MATEO

The kitchen smelled like Sunday dinner even though it was the middle of the week—a rich, heavy scent of baked ziti that hit me the second I pushed through the front door. I let my backpack slide off my shoulder, the heavy thud against the linoleum feeling like a physical release of the day's tension.
My dad was already at the table, a generous portion of ziti steaming on his plate. The cheese had that perfect golden-brown crust that pulled into long, stringy ribbons whenever he lifted his fork. For a second, the sheer comfort of it almost made me forget the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.
Almost.
I moved to the fridge, yanked it open, and grabbed the milk carton. I didn't even bother with a glass; I just took a long, cold pull straight from the container. The liquid felt like a reset button, cooling the nervous fire in my throat.
"Hey, bud. How was school?"
My dad didn't look up from his meal, but the question landed with a weight that made me stiffen. He was a cop—Sheriff Hernandez—and he had a way of asking simple questions that felt like an interrogation even when he was just trying to be a dad.
"Good," I said, maybe a beat too quickly. I pulled out a chair and sat down, keeping my movements deliberate. "Same old."
"How's Alex doing?"
The fork paused halfway to his mouth. My heart gave a traitorous little jump. Of all the things to ask about, it had to be that. Alex was currently trying to navigate the fact that he was essentially a walking, talking power grid, and my dad was the one trying to figure out why a mysterious "super" had just wrecked a van on his watch.
"Alex? He's great," I said, keeping my tone carefully casual. I forced myself to take a bite of the ziti, but the rich, tomato-heavy sauce suddenly tasted like cardboard. "He's just... recovering, you know? Lightning strikes aren't exactly a spa day."
My dad hummed in acknowledgment, though his eyes lingered on me just a second longer than necessary.
Then he hit me with the curveball.
"What happened to that hoodie Uncle John gifted you? The gray one?"
I almost choked on a piece of rigatoni. My brain spun through a dozen excuses in a fraction of a second. I didn't want to mention that Alex was currently wearing it, possibly with blood on it, possibly after using it to hide his identity while he performed amateur heroics.
I smirked, leaning back and trying to project "innocent teenager" energy. "Sold it for drugs. High-quality stuff, really paid off."
My dad didn't even blink. He just stared at me, the fork hovering over his plate. He wasn't fazed by the sarcasm; he was looking through it. It was the "cop look," the one that made me feel like I was sitting in a lineup.
"I'm serious, Mateo," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
I sighed, the defiance leaking out of me. There was no point in dancing around it. If he suspected something, he was going to dig until he found it anyway.
"Oh, that hoodie," I said, rubbing the back of my neck to hide the twitch in my jaw. "I loaned it to Alex. Why? You need it back for your collection?"
My dad paused. For a heartbeat, his eyes widened slightly, and his eyebrow arched in that way that usually meant he'd just connected two dots I'd spent all day trying to keep separate. The suspicion was there, sharp and clear—but then, just as quickly, he masked it. He looked back down at his plate, seemingly satisfied with the lie.
"Nothing," he said, his voice returning to its casual, professional hum. "Just noticed it was missing. Glad to know Alex is doing 'super.' I've got to get back to the station. Lots of paperwork after that van incident earlier. Stay safe."
He stood up, his movements efficient. He carried his plate to the sink, rinsed it with a practiced hand, and left the room without another glance.
I sat there in the sudden quiet, listening to the heavy thump-thump of his boots retreating toward the hallway. My ziti sat abandoned in front of me.
"Glad to know Alex is doing 'super.'"
He'd said it with such a specific emphasis. Was it a joke? A coincidence? Or had he seen something during the van incident—something that made him realize that the "super" in the hoodie was someone he knew?
My skin prickled. If my dad was starting to put the pieces together, we were already in deeper water than I'd feared. I needed to warn Alex. I needed to see him, and I needed to do it before the Sheriff started comparing notes on hoodie sizes and lightning-scarred teens.
I finished the meal in record time, my mind already running ahead to the text I was about to send. The world was getting way too small, and I had a feeling our luck was about to run out.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

ALEX

The rain didn't just fall that night—it pressed against the world.
