《Unheroic Life of a Certain Cape》


 Chapter 1 The Thieving Hand

    Chapter 1 The Thieving Hand


    January 3, 2025. Friday. 11:55 p.m.


    Okay, deep breath. Bonnett mask? Check. Comfy jogging pants? Check. Hoodie? Check. Duffel bag? Check. Gloves? Check. Couldn¡¯t hurt to have extra layers, but damn, it was hot up here. I¡¯d been wedged in the ceiling for hours, waiting for Chad¡¯s family to finish dinner and settle in for the night. The smell of their roast beef was still in my nose, and my stomach reminded me¡ªloudly¡ªthat I hadn¡¯t eaten.


    Why was I on the ceiling, you might ask? Fair question. Long answer short: I could go intangible, phase through walls, and¡ªif I was careful¡ªcrawl into places most people couldn¡¯t.


    What was an 18-year-old doing hiding in his classmate¡¯s¡ªer, ex-classmate¡¯s¡ªhouse on a Friday night? Another fair question. No, it wasn¡¯t revenge, even though Chad was a grade-A jerk who made high school hell for me. No, this wasn¡¯t about him. This was about me¡­ and the fact that I needed money.


    This was my first big score, or at least, I hoped it would be. My first ¡°criminal undertaking,¡± as people might call it. My grand debut as a cape. Well, not exactlya cape. I didn¡¯t do costumes. They were stupid, uncomfortable, and screamed, Look at me, I have powers!No thanks. I liked my joggers-and-hoodie setup just fine. Amateurs represent.


    The house was dark and quiet now, save for the soft buzz of a TV downstairs. I carefully phased through the ceiling and dropped into Mr. Hamilton¡¯s office. My feet touched the carpet without a sound.


    The room smelled like leather and expensive scotch. A big oak desk dominated the space, littered with papers and what looked like an old-school ledger book. Perfect. That¡¯s where Chad¡¯s dad kept his stash. Or so I¡¯d overheard when Chad was bragging to his buddies during gym class. Why was he bragging about such things? I have no clue.


    I moved toward the desk, my pulse pounding like a drum in my ears. This was it. No turning back now.


    Oh.


    Porn mags. Seriously?


    I stared at the glossy covers tucked neatly into the secret compartment under the desk. So this was that kind of stash. Disappointment punched me square in the gut, but I wasn¡¯t about to throw in the towel just yet. The Hamiltons were upper-crust rich, like, mansion-in-the-burbs, vacation-home-in-the-seaside-resort rich. There had to be more here.


    I wasn¡¯t doing this for kicks. I had needs, real ones. Dropping out of high school wasn¡¯t a choice I¡¯d made lightly, but options were thin, and my stomach didn¡¯t care about dignity.


    Under the dim light filtering through the blinds, I started my search. Slow. Careful. Hands hovered over objects, but I barely touched anything unless I had to. If something moved, I made damn sure it went back exactly as I found it. No way was I leaving this place looking like I¡¯d rifled through it.


    "Huh?"


    There was this weird angel statue on a shelf near the corner. It looked heavy and old. Too weird to bother with.


    Next to it was a gun, displayed proudly in a case lined with velvet. Antique? Maybe. It looked cool, but I had no idea what I¡¯d even do with it. Pawn it? Keep it? No way was I walking out of here with a firearm in my bag.


    The painting on the far wall caught my eye. Big, bold strokes of color in a gold frame. Probably worth a fortune. Too bad it was bigger than me. Why did I even bother bringing a duffel bag if I wasn¡¯t going to haul something like that?


    I shook my head. Focus, Nick. Focus.


    Nothing beats cold, hard cash. That¡¯s what I needed. Small, untraceable, and exactly what a broke dropout like me could use to scrape by.


    I stepped back to the desk, crouching down to check the lower drawers. My heart pounded like it wanted out of my chest. Every creak of the house made me freeze. A second drawer came up empty except for some receipts and a pair of reading glasses. But the third?


    Jackpot. A wad of crisp bills stared up at me.


    I reached for the cash, my fingers trembling. This was it, the start of something new. Something better.


    And that¡¯s when the lights flicked on.


    Panic hit me like a brick.


    The moment the lights came on, I didn¡¯t think. I just reacted. I was standing adjacent to the table, the wooden side facing me. I''d have to run around to hide just under it, but no need to detour. My power kicked in, and I phased straight down, slipping under the table like a ghost. My heart was hammering so loud I swore they¡¯d hear it. No one saw me, right? Right?


    I stuffed the wad of cash into my oversized duffel bag as quietly as I could, willing my shaky hands to steady. Then I froze.


    Smacking sounds. Lips. Oh, no.


    The table creaked as someone sat down on it, hard. I clenched my teeth to keep from making a sound. More smacking, wet and deliberate. My stomach churned as I heard voices, low, breathy, and disturbingly close.


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    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you all day,¡± someone murmured.


    ¡°You¡¯re so bad,¡± came the reply, dripping with flirtation.


    Oh, no. No, no, no.


    I gulped, swallowing hard to keep the bile¡ªand the growing panic¡ªdown. I was supposed to be afraid for my life, right? That would¡¯ve been the logical response. But logic took a back seat as I sat there under the desk, listening to what was very clearly Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton having¡­ a moment.


    ¡°Come here,¡± Mr. Hamilton growled.


    I cringed. The sound of fabric shifting reached my ears, followed by a soft thump as lingerie or something silky landed on my head the moment I tried to peek. I bit back a curse, hastily brushing it off before they could notice, while I retreated to my cramped nest.


    The table above me shifted again as Mrs. Hamilton giggled. More clothes hit the floor, one after the other. My entire face burned hotter than the furnace I¡¯d been sweating in earlier.


    I knew I should be terrified of getting caught, but it was hard to focus on that with this happening over my head. Curiosity got the better of me. Again, I peeked out from under the table.


    Big mistake.


    There they were. Mr. Hamilton, shirtless, unbuttoning his slacks. Mrs. Hamilton, practically glowing, now in nothing but heels.


    I hastily retreated back under the table, only to bang my head against the underside of the desk. The dull thunkechoed in the quiet room.


    I froze, waiting for the inevitable shouts of, Who¡¯s there?But no.


    They didn¡¯t notice.


    Too busy. Too into each other. Thank God or whatever deity looked out for dumb teenage thieves stuck in mortifying situations.


    I pressed my back against the inside of the desk, clutching the duffel bag like it was a lifeline. There was no way in hell I was going anywhere until this nightmare ended. I couldn''t risk making a run for it.


    Mrs. Hamilton moaned softly, and my soul crawled into the darkest corner of my body.


    More smacking. More moaning. And then¡ªGod help me¡ªthey started dirty talking.


    ¡°Mmm, you always know how to make me feel so special,¡±said Mrs. Hamilton.


