May 9, 2014 — Friday — Reed Casino — 9:12 PM
Chris's family bar-casino was packed: low light, heavy bass. In the VIP area, the table held open bottles, tall glasses, and a corner pile of forgotten chips.
Bruce had Charlize at his side; Scott sat facing the dance floor; Tom and Robert shared the other couch. Chris had a drunk girl on his lap, laughing for no reason.
"We're clearing real profit," Scott said, blunt as ever. "The new routes Russell brought in worked."
"I said I would close them," Chris answered without looking. "And this is just the start. Gotta admit, Russell knows how to play."
The girl tried to steal a sip from his glass. Chris caught the drink and, with his other hand, started lifting her by the waist like moving a cat off his legs.
"Hey, what?" she grumbled, wobbling in her heels.
"Take a walk," he said, dry. "Come back in thirty."
She frowned at the rudeness, turned her face toward him, then thought for a second before answering. "Whatever, I'm going to smoke," she huffed and staggered out of the section, swallowed by the crowd.
Bruce chuckled low. "As delicate as ever."
"She was in the way of people working," Chris cut in, straightening his watch. "Russell's powers… it's clear now. The cartels wanted him dead because our growth was getting in their face. Today almost all distribution depends on us. Then Russell showed up with those powers."
The bartender returned with a tray and set down another round. Robert tried his line, smiling at the corner of his mouth. "When do you get off?"
She arched a brow and tapped her watch. "When it's time." She filled the glasses and left, immune.
"Come on," Robert huffed.
"Forget it, this casino's his family's. Only Chris has that kind of pull here," Tom said, laughing.
Scott steered back. "With most distribution under us… we'll be bigger than anyone around." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "With what Russell does now, and our powers, we're stronger than the Guardians. Nothing can stop us."
"Don't let that go to your head," Chris replied, serious now. "We keep the profile low until we own everything. We don't play supervillain. We keep quiet, own the board. In the end we won't ask the Order for a seat — they'll offer it."
He pulled out his phone, typed two lines, put it away. "We keep doing exactly what we've been doing. Nothing changes for now. When Russell gets out of that damned lab, we set the next steps."
No one added to that. They lingered at the casino; other topics floated by, until something else popped when Scott scrolled his messages.
"Oh, for hell's sake," he said. Everyone looked up.
Chris turned, glass in hand. Bruce and Charlize traded a curious glance. "What now? You started it, finish it."
"I just found out why that idiot Ty disappeared," Scott said, then tossed the phone onto the table before continuing. "Idiot's dead."
The table tightened a notch.
Chris sighed, almost uninterested. "How did it happen?"
"That moron… damn. I liked the guy," Scott let out a resigned laugh, already announcing the end of a very brief mourning, as if it no longer mattered. "crushed by the car he'd lifted mid-robbery."
They laughed around the table.
And the casino's sound rolled on like nothing had happened.
Same Night, Elsewhere — Downtown Chicago Apartment — 9:32 PM
Andrey's place was all low light and straight lines, furniture too clean to have a personality. The TV threw shadows across the ceiling.
Payton still owned the news cycle: the GDA hunting for the man in the violet carapace, digging into the prisoner lifted out in the chaos—Dr. Mikhail—and resurfacing his research.
Then a live stream cut through the usual chatter. A teenager—Edward Morten, an Oakwood student—filled the screen, and the clip detonated across the country.
"I'm Edward Morten. I'm doing this live to help catch the man who hurt the Guardians—and to help beat him when you get the chance. I have powers, like other kids my age. My powers are called an Ego."
He stepped back to reveal a junkyard, walked up to an old sedan, gripped it with both hands, and pressed it overhead.
CRANG.
He set it down again. "Not just that… besides being strong and tough, I can do this."
A dark-violet carapace grew over his forearm, plates locking until the arm was completely armored—eerily like the villain's.
"I can only do one arm, but when I do, my strength jumps a lot." He looked at the camera. "I saw it was the same as his, so maybe this helps."
He lifted the same car one-handed and flung it aside like scrap.
"It's pretty durable too." He squeezed a jagged steel beam; the armored hand crumpled the metal.
"That's it. Weakness? Keeping the arm like this is exhausting, and without it I'm vulnerable. So don't expect to find someone purple out there—he's probably just a normal guy like me. Hope this helps catch the guy who attacked the Guardians."
"Ego" became an instant label for teens with "off-pattern" powers.
What didn't make the segment: behind the scenes, the GDA tried to contact Edward. With Radcliffe dead and Oakwood off its leash, investors tied to the school—ignorant of the full picture—leaned hard. They waved money and threats to keep Edward from saying anything that could implicate the institution. Afraid for his family, Edward took the payoff, took the hint, and left school days later.
The livestream replayed in the background, but Andrey had the sound down. He paced with his phone, scrolling comments on his hero account: Atlas.
"Grey barking orders at Atlas. Must be leading the team now. Those eyes are an Ego—same as that Edward kid's live."
"He and Silver flew off together. They're a couple, bet on it."
"Atlas has eye powers too. Looks like they're on the same level."
"No way. Grey finished Coyotl in the same time as Atlas, just hands, no extra powers. He's stronger."
Dozens more in the same vein.
Andrey's jaw locked. A vein throbbed at his temple. A heartbeat later the phone snapped through the air and cracked the wall with a dry pop. The case skittered away, the screen spider-webbed, and a chunk of frame buried itself in gypsum, tearing a crooked fissure.
