I stared out the window of my family's minivan as we pulled away from the hospital and headed back into the night. The city lights blurred across the glass in soft streaks, broken by passing headlights and the occasional flicker of a streetlamp. Everything felt unreal, like I was still half-asleep and trapped inside the echo of the day's chaos.
I sat in the middle row with Melissa beside me, while Emanuel sprawled in the backseat with his headphones on, the music from his headset so loud I could hear the bass leaking through the cushions. My body still felt strange. Heavier, stronger, hotter somehow. Every muscle in my arms ached with the kind of pressure that didn't feel entirely human.
Melissa noticed immediately.
Without warning, she jabbed a finger into my bicep.
I jerked away. Blue-white light flickered beneath my skin and raced down the veins in my forearm like something alive.
Melissa's eyes widened with delight. "What does getting struck by lightning feel like?"
"Like pain," I muttered. "Stop poking me, Melissa."
She poked me again just to be annoying.
I turned and shot her a warning glare. "Seriously."
"You mean you don't remember?" she asked, grinning like she thought this was all some weird joke.
Before I could answer, my father pulled the van over to the curb so suddenly that the whole vehicle jolted.
"Melissa," he said, not looking back at her, "leave Alex alone. He's exhausted."
She sank into her seat with an exaggerated sigh and folded her arms, clearly offended that she wasn't being allowed to torment me further. Emanuel lifted his head from his music and glanced at me for a second before looking out the window again, still saying nothing.
The van moved forward once more, tires hissing softly over the pavement.
A few minutes later, we turned into the driveway of a decent two-story house sitting quietly under the night sky. The place looked ordinary enough from the outside, but right then it felt like the safest spot in the world simply because it was home. One by one, my family climbed out of the van.
I took my time.
Emanuel stayed behind for a second, leaning toward me with one hand still on the open door.
"What's up, Alex?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing," I said, though my voice came out strained.
I reached for the seatbelt buckle and yanked it free. The second my hand brushed the van door, a burst of static flickered across my fingers.
Tiny sparks.
Emanuel saw it too, but he didn't say anything.
I stepped out and started toward the house with him beside me. As the van door shut behind us, the whole vehicle gave a tiny jolt like something had slapped it from the inside.
I rolled my eyes. "Did you leave the keys in the ignition again, Dad?"
The answer came in the form of another flicker of blue light along my arm.
The van rocked.
The alarm screamed.
My father leaned around the side of the house and held up his keys with a sharp click-click. "The keys are right here."
I stared.
"Qué?"
He gave me a look that said he was already too tired for this. I shook the nerves out of my hands and headed inside, dropping onto the couch with more force than necessary. I flicked on the TV, but I barely paid attention to whatever was playing. My mind kept circling the same impossible thought.
I had survived a lightning strike.
And something in me had changed.
Then I saw him.
A bike pulled into the driveway outside, and a moment later the doorbell rang.
Mateo.
I groaned, pushed up from the couch, and crossed the room before my dad noticed me. I yanked the front door open and let my best friend inside fast, like I was smuggling contraband into the house.
"What do you want?" I asked, trying to sound annoyed instead of relieved.
Mateo grinned, breathless with excitement. "I got the money."
That made me freeze.
I stared at him. "You what?"
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and looked way too pleased with himself for a person standing in my house with a secret that could get us both killed.
"I made a bet," he said. "Three hundred thousand. I won."
"You're lying."
"I'm serious."
He unzipped the bag just enough for me to see inside.
Cash.
A lot of it.
And something else I definitely didn't expect to see.
Weed.
I blinked. "Mateo."
He held up both hands like this was somehow reasonable. "It's fine. We're rich, bro."
I grabbed his arm and hauled him into the living room before I lost my mind in the doorway. "Are you out of your mind? You are not handing that to Gregory."
Mateo frowned. "Relax. I know what I'm doing."
"That," I snapped, "is exactly what got us into this mess."
Before he could answer, my father's voice cut down from the top of the stairs.
"Alex, you're supposed to be resting."
I looked up.
There he was, standing half-shadowed on the landing, staring at Mateo with the kind of expression that meant this conversation was already over. Mateo immediately hid the bag behind his back like that would make it disappear.
"Mateo?" my father said, his tone suspicious. "What are you doing here? You know Alex is sick."
"Struck by lightning," Mateo said with a careless grin. "It was all over the news, Mr. Lopez. I'm surprised he doesn't have superpowers or something."
I nearly choked.
My father didn't laugh.
"Go home, Mateo."
