. Systems are ceasing to function inside bodies that have been stretched too thin for too long.
Two deaths that could've been prevented if someone had told them to stop, and take a break.
If someone had listened when they said they were tired.
I was a teenager.
My sister was younger.
And suddenly, I was the one standing between her and a world that didn't slow down for grief.
They sent us to an orphanage.
I hated that word. Still do.
It made it sound like something clean. Organized. Like we were placed somewhere safe.
We weren't.
She took it worse than I did.
She hated death. Not in an abstract way — she hated that it was allowed to happen. That people accepted it. That everyone acted like it was inevitable.
She trained.
Obsessively.
She said if she could just get stronger, faster, and more precise, she could stop it. She could stop anyone from dying.
I tried to tell her it didn't work like that.
She didn't listen.
And honestly?
Neither did I.
We got separated.
Different wings. Different "placements." They called it logistics. Like splitting siblings apart was a scheduling issue.
She ran, I stayed.
I told myself it was temporary. That I'd find her. That once I was stable, once I had resources, I'd bring her back.
But the city doesn't wait for plans to finish forming.
When I saw her again, it wasn't as my sister.
It was as Hiru.
A name she chose. A role she carved out for herself. A "hero" who could manipulate air.
She was holding back.
I knew that the moment I saw her fight.
Every movement is measured. Every attack is restrained. Like she was not willing to let go and just attack with no restraint.
She didn't recognize me at first.
And maybe that was easier.
Because if she had, she might've seen what I'd become.
Not a hero.
Not a savior.
A contingency plan.
I learned to lead because no one else would.
I learned to plan because not everyone survives improvisation.
I learned to accept that I might not make it to the end, because someone has to stay standing long enough for others to escape.
That's why I told Varin what I did.
Not because I want to die.
But because pretending I won't is irresponsible.
Every decision I make now is about reducing the damage when I'm gone.
Making sure Crystal has support.
Making sure my sister isn't alone.
Making sure this curse ends, even if I don't see it happen.
People think that makes me cold.
It doesn't.
It just means I already buried myself once.
And I won't let anyone else do the same
The room was too small for both of them, but neither complained.
Joel sat on the floor with his back against the bed frame, knees pulled up, watching frost creep lazily across the metal leg. He wasn't doing it on purpose. It just… happened when he got tired.
Years ago His sister lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you think they're mad at us?" she asked suddenly.
Joel blinked. "What?"
She didn't look at him. "Mom and Dad."
"No," Joel said immediately. Too fast. "Why would they be?"
She shrugged, turning her head slightly so she could see him. Her eyes were red — not crying now, but recently. "They told us to rest. And then they didn't, we could've spoken up."
Joel swallowed.
"They worked too hard," he said carefully. "That's not our fault."
She rolled onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. "If I were stronger, I could've stopped them."
Joel frowned. "Stopped them how?"
"I don't know," she said quickly. "Made them rest. Made them listen."
"That's not how it works."
She sat up abruptly. "Why not?"
Because people don't listen until it's too late, Joel almost said.
Instead, he looked down at his hands. Tiny crystals of ice formed along his fingertips, melting almost as soon as they appeared.
"Because they made their choice and didn't choose us," he said.
She watched the ice melt.
"I don't like that answer."
"I know."
Silence filled the room again, broken only by distant voices in the orphanage hallway. Someone laughed. Someone slammed a door. Life, continuing like it always did.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and dropped down beside him.
"Joel?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"If I get strong enough," she said, voice trembling just slightly, "I won't let anyone die like that again."
He turned to her.
She was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"I'll be a hero," she added. " like the ones on TV. A real one."
Joel's chest tightened.
"You don't have to do that," he said. "You don't have to carry all of that."
She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Someone has to."
He stared at the floor.
"Then I'll help," he said.
She looked at him, surprised. "You don't even like fighting."
"I don't," he admitted. "But we're siblings."
That made her laugh — small, quiet, real.
"Deal," she said, holding out her pinky.
He hesitated, then hooked his finger with hers.
"Deal."
A gust of air moved through the room.
Not from the window.
The curtain fluttered.
She froze. "Did you feel that?"
Joel frowned. "Feel what?"
She lifted her hand slowly.
The air shifted around it — subtle, almost shy. The dust motes in the sunlight changed direction, swirling around her fingers like they were being guided.
Her breath caught.
"…Joel."
He stared.
The curtain lifted higher.
Then dropped.
She pulled her hand back as it burned her.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I swear I didn't—"
"It's okay," Joel said quickly, pushing himself to his feet. "It's okay. It's just… your power."
Her hands were shaking.
"I'll use it to be a hero"
"I know you will, and I'll be a hero with you," he said.
She looked at him, searching his face.
"You promise?"
He nodded.
"I promise."
Years later, that promise would fracture.
They would be separated.
She would run.
He would stay, and get adopted eventually.
But for that moment — just that moment — they were still two kids in a small room, believing promises were enough to hold the world together
yesterday night.
