* Image is the new character Syeda meets in this chapter, though his hair is actually dark brown.

"And did He not find you needy then satisfied your needs?" [Qur'an, 93:8]

Honey-toned hair shimmered in the sunlight as clearly disgruntled boy chucked pebbles into a pond glumly.

Near his house was park with a pond, and he'd felt like letting off steam near it. Water was calming.

Frank all but bulldozed another large rock through the pond's surface, and the resounding splash lightly wet his face and shirt.

 Yesterday hadn't brought out the best in him. Flopping his application (which he still didn't understand how he'd given in late) sucked, but letting himself and character down hit him harder for some reason. That wouldn't happen again.

But he couldn't help it. He'd spent more than two hours a day for the past few weeks on that dang application! And to see the opportunity slip through his hands because of his own ineptitude (it seemed)...

He shook those thoughts away, and looked up at the calm, cloudless sky, feeling his face grow hot, and eyes moisten. He'd banked so many things on landing this sh***y placement (been to the company open day, spending his savings on the train ticket instead of on his little bros like he'd previously planned to). It'd dictated his whole summer...

His whole worth.

Because if he didn't become something, he'd stay a working class, pocket-pinched cretin, like his dad before him. Him and his family would stay living on the edge of civilian society, barely making it by. And he wouldn't be able to represent people from his background in courtrooms and all the grand places where he'd wanted to let people know that yes, people like him existed. Hidden away from society, hushed up in the media.

And there was no Benefits System to sustain them anymore.

He shook his head. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered. It was alright. He was still cool. He held his head up high, trying to feel his words.

Because after you shit up your one and only chance, what do you do next?

Syeda was sat at her desktop computer, having done scans and analyses of the bracelet, but not finding any clue or significant item or message within. But what she had discovered was that the bracelet was not from the UK. Or Europe, for that matter. Looking up its design, it appeared... Pacific. From the South Asian islands. She was currently narrowing down its exact area of origin, or at least country, when the door knocked.

Syeda's brow creased. It was 6:38pm. After some strenuous Karate at her local club, practicing her katas and getting ready for her 3rd Dan exams at the Grand Master's dojo, she was knackered, and she couldn't deny it was having an effect on her mental processing speed.

Halima usually worked till late (around 9:00pm) three days a week these days to accelerate a specific project they were working on. Today just happened to be one of those days.

So no one should be at the door.

Syeda used her desktop to check into the security camera that was situated above the front door.

Blank. It was working, recording, but only showed black. Syeda scowled.

Whoever was there had covered the camera.

Syeda swiftly wore her hijab, picked up a large carving knife from the kitchen and crept slowly towards the front door. If the other person got a little 'hurt', she could probably make it look like they'd had an accident while burgling. But Syeda also, like some notable academics, hated a mess.

Some people hated to think about blood or injury, but Syeda was always very matter-of-fact. People were afraid of the unknown; if Syeda knew every possibility, and so what to do in each situation, she never felt afraid.

'Fear is for bad planners. The biggest losers.', Syeda grinned.

And so Syeda cautiously, calculatedly, opened the door a crack.

Nothing happened. No one spoke.

She opened the door a little wider. Nothing. Slowly she picked up a mirror from her pocket and, placing her hand in the doorway, tried to use it to reflect an image of the person at the door. A tall man. Dressed in... black or blue, some dark colour. Wearing a...

Syeda tried to peer closely without getting remotely close.

 A hoodie.

Of course, he could see her hand in the doorway. But Syeda thought it was better that her hand be in the line of fire than her head.

"You could just ask me why I'm here." An amused voice suggested. The voice sounded like a young man's, Syeda frowned.

"You're happy to answer then?" She responded icily.

"Weeell..." The voice sounded like the owner was smiling, though Syeda couldn't see in the darkness. 

"Of course. Yeah." There was a small pause. 

"Can I come in first?" Syeda saw the figure's head turn left then right.

But what dominated her mind was one fact: that the voice sounded young. Like the voice of a boy... her own age. Seventeen.

"Are you Seventeen? Eighteen?" Syeda ventured. For some reason she couldn't fathom, it was strangely important to her to know.

"Eighteen in a month. November 19th." He stayed silent after that, but Syeda felt he was looking at her intently now. Her brow furrowed; she couldn't understand why-

November 19th. November 19th.

No way.

"It can't be..." She effused, eyes wide. 

"You can't be..." 

A silence began.

It went on, as she stood there, stunned.

After a short while, thoughts began to rapidly form. 

What was he doing here?