    ¡°Special? That doesn¡¯t even begin to describe how you look right now,¡±countered Mr.Hamilton. ¡°Oh, you charmer. You¡¯re all mine tonight, you know that?¡±


    ¡°Every second, every inch¡ªyours.¡±


    ¡°Then stop talking and show me how much.¡±


    ¡°Gladly. But don¡¯t blame me if I can¡¯t keep my hands off you after this.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to hear it, but the sound filled the room like it was mocking me.


    The table above me began to shake. Slowly at first, but with an ominous rhythm that spelled doom for my sanity.


    Nope. I¡¯m notstaying for this.


    I needed to escape this hell, damn it. The only option was down. This was the second floor, so maybe, just maybe, I could phase through the floor and drop to the first. I clenched my teeth, focused, and let my power flicker to life.


    Using my ability was like turning on a switch, only instead of light, it felt like my entire body melted into shadow. A strange, weightless sensation spread through me as I extended the effect to my clothes and duffel bag. I slipped down through the floor like water through a sieve, leaving the Hamiltons¡¯ increasingly enthusiastic display behind me.


    The drop was a bit farther than I anticipated. Phasing didn¡¯t completely negate gravity¡ªit just made me intangible. I still fell, weightless but fast, into the dark void between floors. My breath caught in my chest¡ªnot that I could breathe in this state. Another weird quirk of my power: no air while I was intangible.


    The floor of the first story loomed below, but as soon as I reached it, I canceled my power.


    Gravity caught me againas it registered my weight, and I softly bounced up before landing on my feet with a quiet thud. No broken bones, no faceplants. "Man... I thought I''m done for. I need more practice."


    I exhaled and looked around. The kitchen.


    Their oversized fridge towered before me like a beacon of hope. What was next on the heist agenda? Food, of course. I wasn¡¯t leaving without something to eat.


    I swung open the fridge door, and it was like I¡¯d hit the jackpot.


    Leftovers from the holidays filled the shelves: turkey, mashed potatoes, and a whole stuffed turkey that looked untouched. I grabbed the turkey first, tossing it into the duffel bag. A bowl of grapes caught my eye. I grabbed a handful, savoring the burst of sweetness as I taste-tested them before leaving the bowl behind. Caviar? Fancy. I held the tiny tin up to the light. What even wascaviar? Rich people food, obviously, but it wasn¡¯t like I had the time¡ªor taste buds¡ªto figure it out. Into the bag it went.


    My stomach growled in approval. This wasn¡¯t the grand heist I¡¯d imagined, but damn if it wasn¡¯t practical. What else could I take? The night wasn¡¯t over yet.


    While there was a weight limit when using my powers, that didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t going to fill up my duffel bag to the brim. Which, of course, was exactly what I did. Caviar, leftovers, a whole turkey¡ªit was like the world''s lamest grocery haul.


    So much trouble for stealing food. Some criminal I was.


    The good news? I now had a secured escape route. Phasing through the floor earlier had given me the perfect way out, and I wasn¡¯t about to overstay my welcome... or risk running into the Hamiltons mid-round two.


    I made my way to the kitchen window and slid it open. The cool night air spilled in, refreshing against the heat of my embarrassment. I hefted the overstuffed duffel bag, dragged it onto the windowsill, and climbed out after it.


    No alarms. No lights. So far, so good.


    But I wasn¡¯t taking any chances. I bolted for the wall that surrounded their property, my heart racing with every step. The bag bounced against my back as I ran, heavier than I¡¯d expected but not unbearable. My mind conjured images of angry dogs catching my scent and tearing through the yard, but I pushed the thought aside.


    Since I gained my powers, I didn¡¯t sweat anymore¡ªnot the way I used to, anyway. No perspiration meant no trail for dogs to follow. Didn¡¯t stop me from feeling cold or hot, though, and the chill of the January night was biting through my hoodie.


    Thankfully, no dogs came.


    When I reached the wall, I didn¡¯t hesitate. I slung the bag over my shoulder and started climbing like a maniac. My fingers found hold after hold as I scrambled upward, ignoring the strain in my arms and the awkward weight of the duffel bag.


    At the top, I took a deep breath and dropped to the other side with as much grace as I could muster.


    Which, to be fair, wasn¡¯t much.


    I phased through the ground just enough to soften the impact, the too-heavy bag acting as an anchor to slow my descent. Then, with a practiced push, I propelled myself back up and onto solid ground with ease.


    My feet landed softly on the grass. The bag hit the ground beside me with a quiet thump.I dusted myself off, adjusted the strap, and started walking, the cool night air filling my lungs.


    One escape, successfully pulled off. One heist, questionably executed.


    I glanced at the bag and couldn¡¯t help but smirk. Not bad for my first night as a ¡°villain.¡±


    The great Nicholas Caldwell: food thief extraordinaire.

 Chapter 2 Taking it Easy

    Chapter 2 Taking it Easy


    January 4, 2025. 2:23 a.m. The City of Markend.


    I¡¯ve lived here my whole life. Seen gangs change hands more often than capes catch criminals. That was just how Markend worked. Power shifted fast, but it never left the wrong hands.


    My secret lair wasn¡¯t exactly the underground bunker or industrial hideout villains dreamed of. No, my ¡°lair¡± was my humble single-story house in the suburbs. Something passed down from my mom¡¯s side of the family. A bit run-down but still standing.


    I lived alone, so lucky me, no nagging parents to tell me to get a job or clean my room. Then again, no one to care if I didn¡¯t eat dinner either.


    The house sat quiet and dark as I slipped through the back door. My breath puffed out in the cold air, and the duffel bag weighed heavy on my shoulder. The lock clicked softly as I turned the key, and I stepped inside.


    The kitchen greeted me like an old friend: a little too messy, but familiar all the same. I flicked on the light, blinking at the yellowish glow as I trudged to the fridge. Carefully, I unpacked my spoils.


    The whole stuffed turkey went onto a shelf. The grapes, a tin of caviar, and a few other odds and ends followed. By the time I was done, my fridge looked fuller than it had in weeks. Small victories.


    I didn¡¯t bother taking stock of my other haul yet. Money could wait until morning, if you could call it that. My body was already begging for sleep.


    I headed for my room, the cold floor creaking under my feet. Once inside, I peeled off my amateur thief get-up, tossing the hoodie and jogging pants into a corner. The Bonnett mask went into my nightstand drawer; better safe than sorry.


    In nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, I dropped face-first onto the bed. My pillow smelled faintly of detergent, and my blanket was cold, but I didn¡¯t care.


    Fun fact: I couldn¡¯t sleep.


    Emphasis on couldn¡¯t, not wouldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t a choice; it just wasn¡¯t in the cards for me anymore.


    Since I ¡°pulled¡± five years ago and discovered I had superpowers, a lot of things about me had changed. My body started optimizing itself without me even trying. No workout routines or diets¡ªjust a steady march toward an athletic build like my genes decided to play nice for once.


    But if there was one thing I missed, it would be sleep.


    I wasn¡¯t capable of it anymore. No sleep meant no dreaming, either. I used to think nightmares were bad, but turns out, a dreamless void was worse.