Night didn't fall gently over Vexen.
It pressed down.
Streetlights flickered in uneven rhythms, casting long, broken shadows across cracked pavement. Neon signs buzzed weakly, their colors bleeding into rain-slick streets like open wounds. Somewhere far off, sirens wailed—but never came close. They never did, down here.
The poor districts belonged to the dark.
The wind shifted.
Not the natural kind.
A figure stepped out of the air itself, boots touching down on the edge of a rooftop without a sound. Her cloak rippled behind her, caught in currents no one else could feel. Pale blue markings along the fabric faintly glowed, like moonlight caught in motion.
Hiru stood tall, looking down over the city.
"Another night," she murmured, voice calm and steady.
"Then let us see who yet needs saving."
She stepped forward.
The air carried her.
A crash echoed through a narrow side street—glass shattering, followed by shouting.
Hiru was already moving.
She landed outside a dim apartment building just as a door flew open. A man staggered backward into the hallway, drunk, furious. Inside, a woman cried softly, holding her arm. Bruises bloomed dark against her skin. A lamp lay shattered at her feet.
The man turned.
"What—what the hell are you supposed to be?"
The hallway wind died.
Then returned—tight, focused, crushing.
He was lifted off his feet and slammed against the wall, not hard enough to break bones, but enough to steal the air from his lungs. His legs dangled uselessly as invisible pressure pinned him in place.
Hiru stepped forward slowly, her boots echoing.
"Thou hast mistaken strength for cruelty," she said, voice low, resonant.
"And thy home for a battlefield."
He choked. "I—I didn't—"
She raised a hand.
The air tightened around his chest, just enough to make him understand.
"I could steal thy breath," she continued evenly.
"Silence thy heart. End this tale here."
His eyes widened in terror.
"But I shall not."
The pressure vanished.
He collapsed to the floor, gasping, hands clawing at his throat.
Hiru pointed toward the open door, wind already pulling it wider.
"Run," she commanded.
"Run far, and pray the wind doesn't find you."
He didn't argue.
He scrambled to his feet and fled into the night, footsteps fading into the maze of alleys.
Hiru turned back to the apartment.
She knelt beside the woman, her voice softening.
"He will not return," she said gently. "And if he does—he will answer to me."
The woman nodded shakily, tears glinting in the low light.
"Thank you…"
Hiru placed a hand over her heart.
"Rest now. The storm has passed."
The deeper she went into the district, the worse it became.
A man sat slumped beneath a broken streetlight. His muscles twitched and tore against themselves, blood soaking through his sleeves, and his own powers were hurting him.
"It hurts," he sobbed.
Hiru slowed.
Not stopped—slowed.
The wind around her shifted, restless, uncertain. She crouched beside him, her cloak settling quietly against the ground. Up close, the damage was worse. His body was failing in real time. Systems misfiring. Power is eating its host alive.
"End it," he whispered hoarsely when he noticed her. "Please—end it. I can't—"
Hiru's hand hovered.
Just above his chest.
The air responded immediately, tightening instinctively, eager. She felt it—the precise balance needed. A fraction more pressure and his lungs would still be forever. Clean. Quick.
She didn't do it.
Her fingers curled instead.
For a moment, her eyes flicked away from him—up toward the skyline, where lights flickered and died in uneven rhythms. Somewhere, far above, the city pretended this street didn't exist.
"This is not what heroes do," she said quietly.
The wind faltered.
He choked out a weak laugh that ended in a sob. "Heroes don't come down here."
That landed.
Her jaw tightened.
She looked back at him, really looked—at the way his hands clawed uselessly at the pavement, at how each breath tore something deeper, how death was already inside him, just slow enough to be cruel.
"If I leave," she said, more to herself than to him, "the pain continues."
He nodded frantically. "Please."
The air stirred again.
She hesitated a second time.
A memory flickered—brief and unwanted. A small room. Dust in sunlight. A voice promising they'd stop people from dying like this.
Her hand trembled.
"I swore," she whispered, almost angrily, "that I would not become this."
The man gasped, body arching as another wave of pain hit him. His scream cut off halfway, strangled by his failing lungs.
Something hardened in her expression.
"Then forgive me," she said.
She closed her hand and knelt.
"I shall," she said. "Let the pain come to an end."
She slowly took air out of his lungs.
He collapsed forward, breathing hard.
"Thank you," he says with his final breath
" May you find eternal glory in the halls of the valiant," Hiru replied.
Then finally his eye shut, he is now dead.
Further down the block, there were children.
The children stared at Hiru like she was something out of a story.
One boy tugged at her cloak. "Are you a knight?"
Hiru smiled faintly and knelt so they were eye level.
"I am no knight," she said. "Only a watcher who walks when others sleep."
She lifted her hand, letting a soft breeze swirl around them. It carried laughter, lifted scraps of paper like dancing birds, then settled again.
The children laughed despite themselves.
For a moment, the night loosened its grip.
Hiru rose, stepping back onto the air, hovering above the street.
