Another day began. Jaime followed his usual path from his apartment to his office, skipping and swinging his briefcase to the rhythm of a rock song. He smiled at everyone and waved at his friends, and chirped a bright "good morning" to the lobby receptionist. On the twenty-third floor, he greeted Stacey, who handed him a few pieces of mail and asked him how his night had gone. After a generic conversation on the merits of sleep, Jaime settled into his office with a pot of coffee and the mail. He spent the next few hours paying bills and sorting through a client's paperwork.

Noon rolled around, and Jaime went to Nilla Beans for a cinnamon hazelnut pumpkin spice latte. Reynardo Morales was already there, sipping a small lemonade. "Rey!" Jaime exclaimed as he sat down with his hypercaffienated drink. "My favorite vampire. Were they out of blood orange juice?"

"Very funny, Jaime," Reynardo drawled, but he was smiling. "Tell me, how many fields of sugarcane were razed for that concoction of yours?"

"Only three. I'm cutting back." Jaime grinned. "How's life treating you?"

"Well enough." Reynardo nodded. "But I worry for Blair. Have you seen him?"

"I gave him a pep talk a few days ago. He and Roscoe fought again," Jaime explained. "And it's finals season. He's probably prepping his students for exams."

"True. I had guessed that something occurred between him and Roscoe. It's a pity." Reynardo shook his head. "I certainly hope they work it out."

"I hope Blair works all his shit out." Jaime chuckled. "When's his birthday? The man needs a birthday."

"You know he is thousands of years old, Jaime, and was not born on Earth. He hasn't got any more of a birthday than I have." Reynardo smiled again. "But that doesn't mean we can't celebrate."

"Yeah. Is it too soon to throw a bachelor party? That might be even better." Jaime grinned.

"A bachelor party?" Christian Moynahan joined the two men at their table, a coffee in his hand. "Did he propose?"

"No, our young friend Jaime is simply trying to find a reason to throw him a party." Reynardo chuckled. "I'm trying to tell him we do not need a reason."

"We need a reason if we're taking time out of our work schedules to goof around," Christian pointed out.

"You both sound just like the workaholics you are." Reynardo shook his head. "He's our friend and he needs distracting. Are you both so busy that you cannot find time to lift him up, as he has done for us so often?"

Jaime and Christian looked at each other. "Señor has a point," Jaime said.

"Yes, I do." Reynardo tilted his head. "Now, what shall we do for him?"

The three friends spent the rest of the hour scheming. Then they returned to their respective offices, and Jaime met a few more clients in meetings.

The day ended at five o'clock, Stacey left at six, and Jaime locked the door behind him at ten. He bade the security guards good night and started on his walk home.

A sharp bang and a sudden breeze broke Jaime's reverie. He spun around on instinct to see what had caused the interruption. There was no sign of anything amiss.

Jaime shrugged and started on his way. Then another bang sounded and the breeze whizzed past his ear and made a solid impact in the wall next to him, and Jaime realized that the sounds were gunshots and he was their target.

He ducked his head and took off running. Another shot rang out, and Jaime screamed, weaving hard to his left, where he bumped into the wall. There was a door a few feet away; Jaime tried it and found it was locked.

"Help! Help!" Jaime pounded at the door. The metal door bent, twisting under the weight of his fists, and flew off its hinges and past its deadbolt. Jaime pushed past it and ran into the building and down a hallway, searching for anywhere to go that might allow him to hide. He heard footsteps behind him. The air felt thinner and his heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat.

He burst into an open room, the lobby of the building. "Shooter! Shooter!" Jaime shrieked. The people in the room looked at him as if he was mad. The sound of footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, growing ever closer. Jaime spun around and saw a shadow fall around the corner.

The other people in the lobby watched him in confusion. They murmured among themselves; their words became muddled to Jaime in his panicked state. He saw a man all in black turn the corner, a gun aimed and ready to fire. Screaming again, he turned and stumbled forward, searching for anything to hide behind. The people still did not react. When the gun fired, Jaime let out a final shriek, and at once the rest of the guests were screaming with him, crying and howling with terror. Overwhelmed, Jaime stood up, then melted to the floor in a dead faint.