    ¡°This sucks¡­¡±


    Of course, that didn¡¯t stop me from pretending to sleep. I¡¯d lie there in bed, eyes closed, body still, as if fooling the universe into letting me rest. But my nerves were electric, buzzing like live wires. My thoughts raced in circles:


    Did I leave any evidence behind? Did I mess up somewhere? What if someone saw me?


    The SRC, Superhuman Regulation Committee, flashed in my mind. What if they kicked down my door and dragged me off to one of their black sites? Worse, what if Markend¡¯s own superhero team decided to pay me a visit? They might not care about small-time stuff, but I didn¡¯t exactly have a spotless record now.


    ¡°HAH~! Don¡¯t flatter yourself, man¡­¡±


    I groaned and sat up. Lying here wasn¡¯t doing me any good.


    My stomach growled, a sharp reminder that superpowers didn¡¯t mean skipping meals. I wandered into the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the silence. Pulling out the stuffed turkey, I hacked off a chunk, reheated it, and plopped it onto a plate.


    Food in hand, I shuffled back to the living room. The remote sat wedged between the couch cushions. I fished it out and flopped down, flipping on the TV.


    Static at first, then a late-night talk show. I wasn¡¯t paying attention to what they were saying. I just needed something, anything, to kill time.


    Why did I turn to crime?


    Sure, I might look like I had it together¡ªa whole house to myself, food in the fridge, and even a couch to crash on¡ªbut trust me, I was a poor bastard through and through.


    First and foremost, there were the debts. A mountain of them, courtesy of my dad¡¯s gambling problem. He was gone now, leaving me the grand legacy of owing money to people you don¡¯t want to owe money to.


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    Secondly, there was Mom. A drunk who didn¡¯t have much to her name besides cheap whiskey and bitterness. She kicked the bucket last year, and while I wouldn¡¯t call her passing a shock, it still left me in the lurch.


    So yeah, ¡°tough spot¡± was an understatement.


    I sighed and flipped through the channels, the remote clicking rhythmically in my hand. Nothing but infomercials and reruns until I landed on the history channel. At least it was something to keep my mind busy.


    They were talking about the phenomenon called ¡°Pull,¡± the event that caused the awakening of superpowers in people. Not exactly the cheeriest subject for a midnight snack, but I let it play.


    According to the narrator, Pull wasn¡¯t new. Duh... Of course, it wasn''t. Theories suggested superpowers had existed as far back as the medieval ages, hiding under the guise of mystics, legendary knights, gods, and mythical creatures. The modern name just slapped some science on it, but the phenomenon was as old as human history.


    The show shifted to World War I, explaining how the ¡°arms race¡± for supers had sparked the conflict. Governments weaponized them, treating people like living WMDs. The war¡¯s aftermath wasn¡¯t any better.


    World War II came next, fueled by the same obsession with superhuman superiority. Nations built armies of supers, but the devastation left behind was catastrophic. It didn¡¯t take long for society to turn on people like us.


    Discrimination followed, and in some countries, supers were outright hunted, enslaved, or exiled. Others chose militarization, forcing them to serve. Most governments tried rebranding, calling supers ¡°capes¡± to make them seem noble, heroic, and less terrifying. It worked on the surface, but the stigma never really went away.


    I poked at the last scraps of my glorified chicken, swallowing the final bite as the narrator droned on about societal shifts and cultural fears. The whole thing hit a little too close to home.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, we get it. We¡¯re the boogeymen,¡± I muttered, flipping the channel.


    My attention honed in on a talk show rerun featuring none other than Dr. Time.


    If you¡¯ve never heard of him, let me paint you a picture: wild white hair sticking out in every direction, a wrinkled face that looked like it had been permanently etched with caffeine-induced mania, a lab coat that screamed ¡°mad scientist,¡± and a voice that could pierce through lead. He was a relic of the ''90s, a physicist who also happened to moonlight as a self-proclaimed time traveler.


    Oh, and he was a part-time cape, too. Because why not?


    He was mid-rant when I tuned in, his voice high-pitched and frantic.


    ¡°I am telling you, but no one believes me!¡± he yelled, practically vibrating in his seat. ¡°The timeline is broken!¡±


    The audience shifted uncomfortably, but Dr. Time didn¡¯t care. He was on a roll.


    ¡°There are two moons, instead of one!¡± He gestured wildly, as if the proof was written in the air. ¡°Four continents, instead of seven! Superpowers are real! The names of the countries are wrong!¡±


    The host, a guy with a forced smile that practically screamed, What have I gotten myself into? tried to interject, but Dr. Time powered through.


    ¡°The historical divide is getting wider!¡± he bellowed. ¡°Lots of people I know don¡¯t exist anymore. And for whatever reason¡­¡± He paused dramatically, eyes wide, ¡°Isaac Newton is still alive!¡±


    The audience burst into nervous laughter.


    I leaned back on the couch, turkey grease still on my fingers, and let out a snort. This guy. He¡¯d been a running joke for decades, but every so often, he popped back into the spotlight to drop some new absurd theory. Yep¡­ Dr. Time was pretty much immortal.


    The host finally managed to get a word in, asking with mock politeness, ¡°Dr. Time, if the timeline is so broken, why hasn¡¯t anyone else noticed these discrepancies?¡±


    Dr. Time leaned forward, fixing the host with an intense stare.


    ¡°They do notice,¡± he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried through the mic. ¡°But they¡¯re too afraid to admit it. You¡¯d rather laugh at me than face the truth. I dream of the other world every time, so what¡¯s stopping others?¡±


    The audience¡¯s laughter faltered, replaced by an awkward silence.


    I smirked, but something about his words stuck in my mind. Broken timelines, misplaced histories, and people who didn¡¯t exist anymore¡­ It was all ridiculous, sure. But for a second, I wondered: What if he¡¯s right?


    I rinsed the last bit of grease off the plate, setting it down to dry, then grabbed the cash I¡¯d stuffed into my duffel bag earlier. Spreading the bills out on the counter, I did a quick count.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ twenty-three thousand marks.¡±


    Not bad for one night¡¯s work. Enough to cover the month: rent, utilities, and food, maybe even with a little left over for emergencies. But it wasn¡¯t anywhere close to putting a dent in my inherited debt. The mountain of marks I owed still loomed large over me, a constant reminder of the mess I was born into.


    I sighed, stuffing the cash into a small metal box I kept hidden under the kitchen sink. My paranoia wouldn¡¯t let me stash it anywhere too obvious. I wished I¡¯d been braver¡ªor dumber¡ªat the Hamiltons¡¯ place. Maybe then I¡¯d have more to show for my trouble.


    To be fair, the Hamiltons had a reputation. Not the elite socialites kind, but the kill-you-and-bury-you-in-the-woods kind of bad. Rumors swirled about them: shady deals, missing people, that sort of thing. No wonder the others were scared of Chad.