She looked out over Vexen's lower wards—over the flickering lights, the wounded, the forgotten.
"So long as this city cries," she said quietly,
"The wind shall answer."
Her cloak snapped once in the night
Then she vanished
leaving only silence, and the faint comfort that someone was still watching.
A Day That Felt Almost Normal.
The sun was shining bright, and it was warm outside.
That was the first thing everyone noticed
The city echoed with laughter.
Mira sat on the edge of a bench, ice cream already melting down her wrist. Sugar hung thick in the air from nearby vendors, mixing with the faint smell of traffic and old stone.
Owen was mid-rant.
"I don't trust desserts that aren't spicy, spicy foods are literally the best," he declared.
"Irene laughed, tears of joy began to flow. "You sound crazy what are you talking about!!"
Alec sat slightly apart, notepad resting in his pocket. His eyes followed people as they passed.
Mira leaned back, enjoying their day.
For a moment, she forgot to listen for danger.
Then a sound came. The massive screen across the plaza flickered once.
Mira's chest tightened before she even looked.
Static crackled faintly—sharp, electric. The air smelled faintly like ozone.
Mira looked down and noticed many officers gathering together.
"If any of you have seen this guy please report him to the police, I repeat report him, please and thank you"
Her hand clenched.
The image sharpened.
Owen's face.
Clear. Centered. Detailed.
"He has disrespected our god, broken a law., Anyone who attempts to help him will suffer the same fate, death"
The broadcast ended.
The plaza didn't erupt.
It went quiet.
People slowed. Conversations thinned. Footsteps faltered.
Mira felt eyes—not all at once, but one by one—begin to turn. A woman stared too long. A man stopped walking. A child tugged at his mother's sleeve.
Owen didn't speak, but he was too shocked to do so, his eyes widened.
Mira stood.
Her chair scraped loudly against stone.
"We need to go," she said.
Not shouted. Not panicked. Certain.
They sprinted immediately.
They all felt the city shift around them—the way crowds subtly parted, how people leaned away just enough to create space. Fear spread quietly. Efficiently.
They hit the stairs. Metal railings were cold beneath their palms. The smell of rust and damp concrete filled Mira's nose as they climbed.
Sirens hadn't started yet.
That would be worse.
They reached a rooftop on a building further from the plaza, and near the building was an alley.
Wind swept across the open space, tugging at loose clothing. The city stretched out below them bright, layered, alive.
Owen stopped.
"You all need to go," he said, breathing uneasily. "If they catch you with me—"
Mira grabbed his wrist.
"No."
"They'll kill you too," he said. "Let go of me."
Alec stepped between them.
"No," he said again. Louder.
"You're our friend, you helped and fought with us" Alec said. "You don't get to isolate yourself now when you clearly need us the most."
Mira nodded. "We stay and fight like we always did."
Irene yelled. "Yeah. We stay."
Alec pulled his hood up. "Okay. Listen, I have a plan."
"I'll run with Owen, Irene, and Mira you will waste their time, lead them to the alley. Irene will be a decoy since you and Owen share the power, your job is to stop anyone from harming Irene put your hoodies on, don't let them see your faces."
Officers were able to track them down, and they made their way to their location, but Alec and Owen were already gone and began attempting to leave the area.
Irene let the flames flicker to life slowly.
Not a burst. Not an attack.
Just enough heat to be noticed.
The fire curled around her hands like restless animals, casting warped shadows against the alley walls. The air around her shimmered, bending with heat, carrying the sharp scent of burning oxygen. She felt eyes lock onto her immediately—attention snapping into place like a trap closing.
"There he is!"
The shout cut through the air, sharp and excited.
"Charge at him!" an officer barked. "He'll pay for his crimes!"
Boots thundered against concrete.
Irene's heart slammed hard against her ribs. She moved before fear could root her in place, hurling a wave of fire forward. It roared through the narrow alley, lighting brick and metal in violent orange.
They scattered.
Too coordinated.
Too trained.
Her flames slammed into nothing but empty air, licking uselessly along walls as the officers rolled and ducked away. One slid across the pavement, coming up on one knee, palm already glowing with cold.
Ice formed fast—too fast.
The spike shot toward her with a sharp crack, air splitting around it.
Irene twisted sideways, heat surging instinctively. The ice didn't shatter—it melted, hissing violently as steam exploded outward, fogging her vision for a split second.
Bad idea.
Something rushed her through the steam.
A fist swung toward her head. She leaned back just enough that it missed her jaw by inches—but the officer's momentum didn't stop. His knuckles slammed into the concrete instead.
The ground cratered.
Chunks of pavement burst upward, stinging Irene's legs as she stumbled back, lungs burning.
Shit. They're getting too close. I can't keep dodging forever.
"Do something!" she shouted, panic creeping into her voice despite her effort to bury it.
A voice—too close—cut in sharply.
"Wait— that's a feminine voice? We're supposed to be chasing a gu—"
The air snapped.
