Morning sunlight crept through the blinds, the kind of soft gold that should have felt normal—but didn't. After everything that happened with Joe Wann and Sentinel the day before, "normal" felt like a word from another lifetime.
Mom decided we needed to get out of the house. "Fresh air," she called it, though we all knew what she really meant. Too many eyes. Too many microphones are hidden in the walls. It wasn't healthy, she said, for her children to live under constant surveillance.
Aaliah hadn't been fully briefed yet, so before we left, I had to tell her what happened—carefully. I left out the trauma, the memories that would tear her apart again. We were walking along the shore when I finally did it.
A glance around to make sure no one was watching, a snap of my fingers—and time froze. Waves hung in the air mid-curl. The wind went silent. I formed a small orb of light between my palms and placed it gently against her forehead. Information flowed like warmth through glass. When it was done, I snapped again, and the world resumed.
Aaliah blinked, dazed but calm. She understood enough.
Mom raised her phone. "Hold still—picture time."The three of us huddled close, smiles half-forced, the ocean glittering behind us. For a heartbeat, we looked like any other family.
"What do you guys want for lunch?" she asked.
"Pizza," we said in unison. The answer came too easily, almost rehearsed.
The restaurant was small, half full, the kind of family spot that smelled like burnt crust and melted cheese. Agents blended among the customers—easy to miss if you weren't looking, but we were. Sunglasses indoors, earpieces barely hidden under hair.
Mom tried to fill the silence. "It's been a while since we've done something like this."
I nodded but couldn't pretend. "Mom, I know you're trying to keep things normal, but this isn't normal. We don't even know if Dad's okay."
Her face tightened. She excused herself and hurried to the restroom. The guilt hit me immediately.
Aaliah frowned. "That was a bit much, Kaleb."
"It's the truth," I muttered. "Why are we pretending this is fine when it's not?"
I stopped before finishing the thought—before I mention the change. No one else in the restaurant needed to hear that.
Mom returned, composed but quieter. "I know this isn't normal," she said softly, "but this is what our lives would have been if they were."
Her words hung there. I picked at my food, appetite gone. The agents pretending to eat weren't helping.
I stood and walked to the counter. One of the "cashiers" looked up—Sentinel eyes behind a fake smile. I leaned close and said quietly, "Send Joe a message. Tell him we just want to be left alone."
Then I went back to our table. "Mom, can we go home?"
She didn't argue. "Yes," she said, clearing the plates. "Let's go."
As we stepped outside, something flickered—the restaurant's menu shimmered, and for a second the letters rearranged into Russian. I blinked, and it was English again. Another glitch.
"Kaleb?" Mom called.
"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing a grin. "Coming."
On the drive home, I noticed more inconsistencies. Street names are out of order. People crossing the same path twice. A traffic light is blinking green forever. The world was stuttering, like a skipped frame in a broken video.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, letting a silent wave of Nexus energy ripple outward. The distortions are smoothed. Reality, for now, remembered how to behave.
At home, I went straight to my room and opened my journal.
I don't know how to feel about what's happening. Sentinel Solutions is watching us. They've wired our home, hidden sensors in every corner. I can feel them humming. No matter how hard I try, I always end up at zero—the point everything revolves around.
I sealed the journal with a faint pulse of energy, locking it from prying eyes. Then I sat cross-legged on the bed, focusing inward, diving into my mindspace.
It was empty.
Usually, he was there—the darker version of me, the part that called itself the Dark Nexus—but now there was only silence. I scanned the void and called out, "I know you're hiding. Mad about what I said?"
A voice answered, distant and sharp.
"Fool. I told you—you think you can do this without me? So be it."
"I reset the timeline without you," I said. "Looks like I'm doing fine."
No response. Just cold air. I didn't wait; I pulled myself out of the mindspace and opened my eyes.
A faint tick hit my window. Then another. I looked out and saw Malique, standing in the yard with a grin, tossing pebbles.
I opened the window. "Dude, I haven't seen you in forever."
"What? It's been like three days. Come on, bro—party tonight. You in?"