    And the cameras. God, the cameras. I knew they¡¯d caught me. There was no avoiding it. They were wired up like Fort Knox, but I¡¯d done my best to keep my face obscured and my movements untraceable. Whether that was good enough was a question for later. For now, I¡¯d just have to live with the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut.


    I glanced at the clock. 6:00 a.m. Great.


    Normally, I¡¯d spend the early hours training, pushing my powers to their limits or working on strength and agility. It had been my nightly ritual for the past five years, ever since I ¡°pulled.¡± But today? I wasn¡¯t feeling it.


    The holidays had just ended, and the silence of the house was¡­ too much. Mom might¡¯ve been a mess, but at least she¡¯d been someone to talk to. Now, it was just me.


    Loneliness had a way of sneaking up on you, even when you thought you were fine.


    I shook off the thought, grabbed a clean towel, and headed for the shower. The hot water stung against my skin, but it helped me feel alive. When you couldn''t sleep, routines like this were the closest thing to grounding yourself.


    Afterward, I ate breakfast¡ªleftover turkey and some grapes I¡¯d pilfered¡ªbecause my powers demanded it. Increased metabolism seemed to be a common trait among capes. The energy had to come from somewhere, after all.


    By 7:00 a.m., I was dressed and out the door, duffel bag replaced by an apron. Time to flip burgers and pretend like I wasn¡¯t living a double life.


    Today, I¡¯d like to take it easy.

 Chapter 3 Beth’s Burgers

    Chapter 3 Beth¡¯s Burgers


    Beth¡¯s Burgers was already buzzing with activity by 8 a.m. The sizzling of meat on the grill blended with the chatter of customers waiting in line, their voices creating a symphony of morning chaos. I flipped a patty with a practiced ease, the spatula a natural extension of my hand.


    One perk of having superpowers was possessing top-notch bodily coordination. At least, that was my case. It was like my brain and muscles were constantly synced, no lag, no hesitation. It made flipping burgers almost¡­ fun? Well, maybe not fun, but it was easy. In fact, most physical stuff came easier to me than it did for regular people. If there was one thing I didn¡¯t hate about being ¡°special,¡± it was this: always fit, always healthy.


    As I stacked a fresh burger onto a bun and slid it onto the counter, the next customer stepped forward. But before I could greet them, I spotted someone cutting through the line like they owned the place.


    Blond hair, smug grin, designer jacket. My stomach sank as he stopped right in front of me.


    Chadwick Hamilton.


    I froze for half a second, but forced myself to keep working. If he recognized me from last night, I was screwed.


    ¡°So,¡± he started, his voice loud enough to draw attention, ¡°you quit school to master the art of flipping burgers?¡±


    My jaw tightened, but I didn¡¯t look at him. If I ignored him, maybe he¡¯d get bored and leave. Fat chance. Chad wasn¡¯t the type to let things go.


    I kept my voice steady. ¡°Can I take your order?¡±


    He leaned over the counter, too close for comfort, his grin widening. ¡°What¡¯s the special today? Humble pie?¡±


    "Dude... we''re eighteen and technically adults... Can we quit the childish stuff?"


    A couple of customers chuckled. My grip on the spatula tightened. I wanted to snap back, but that would only make things worse.


    Chad tilted his head, mock curiosity in his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s it like, Nick? Going from the Academy¡¯s biggest slacker to a burger-flipping dropout? Guess some of us were just born for mediocrity.¡±


    I didn¡¯t flinch. I wouldn¡¯t give him the satisfaction.


    ¡°Order something, or get out of the way,¡± I said, keeping my tone even.


    His grin faltered, just a little, but he recovered quickly. ¡°Relax, Caldwell. Just here to check in on an old classmate. Glad to see you¡¯ve found your true calling.¡±


    He turned and walked away, leaving a trail of snickers in his wake. I kept my eyes on the grill, flipping patties like nothing had happened, but inside, I was boiling.


    Chad didn¡¯t know how close he¡¯d come to eating his words, literally. It took everything I had not to phase his stupid smug face through the floor.


    The manager didn¡¯t even look me in the eye when he called me over. ¡°Nick, take the trash out.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s usually an afternoon thing.¡±


    He shrugged, already walking away. ¡°Just do it.¡±


    Something about the way he avoided looking at me made my gut twist, but I grabbed the bags and headed for the back door.


    The alley was quiet, except for the sound of the scattering rats by the nearby dumpster. I¡¯d barely stepped outside before I saw them. Chad, leaning casually against the wall with that damn smug grin, and two of his goons¡ªmuscle-bound idiots I vaguely remembered from the football team.


    My grip on the trash bags tightened.


    ¡°Nick,¡± Chad said, his voice dripping with fake charm. ¡°So glad you could join us.¡±


    Before I could respond, the two brutes grabbed me, each one locking an arm. The trash bags fell to the ground as they dragged me deeper into the alley.


    ¡°Really, Chad?¡± I muttered, but my heart was pounding.


    He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles like some cartoon villain. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have looked at my girl that way.¡±


    ¡°What girl?¡± I asked, genuinely confused.


    His fist slammed into my kidney, and pain shot up my side. ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb!¡±


    Another punch, this time to my gut, doubling me over. ¡°I¡¯m glad you dropped out, Caldwell,¡± he sneered. ¡°Saves me the trouble of humiliating you every day at school.¡±


    The punches kept coming, and I gritted my teeth, swallowing down the urge to lash out.


    I could phase through them. I could drop all three of them into the ground and leave them stuck up to their necks. I could¡­


    But I didn¡¯t.


    Using my powers in public was a risk I couldn¡¯t afford. If someone saw¡ªor worse, if Chad figured it out¡ªit wouldn¡¯t just be a beating anymore. It¡¯d be a witch hunt. Chad¡¯s dad was a powerful man, with political ambitions that stretched beyond Markend. If I made this personal, it wouldn¡¯t end here.


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    Instead, I bided my time, letting the hits land and pretending I was just another scrawny dropout.


    But that didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t fight back another way.


    I let out a pained chuckle, wincing as I straightened up. ¡°I wonder if dear old Dad knows his golden boy is out here slumming it in alleys. Isn¡¯t he running for mayor next year?¡± I paused, tilting my head mockingly. ¡°Then again¡­ maybe you aren¡¯t his son after all?¡±


    Chad¡¯s face twisted, the smug grin vanishing in an instant. ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    Bingo.


    ¡°Come on, Chad,¡± I said, forcing a smirk despite the throbbing in my ribs. ¡°You really think he¡¯d risk his precious reputation for you? I mean, look at yourself.¡±


    His fist came flying at my face, but this time, I braced myself, turning my head just enough to minimize the impact. Blood trickled from my lip, but I knew I had him.


    ¡°You son of a¡ª¡± he started, but one of his lackeys interrupted.


    ¡°Chad, man, we should go. If someone sees us¡­¡±


    I could see the gears turning in Chad¡¯s head. He wanted to keep going, but he also knew his friend was right. With a final glare, he stepped back, spitting on the ground near my feet.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t over, Caldwell.¡±


    The goons let go of my arms, and the three of them walked away, leaving me slumped against the alley wall.