Purple lightning tore through the alley with a deafening crack, the sound sharp enough to hurt. It split into jagged arcs midair, slamming into the officers before the thought could finish forming.
Bodies seized.
Muscles locked.
The smell of ozone flooded the space, overpowering smoke and steam alike. One by one, they collapsed, armor clattering loudly as they hit the ground.
Mira stood behind Irene, electricity still crawling along her arms, her breathing controlled but heavy.
"Hey!" Mira called sharply. "Make sure your hoodie stays on."
Irene sucked in a breath and yanked the fabric back up, fingers shaking as she secured it.
The alley went quiet.
Too quiet.
Mira felt it before she saw it—the subtle pressure shift in the air, like the world drawing a breath it didn't intend to release gently.
She stepped forward.
Not unleashing everything.
Just enough.
Purple lightning cracked again, controlled, precise. Each strike landed clean, calculated to disrupt nerves, to shut bodies down without killing. The remaining officers faltered, movements losing rhythm, their charge collapsing into disarray.
Then—
Cold brushed Irene's neck.
Not ice.
Not wind.
Just the absence of warmth.
Her hood slid back.
A voice spoke calmly from somewhere behind the chaos.
"Visual mismatch."
Mira's stomach dropped.
"I'll deal with these two," the voice continued. "Go after that ruffian. He must've run with the other one."
The remaining officers moved instantly, peeling away, boots pounding as they surged toward the street beyond the alley, toward Alec and Owen.
They were already running.
Footsteps echoed too loudly, breath tearing painfully from Owen's chest as panic caught up to him.
Then Metal screamed. Metal walls rose around them in a heartbeat—smooth, seamless slabs forming too fast to react to. The cage closed from all sides, a roof slamming down overhead with a final, echoing clang.
Darkness swallowed them.
Owen's breath hitched. "Shit—"
Alec didn't answer.
He raised his arms, palms shaking as he pointed one hand left, the other right. Pressure built slowly. The metal walls groaned.
Then they exploded outward.
The cage burst apart violently, slabs of steel launching like shrapnel. Officers were thrown off their feet, their bodies lifted, and slammed hard into walls and pavement. The street cracked. Windows shattered above them.
Alec grabbed Owen's hand, fingers locking tight.
"If I can move objects," he gasped, realization crashing into him, "I can move myself."
Owen stared at him, breathless. "What? What are you talking about-"
"Get ready."
They ran.
Alec thrust his hands downward.
For a heartbeat, gravity let go.
The world dropped away beneath them, stomachs lurching as they were launched upward, weightless, suspended—
Then they slammed onto a distant rooftop.
Hard.
They rolled, skidding across gravel and concrete. Alec hit first, the impact ripping the air from his lungs. He coughed violently, blood splattering onto the roof.
Owen scrambled to him, panic etched across his face, sweat dripping freely now. "Dude—are you okay?"
Alec wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his skin.
"I'm okay," he rasped, even as his chest burned. "Let's just—get you out of here. Please."
Sirens wailed louder now. Closer. Dozens of them, overlapping into an unbearable scream.
More officers poured into the streets below.
The chaos had only just begun.
Owen reached down, gripping Alec's hand tightly. "Come on. I've got you."
Alec let himself be pulled up, forcing his legs to move.
They ran again—jumping rooftop to rooftop, breaths ragged, bodies screaming. Officers tried to follow, scrambling up fire escapes and ledges—but Alec lashed out instinctively, telekinesis flaring as he hurled them backward, tossing bodies off roofs like discarded debris.
They stood in the alleyway.
The alley didn't stay quiet for long
The sound didn't announce itself.
Mira was the first to notice it then Irene.
At first, Irene thought it was just the echo of sirens somewhere far off—an afterimage of noise lingering in her head. A dull pressure settled behind her ears, subtle enough to ignore. She swallowed and rolled her shoulders, flames flickering faintly at her fingertips.
Then the pressure tightened.
Not louder. Sharper.
Like an invisible hand pressing inward from both sides of her skull.
Her vision wavered. The alley tilted slightly, the walls bending at the edges as if the world itself was losing focus.
"Mira…" Irene whispered. Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears—warped, stretched. "I don't feel good."
Mira turned toward her, already tense. "I know. Don't panic. Something's—"
The frequency shifted.
Pain detonated inside Irene's head.
She screamed.
It tore out of her chest raw and unfiltered as the sound slammed deeper, vibrating through bone and nerve and blood. Her hands flew to her ears as a hot, wet sensation spilled down her neck.
Blood.
She could feel it now—warm, sticky, sliding from her ears onto her collar.
"No—no, no—!" Irene sobbed, collapsing to her knees. The world shook violently, like everything was trembling in sync with the sound. Her flames sparked wildly, then fizzled out, refusing to form no matter how hard she tried to focus.
Focus, she told herself desperately. Just focus.
But every time she reached for her power, the frequency tore her concentration apart. Thoughts slipped away mid-sentence. Her body wouldn't listen. Her fire felt distant, muffled, like she was trying to grab something through thick glass.