On her doorstep. 

After all these years.

'So he hasn't forgotten me.' A quiet voice in her spoke, with an emotion she dared not to identify. 

So she shooed it away, like with all emotions. 

Useless things.

"What are you doing here... Jack Blake?" She ended.

Jack smiled, and removing his hood, stepped closer.

"You finally remembered." 

Then his voice went up a pitch. "Took you AGES!" His smile widened, teeth bright. 

'Same old smile... same old Jacob." Syeda internally smiled, ruefully.

He moved closer and his arms rose in a familiar gesture, but Syeda stepped back resolutely.

"I don't hug people." She said solidly. 

'Not in my worst nightmares.' She thought. 'Not even Halima (the other day was a strange first). 

And definitely, definitely not boys. Just because I did when I was seven (and when I could make questionable choices with an easy mind), doesn't mean I will when I'm seventeen.' Syeda thought, nose crinkling, remembering the days when she and Jack had been inseparable.

It would have brought back a grin. If she had decided to allow such a thing.

Jack just laughed. "Same old Sarah! Ever since you turned twelve and 'grew up', you were never the same! By the way, you still wear that then?" He was gesturing to her headscarf.

Syeda nodded, iron-faced. She'd started wearing it when she was twelve (though just at home at that point, if someone came over) and Jack used to still come to her house to play. Her father also used to drop her off at Jack's home, Eden Manor, whenever he had to work late, because their dads were good friends.

Strange how she hadn't recognised his voice; its quality had changed. It was deeper now, and more adult.

"Wow. You know, not gonna lie, I kinda thought it was just a phase you were going through."

He leaned his head a little to the side. "So, you're going to let us in, or what?"

"Us?" Syeda cocked an eyebrow.

"The Royal Us." He grinned.

Syeda rolled her eyes and opened the door fully to let Jack in, before closing the door behind him (and quickly putting the knife away before he saw it).

"So, Jack Blake-De Alba's entourage hasn't come today?" She turned to face him. "Where are your guards? Isn't there supposed to be someone with you at all times? Or have the rules changed?" Her eyes narrowed. "And I didn't see any car."

Jack rolled his dark brown eyes. "See, that's the thing, they trust me a lot more now." He looked at her mock-accusingly. "Unlike someone."

"So!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands loudly. "Is there anything to eat? I'm actually starving. My lunch was ages ago." He grinned from ear to ear. "What's for dinner?"

And suddenly, it was like they were thirteen again. 

Jack would come over to hang around, telling his father the excuse that he understood his subjects a lot better when the then-Sarah explained them, and they'd spend 45 minutes studying (during which Syeda dutifully explained everything) and about three hours playing in the garden, reading books or Journals that Syeda roped Jack into helping her figure out (he was more of a comic relief though), playing computer games on the console Jack smuggled in his bag, eventually keeping one permanently at Syeda's house (and claiming it improved hand-eye coordination when Syeda objected that it was 'un-educational').

They'd gone through a lot, Syeda realised. They'd been good, long-time friends.

But it couldn't continue like that.

Just because they hadn't had boundaries as children didn't mean it could stay that way. At the end of the day (literally), here was a young man whom she hadn't met for three years.

Who knew who he was now? 

Could she trust him, alone in her house, at night?

She lowered her eyebrows and observed him keenly while he wasn't looking. He, meanwhile, was looking around the place as if it was Michaelangelo's final masterpiece, poking a few decorations and turning his head here, then there, then here again.

She resisted the upward tug on her lips, and kept a poker face.

She'd have to see.

She just hoped the nosy neighbours hadn't seen him, otherwise they'd be spreading rumours about her for weeks. It was 6:50pm, but completely dark outside, so equivalent enough to late night in their eyes.

Syeda frowned in confusion, and rubbed her forehead with one hand. How was she going to explain this all in an un-Syeda-like, nice way which didn't... ruin her and Jack's acquaintance completely? Because, through his whole charade, Syeda had seen the desperation that Jack had fiercely tried to hide.

He wasn't here because he particularly wanted to be.

Something had gone badly wrong in his life. And he had come all this way because he needed her help. 

It was all evident after she'd given a moment to think about it.

"Jack?"

"Mmhm?"Jack turned around, munching some tortilla chips. Wait, those were Halima's!

"This isn't a public canteen." Syeda snapped, thinking to snatch them, but then remembered something she'd heard a long time ago, in one of those talks in a mosque she and her dad used to attend. Those khutbahs... 

Where she'd heard that muslims should feed people.

Oh yes. Now she remembered.