    I wiped the blood from my lip and laughed quietly to myself. ¡°Yeah, Chad. It¡¯s never over with you, is it?¡±


    Once I was sure they were gone, I stood up, brushed myself off, and went back inside.


    Time to finish my shift.


    The manager marched up to me, his face already twisted with that familiar mix of disdain and fake professionalism. I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.


    ¡°Nick¡ª¡±


    ¡°I quit,¡± I interrupted, pulling off my apron and flinging it straight at his smug face.


    The fabric smacked him square on the nose, but before he could say anything else, I threw a punch.


    My fist connected with his jaw, and he crumpled like a sack of overcooked fries. The sound of his body hitting the floor was oddly satisfying.


    I didn¡¯t waste time. Grabbing him by the collar, I dragged his unconscious form to the back door and dumped him right where Chad and his goons had left me. It felt poetic, in a way.


    Turning back inside, I glanced at the counter. No one else was around. Chad¡¯s little scene had cleared the place out. Perfect. I walked over to the register, opened it up, and grabbed all the cash inside. The bills and coins felt weighty in my pocket, a tangible reminder of how much this place owed me.


    Next stop: the kitchen.


    I grabbed some plastic bags and started filling them with burgers, buns, condiments¡ªanything that wasn¡¯t bolted down. If I were leaving, I wasn¡¯t leaving empty-handed. The fridge at home was going to be full for weeks.


    Vindictive? Yeah, maybe. But screw it. I was underage, overworked, and underpaid, and they¡¯d treated me like garbage the entire time I¡¯d been here. If anyone deserved to get ripped off, it was them.


    With the bags in hand, I walked to the front door. I flipped the sign from ¡°Open¡± to ¡°Closed¡± and locked the door behind me.


    ¡°Beth¡¯s Burgers is out of service,¡± I muttered to myself, stepping out onto the street.


    I didn¡¯t look back.


    I stormed down the street, the plastic bags in my hands swinging like pendulums. My heart was pounding, not from exertion, but from the seething anger bubbling inside me.


    Five years. I¡¯d been clean for five years since my powers woke up inside me. No flashy displays, no reckless heroics, nothing to draw attention. Just training. Quiet, careful training for the day I¡¯d finally need these abilities for real.


    Turns out, that day had come.


    The Hamiltons. My first heist proved something important: I could do this. I¡¯d kept my head down and stuck to rules I thought mattered, but screw the rules. Chad made this personal, and I couldn¡¯t let it slide.


    Chad had been a great motivator.


    I was going back.


    Not because I needed the money¡ªwell, okay, partly because I needed the money¡ªbut because this time, it was personal. I¡¯d barely scratched the surface the first time I visited. This time, I wasn¡¯t going to hold back.


    Their bedroom. That¡¯s where I¡¯d start this time. If there was anything truly valuable, it would be there. Jewelry, safes, maybe even blackmail material if I got lucky.


    I wasn¡¯t stupid. Well, it was arguable. I knew this was reckless, maybe even suicidal. The Hamiltons weren¡¯t just rich¡ªthey were connected. If I got caught, it wouldn¡¯t end with me sitting in a jail cell.


    But the anger didn¡¯t care about consequences.


    By the time I got back home, my head was clear enough to focus on practical things, like shoving stolen burgers into the freezer. The satisfying thunk of the freezer door shutting was like sealing away a bit of my frustration.


    Next, I grabbed my duffel bag and started packing. The familiar bonnet mask went in first, followed by a hoodie, jeans, a plain shirt, and my latest addition: a small retractable shovel I swiped from the neighbor¡¯s garden. No plan was perfect, and digging through some dirt might come in handy if things went sideways. For example, burying evidence.


    I¡¯d taken the bus to Hamiltons¡¯ estate, using the time to rehearse the plan in my head. I didn¡¯t have any grand strategies, just a straightforward approach: get in, grab something valuable, and get out before anyone realized I was there.


    The forest surrounding their property felt oddly familiar, almost comforting. I¡¯d spent countless nights training in places just like this. Learning to phase through trees without snagging my clothes. Dropping into the ground and holding myself there to avoid detection. Climbing walls and using my powers to cheat gravity. It was a brutal process back then, full of accidents and mishaps, but now? Now it was second nature.


    I found a secluded spot near a large tree and stashed my duffel bag in the tree hollow. With my retractable shovel, I dug a hole for my ¡°old criminal uniform¡± from the hoodie, jeans, a basic T-shirt, and the same old bonnet mask. As for my current clothes, I''m wearing a new set of ''work clothes'' and even padded my shoes to create the illusion that I was a different person. I gave myself a quick once-over, making sure I was ready.


    Back when my powers first manifested, I was a walking accident. I¡¯d phase through my clothes without meaning to and end up stuck, half-naked, in the weirdest places. I couldn¡¯t control how long I¡¯d stay intangible, either. More than once, I¡¯d phase into the ground and panic, thinking I¡¯d fall straight through to the Earth¡¯s core.


    Mom¡¯s face flashed in my mind. Her face red with frustration, tears streaming as she drowned herself in alcohol. She called it my ¡°affliction,¡± like I¡¯d caught some kind of disease instead of gaining the one thing that made me unique.


    Shaking off the memory, I focused on the present. A quick stretch loosened my muscles, and I took a moment to steady my breathing. My powers didn¡¯t have any flashy visual tells, which made them perfect for a job like this.


    I approached the estate¡¯s wall, keeping low. The polished stone was cold and imposing, but it didn¡¯t matter. I let my power hum through me, and the world shifted as I phased through the wall like a ghost.


    On the other side, I immediately scanned my surroundings. The manicured garden was empty, just as I¡¯d hoped. Moving quickly, I ran toward the side of the house and launched myself up the wall. The second-floor balcony wasn¡¯t far, and parkour was second nature to me after all the years I¡¯d spent training. My hands found their grip easily, and I hauled myself over the railing.


    The bedroom was ahead. The Hamiltons¡¯ sanctum. I crept toward it, moving silently as I phased through the glass door.


    Inside, I paused, my senses on high alert. The room was lavish, with rich carpets, an ornate bed, and furniture that screamed we have too much money. It was everything I¡¯d expected and more.


    Now came the hard part: finding the safe or any important bits like money or jewelry.

 Chapter 4 Yes, You Did

    Chapter 4 Yes, You Did


    January 4, 2025. Saturday. 12:22 pm.


    The house was quiet, eerily so. No one was home except for the occasional maid, and even they seemed scarce during lunchtime. Lucky me. The lack of chatter and footsteps made my job easier, though it also gave the silence an unsettling edge.


    The bedroom felt massive, too big for two people to need, but I ignored the gaudy furniture and went straight to business. My eyes caught a fold in the carpet near the far corner of the room. It was subtle, but something about it screamed suspicious.