Mira screamed too.
Not in pain at first—then sharply, violently, as the sound intensified again.
Irene looked up just in time to see Mira stagger, hands clawing at her head, purple lightning misfiring uselessly around her arms before dying out completely.
The officer stepped forward.
He wasn't rushing. He didn't need to.
"This frequency disrupts focus," he said calmly, his voice vibrating through Irene's skull like it was coming from inside her. "Your powers require intent. Control. Precision."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I've removed your ability to maintain any of those."
The sound spiked again.
Irene's scream broke into a choked sob as her vision blurred completely. The alley dissolved into light and shadow. Her heartbeat thundered out of rhythm, her chest seizing like she couldn't remember how to breathe.
Hands grabbed her arms.
She barely felt them.
Strong. Efficient. Cold.
Restraints snapped around her wrists, humming faintly—dampeners. The moment they locked into place, her flames vanished entirely.l
"Mira!" Irene cried, voice cracking. "Mira, I can't—!"
She saw Mira across the alley, pinned to the ground by two officers. Blood streaked from her nose and ears, her face twisted in pain as the frequency held her down like gravity itself.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Mira tried to smile.
That somehow hurt worse.
The sound faded abruptly.
The silence was deafening.
Irene collapsed forward, body going slack as the world finally stopped vibrating. Her ears rang violently, a high-pitched whine replacing the frequency as she was dragged upright.
"Targets secured," someone said into a comm.
Irene's head lolled to the side as they hauled her away.
The jump almost killed them.
Alec misjudged the distance—just barely. His telekinetic leap fired a fraction too late, and the rooftop edge slammed into his ribs as they rolled onto the gravel-coated surface. Pain exploded through his side, sharp enough to steal the air from his lungs, but they kept moving.
He gasped, choking.
Owen hit the ground harder, skidding across the roof and slamming shoulder-first into a ventilation unit with a hollow clang.
"ngh" Owen groaned. "Okay. Okay. Still alive."
Alec laughed.
Sirens wailed closer now, no longer distant, no longer scattered. They were coordinated. Focused. The sound bounced between buildings, echoing until it felt like the city itself was screaming at them.
"Up," Alec rasped, forcing himself to his feet. His vision swam. Dark spots danced at the edges. "We can't stop."
Below them, boots thundered.
Metal clanged against concrete—grappling lines, magnetic anchors. Officers were scaling buildings now, adapting faster than Alec wanted to admit.
Owen grabbed Alec's arm. "Your hands are shaking."
"I know," Alec snapped, then softened. "Just keep moving."
The city smelled different at this height. Hot asphalt. Old rain trapped in gutters. Ozone from damaged power lines flickers somewhere nearby.
A shout echoed behind them.
"TARGET VISUAL—ROOFTOP NORTHBOUND!"
Alec reacted on instinct.
He threw his arm back without looking.
Something heavy—an HVAC unit, rusted and half-bolted—ripped free from the rooftop and hurled itself backward. It didn't hit anyone directly, but it did collapse the path behind them in a screaming crash of metal and stone.
Dust exploded into the air.
"Holy—" Owen coughed. "Dude, you almost crushed someone."
"I know," Alec said. His voice shook. "But we have to get you out of here!"
They cut through a narrower building next—one of the older ones, brick worn smooth by decades of wind and neglect. Fire escapes rattled violently as they sprinted past, iron steps groaning under their weight.
Owen nearly slipped.
Alec caught him by the wrist, telekinesis flaring just enough to steady them both.
"Don't start tripping all of a sudden," Alec muttered. "Not now."
Owen huffed weakly. "So bossy."
The neighborhood began to change.
Taller buildings thinned out. The noise shifted—sirens dulled slightly, replaced by the distant hum of residential power grids and barking dogs. Streetlights buzzed overhead, casting uneven pools of yellow light.
Alec slowed.
"There," he said, pointing. "That's her block."
Sylvia's house sat wedged between two others—unassuming, almost forgettable. No cameras. No guards. Just peeling paint and a crooked porch light that flickered like it might give up at any second.
The safest places always looked like nothing.
They dropped down into the alley behind it, landing hard. Alec's knees buckled this time. He caught himself on the brick wall, breathing raggedly.
Owen rushed to him. "You're bleeding."
Alec looked down. His hands were smeared red—nosebleed, maybe worse. He wiped it away with his sleeve, smearing it further.
"I'm fine," he lied.
Sirens surged again—closer than he liked.
"Front door or back?" Owen asked.
"Front," Alec said immediately. "Sylvia hates surprises."
They stumbled toward the front entrance. Alec knocked—once, twice, three times, uneven and frantic.
For a horrifying second, nothing happened.
Owen's breath hitched. "Alec—"
The door swung open.
Sylvia stood there in an oversized sweater, eyes sharp despite the late hour. She took one look at them—blood, shaking hands, the way Alec was barely even standing.
"Inside. Now."
They didn't hesitate.