---

The image in front of him swam in and out of focus a few times. Jaime blinked slowly. He felt exhausted, as though he had run for miles. Still, he tried to get up. "Stay down," Blair's voice said. "Don't move."

"What's happening?" Once he recognized Blair, Jaime was able to focus on his friend's face. "Blair?"

"Nothing's happening. Just stay down." Blair Winters was leaning over Jaime. He realized his feet were raised, there was a blanket thrown over him, and he was lying on a sofa. The room was unfamiliar. People walked around; low voices sounded here and there.

"No. I--I want to help." Jaime tried to sit up again. Blair nudged him back down.

"Listen to me. Don't speak to anyone here except me and the detective I will point out to you. Blink twice if you understand me."

Jaime blinked twice, but said, "Blair, I'm not an invalid. What happened?"

"Not now." Blair waved his hand over Jaime's face, and a cool stream of air washed over Jaime, who closed his eyes and drifted off. When he opened his eyes again, he felt somewhat less shaky than before but was not certain how much time he had lost in the interim.

Blair was still at Jaime's side. He had been watching a group of people who were gathered near the entrance to the hallway through which Jaime had so hurriedly passed. "I spoke with Roscoe," he said. "We've come to an understanding."

"Really?" Jaime frowned. "What understanding? And should we be talking about this now?"

"Yes. Unfortunately our talk was mostly about how we need to talk more." Blair glanced at the young man. "And I'm trying to gauge how alert you are."

"Alert?" Jaime tried to take his feet down from the pile of cushions; Blair moved his feet right back into place. "Will you just explain to me what happened?"

"What do you remember?" Blair asked.

"I was walking home and someone started shooting at me. Like, real bullets from a real gun, Blair. I ran in here, and the guy followed me. He was still shooting. Then I--well, I thought I got hit, but I don't feel hurt, so I guess I just passed out."

"Did you see the shooter?" There was a touch of urgency to Blair's tone.

"Yeah, I saw him. Thin guy in all black, wearing a black ski mask." Jaime sat up and moved his feet. "Why?"

Slowly, Blair said, "No one else we've spoken to saw a shooter, Jaime."

"Well, I--" Jaime blinked, shook his head, and blinked again. "I'm not crazy, Blair!"

"No, you aren't. But no one saw a shooter. They heard you scream 'shooter' and they saw you faint. That's all."

"Yeah, but--but they were screaming too!" Jaime pulled at his hair.

"They don't know why they were screaming, Jaime. They all said, independently of each other, that they suddenly felt overwhelmed with terror." Blair watched Jaime closely. "How did you get into this building, Jaime?"

"Um, there was a door. I went through it." Jaime frowned. "The door at the end of that hallway there."

"Yes." Blair sighed. "That was a reinforced steel door, Jaime. It's been torn off its hinges. It appears you knocked it down with your fists."

Jaime tried to respond to that but found himself speechless.

"That would be enhanced strength, and the screaming sounds like an empathic attack." Blair gave Jaime a searching look. "Jaime, you may have just had your own manifestation event."

"Mani--" Jaime collapsed back onto the sofa. "Oh, god. This can't be happening."

"Maybe not." Blair stood up and helped Jaime to his feet. "You're going to give a statement to that Gifted Unit detective. The statement you give will amount to 'I don't know what happened.' Do not suggest that anything out of the ordinary, especially anything nonhuman, happened. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Blair." Jaime looked at the detective Blair indicated. "Not Athos or Cavanaugh, then?"

"No. I'd rather this didn't end up a news story." Blair gestured. "Go. I'll wait here and walk with you the rest of the way home."

Jaime gave his statement and walked home with Blair, who spoke the entire way there; Jaime was too stunned to speak. Once home, instead of finishing his work or finding articles to comment on, he went to bed, and fell asleep before midnight. He woke up to find the sun high in the sky; it was past eleven o'clock.