It came down in heavy, relentless sheets, drumming against the roof like a warning no one could quite translate. The gutters groaned under the weight of it, and every few seconds, lightning carved jagged veins of white across the sky, followed by thunder that rolled low and deep, like something alive shifting beneath the earth.
Inside my room, the storm felt distant—but not quiet.
Nothing about that night was quiet.
I lay back against my bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath my weight, the familiar creak of the frame grounding me in something normal—something real. My room was dim, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning slipping through the cracks of my blinds. Each flicker revealed pieces of my life in snapshots: books stacked unevenly on my desk, clothes half-folded and half-forgotten, posters peeling slightly at the corners.
And in my hand... the mask.
I turned it slowly between my fingers.
Old foam. Slightly worn. The edges weren't as sharp as they used to be, and the blue had dulled just a little from years of being shoved into drawers, backpacks, and boxes I swore I'd organize "later."
Nightwing.
Or at least, the cheap Halloween version of him.
I traced the outline with my thumb, feeling every bend, every crease. It wasn't much. It had never been much. But it meant something—something I didn't fully understand until that moment.
Back then, it was simple.
You put on the mask, and you were someone else. Someone stronger. Someone braver. Someone who didn't hesitate.
You didn't think about consequences. You didn't think about fear. You didn't think about how real the world actually was.
You just... played.
I let out a quiet breath, staring at it.
"Yeah," I muttered under my breath. "Back when it was just a game."
"You're not seriously thinking of going through with that, are you?"
Her voice cut through the room before I even heard her footsteps.
I didn't jump—but I felt it. That shift. That snapped back into reality.
I turned my head toward the doorway.
Melissa stood there, leaning slightly against the frame, her arms crossed. The hallway light behind her cast her in a soft glow, outlining her silhouette while leaving her expression half-shadowed. But I didn't need full light to read her face.
She was worried.
And curious.
And maybe a little... impressed?
I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my voice casual. "Going through with what, exactly?"
She gave me a look.
Not just any look—the kind that said, Don't insult my intelligence.
"Don't play dumb," she said, stepping into the room. "I know it was you."
I blinked once. "You know what I was me?"
She stopped a few feet from the bed, tilting her head slightly. "The thieves, Alex. The alley. The hoodie."
My stomach tightened.
"...What hoodie?"
"Mateo's hoodie," she shot back instantly. "The one he wouldn't stop complaining about losing? Yeah. I saw it. On you."
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head as I sat up a little. "That's a stretch."
"Is it?" she asked.
"Yes," I said quickly. "Very much so. I can barely stand up to Gregory in school without second-guessing myself, and you think I'm out here fighting three robbery suspects?"
That earned a reaction.
Melissa's lips twitched, and then she laughed—soft at first, then fuller, warmer. It filled the room in a way the storm couldn't drown out.
"Okay, fair," she admitted, walking over and dropping into the chair near my bed. "Gregory is terrifying in a very... unnecessary way."
"Exactly," I said, pointing at her like I'd just proven a case in court. "Thank you."
"But," she added, leaning forward slightly, her tone shifting, "Dad is going to lose his mind if he finds out anything even close to this is happening."
That part hit.
I leaned back against the wall, the earlier humor fading as quickly as it came. "Yeah. I'm aware."
Aware didn't even cover it.
Dad didn't do "half reactions." Everything was extreme. Everything mattered more than it needed to. And something like this?
This wouldn't just be a conversation.
It would be a shutdown.
Melissa studied me for a moment, quieter now.
Then she shifted gears.
"So," she said, crossing one leg over the other, "what's the plan?"
I frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she gestured toward the mask still in my hand, "are you actually committing to this whole... vigilante aesthetic? Or are we still in the 'dramatic contemplation' phase?"
I exhaled slowly.
"I don't know," I admitted.
That was the truth.
Because this wasn't just about the mask.
It wasn't even about what happened in that alley.
It was about what I felt when it happened.
The moment everything slowed down.
The moment fear didn't control me.
The moment something inside me said, Move—and I actually did.
Melissa tilted her head. "Well, if you are serious... I could help."
I glanced at her. "Help how?"
She leaned back slightly, a small grin forming. "You are not going out there looking like a discount Halloween section. If you're doing this, you're doing it right."
I blinked. "You're offering to design my superhero suit."