The door slammed shut behind them, locks clicking into place one after another. Curtains were yanked closed. The lights stayed off.
Alec collapsed onto the floor the moment his back hit the wall.
Owen slid down beside him, chest heaving.
For several seconds, none of them spoke.
The house smelled like old books and tea. Safe. Quiet. The kind of quiet that felt unreal after chaos.
Sylvia finally broke it.
"…Where are Mira and Irene?"
Alec squeezed his eyes shut.
"We split up.. so we don't exactly know.."
Outside, sirens screamed past the house.
But for the moment—
They had made it.
Barely
I don't know how long we've been moving.
Time feels wrong. Like it's slipping sideways instead of forward.
I'm seated. Restrained. My wrists are locked together in front of me, humming softly, a constant reminder that my fire is gone, because the frequency is still blasting in my ear but as loud as it was before.
The transport hums around us, smooth and quiet. No sirens. No shouting. Just a steady mechanical vibration that makes my teeth ache. The walls are metal—dark, seamless. No windows. Of course, there aren't.
Mira sits across from me.
She looks… tired. Blood dried beneath her nose, faint streaks along her jaw. Her eyes meet mine for half a second before she looks away. Not because she's afraid.
Because she doesn't want me to see it.
"We fucked up," I say immediately. My voice sounds small. Broken. "I messed up. I—"
She shakes her head fast. "Don't."
The word is sharp. Final.
"This isn't on you or me," she says quietly. "We'll be okay."
I swallow. My throat hurts. Everything hurts.
The restraints buzz again when I shift, and panic spikes in my chest. My fire doesn't answer. Not even a spark. It's like reaching for a limb that isn't there anymore.
I hate it.
I hate the silence inside me.
The transport slows.
I feel it before I hear it—pressure shifting, weight changing. A door slides open with a soft hiss, and suddenly the air smells different. Cold. Sterile. Like metal and disinfectant.
Prison.
They move us through corridors lined with white lights that buzz faintly overhead. Everything echoes. Footsteps. Breathing. The click of boots behind us. I keep my head down, but I can feel eyes on us—guards, cameras, something worse.
A man's voice speaks flatly beside us.
"Find info and these girls, and we'll figure out what do with them."
My stomach drops.
They take us to separate prison cells.
"No," I say instantly, panic breaking through. "You can't—"
A hand presses lightly but firmly against my shoulder, guiding me away from Mira.
"Mira!" I call out. My chest tightens. "Mira—!"
She turns her head just enough to look at me.
Her expression is calm.
Too calm.
"Irene," she says, steady and low, "listen to me."
I get put into my cell and Mira and the officer walking her do not stop and continue to move.
I freeze.
"We survive," she says. "I promise we will."
I get pushed into the cell, and the cell door then slammed closed.
I stand there for a second too long, staring at my own reflection in the metal—pale, shaking, eyes too wide. Fireless.
The cell is small. Concrete walls. A narrow bed bolted to the floor. A light overhead that hums faintly—too faint to ignore, too constant to forget. My wrists are free now, but it doesn't matter. I reach anyway. Habit. Reflex.
Nothing.
The air feels… wrong. Thin. Pressurized. Like it's pushing back against my thoughts. I can feel it vibrating just beneath my hearing range, scraping at the inside of my skull.
So that's what it is.
The frequency is still there.
I sit down slowly, fingers digging into my knees to stop them from shaking.
"First day?"
The voice makes me flinch.
I look up.
A woman is leaning against the opposite wall of the cell block, arms crossed, expression tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. Short hair. Faded scars along her forearms. Her jumpsuit hangs loose on her frame like she's been shrinking inside it.
"Y‑yeah," I say. My throat tightens. "I… just got here."
She nods like that explains everything.
"How long are you in for?" she asks.
I hesitate. My mouth opens, but no words come out. I don't know. I don't even know what they're charging me with yet since we aren't on th system yet, but I do have an idea of what they might charge Mira and me with.
"I don't know yet, but it might be bad," I finally admit.
She snorts softly. No humor in it.
"Figures."
She pushes off the wall and sits on the edge of the bench outside my cell, elbows resting on her knees.
"You feel that buzzing?" she asks.
I nod immediately. "It's— it won't stop."
"Yeah," she says. "It doesn't."
She taps the side of her head. "Almost every country does it now. Prisons, detention centers, black sites. Low‑level frequency broadcast through the walls. Suppresses focus. Intent. Powers don't stand a chance."
My chest tightens. "So it's not just this place?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. Global standard, it's a new technique that some sound manipulators created. It originated from Asia."
"It sucks at first," she continues. "Headaches. Nausea. Panic. You keep reaching for your powe like it's still there."
She looks at me, eyes sharp but not cruel.
"And then one day you stop reaching."
Something inside me twists painfully.
"H‑how long have you been here?" I ask.
She exhales through her nose, staring at the floor.
"Two years," she says. "So far."
Two years.
The word years echoes in my head, heavy and wrong.
