Adrian's sneakers pounded against the wet pavement, his breath ragged and sharp in the cold night air. His heart was a war drum in his chest. The streets blurred past him — blinking neon, rusted storefronts, and the occasional pedestrian, none of whom noticed the terrified seventeen-year-old sprinting by like death was chasing him. And maybe it was.
His mind was spinning. What the hell happened back there? He had seen the men fly — fly — like rag dolls. He hadn't touched them. And that green light… it had danced around his hand, flaring at the flick of his finger like a trigger pulled on reality itself.
Another corner. Another gasp. Another step closer to home.
He slammed through the apartment door and bolted the lock behind him, chest heaving. "Mom? Dad?"
No answer. He staggered to the bathroom. The harsh overhead light flickered faintly. Adrian gripped the sink, catching sight of himself in the mirror for the first time since it happened.
His dark hair was soaked to the roots, wild and tangled. Sweat clung to his skin. His red eyes — something he'd always been mocked for — were glowing faintly. There was a strange distortion around one of them, like heat rippling off asphalt, subtle but definitely there. Underneath it all, his face looked drawn, pale — a normal teenager pushed one breath too far.
He pulled back his sleeve. His fingers tingled. Faintly glowing green.
"What the hell is happening to me…?"
A voice broke through his spiral. "Adrian?" his mom called from the kitchen. "That you?"
He rushed out, still shaking. "I—I was followed. Attacked. Two guys tried to kill me or something. I think I did something to them. I didn't even touch them and they just—went flying!"
His parents looked alarmed. Concerned, but… off. His dad approached slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I mean—I don't think so."
"What exactly happened?" his dad pressed. "What did you do to them?"
Before Adrian could answer, a knock interrupted them. Three sharp raps on the front door.
Adrian's gut twisted. "Don't open that. Please. It's them."
But his dad was already at the door. "It's probably just—"
BANG!
The door exploded inward with a metallic crash. Two men stepped inside — the same ones from the alley, faces bruised, bloodied, and furious.
Adrian's mother screamed. The taller man kicked the door shut behind them. "Nobody move!"
They had guns.
"Hands where I can see them. Now!"
Adrian, his mother, and his father were herded at gunpoint onto the living room couch. Zip-ties were yanked tight around their wrists.
The shorter of the two stepped forward, his face full of contempt as he pointed the barrel of a pistol at Adrian's dad.
"Tell him what he is."
"What…?" Adrian muttered, dazed. "I'm just— I'm just a person. What are you talking about?"
CRACK.
The taller man slapped Adrian hard across the face. His vision spun.
"Shut the fuck up, parasite," the man snarled. "You really don't know, huh?"
He turned back to Adrian's parents, voice ice-cold.
"Tell him. Tell the freak what he really is."
Adrian stared at his mom, who looked ashen. His dad's face had gone pale.