"I'm offering to save you from embarrassing yourself," she corrected.
A small smile crept onto my face despite everything.
But then I straightened slightly, my tone shifting.
"You can't tell anyone."
She rolled her eyes. "Obviously."
"I mean it," I said. "Not Manny. Not anyone."
She opened her mouth—
"Because if you do," I added calmly, "I will personally inform Mateo about your very obvious, very not subtle crush."
She froze.
"You are sure as hell not," she said immediately.
I raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
She narrowed her eyes.
Then sighed.
"...Fine."
I leaned back, satisfied. "Good. We understand each other."
She pointed at me. "Only if I have full creative control over the suit."
I hesitated.
"That's dangerous."
"That's necessary," she countered.
"...Fine," I said after a beat.
Her expression brightened just slightly.
"Do you at least have a name?" she asked.
I looked back toward the window.
Rain streaked down the glass in uneven lines, distorting the world outside. Another flash of lightning illuminated everything in stark white for a split second.
"I'm working on it," I said quietly.
"You need something strong," she said. "Memorable. Not cringe."
"Wow. Helpful."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
She leaned forward again, studying me like she was trying to figure something out that I hadn't said out loud yet.
"You know this is insane, right?"
I let out a small laugh.
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
And somehow... that didn't stop it from feeling right.
A shadow passed the doorway.
Then—
"What's insane?"
I stiffened slightly.
Manuel.
Of course.
Melissa and I both turned.
He stood there, one hand on the frame, looking between us with mild suspicion and a lot of curiosity.
I didn't hesitate long.
"Nothing," I said.
He stared at me for a second longer than I liked.
Then sighed.
"Fine. Keep your secrets," he muttered, pushing off the frame and walking away.
I waited until his footsteps faded.
Melissa leaned in slightly. "He's going to figure it out."
"Not if we don't give him anything to figure out."
She didn't look convinced.
But she dropped it.
For now.
Then her expression shifted again—this time, something more cautious.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Serious question."
I braced slightly. "What?"
"...What exactly can you do?"
I hesitated.
That was the part I hadn't fully faced yet.
The part that made everything real.
I glanced around the room, then lifted my hand slightly, pointing toward the lamp in the corner.
"Watch," I said.
She leaned back a little. "Alex—"
I focused.
It wasn't like flipping a switch.
It was more like... reaching for something already there.
Something under the surface.
Something waiting.
And then—
It happened.
A sharp crack split the air as a bolt of lightning shot from my fingertips, crossing the room in a blinding flash and slamming into the lamp.
The explosion of light and sound hit at the same time.
The lampshade shattered, pieces scattering across the desk as the bulb burst, plunging that corner of the room into darkness.
Melissa screamed.
"ALEX!"
The echo of thunder followed immediately, rattling the walls like the house itself was reacting.
I lowered my hand slowly.
"...Fuck," I muttered.
The room flickered once more as the power strained under the surge.
Melissa stared at the wreckage, her breathing uneven.
"...Okay," she said after a long second. "Okay. That's... that's new."
"Yeah."
"You could have warned me."
"I didn't think it would—"
She gestured wildly at the broken lamp. "Do that."
"Yeah," I admitted. "Neither did I."
Silence settled between us for a moment.
Not empty.
Just... heavy.
Then, surprisingly—
"Where's your suit?"
I blinked. "What?"
"If I'm helping you," she said, clearly trying to regain some control over the situation, "I need to see what we're working with."
I hesitated.
"...Closet."
She looked over.
Then back at me.
"I'm not going in there."
I scoffed slightly. "It's not that bad."
"Alex," she said flatly. "I value my life."
I exhaled. "Fine. I'll bring it out in the morning."
She nodded. "Good. I'll dig out my sewing stuff too."
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"Thanks, Mel."
Her expression softened just a little.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
Then her eyes sharpened again.
"But if you die doing something stupid, I'm telling everyone I warned you."
I huffed a laugh. "Noted."
She stood, heading toward the door.
Then paused.
She glanced back at me, a small smirk forming.
"Buenas noches, super Doofus."
I shook my head, smiling despite everything.
"Good night, Mel."
She reached for the switch.
The room went dark.
And just like that, she was gone.
The storm remained.
I lay back again, staring up at the ceiling I could barely see.