"I thought it would be temporary," she adds quietly. "Thought someone would break me out. Or I'd get bailed out or something. Or that they'd slip up once and I'd get one shot to leave."
She glances at the walls.
"They don't ever slip up, this technique just recently came here, and ever since it's been used a lot, although sound manipulators have to go through intense training just to even use it, that's what I heard at least."
Silence stretches between us, filled with that endless, humming pressure.
"Irene," I say suddenly. "My name is Irene."
She looks back at me, studying my face like she's deciding whether to remember it.
"…Call me Ash," she says. "That's what I used to go by."
Used to.
I curl my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms.
"My friend's here too," I say. "They took her somewhere else."
Ash's expression softens just a fraction. "Yeah. They do that. Keeps you from feeling safe, or at least to toy with your emotions."
I swallow hard. "We're getting out," I say, more to myself than to her. "We have to."
She doesn't argue.
She doesn't agree either.
She just gives me a long, tired look and says,
"Hold onto that thought while you can."
I'm afraid I might be wrong as hell.
Silence stretches, heavy and oppressive.
"…Why were you arrested?" I ask quietly.
She doesn't answer right away.
Then she snorts, humorless.
"Phoenix."
The word hits me like a punch.
I look up fast. "Wait—Phoenix? As in—"
"Yeah," she says. "The Phoenix gang."
She finally looks at me, eyes sharp now. Measuring.
"I was part of it. Back when it actually meant something, Phoenix all it does is just attack people now, and I went to jail for it."
My heart pounds. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious." Her jaw tightens. "They caught me during a sweep. Didn't even fight back. Didn't matter."
She looks at the walls again.
"They don't care what you did. Just who you stood with, and what you believe in."
My hands curl into fists. "How long were you in Phoenix…?"
"For a few years," she says flatly. "But that bitch Ember ruined Phoenix. She says with an aggressive look in her eyes
"I thought someone would break us out," she adds. "Thought Phoenix would burn this place to the ground, turns out the leader I used to follow is dead ."
She laughs softly.
"But now they put Ember in charge.
"My friend needs to get out of here," I say quickly. "They took her somewhere else though,"
Ash's expression softens just a fraction.
"I like you," she says. "Keep hope spreading around."
I swallow hard. "We're getting out."
She doesn't laugh.
She doesn't argue.
She just meets my eyes and says quietly,
"As I said hold onto that thought. Hope is the first thing they try to kill."
The light hums.
The frequency presses in.
And for the first time i found myself powerless.
I realized I may never get out of here.
The lights don't turn off.
They just dim—slightly. Like the prison doesn't trust us with darkness.
I lie on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. The concrete is stained with old cracks and water marks that look like maps to places I'll never see. The mattress is thin, barely softer than the floor. Every movement makes it creak, like it's warning me not to get comfortable.
The frequency never stops.
It hums through the walls, through my bones, through my thoughts. Not loud enough to cover sound, but constant enough to scrape away at focus. I try to summon my fire again. I don't even know why.
Nothing happens.
I let my arm fall back to my side, fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket. It smells like bleach and something older. Something tired.
Across the block, Ash shifts on her own bed. Metal creaks. Fabric rustles.
"Sleeping yet?" she asks quietly.
I swallow. "No."
"Yeah. Me neither."
Silence settles again, heavy and artificial.
"I used to think prison would be loud," I whisper. "Yelling. Screaming. Violence."
Ash exhales softly. "It is. Just not at night."
I close my eyes.
The frequency presses harder when I do, as it knows. My head throbs. Images flicker behind my eyelids—fire curling around my hands, Mira's face behind that closing door, the alley twisting and breaking apart.
My chest tightens.
"Is there a way to bypass the frequency" I whisper.
Ash doesn't answer right away.
"…Not that I know of, but it is being produced by people," she finally says. "Beat them, then the frequency stops."
I grip the blanket tighter.
My body is exhausted. My mind won't stop racing. Every time I drift, the hum drags me back up again, like an invisible hook snagging my thoughts.
I don't know when sleep finally comes.
There's no moment of relief. No warmth. Just… fading.
The last thing I think about before everything dulls is Mira, and others.
If they are okay.
If they are happy.
And somewhere deep inside—buried beneath fear, beneath the frequency, beneath the walls,
This place will not be the end of me.
The house stayed dark.
Sylvia didn't turn on the lights, not right away. She guided them down the narrow hallway by memory alone, one hand steady on Alec's arm, the other bracing Owen when his steps faltered. The floorboards creaked under their weight, old wood reacting to movement it hadn't expected at this hour.
"Sit," Sylvia said calmly.
Alec dropped onto the couch first. His legs gave out the moment he stopped moving. Owen followed, collapsing beside him, breath still coming too fast, hands shaking now that adrenaline had burned out.
Sylvia finally turned on a single lamp.
Warm light filled the room, low and controlled. It showed the damage clearly—blood dried at the corner of Alec's mouth, his chest rising unevenly, Owen's shoulder already bruising beneath torn fabric.