    Kneeling down, I grabbed the edge of the carpet and peeled it back. Sure enough, a trapdoor stared back at me, its edges worn but sturdy. My brow furrowed. If it were just a safe, I could confidently phase my hands through and rummage around. But a trapdoor? That could mean anything.


    Cautiously, I pressed my face closer to the trapdoor and let my right arm become intangible. The transformation was seamless, almost instinctive now. My hand slipped through the wood as I felt around for something¡ªanything¡ªhidden beneath.


    The texture of my surroundings shifted in the void. Cold metal. Smooth surfaces. Something loose and... there. My fingers curled around a small object, and I carefully pulled it out.


    A shoebox emerged from the trapdoor, and my stomach sank the moment I opened it.


    "What in the world?"


    It wasn¡¯t cash. It wasn¡¯t jewelry. Hell, I would¡¯ve been relieved if it were porn mags.


    No, what I found was far worse: human teeth.


    ¡°Fuck¡­¡± The word slipped out as I stared in horror. Rows and rows of pristine, pearly whites lay inside, neatly arranged like some macabre dentist¡¯s collection. Some had roots still attached, others were polished smooth. "Maybe he''s secretly a dentist or a tooth fairy?" I optimistically thought.


    My stomach churned. I slammed the lid back on the box and set it down, resisting the urge to gag. What the hell was this family into?


    I leaned back, running a hand through my hair as I tried to steady my breathing. This wasn¡¯t the kind of discovery I wanted to make, especially not in a house with rumors of murder clinging to its name. No, this must be a misunderstanding.


    I glanced at the trapdoor again. If this was what they kept in a shoebox, what else could be hiding down there?


    Calm down, me. Breathe. You can handle this.


    I took another glance at the shoebox full of teeth before shoving it aside. There had to be better loot under this trapdoor, and I wasn¡¯t about to leave empty-handed. Reaching back in, I rummaged around until my hand hit something solid and metallic.


    Clink.


    I pulled out a gold bar, its weight and gleam filling me with a kind of greedy satisfaction that drowned out the nausea from before. ¡°Jackpot,¡± I whispered, my heart jumping in giddy excitement. Forget burgers. This was the real payday.


    But I wasn¡¯t done. Oh, no. My hand dove back in.


    A ring with a peculiar "M" symbol came out next, small but likely valuable. I hid it in my hoodie without a second thought. Then came a katana. A goddamn katana. It was sleek, its hilt intricately designed, and it practically radiated do not touch. Naturally, I set it beside the gold bar.


    And then my hand brushed against something else.


    It was smooth and round. Too round. I hesitated, but my fingers had a mind of their own and yanked it up anyway. A human skull.


    I froze. ¡°Nope.¡±


    I tossed it back like it was cursed, which it probably was. Maybe it was... a prop? Shit... My heart raced as I considered stopping, but my greedy little hands weren¡¯t on the same wavelength. Against my better judgment, I felt around for more.


    That¡¯s when my fingers hit something with more surface area, like fabric. I tugged, and the first thing I saw was yellow¡ªa bright, almost blinding shade that practically screamed cape. I pulled harder, and the rest of the item emerged.


    It was spandex. Sleek, streamlined designs with black overlays and a familiar sun symbol emblazoned on the chest. My breath hitched.


    No way.


    I stared at it, my mind racing. This wasn¡¯t just some random costume. This was Sunstrider¡¯s. One of Vanguard¡¯s elites. A Speedster-6 and Pyrokinetic-2, he was practically a celebrity in the cape world. The Vanguard was top-tier, an untouchable cape team feared for their roster.


    The metric system for powers flickered through my head. 9 was the highest recorded level for any ability. Sunstrider wasn¡¯t far off.


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    And now his costume was in my hands.


    Why the hell does Hamilton have this?


    I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it. A low growl rumbled behind me, sending chills down my spine. I looked up.


    Mr. Hamilton stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing with fury. Literally blazing. Fire licked his skin, flickering along his arms and shoulders, making the air around him shimmer with heat. His suit was singed at the edges, his tie undone, but the murder in his expression was unmistakable.


    ¡°I knew someone was snooping,¡± he snarled, his voice a low, menacing rumble.


    The fabric slipped from my grip as every survival instinct in my body screamed, Run.


    I was screwed.


    Okay, think fast.


    What did I have?


    If the Superhuman Regulation Committee (SRC) ratings were any indication, my powers weren¡¯t bad, but they weren¡¯t enough for this. Intangibility-4: I could phase through solid matter for as long as I could hold my breath and keep my focus. Enhanced-2: my body had better-than-average stamina and physical coordination, but nothing close to what top-tier capes could do.


    That put me at a serious disadvantage.


    Okay¡­ I might have said something along the lines of nigh-infinite stamina, but I was still unsure of that part. It didn¡¯t mean that because I didn¡¯t need sleep meant I had a wellspring of unending stamina. I could still feel fatigued in the form of pain.


    I raised my arm to block instinctively as something flew at me, a shoe. The damned shoe actually landed with enough force to make me stumble back a step.


    Before I could process that humiliation, he was on me.


    Fast.


    Sunstrider¡¯s one-two kick came faster than I could react. The first strike landed square on my chest, a burst of heat and force that knocked the wind out of me. The second came down hard on my foreleg, pinning me to the floor. Pain shot through my body, sharp and unforgiving, and I couldn¡¯t concentrate enough to phase.


    It hurt like hell.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have come here,¡± Sunstrider growled, standing over me. His voice was cold, a far cry from the charming public persona he put on for the world. "Who do you work for?"


    I gasped for air, trying to regain focus, but every breath sent sharp jolts of pain through my ribs. I wasn¡¯t sure if they were cracked or just bruised, but it didn¡¯t matter. This was bad.


    His boot pressed down on my pinned leg, making me cry out involuntarily. He leaned in, his voice low and venomous. ¡°You¡¯ve seen too much.¡±


    No kidding.


    I didn¡¯t need a Ph.D. in criminal psychology to figure out what was going through his mind. I¡¯d unmasked him. I¡¯d discovered his dirty little secret from the human teeth, the skull, and the suspicious ring. This wasn¡¯t a misunderstanding.


    He was going to kill me.


    Think, damn it!


    I clenched my teeth, the edges of my vision going dark with despair. If I couldn¡¯t fight him directly, I¡¯d have to outsmart him. My hand crept toward the katana I¡¯d stolen earlier, lying just out of reach, my fingers brushing the edge of the shoebox of teeth.


    ¡°I...¡± I coughed, wincing at the pain in my ribs as he landed a kick and then another. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to... ugh... find out.¡±


    Sunstrider snorted. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± And then he grabbed me by my collar, his hand an inch away from unmasking me.


    I had to distract him. I had to make him hesitate, just for a second.


    ¡°You think this¡¯ll keep it quiet?¡± I wheezed, clutching my chest like I was done for. ¡°You kill me, someone¡¯s going to notice. People know I¡¯m here.¡±


    It was a bluff. A bad one. But it was all I had.


    He hesitated just for a second, but it was enough.


