Morning came slowly.
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of green light underwater, the grin behind that half-mask, and the sound of the sprinklers raining down over screaming voices. My head replayed the chaos like it was trying to make sense of it, but it never did.
By the time I sat up, sunlight had already cut across my room in thin white lines through the blinds. My shirt from last night hung over the chair — the red one. Still damp, faint smell of metal and smoke clinging to the fabric.
The house was quiet except for the muffled clatter of breakfast plates in the kitchen. Mom was up early, which was unusual for a Saturday. Booker and Aaliah were probably still asleep.
I rubbed the heel of my palm over my eyes and checked my phone texts from Sariya. No new messages.
Just one unread email from a no-reply address:
Subject: Incident Review – Student Involvement. Sender: Sentinel Liaison Division.
The timestamp said 5:44 a.m.
I didn't open it.
Instead, I scrolled to my messages and hovered over Sariya's name. The typing cursor blinked, then I closed the app. I didn't know what to say. Hey, sorry the night exploded? Sorry, a masked psychopath crashed prom? None of it worked.
Downstairs, Mom called up, "Kaleb! Breakfast!"
I dragged myself out of bed, ran a hand through my hair, and went down.
The smell of eggs and coffee filled the air. Mom stood at the stove, still in her robe, scrolling through her phone. The TV over the counter was on a muted news feed — footage of police lights, black SUVs, and Sentinel agents blocking off the high school.
"… no fatalities reported," the anchor's voice said through the subtitles. "Sentinel Solutions responded immediately to what's now being described as a targeted metahuman disruption event. The suspect, identified only as 'Breaker,' remains at large."
The name punched a hole in my chest. Breaker.
Mom turned the volume up a little as she set down a plate. "You were there," she said quietly. "Weren't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
Her eyes didn't leave the screen. "Did you see him?"
"Kind of. Not up close."
She set the spatula down, finally meeting my eyes. "You need to be careful, Kaleb. Sentinel will use this as an excuse to tighten their leash. Any student they think is involved will end up in a file somewhere."
I pushed at the eggs with my fork, not hungry. "Too late."
"What do you mean?"
I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper — the court summons. "They already had me in one yesterday."
She went still. "You went to the hearing?"
"Yeah."
"Without telling me?"
"I didn't want you to worry."
"I'm your mother," she said, her voice low and sharp. "It's my job to worry."
I opened the paper on the table. Her eyes scanned the top line, the bold blue header with the seal, and then froze on the classification at the bottom.
Subject Designation: APEX.
Her face paled. "They used the word."
"What does it mean?" I asked.
She sat down across from me, hands clasped, like she needed something to hold on to. "Apex isn't a name. It's a status code. It means they found something in your DNA that doesn't match any known strain of meta ability."
"So?"
"So," she said, "it means they don't understand you. And when Sentinel doesn't understand something, they take it apart until they do."
My stomach turned. "They can't just—"
"They can," she said flatly. "If they decide you're a threat to national stability, they can hold you under indefinite observation."
I leaned back, trying to breathe around the sudden weight in my chest. "Observation sounds a lot like a prison with better lighting."
Mom didn't answer. She just looked tired in a way I hadn't seen before — the kind of tired that comes from recognizing a pattern you hoped would never repeat.
The front door knocked.
Three quick taps, then two more.Not random — measured.
Mom stood up fast. "Stay here."
I followed anyway.
She opened the door halfway. Standing outside in a black overcoat, holding a briefcase, was Joe Wann.Of course.
He looked the same as yesterday — not a hair out of place, calm as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
"Mrs. Young," he said politely. "I assume your son is home."
Mom crossed her arms. "You assume too much."
He smiled faintly. "Then I'll ask: may I speak with Kaleb? It's important."
"You've done enough speaking for one week."
"This isn't about yesterday," he said, eyes flicking to me past her shoulder. "This is about last night."
Mom's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
"Just ten minutes."
I stepped forward. "It's fine, Mom."
"Kaleb—"
"I'll handle it," I said, voice steadier than I felt.
Joe nodded in approval and stepped back, gesturing toward his car parked across the street. "Walk with me."
We stood by the hood of his black sedan. The neighborhood was still quiet — birds, distant lawnmowers, nothing else. The morning light made his glasses reflect like small mirrors.