Syeda took in a deep, frustration-stifling breath, and let it out loudly. Jack had turned the TV onto a football match by this point, all nonchalant, and continued stuffing his face like he'd never seen food before. A part of her thought he was doing this just to annoy her. No wait, he definitely was.

It took a mighty effort for her to resist an aggrandized sigh. 

Oh well. She remembered how her father had never let even the most brief of guests or visitors leave the house without giving them something to eat, something induced by his religion. She would follow in his footsteps, and do the right thing.

And then there was the matter of finding out what trouble Jack had got himself into...

Jack continued scarfing down the crisps. He knew from the old days that Sarahwas an absolute manners-freak and his each loud crunch was probably like chalk-scraping to her ears. He heard Sarah sigh loudly and exasperatedly behind him, trying to give him a hint, and hid a victorious smile.

He couldn't help it. Pissing Sarah off was one of life's sweet joys that he'd been denied too long. He still remembered when he'd once used her mini microscope as a giddy-up horse while role playing with his soldiers, and then as a step-up to reach the window (it'd looked strong enough); it'd took her forever to meet him without trying to kill him first for a while. And she had got her own back a few times. Their friendship had been like Even Stevens, except slightly deadlier when Sarah was in a mood, and more competitive (because Jack was nothing if not competitive).

"Hello?" Sarah was snapping her fingers in his face. Wait, it was 'Syeda' now wasn't it? She'd endlessly been bugging him back in the day when they were kids to call her by her 'new name'. He didn't see what was wrong with her current one; in response, he'd named himself 'The Man' to get in on the apparent 'new name' craze.

She'd always be Sarah to him. But at the same time, here she was, still wearing that headscarf thing round her head. Wasn't that supposed to be a phase too? Why hadn't she gone back to normal yet?

"Sarah, is that thing really gonna be permanent?" He gestured to her head.

"Uh, I've been repeatedly asking you a question for the past minutes while you've staring slack-jawed into space!" She responded heatedly. 

Oops. 

"You answer first! What do you want, Shepherd's pie, or Tabbouleh with spiced fish?"

"Wow, it really is like a canteen in here!" Jack praised. 

Of course, he was just trying to lighten the mood.

He'd tried to avoid thinking about it as long as he could. But it was the reason he'd come.

"Sar-.... I mean..." He groaned and ran his fingers through his brown tussles of messy hair. He usually combed, gelled, and sprayed it everyday, he was that appearance-centric, but being on the road for days on end made it hard to keep up the princely lifestyle he now knew he'd led. 

"Can I just call you Sarah? Please? I can't be remembering all this stuff to tell you while calling you a name I don't even remember you by." He looked at her pleadingly.

She huffed a little, but acquiescingly, and nodded. Jack's shoulders relaxed.

"Sarah, I think it's time... I think it's time to tell you what's been going on in my life all these years."

Sat on the family sofa, his chestnut eyes looked up into the standing Syeda's lapis eyes, a pearly, strange silver-green. Jack counted himself as good at reading people, and within Syeda's reptilian eyes, he knew was a storm she'd never shown. Fingers crossed never would.

But it was time to show who he was. And the events that had made him.

"Sarah... Oddly enough, it all started after you left."

A grinning voice responded to the caller's questions. "Yeah, she took the bait. The security camera records were definitely checked (by her, we're sure), the boy was found, and the little pink bracelet? In her hands."

"Everything you wanted is done, sir." Angel smiled, browney-blonde hair combed into a smart, sleek side parting, with the ends carefully unruly. His winged bomber jacket was still on, high tops gleaming, eyes scheming. Or rather, done doing so.

Behind Angel was a bird's nest. Probably because he was hovering right in front of it. His jacket's wings were loose and mechanically flapped in the air, and some light, barely noticeable smoke could be seen coming from the heels of his high tops as their force kept him floating above the average house.

But of course Reus, his Nyfe (which he'd decided to name) had completely camouflaged him .

As Angel signed off and ended the call, his smile grew sharp, but impatient. Things were moving too slowly for his liking. When would he finally get to face the enemy and show them Reus's might? He look at the long, silver-amber rod he held in his right hand. Smooth as silicon, streaked with gold. The rod was white hot, and he almost could feel the burn, experience the smell of steam and almost unbearable heat it left in its wake.

When would he get to toast some weaklings?

Here he was training day and night to use, but none to serve out justice to.

Oh, he'd fix that. 

Author's Sentences

Hey guys, let me know what you want to happen! My plans for this book, even as a finished story, can adapttt heh.