    I grabbed the katana¡¯s hilt, powering through with a forceful lunge, and swung with all the strength my enhanced body could muster. I aimed for his leg, the nearest target the solid katana could reach. The blade wasn¡¯t sharp, since it was more ceremonial than functional, but it connected, knocking him off balance.


    The pressure on my leg disappeared, and I didn¡¯t waste a second. I activated my power, phasing through the floor beneath me. My body screamed in protest, the pain from the fight making it hard to focus, but I pushed through.


    Get out. Get out now.


    I dropped to the lower floor, tumbling into what looked like a study. My body solidified as I gasped for air, scrambling to my feet. My leg throbbed, but I could move. I didn¡¯t wait for him to recover.


    I bolted for the nearest wall and phased through it, out into the open air.


    However, I was far from free¡­


    Sunstrider¡¯s speed was unmatched. Even with my enhanced coordination, he was faster by a lot. His foot hooked around my ankle, and before I could react, I was falling. My roll to break the fall was sloppy, pain shooting through my already battered leg.


    I barely had time to catch my breath before he was on me again, his weight pressing down as he pinned my injured leg. I bit back a scream, but my vision blurred with tears. My katana clattered to the ground a few feet away, useless for the moment.


    Sunstrider stood over me, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. His right hand began to glow, the air around it shimmering with heat as he superheated his palm into a knife-like blade.


    ¡°Any last words?¡± he asked, his tone almost casual, like he was asking about the weather.


    I couldn¡¯t think of a single clever retort. My mouth was dry, my thoughts scrambled. Instead, I raised my hand and began making the sign of the cross, deliberately slow, shaky from the pain.


    Sunstrider was a gentleman enough to let me finish...


    The gesture seemed to amuse him or annoy him. Either way, it gave me what I needed.


    He cocked his head, then brought his glowing knife-hand back, aiming to take my head clean off.


    Time seemed to slow as he swung.


    My mind flashed to Chadwick, his arrogant smirk, his cruel taunts. The resemblance was uncanny from the same blonde hair, the same smug expression, and the same sense of entitlement. It was infuriating.


    And it gave me just enough rage to fight through the pain.


    As his knife-hand descended, I activated my power, slipping out from under him at the last possible second as my pinned limb became intangible. His hand sliced through nothing but air, and I rolled toward the katana. My fingers closed around the hilt.


    I didn¡¯t think. I couldn¡¯t afford to.


    I swung the katana with both hands, its dull edge aimed at him. But instead of relying on the blade to cut through, I activated my power again, making the katana intangible.


    Sunstrider¡¯s momentum carried him forward, straight into the blade¡¯s path. It passed through him like a ghost, and then¡­ I released the intangibility the moment it was halfway through his chest.


    The sudden solidity of the blade sliced through muscle and bone. His body jerked, blood spraying in a crimson arc as he stumbled forward.


    I rolled to the left, just out of reach, and let the katana go. He tumbled to the ground in a grotesque heap, his momentum carrying him into the floor with a sickening thud.


    The world fell silent except for his ragged, gurgling breaths. I stared at him, my chest heaving, my leg screaming in pain.


    Did I actually just kill Sunstrider?

 Chapter 5 Loner Goner

    Chapter 5 Loner Goner


    This was an utter disaster.


    The smell of smoke hit me first. Then came the shouts of ¡°Fire!¡± from outside the Hamilton estate. I turned toward the source, and sure enough, the second floor was blazing, thick plumes of black smoke curling into the sky.


    Shit.


    It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Sunstrider, before catching up to me, must¡¯ve set the place alight in an attempt to erase whatever damning evidence he had been hiding. Problem was, Sunstrider wasn¡¯t exactly known for his control. His fire was as wild and reckless as the man himself.


    I glanced at his crumpled form sprawled across the floor, his blood pooling beneath him.


    My chest tightened.


    I walked over to his body, crouching down to check for a pulse. I pressed two fingers against his neck. Nothing. I examined the wound next, though I already knew what I¡¯d find. The katana had gone clean through, and judging by the amount of blood soaking into the dirt, he wasn¡¯t coming back.


    I sighed. Not out of regret¡ªI wasn¡¯t that sentimental¡ªbut out of sheer exhaustion. I could barely stand, my injured leg trembling under the strain. My body was screaming at me to stop, to rest, but I couldn¡¯t.


    Not yet.


    I limped to the nearest wall, grimacing with each step. Phasing was supposed to be second nature by now. I¡¯d trained myself to exhaustion for years to master it. But pain was a cruel teacher, and right now, it was winning. Concentrating while my leg was this battered, felt impossible.


    Still, I didn¡¯t have a choice.


    I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and pushed through the higher walls that surrounded the estate. The sensation of passing through solid matter always felt strange, like being submerged in water but without the wetness. When I emerged on the other side, I was in the open air, the chaos of the fire growing louder behind me.


    I stumbled toward the forest, clutching my ribs. My leg was throbbing, every step a fresh jolt of agony, but I forced myself to keep moving. I reached the tree where I¡¯d stashed my duffel bag and grabbed it, pulling out the retractable shovel.


    Digging wasn¡¯t exactly fun on a good day, but with my body as wrecked as it was, it felt like torture. Still, I managed to dig a shallow hole a few feet deep.


    Into it went my recently acquired ¡°criminal clothes¡± from the thrift shop: the new hoodie, jeans, and bonnet mask. And then I changed into the spare ¡°civilian clothes¡± I¡¯d packed from the duffel bag, a simple T-shirt and sweatpants that screamed average nobody. The duffel bag and shovel went into the hole too.


    Was it overkill? Probably. I didn¡¯t even know if changing clothes actually helped hide my tracks, but I wasn¡¯t taking chances. I patted the dirt down over the hole and smoothed it out as best as I could.


    Good enough.


    I didn¡¯t head straight home. That would¡¯ve been stupid. Instead, I took every precaution I could think of.


    First, I alternated buses, crisscrossing through different neighborhoods to scatter my scent. If some shifter with beast-related powers decided to track me down, I¡¯d make sure they¡¯d have a hell of a time doing it.


    It didn''t mean because I no longer sweat, certain clothes would no longer have any scent or leave any trace.


    Next, I took a light dip in the Madvent River. The water was freezing, but it was worth it to throw off any lingering scent. I hitched a ride on a boat heading upstream, getting off at the shanty town on the outskirts of the city.


    There, I bought a ratty jacket and some stained jeans off a homeless guy. Not the most stylish outfit, but it added another layer to my disguise. It was a bonus that the thing was obscuring my scent or whatever particular trace I had, too. Couldn''t be too careful.


    Finally, I walked the rest of the way home, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with anyone I passed.


    It was 5:27 p.m. when I finally dragged myself through the front door. My entire body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, but at least I was home. Safe, for now.


    I dropped onto the couch, my entire body aching.


    For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything that had happened crashing down on me.


    Sunstrider was dead. The Hamilton estate was on fire. And I was officially a wanted criminal.


