I didn't get any sleep that night. I sat on the floor in my soaked boxers, staring at nothing, trying to figure myself out. The room was quiet except for the slow tick of the clock and the occasional hum of the house settling.
Months ago, Rem had trained me to understand myself before I tried to understand my power. I thought I'd done that. I thought I was confident. But now, sitting there shivering in the dark, I realized how wrong I'd been. I'd spent so long fighting, surviving, pretending to have control — but I'd never really learned how to connect to anyone.
Downstairs, Mom shouted that breakfast was ready. I didn't move. A few minutes later, her footsteps came up the stairs, soft but quick. When she opened my door, she froze at the sight of me sitting there.
"Kaleb, what's wrong?" she asked gently.
I told her about the party — about freezing up, about the anxiety clawing through me — and she just started laughing.
"Oh my God, Kaleb," she said between chuckles, "you were having anxiety!"
I frowned. "Why are you still wet?" she added, shaking her head. "Get dressed. I made breakfast."
She turned to leave, but before she reached the door, I said quietly, "Mom… what is anxiety?"
She stopped, turned back, and gave me that soft, motherly look — the kind that could break through any wall. "Come here," she said. When I did, she wrapped her arms around me and began her story.
"Many years ago," she said, "a girl met a guy. The guy had all the confidence in the world. The girl didn't — she was clumsy, nervous, a complete mess. But she got the guy anyway, just by being herself."
I smirked. "Okay, I get it."
"Good," she said, smiling faintly. "Now get dressed and eat breakfast. Oh — and school starts back next week."
"Got it," I said.
Downstairs, the smell of bacon and toast filled the air. I sat at the table, eating in silence. Booker was cracking his usual corny jokes, trying to get Aaliah to laugh. She just rolled her eyes. Mom ate quietly, keeping one ear toward the window like she was waiting for the world to knock again.
Then I heard something zip past the house — fast, mechanical. I went to the window. A Sentinel Solutions drone was hovering over the street, scanning. Watching.
I forced myself back to breakfast, but the feeling lingered — that static of being seen.
When I finished eating, I went upstairs again. My thoughts wouldn't stop turning. Everything felt too quiet, too normal. I strangely missed the chaos — the Renegades, the Harbingers, even the danger. Fighting gave me something to be.
But I reminded myself that the timeline was gone. The rewrite worked. Sentinel Solutions never took us. The Harbingers never met me. The world was… safe.
And yet, I couldn't shake the sense that something was missing.
Apauex had vanished from every record; the Harbingers had gone silent. Without me there to trigger the events at Sentinel, none of it ever happened — but that also meant I'd erased part of myself. The others still remembered what we went through, but for everyone else, it was like it never existed.
Sentinel didn't know who I truly was now — not fully. Only they, out of everyone left, still had their suspicions. So maybe I was safe. For now.
Then came the knock. Two sharp, measured raps on the door — deliberate, too patient to be random.
"I got it!" I called, heading downstairs.
When I opened the door, Joe Wann was there. Clipboard tucked under his arm, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses gleaming. Behind him, a black Sentinel SUV idled at the curb, humming like a threat that hadn't decided whether to speak.
"Not you again," I said flatly.
"Afternoon, Kaleb," he replied, tone polite but controlled. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"You showing up uninvited kinda counts as an interruption."
He smiled — the kind of smile that said he enjoyed the tension. "Fair point. I just wanted a word. Off the record."
"Everything you do is on record, Joe."
"That's true," he said, stepping a little closer. "But sometimes I like to pretend I'm human. Mind if I step in?"
"You can talk from there. I've got allergies."
He raised an eyebrow. "Allergies, huh? To what?"
"Bureaucrats."
Joe laughed softly — testing me. "You know," he said, "I miss that confidence. Not a lot of young people talk to me like that anymore. Usually, they stutter or sweat. You don't do either."
"Maybe you don't scare me."
"You should be careful saying that to a man with federal clearance."
"You should be careful saying that to a kid who's not impressed by it."
The air grew heavier. The kind of silence that hums.
"Yesterday's inspection stirred up some interesting data," Joe said finally. "Big energy spike in this area. Strange readings — almost like something got rewritten."
