The next day came too fast.
All day, I tried to pretend like it was just another Friday. Teachers lectured. Students whispered about who was going with whom. Sariya stopped me in the hall before fourth period and asked if I'd picked up my tie yet. I lied and said yeah. I told her I'd see her tonight, even though that word — tonight — felt like it belonged to someone else's life.
By the time the final bell rang, everyone around me was talking about the dance. The gym was already being decorated; I could hear the faint echo of bass from the speakers as I walked out the front doors.
The sunlight was starting to dip, painting the courtyard orange and gold. It was 4:17 p.m.
The courthouse was twenty minutes away.
I stopped just outside the school gates and looked back. Sariya was standing by the entrance with her friends, laughing about something. She looked completely at ease, like the world hadn't been flipped upside down this week.
She caught my eye for a second. That smile again — the one that always made things feel normal. Then she waved and walked off with her group.
For a second, I thought about just going to the dance. Just saying, screw it.
But then I felt the weight of that folded court order in my jacket pocket, and the thought burned out fast.
Mom was waiting near the front door when I got home. She was dressed for work, hair tied back, still holding her phone like she hadn't stopped checking it since morning.
"You're cutting it close," she said.
"I know."
"You're still going?"
"Yeah," I said. "You saw the paper."
She nodded, but I could tell she'd hoped I'd change my mind. "You could've asked for a reschedule. You're sixteen, Kaleb. They shouldn't be—"
"They said it's mandatory," I cut in. "You know how that goes. They don't ask."
She frowned. "This isn't right. None of this is."
"Welcome to my life."
Her expression softened, but there was nothing she could say that would make it easier. She walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a small envelope. "If they start asking about your abilities, don't give them specifics. Just answer what they ask and nothing more."
"I wasn't planning on giving them anything," I said.
"Good," she said, then sighed. "You should've been at the dance."
I laughed under my breath. "Yeah. That makes two of us."
She smiled sadly. "You look good in red, by the way."
I glanced down at my shirt — a simple red button-up I'd planned to wear tonight anyway. "Might as well look decent for my trial, right?"
Her face tightened. "Kaleb—"
"Sorry," I said quietly. "Bad joke."
By the time I left the house, the sky was bruised purple with the last light of evening. The courthouse was in the city, one of those tall, glass-paneled buildings that tried to look modern but still felt sterile. The closer I got, the quieter the streets became.
No music, laughter, hint of homecoming anywhere near this part of town.
I walked up the courthouse steps. Two Sentinel officers flanked the door, scanning IDs. Their uniforms weren't police issue — sleek black with blue stripes down the sleeves. The same insignia Joe wore on his badge.
One of them looked up. "Name?"
"Kaleb Young."
The officer checked a list on a tablet, nodded once, and stepped aside. "You're expected upstairs. Room 204."
The hallway was quiet except for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. Every step echoed too loudly against the marble floor. At the end of the hall stood a pair of double doors with frosted glass panels.
I hesitated before pushing them open.
Inside, the "courtroom" didn't look like any courtroom I'd ever seen on TV. It was smaller, colder. A long table at the center, surrounded by screens, each displaying the Sentinel insignia. Three officials sat at the far end — two in suits, one in uniform. Joe stood beside them, hands clasped neatly in front of him, like a host introducing guests to his dinner party.
"Kaleb Young," the man in the middle said. "Please, sit."
I walked to the single chair facing them and sat down. The table was metal — cold under my palms.
Joe gave me that same faint smile. "Glad you could make it."
"Didn't think I had a choice."
He didn't deny it. "You're here for clarity, that's all. We're not accusing you of anything. We just need to understand what happened."
The woman beside him adjusted her glasses. "Your medical file indicates metahuman DNA markers of an unregistered classification. Do you have any explanation for that?"
"Not really," I said. "I didn't exactly ask to bleed in class."
The man in uniform leaned forward. "You've been in proximity to high-level metahuman activity recently. Ignis Rex. The Harbingers. Does that sound familiar?"
My pulse tightened. "He's my father."
That made the room go quiet. Even Joe looked like he hadn't expected me to say it out loud.
The woman spoke next. "You're aware that your father's actions have resulted in multiple casualties and property damage?"
"He saved people, le too," I said. "But I guess you left that out."
The uniformed man narrowed his eyes. "Watch your tone."
I leaned back in my chair. "You asked, I answered."
Joe cleared his throat, stepping forward slightly. "We're not here to discuss his father's record. We're here to determine whether what's happening to Kaleb poses a threat — to himself or to others."
"What's happening to me?" I repeated. "You make it sound like I'm contagious."
Joe folded his hands. "You were exposed to significant temporal radiation during the beach event. Your blood shows residual anomalies that we can't classify. That's why we need you here — to understand what we're dealing with."
"So this isn't a hearing," I said. "It's an experiment."
"No," Joe said. "It's an evaluation."
"Same thing."
No one corrected me.
The silence stretched for a few seconds before the woman spoke again. "Do you currently exhibit any unusual physical or mental side effects?"
I thought of everything I'd seen. The flashes. The distortions. The moments that didn't make sense. But I didn't say any of that.
"No," I said flatly. "I'm fine."
The man at the center nodded slightly. "We'll need to keep your file open for continued observation. For your own safety."
"My safety," I repeated. That's what you call it?"
Joe met my eyes. His voice dropped lower, just for me. "You'd rather we call it something else?"
I wanted to answer, but my throat felt tight.
The lead official signed a digital form on the desk. "This concludes the preliminary review. You're free to go, Mr. Young. But you'll be contacted again when further analysis is complete."
I stood slowly, pushing the chair back. "Can I go now?"
Joe nodded once. "Yes."
I turned toward the door, but before I could reach it, he said quietly, "You know, you could still make it to the dance."
I looked back at him. "You think I care about that right now?"
"I think you should," he said simply. "Because one day, you won't get the chance."
I didn't answer. I just walked out.
Outside, the sky had gone dark. The sound of traffic hummed far below. I could still hear faint music drifting from somewhere miles away — laughter, car engines, the pulse of a bassline that was probably shaking the school gym.
Homecoming was happening without me. And somewhere deep down, I already knew this was how it had to be.