After a moment, I tossed the mask onto my desk. It landed softly, barely making a sound—but it felt louder than anything else that night.
Another bolt of lightning flashed outside.
For a split second, the entire room lit up again.
And in that instant, everything felt different.
Not like a game.
Not like pretend.
Like something had started.
Something I couldn't take back.
I pulled the covers up slightly, settling into the mattress as the sound of rain filled the silence Melissa left behind.
My heart was still racing.
Not from fear.
Not entirely.
From anticipation.
From something electric running just beneath my skin.
From the feeling that the world had just shifted—and I was standing right at the edge of it.
The thunder rolled again, deep and endless.
And somewhere between the storm, the silence, and the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat...

The storm didn't fade.
It intensified.
Rain hammered against the roof in relentless waves, and the thunder stopped sounding like distant noise—it was closer now, sharper, like pressure building in the sky instead of just weather passing through.
I lay there, staring into the dark, trying to steady my breathing.
But my body wouldn't settle.
That same energy lingered beneath my skin, restless and alive. It wasn't just adrenaline anymore. It wasn't fear.
It felt... active.
Like something had changed at a level I couldn't undo.
I turned onto my side, pressing my face halfway into the pillow.
"Just sleep," I muttered.
But then—
A sharp sensation shot through me.
Not pain.
Signal.
My eyes snapped open.
There it was again.
That feeling.
Different from before.
Before, it was internal—contained.
Now... it wasn't.
This felt external.
Like something in the air had shifted frequency—and somehow, I could feel it.
I pushed myself up slowly, every instinct suddenly on edge.
The room was still. Quiet, aside from the storm.
But that didn't matter.
Because the feeling wasn't coming from inside the room.
It was coming from outside.
I swung my legs off the bed, standing carefully. My gaze drifted toward the window, the faint outline barely visible in the dark.
Another flash of lightning lit up the sky—
And for a fraction of a second, everything sharpened.
Too sharp.
I blinked.
My vision didn't fully go back to normal.
"...Okay," I whispered, unsettled.
Something was happening.
Not just to me.
I could feel it now—like pressure changes before an earthquake. Subtle. Invisible.
But real.
I stepped closer to the window.
Each step made that sensation stronger.
More focused.
Like a pull.
My hand hovered near the curtain before I finally grabbed it and pulled it aside.
Rain streaked down the glass in heavy lines, distorting the neighborhood beyond. Streetlights flickered inconsistently, some dimming, others buzzing like they were overloaded.
Power fluctuations.
Electrical interference.
Not random.
Connected.
My eyes narrowed.
Down the street—
A transformer sparked.
Then popped.
A burst of blue-white light flashed, followed by a cascade of flickering lights along the block.
And then I saw it.
Movement.
Not imagination.
Not a trick of the light.
Someone was there.
Standing in the middle of the street.
I leaned in slightly, focusing.
The distance blurred their features, but their outline was clear enough—tense posture, arms slightly out like they didn't know what to do with themselves.
And then—
The streetlight above them flickered violently.
Buzzed.
Then exploded.
Glass rained down as the entire block dropped into darkness.
But not completely.
Because for a split second—
There was light.
Not from above.
From them.
Faint. Unstable.
Like energy bleeding out in uneven pulses.
My breath caught.
"...No way."
The feeling surged through me again—stronger than before.
Not fear.
Not coincidence.
Recognition.
Whatever happened tonight—
It wasn't isolated.
This wasn't some one-in-a-million accident.
This was an event.
And it didn't just hit me.
The figure down the street stumbled slightly, like they were struggling to control whatever was happening to them.
Just like I had.
Just like I still was.
I stepped back from the window slowly, my mind racing faster than I could keep up with.
This wasn't a secret anymore.
Not really.
Because if one person had it—
There were more.
There had to be.
And if people like me were waking up...
Then sooner or later—
Everyone was going to notice.
Another crack of thunder split the sky, louder than anything before it.
Not distant.
Directly overhead.
I glanced back at the window.
The rain kept falling.
The lights kept flickering.
And somewhere out there—
Someone else was learning the exact same truth I was.
This wasn't the start of a story.
This was the start of something bigger.
And whatever came next—
Wasn't going to stay under control for long.