"Party?" I echoed.
"Yeah, that girl you like will be there," he teased.
I hesitated. "Hold up."
Downstairs, I called out, "Mom! Malique invited me to a party, that's cool?"
She peeked from the kitchen. "You coming back in one piece this time?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said quickly. She sighed and waved permission.
Before leaving, I checked for any hidden wires near the door—none. With a flick of my wrist, I changed into fresh clothes and wove a faint disguise over my energy signature.
Malique was leaning on the porch rail, a rose in his mouth. "Is Mrs. Young home?" he joked.
"Real funny," I said, rolling my eyes. "Where is this thing anyway?"
"Private pool party. Friend of a friend. A girl named Sariya is going to be there."
The name tugged at an old memory—freshman year, a crush that never went anywhere. I frowned. "Didn't bring swim trunks."
"Doesn't matter," he laughed. "No one else did either."
We started walking toward his car. It wasn't until he tossed me the keys that I realized what we were driving. A brand-new sports car. "How the hell did you get this?"
"Parents. Guilt gift."
We drove in relative silence. Malique tried to lighten the mood. "Don't tell me you're nervous about swimming in your boxers. Hope you wore something decent."
I shook my head. "Just a lot on my mind."
He offered, "You can skip it, man. I won't care."
"No," I said. "I need the distraction."
"Then loosen up. Who knows—you might actually get lucky," he teased, laughing. I managed a smile.
The house was enormous—modern, expensive, sterile. It didn't fit the neighborhood. Only six people were there, plus us. Sariya looked older, more confident than I remembered, but the moment I saw her, my chest tightened with old confusion.
The host, Joshua, was loud and carefree, already drinking. Bottles passed hands, smoke drifted, music thumped too loud. I stayed near the edge, half watching.
"Hey, Kaleb! Join us!" Joshua called.
"I don't drink," I said.
"Boo. Come on, one sip!" he insisted. I gave in, took a swallow, and nearly choked. The taste was fire and rot. The group burst out laughing.
"Yeah, he definitely doesn't drink," someone joked. I laughed weakly.
"Pool time!" another girl shouted. Everyone agreed instantly.
I sat in a pool chair, feeling out of place. Then a soft voice: "Hey, Kaleb. Come here."
Sariya, in the hot tub. Her smile was disarming. I joined her, trying not to overthink it.
"So," I said awkwardly, "having a good time?"
"Yeah. Wasn't sure I'd come, but here I am. "Same. Malique dragged me."
She offered her bottle. "Want another try?"
I grimaced. "We saw how that went."She giggled. "Just one sip. Keep it in this time."
I humored her, took a quick drink—nine seconds too long—and coughed until my throat burned. She laughed again. "It's cheap stuff anyway."
A quiet moment followed.
"I heard what happened at that lake party," she said gently. "You okay?"
"I lost my memory," I said. "So I honestly don't know."
She looked stricken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," I said.
She edged closer, the water rippling between us. My pulse quickened. "Look, I'm not great at this," I confessed. "First time talking to a girl like this. Sorry if I'm awkward."
"That's… honest," she said, smiling. "Kaleb?"
"Yeah?"
"Ever kissed someone?"
"Uh—my mom?" I answered before realizing how stupid it sounded.
She laughed. "No, I mean someone you like."I froze, saying nothing.
"Close your eyes," she whispered. "You can trust me."
I did. She kissed me—gentle, uncertain. Then her hand slid to my side, too far. I pulled back and shook my head. "No."
"That's okay," she said softly. But when I glanced away, I caught sight of a drone hidden in the trees—Sentinel surveillance. Watching.
I pretended not to notice. "I should go," I said, climbing out.
She apologized, but I was already calling for Malique. "We're leaving."
He wasn't thrilled—a thirty-minute drive for nothing—but he didn't argue. The car ride home was silent.
When we pulled up to my house, I thanked him and went straight upstairs. Locked my door. Sat on the floor in the dark.
Maybe there were still parts of me I didn't understand. Maybe there always would be.