Mateo's grin vanished into a reluctant pout. He backed toward the door, sidestepping me on the way out. "I'll text you later, Alex."
"Yeah," I muttered.
He gave me a thumbs-up and left.
My father remained where he was, arms folded, scowling down at me.
"Mateo is trouble, Alex."
I said nothing.
"Go to your room," he ordered. "And rest. You were struck by lightning, for God's sake. Promise me you'll get some sleep."
"All right, Dad. I'm going."
I headed upstairs, faster than necessary, mostly because I didn't want to hear another lecture about things I couldn't explain.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

The second I got into my room, I dropped onto the bed and pulled my phone from my pocket.
The screen flickered and cracked under my thumb. Great. Just perfect. My phone had survived exactly long enough to become useless.
I threw it across the room into my beanbag chair.
The moment it hit, a sharp white flash burst from the cushion, and the whole thing exploded with stuffing.
I sat up so fast I nearly knocked myself off the bed.
"Shit."
I stared at my hand, then at the ruined beanbag, then back at my hand again.
"Did I just—"
I didn't even finish the sentence.
I raised my arm, extended my fingers, and aimed at the desk lamp across the room.
A crack of lightning snapped out of my fingertips.
The lamp exploded in a spray of glass.
I jumped to my feet, heart thudding so hard it hurt.
"No way," I whispered.
Another spark crackled along my palm.
I looked down at my hands like they belonged to someone else.
Then it hit me all at once.
Not the lightning this time.
The truth.
"I have superpowers."
The words came out half-laugh, half-breathless panic.
My excitement flared for exactly one second before fear crashed into it. Gregory wanted me and Mateo dead. Now I had powers—real powers—and I had no idea what they were, how they worked, or how to control them.
The timing was absurd.
Absolutely ridiculous.
I had become a lightning-charged freak exactly when my life was already a disaster.
A knock sounded at my door.
I froze.
Then the door creaked open and Melissa stepped inside, rolling her eyes before she even saw my face.
"Hey, dork," she said. "The police brought your bike back. They're outside and want to talk to you."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe normally.
"Uh... thanks, Mel."
She narrowed her eyes at me for a second, probably wondering why I looked like I'd just seen a ghost, but then she shrugged and turned away.
I got up and reached for the door.
The second my hand curled around the frame, the wood ripped free from its hinges with a terrible crack.
I stared at the door in my hand.
Then at the empty frame.
Then at Melissa, who turned back just in time to witness the whole thing.
Her face went blank with shock.
I slowly set the door aside as if nothing strange had happened at all.
Melissa blinked.
"Okay," she said finally, crossing her arms. "What kind of milk is Dad feeding you?"
"Qué?"
I gave her my best innocent look, stepped around the wreckage, and headed downstairs before she could ask another question.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Sheriff Gabriel Hernandez stood outside with one of his deputies beside him, both of them near my bent, battered bike like it was evidence from a crime scene.
Gabriel looked calm, but there was always something sharp under his calmness. He had that kind of face that made you feel like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough.
"Good afternoon, Alexander," he said. "Are you feeling okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Did my son come over earlier?"
I hesitated for the smallest second. "Yeah."
"Did you see where he went?"
"Nope."
Gabriel exhaled through his nose like he already expected that answer. "I'll let you know if he returns."
"Sure."
He tipped his hat toward me. "Stay safe, Alexander."
"Thanks, Sheriff Hernandez."
"Mr. Hernandez," he corrected automatically, but there was no real heat in it.
He and the deputy walked away, and I shut the door behind them.
The second I turned around, my father was standing there with his arms crossed, toothbrush still in his mouth, halfway dressed for work.
"What did you do to your door, Alexander?"
I groaned.
Great.
"Did Melissa rat me out?"
My father gave me a look and pulled the toothbrush from his mouth. He took a long breath, clearly fighting the urge to launch into one of his long lectures.
"¿Qué salió de tu sueldo en el Castillo de Castro?" he snapped in Spanish.
I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know what that means right now."
"It means," he said, pointing up the stairs, "that the next time you break something in this house, I will take it off the hinges myself permanently. Understood?"
"Yes, Dad."
He gave me one last tired glare, then checked his wristwatch and rushed back upstairs.
I stood there for a second, staring after him, and then I headed back to my room with my mind spinning.
Because the truth was sitting right there in the wreckage of my doorframe.
I wasn't just healing.
I wasn't just stronger.
I was changing.
And whatever I had become, it was only going to get harder to hide.