"You were there," he said simply.
"You already knew that."
"I know where you are, yes," he said. "What I want to know is what you saw."
"An armored freak crashing a school dance. What else?"
He studied me, face unreadable. "He spoke to you."
I didn't answer.
"Multiple witnesses saw you separated from the main crowd just before he disappeared," Joe continued. "He said your name, didn't he?"
I clenched my fists in my pockets. "You have cameras everywhere. Figure it out."
He exhaled slowly, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on a cloth. "You're not making this easy."
"Neither are you."
Joe slid the glasses back on. "Do you know what Project Apex is?"
"I'm sixteen," I said flatly. "You think I have clearance?"
"It's not about clearance. It's about origin."
"Origin?"
He looked toward the horizon. "The Apex Directive began three years ago. Sentinel's research branch discovered that some meta DNA strains don't evolve naturally. They're reactive — triggered by exposure to anomalous energy sources. The problem is, those energy sources don't exist in this timeline."
I blinked. "What?"
He smiled faintly. "Exactly."
"That's not possible."
"Neither is turning back time," he said quietly.
I froze.
He turned to face me fully. "You think I don't know, Kaleb? The way energy signatures repeat, the residual pulse at South Mission Beach, the distortion fields following you like echoes? You might hide it from the others, but not from me."
I felt my throat tighten. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I know enough," he said. "And apparently, so does Breaker."
That name again.
Joe stepped closer, voice dropping low. "He's not just a vandal with powers. He's part of a network trying to dismantle the world we're barely holding together. The Harbingers may not have ordered last night's attack, but he's one of their orbiters — a recruiter, a scout. He looks for people like you."
"People like me," I repeated.
"Unclassified. Unbound. Useful."
I stared at him. "So what now? You throw me in a lab until you figure out what makes me tick?"
He shook his head. "No. That's not what I want."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want cooperation," he said simply. "Not restraint. I want you to help us find out what Breaker knows, before the Harbingers do."
I laughed once, hollow. "You want me to work with you?"
"Yes."
"After dragging me to a court hearing and labeling me a government asset?"
He shrugged. "You can hate us later. But right now, we're the only line keeping you alive."
I met his eyes, searching for any crack in his calm. "You mean keeping me contained."
He didn't deny it. "Containment and safety are sometimes the same thing."
"Yeah," I said. "That's what cages say too."
He sighed. "You're young, Kaleb. I get it. You think this is about freedom. But the truth is simpler — there are forces in play that don't care about your choices, only your outcome."
"And you're different?"
His tone hardened. "I'm trying to keep you breathing."
He reached into his briefcase and slid a small black envelope across the hood. I didn't take it.
"What's that?"
"Authorization papers," he said. "You'll carry a tracking signature in exchange for full mobility. You cooperate with our analysts, you stay in school, you live your life. But if you walk away from this conversation and we can't find you… Sentinel assumes hostile intent."
"So those are my options?"
He nodded once. "Freedom with eyes on you. Or none at all."
For a long time, I didn't move. I just stared at the reflection of my own face in the glossy paint of his car. Sixteen years old, tired, trying to look braver than I was.
Finally, I said, "If I say yes, what happens?"
"You'll be debriefed Monday morning. Nothing invasive. Just questions, testing, observation."
"And if I say no?"
He looked down, then back up. "Then I'll have to come back with more people."
The morning breeze moved through the street, carrying the sound of someone mowing two blocks over. It felt almost peaceful — too peaceful for what he'd just said.
I picked up the black envelope. It was heavier than it should've been.
He straightened his tie, satisfied. "Good choice."
"I didn't say yes."
"You didn't have to," he said, turning away. "You just didn't throw it back."
He walked toward the car, pausing once before opening the door. "Breaker's message wasn't meant for your school. It was meant for you. You're part of a game neither side fully understands yet. So before you decide who to hate, decide who you want to survive with."
The door shut. The engine started.
I stood there until the car turned the corner and disappeared.
Then I looked at the envelope again. Black paper, no label, no logo — just my name printed across it in gray:
YOUNG, KALEB – PROJECT APEX.
The weight in my hand felt like a promise and a threat at the same time.
Inside, something told me the next choice I made wouldn't be mine alone.