Time went on.
The next day, I lay back on the couch and turned on the news.
"Hello, San Diego. I'm Delilah Marco, your number-one broadcasting journalist," the peppy anchor said.
Booker dropped beside me. "Oh? The news," he muttered.
"Yesterday, superhero Ignis Rex squared off at South Mission Beach," she continued. "Reports say his opponent was Vesper of the Harbingers of Doom. Their skirmish left the beach nearly leveled and destroyed a nearby water tower."
"The sheriff confirms this was a Sentinel Solutions operation and that there were no casualties."
Clips of the fight rolled on-screen—grainy CCTV footage. I guess it worked, because I wasn't anywhere in it.
"It makes me sick every time I hear about that wicked organization," Booker said abruptly.
"You're telling me," I said. "I was there when it happened."
"You were?" His attention sharpened. "How was it?"
"I can say one thing—Dad is Ignis Rex, and he works for Sentinel."
The TV flickered as the anchor tried to recap. The feed stuttered, static warped the image, then blacked out completely.
A low hum bled from the speakers, deep enough to make the air vibrate. The screen flashed white, then stabilized on two figures.
Dr. Apauex sat at a metal table, fingers steepled, eyes steady. Behind him, Mr. Magnetic stood tall, energy rippling faintly across his suit like electric veins. The lighting was harsh—industrial, deliberate—casting long shadows behind them.
"For too long," Apauex said evenly, "the world has listened to Sentinel's version of order. You've watched them hunt what they don't understand, imprison what they can't control, and label it 'safety.'"
"They call it peace. We call it a cage," Mr. Magnetic cut in.
"The Harbingers warned them," Apauex continued. "They refused to listen. Now the world trembles under the weight of their arrogance."
"Ignis Rex has resurfaced. You can't contain what's already been unleashed," Magnetic added.
Apauex leaned closer to the camera. "To those who still remember who we are—hold the line. To those who forgot—open your eyes. The next chapter begins now."
The signal cracked, Mr. Magnetic's final words echoing through distortion: "And Sentinel—this message was only a test."
The screen dissolved back into the newsroom. Reporters scrambled for composure, stammering about a rogue transmission.
Booker blinked. "Bro… was that even real?"
I didn't answer. My pulse was pounding. Apauex's voice—his tone, the conviction behind it—it wasn't just a broadcast. It was a warning.
We told Mom what happened, but she'd already seen it.
"If they know of Ignis Rex," she said, "it's only a matter of time before they find their way here."
"Why is that?" Aaliah asked.
"Because Ignis Rex is your father."
Mom walked to the family photo in the living room. She pressed her palm against the frame, and the wall beside it unraveled, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was a briefcase.
"These are the vials with your original meta-abilities," she said. "I never got rid of them completely."
She set the case on the coffee table and opened it.
The liquids inside glowed in different colors, each labeled with our names: Aaliah's was violet, Booker's was green, mine was lack, and Mom's was blue.
"I saved them for a day like this," she said, "even though you already have your powers."
Booker folded his arms. "So you just kept them… in a wall?"
Mom smiled faintly. "Would you rather I'd poured them down the drain?"
He shrugged. "Maybe."
Aaliah tilted her head, watching the soft violet glow of her vial. "So, you didn't destroy them because you thought we'd need them again?"
Mom hesitated. "I didn't destroy them because I didn't want to erase who we were. Even if I wanted you all to live normal lives, I couldn't throw that part of you away."
No one spoke for a while. The news murmured in the background, replaying the same beach clip. The house felt heavy—not tense, just quiet.
I looked down at my vial. The black liquid didn't glow like the others; it moved slowly, catching light only when it wanted to. I didn't feel anything from it—no spark, no pull—just stillness.
Booker leaned forward again. "So what now? Are we supposed to do something?"
Mom shook her head. "No. You live your lives. Go to school, go to work, be yourselves. What happens out there doesn't change who we are in here."
Aaliah sighed. "You make it sound simple."
Mom gave a small, tired laugh. "I wish it were."
Booker muted the TV, and silence filled the room again.
I glanced between them—the vials, the photo of Dad, and Mom standing there with that same calm she always carried when everything else started to fall apart.
For the first time, I wasn't angry about what she'd hidden. Just confused… and maybe a little scared.
"Mom," I asked quietly, "do you think Dad's okay?"
She looked at the photo for a long moment before answering. "I think your father's always been stronger than he knows. And I think he'd be proud of you."
That made the silence heavier.
Aaliah stood. "I'm gonna get ready for school. Feels weird, but… might as well try to feel normal."
Booker followed with a shrug. "Yeah, same."
Mom closed the briefcase gently and slid it back behind the wall panel. "We'll talk more later," she said.
When they were gone, I stayed where I was waiting for my bus to show up. The TV's black screen reflected my face—faint, distorted. For a second, I saw all four of us in that reflection, sitting together like nothing had changed.
But it had.
Maybe not in some grand, cosmic way. Maybe not with explosions or prophecies. Just in that quiet, human way where you realize things can't go back to how they were.
I took one last look at the blank screen, the family photo beside it, and the faint mark on the wall where the briefcase had been hidden.
Then I exhaled and said softly, "Guess we just keep going."
And for now, that was enough.