Sylvia exhaled through her nose.
"…You pushed yourselves," she said. Not angry. Just tired.
Owen huffed weakly. "We didn't really have a choice."
"I know." She set her bag down anyway. Habit. She always did that before using her ability.
Sylvia rolled up her sleeves.
A steady glow spread across her hands.
"Hold still," she said.
Alec nodded, jaw clenched.
Her palm pressed gently against his ribs.
The pain spiked for half a second—sharp, focused—then dulled as warmth spread beneath her touch. His breathing hitched, then slowly evened out as cracked bone and strained muscle were reinforced, stabilized, and pushed back into alignment.
He exhaled shakily.
"Still hate the feeling of this, ever since I was a child," he muttered.
Sylvia smiled. "I did too at one point, you'll get used to it."
She worked carefully, reinforcing rather than rewriting, strengthening tissue, easing strain, restoring function without pushing his body beyond what it could handle. The blood at his mouth dried, then vanished.
But when she stepped back—
His hands were still trembling.
His shoulders still sagged under invisible weight.
Sylvia noticed immediately.
She always did.
She turned to Owen next, resting her hands briefly on his shoulder and upper arm. Enhancement flowed again—supporting muscle, reducing inflammation, stabilizing joints strained by panic and overuse.
Owen swallowed as the pain eased.
"…Thanks," he said quietly.
Sylvia stepped back.
"That's the best I can do," she said.
Alec opened his eyes. "Thank you. We appreciate it."
She hesitated anyway.
"This brings back memories," Sylvia said softly. "Back when I tried to help Hiro. Joel too."
Owen looked at her. "When?"
She nodded.
"I can heal and enhance the body functions," she said. "Reinforce the body. Help it recover faster, and Hiro and Joel once came to me."
Her hands curled slowly into fists.
"But I can't completely erase the drawbacks. I can't erase the damage powers leave behind when you use them, I cannot stop the deterioration because it is constant."
Alec stared at the ceiling. "You tried healing them, and it failed I'm assuming"
"Yes."
"It didn't work, I can actually heal Whats going on, it's a struggle when the damage is consistent, happens over time on repeat."
Silence settled over the room.
"Enhancement types aren't able to stop the deteriorating," Sylvia continued quietly. "It is limited, it can't heal what comes back in an instant. The damage will continue as long as they have powers."
Owen shifted uncomfortably. "So… in other words, Joel and Hiro are fated to die."
"Yes unfortunately," she said. "Eventually we all die."
Alec scoffed softly. "And I guess we're next ."
Sylvia met his gaze, with a sad expression.
"Let's rest, for today" she said. "Because next time, you might not be able to keep yourself on your feet long enough to run and come to me."
That landed.
She turned the lamp down lower.
"Get some sleep," Sylvia said. "I'll come up with something tomorrow."
Alec's eyes finally closed.
Owen leaned back against the couch, breathing slowly now.
Outside, sirens passed by without stopping.
Crystal stepped out into the night and let the door slide shut behind her.
The city exhaled.
Above her, the sky stretched wide and restless—deep indigo stained with smog and scattered stars fighting to be seen. Neon lights from distant towers bled upward, painting the clouds in bruised purples and sickly pinks. Somewhere far below, traffic hummed like a living thing, steady and uncaring.
Crystal leaned against the railing and tipped her head back.
She hadn't realized how tight her chest felt until the cool air hit her lungs.
The wind brushed past her hair, gentle at first, then stronger, tugging loose strands across her face. It smelled like rain that hadn't fallen yet—ozone and metal and something faintly burnt. The city always smelled like something was about to go wrong.
She watched a transport drone cut across the sky, its lights blinking rhythmically, then vanish behind a tower. Another followed. Then another.
Movement without meaning.
People are going somewhere. People leaving. People are never coming back.
Crystal rested her forearms on the railing, fingers curling around the cold metal.
Up here, the city looked calm.
Too calm.
No sirens close enough to matter. No shouting. Just the low, constant thrum of power lines and distant generators. It was the kind of quiet that made you think everything was fine—right before it wasn't.
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, she imagined the sky without the glow. Without the towers. Without the weight of everything pressing down on it. Just open air. Just dark and stars.
Joel used to talk about places like that.
Places where the sky actually looked like the sky.
Crystal swallowed.
She thought about Hiro's words.
About Joel's certainty.
About how easily everyone around her talked about dying like it was a schedule conflict.
Her grip tightened on the railing.
"I hate this," she murmured to no one.
The wind shifted again, colder now, slipping beneath her jacket. A cloud drifted overhead, slow and heavy, swallowing a cluster of stars whole.
Crystal's voice came out softer than she expected.
"I'll miss you guys," she said, barely above the hum of the city.
She paused, then added quietly,
"…when that day comes."
She opened her eyes and stared back up at the sky.
If it was going to fall apart again, she wanted to see it coming.
For now, though, she stayed there. Alone, breathing, watching, while the city below kept pretending everything was still under control, like everything was okay.