"'Rewritten' is a strong word," I said. "Maybe your systems glitched. Or maybe you're seeing things that aren't there."
"Could be." His tone softened, almost paternal. "Thing is, my instruments don't glitch. And I don't imagine things. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
"If you're asking whether I've been playing mad scientist in the backyard, the answer's no. We've been home. Living normally. You should try it sometime."
He smiled again — calm, unsettling. "Normal's overrated. You ever get that feeling, Kaleb? Like you've been somewhere before, but can't say when or how?"
"You mean déjà vu? Happens when people keep asking the same questions."
He chuckled once. "You've got an answer for everything."
"Only for the questions that don't deserve real ones."
"You're sharp," he said. "But that's the problem with sharp kids — eventually, they cut something they didn't mean to."
He leaned in slightly. I didn't flinch.
"If something big did happen here," he said softly, "something outside your control… you'd tell me, right?"
"If something big happened, Joe, you'd already know. Isn't that what Sentinel's for?"
"Sentinels for keeping the world from burning," he said. "But lately, it feels like we're just waiting for someone to light the match."
"Then maybe stop showing up with gasoline."
His grin twitched — not anger, just amusement. "You know, I used to believe every problem could be solved with enough data. Then I met people like you — problems that erase the data."
"Then maybe you're looking at the wrong kind of problem."
He nodded once, straightened his clipboard. "Tell your mother I said hello."
He started to turn away, then looked back. "And, Kaleb… if you ever need to confess something, make sure it's to me. Not someone who'll treat you like evidence."
"Got it. Next time I commit a thought crime, I'll give you a call."
He grinned — tight, weary. "You do that. Stay safe, son."
Joe tapped the doorframe once with his knuckle and walked off. The SUV door opened with a hiss, swallowed him, and rolled away down the street.
I stood there, staring at the empty spot where he'd been. He didn't have proof. Not yet. But the way he looked at me — I knew.
He didn't believe the world had changed on its own. He just hadn't realized he was standing in the proof that it had.
When I finally closed the door, the air in the house felt different — heavier. Like Joe had left smoke behind without lighting a fire.
Mom was by the counter, arms crossed, pretending she hadn't been listening. The mug in her hand rattled against the saucer.
"Was that who I think it was?" she asked.
"Yeah. Joe Wann. Again."
Her jaw tightened. "What did he want this time?"
"The same thing he always wants — answers he'll never understand."
"Kaleb… what did you tell him?"
"The truth," I said. "That nothing happened here."
"Did he believe you?"
I shrugged. "Does he ever?"
Mom sighed, rubbing her temple. "I told you they wouldn't just walk away. You scared them, Kaleb. Whatever you did — even if they can't explain it — it shook their sensors to hell."
"He doesn't have proof," I said. "And he won't find any. The barrier's still holding."
"That's not what worries me." She set the cup down and stepped closer. "It's not about proof with people like him. It's about patterns. They'll keep knocking until you give them one."
I looked at my hands — steady for once. "Then I'll stop answering the door."
"That's not enough," she said. "They've seen your name now. They'll dig. They always dig."
I looked up. "You sound like you've been through this before."
"I have," she admitted softly. "Back when Sentinel was smaller — before they called themselves saviors. They don't investigate, Kaleb. They groom. They watch you long enough to learn what makes you break."
Her words hit harder than I expected. I didn't answer right away.
"Let them watch," I said finally. "If that's all they can do, they're already losing."
Mom shook her head. "Don't underestimate them."
"I don't," I said, starting toward the stairs. "But I'm not afraid of them either."
"Kaleb—"
"I know. Be careful. Keep quiet. Don't stand out."I gave her a tired smile. "We'll be fine."
Upstairs, I went to my window. Across the street, a car sat parked in the shade — unfamiliar, unmoving. No one inside. But the faint hum in the air told me otherwise.
Sentinel was still here. Watching. Recording. Waiting.
They thought this was just another anomaly to contain.
They were wrong.
I wasn't their subject anymore.
I was the constant they couldn't calculate.And I wasn't going to hide forever.