    Happy fucking Saturday.


    I  kicked off my shoes and leaned more comfortably on the couch. The remote was buried under a pile of junk on the coffee table, but after some halfhearted digging, I found it.


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    The TV flickered on, and I flipped through channels until I landed on the local news. Nothing yet. No reports of Sunstrider¡¯s death. No whispers of a suspect. Just the usual drivel about the mayor¡¯s upcoming campaign and a fluff piece about a cat stuck in a tree.


    I headed to the bathroom.


    The shower was scalding, but I welcomed the heat. I scrubbed myself raw, as if I could wash away the events of the day along with the grime. My fingers ached from gripping the katana, my leg throbbed where Sunstrider had pinned me, and my ribs still protested every breath.


    Worst of all, though?


    I didn¡¯t feel guilty. Not even a little.


    Sure, this wasn¡¯t my first kill. That dubious honor belonged to some low-life mugger I¡¯d stumbled across during my first year of training. Back then, I¡¯d told myself it was self-defense. And maybe it was. But today? This wasn¡¯t self-defense. This was survival, sure, but it was also something else. Something darker.


    Sunstrider wasn¡¯t just some asshole cape. He was a murderer. The teeth? The skull? Those trophies? They proved it to an extent. Hell, I¡¯d probably done the world a favor taking him out.


    So why wasn¡¯t I proud of it?


    "It wasn''t a misunderstanding... I..."


    I have no idea.


    Maybe I saw it all wrong...


    I stepped out of the shower and dried off, wincing as the towel brushed over my bruises. In the backyard, I gathered the filthy clothes I¡¯d bought from the homeless guy and tossed them into the fire pit. A flick of the lighter, and they went up in flames, curling into ash within minutes.


    By the time I came back inside, the TV was blaring breaking news.


    I froze.


    On the screen was a brunette reporter with sharp oriental features, her hair tied back in a neat bun. Behind her was the charred skeleton of the Hamilton mansion, smoke still rising from the ruins.


    ¡°This just in,¡± she announced, her voice grave. ¡°A devastating fire has engulfed the Hamilton estate earlier this afternoon. Investigators are currently on the scene, but sources suggest that the blaze may not have been accidental.¡±


    The camera panned over the wreckage. Blackened beams jutted out like broken ribs, and firefighters milled about, dousing stubborn pockets of flame.


    I sat down slowly, my heart pounding.


    ¡°The Hamilton family is currently unreachable for comment,¡± the reporter continued. ¡°While no casualties have been officially confirmed, there is speculation that prominent businessman and mayoral candidate Charles Hamilton may have been inside the residence when the fire broke out.¡±


    Charles Hamilton.


    They weren¡¯t calling him Sunstrider yet. Either they didn¡¯t know, or they were covering it up.


    My stomach twisted as the reporter turned to a man in a suit, his face shadowed by the camera angle. ¡°What can you tell us about the Hamilton estate¡¯s security footage?¡±


    The man cleared his throat. ¡°We¡¯re still reviewing it, but initial reports indicate that the system was tampered with shortly before the fire began. We¡¯ll have more information once the investigation is complete.¡±


    Shit.


    I leaned back against the couch, thinking how deep this must be. Tampered with? That wasn¡¯t me. Sunstrider must¡¯ve done it before or during the fire. Was that even possible? Did something happen that I have no idea about? Maybe Sunstrider was trying to erase his dirty laundry, or maybe he¡¯d anticipated the fight going south. Perhaps¡­ Sunstrider was still alive¡­ No way¡­ I knew I was imagining monsters under my bed at this point.


    Either way, it was only a matter of time before they pieced things together. And when they did, they¡¯d come looking for me.


    I turned off the TV, staring at the blank screen.


    What the hell was I supposed to do now?


    I spent the next few days lying low, searching for a job, any job, that would accept a minor like me. It wasn¡¯t easy. Word had gotten out about what happened at Beth¡¯s Burgers, and the place was suffering. Bad reviews piled up, people called it a ¡°dangerous establishment,¡± and it seemed like the place was on the brink of going bankrupt. I¡¯d made a mess, and now everyone knew it.


    "Word sure travels fast..."


    Disappointed, I threw in the towel on the job search and decided to take care of some other things. First, I paid my bills in advance, such as electricity, water, etc. Anything that might give me some breathing room. After that, I hit the store for some basic groceries: canned goods, instant noodles, stuff that would last me for a while without needing much attention. I grabbed a few new shirts too. I had to keep up appearances, right?


    When I finished, I took a cab back to my place.


    I turned the TV on out of habit, letting the low hum fill the silence. I wasn¡¯t expecting much, but I had to check. Maybe, just maybe, there¡¯d be a break in the news that meant I was still in the clear. No mention of Sunstrider¡¯s death, not yet. I allowed myself a small breath of relief. Maybe I could try my hand at another criminal opportunity soon, one where I wouldn¡¯t leave such a bloody trail.


    I shelved the canned goods and instant noodles, a little more care in my movements than usual. I didn¡¯t need to think about anything right now. It was just the mundane, the necessary. Finally, I folded the new shirts and placed them neatly in my wardrobe. Anything to keep my mind occupied. Anything to keep from thinking about what I had done.


    When I returned to the living room, the TV had switched to a breaking news segment. I paused. The screen was fuzzy at first, but it cleared just enough to show a grainy image of a man slumped against the floor. My blood ran cold when I realized what I was looking at.


    It was me. The blurry, distorted image showed me stabbing Charles Hamilton in the chest with the dull katana. The footage must have been taken from a camera, somewhere close, though the resolution was too poor to tell much. The newscaster¡¯s voice crackled through the speaker.


    ¡°¡­and authorities have confirmed that this masked individual is the primary suspect in the death of Charles Hamilton. The police are currently investigating the scene, and Vanguard¡¯s cooperation has been guaranteed. Investigators are focusing on nearby footage and witness reports. The suspect has yet to be identified, but¡­¡±


    My heart was thudding in my ears, and my hands were shaking. I didn¡¯t know if it was from adrenaline or fear, but either way, it didn¡¯t feel good. The police would be on me now. They would find that katana. I¡¯d left it there. I left it to be discovered, thinking I could just wipe my hands of it. But they wouldn¡¯t trace it to me, right? I wore gloves. I¡¯d taken precautions. There was no way they¡¯d link me to it.


    Right?


    But the panic was already clawing at the edges of my mind. Could they trace my fingerprints on something else? My power... Was it enough to hide all the signs? It wasn¡¯t like I had planned for this.


    I stood frozen in front of the TV, watching as the news anchor rambled on. Something about Vanguard being involved, something about the investigation ramping up. I couldn¡¯t focus. All I could hear was my own breathing, louder and louder in my chest.


    And then, something clicked. They might not have my fingerprints on the katana, but they would definitely look for other evidence. Maybe I hadn¡¯t thought this through as well as I should¡¯ve.


    I needed to think of a way out. Fast.


    "I hope this was just my paranoia talking."