He stared at the damage, chest rising and falling. "It's my damn page. Why are they talking about him again? Obviously I'm stronger."
The line bounced off the walls and dragged a memory he kept drowning: the day of the giant in Chicago—Grey crossing the field in a blink Andrey couldn't match.
What the hell was that?
Silence. Just blood in his ears.
He never moved like that again… Is he hiding something?
He raked a hand through his hair, forcing his breath down. His eyes dropped to the wrecked phone on the floor.
"Great." The word came out smaller, resigned. "Was time anyway. Six months on the dot — same as the last one."
He went to the kitchen counter, pulled a stack of bills from a thin drawer, counted by feel. "I know what to do with this five grand." He stuffed the money into the jacket draped over a chair.
Propped against the tile sat a picture frame. He lifted it carefully, fingers firm on the corners. A woman stared back at him with the same eye color as his. Russian Army uniform. Rows of ribbons. Posture perfect. A face both beautiful and hard.
He stood there, unmoving, taking her in. In the lab they said you were coming for me. Later they said that was a lie — you didn't even know where I was. That you left me with the government so they could make me the strongest. His throat tightened; he swallowed. Now I'm close.
He set the frame back, aligning it perfectly with the counter's edge. "I don't know the truth, but...I'll find you… Mom."
A Few Days Later — May 21, 2014 — Wednesday — 5:55 AM
The room was still dim. The ceiling fan turned lazily, a soft whir in the quiet. Kiana rolled over, found Kai's chest by touch, hugged him, and tucked herself closer. A beat later, her eyes flew open.
"Crap…"
Kai opened his eyes, calm. "What is it?"
"We passed out. It's morning."
He raised his brows, sat up, and glanced at the other bed: Mark snored with his mouth half open, one arm hanging off the blanket. Kai tipped his head toward the door. They slipped on their socks in the dark and ghosted out.
They took the stairs with their weight on the rail so the steps wouldn't creak. Halfway down, the smell of fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen.
"Good morning, you two," Debbie said from the table, smiling the kind of smile that said she'd heard the whole operation.
Kiana nudged Kai's shoulder; he frowned back without hiding it.
"Morning, Mom."
"Morning, Debbie. Sorry, we… crashed," Kiana said, smoothing her hair.
Debbie laughed. "It's fine. With Mark in the room, I know nothing happened. Sit and eat something before school." She set two plates on the counter, then added, "Kiana, someone from your house called. I told them you were here."
"Thank you. I'll ping Claire in a sec."
They sat. Toast, scrambled eggs, coffee for him, juice for her. The kitchen radio murmured the day's first headlines. Debbie poured more coffee and kept things light: test week, training, the usual. Kai answered the basics; Kiana filled in with easy detail and a smile that made it obvious she felt at home.
"Take something for the road," Debbie said, sliding a napkin-wrapped pair of sweets to the edge of the counter.
"Thanks, Mom."
"Thanks, Debbie."
They slipped out the kitchen door, crossed the yard still damp with dew. In the alley, Kai took her by the waist and they rose together into the pale morning sky.
The city was only waking up. Windows flicked on one by one; the cold air nipped their faces; the sun began sketching faint bands of light.
Kiana's comm buzzed twice. She looked at Kai; he was already turned, attentive.
"After first period we check it," he said, steady. "We have a test."
Kiana smiled. "Deal."
They angled toward Oakwood, ready for whatever came.
South Bend, Indiana — University Complex — 8:28 AM
In the air, Silver adjusted her mask while Grey held her by the waist.
"You took your time turning in the test," he said.
"I hurried. If my grades dip, Claire cuts our time together. And you don't want that, do you?"
He shook his head with a half-smile and dropped. They touched down at a safe distance; the landing draft swept a sheet of low smoke aside.
Kai took in the cratered floor. A familiar robot lay in twisted metal like dangerous scrap.
"I fought one of these," he said, voice tight, his blue eyes sparking for a heartbeat. "They're not easy to put down."
Kiana squeezed his arm, nodding toward the rescue hub. "Looks like the team handled it."
Mirage stood a few yards off, shoulder to shoulder with Atlas, who grunted while bracing a slab. She wasn't lifting; she was directing—short, precise commands that cut through the chaos. "Vortex, more vertical pressure on the third floor. Reflex, stick with Ghost Girl; have the copies keep people calm. Any shift, swap places and call it."
Kiana murmured to Kai as she scanned with the comm, "No critical injuries. Lots of trapped, though. We got here in time."
Kai moved, set Kiana down, and strode straight to Mirage. "We're here. Where do you want us?"
Mirage turned, cool and already factoring them in. She pointed at a rusted support. "The central pillar's going. I need it held until everyone's out. You on the pillar; Atlas opposite on the plates."
"Got it," Kai said.
Grey blurred into position, reading cracks, settling his hands a palm's breadth from the concrete, locked on the steel.
"Thirty centimeters right," Mirage called. "Don't touch the concrete—only the steel. Vortex, stabilize with vertical jets. Reflex, find Atlas and tell him to ease weight."
Atlas burst out of a sagging corridor, set his stance, threw Grey a quick look.
The building groaned; dust rained. Vortex drove tight updrafts through gaps, propping columns of air. Reflex split into two copies to soothe the panicked, swapping when the ceiling creaked so Ghost Girl could phase out a pair from under a table. Silver carved a clean exit lane on the far side, peeling smaller plates without shrapnel.
They matched Mirage's tempo; years of field work lived in her voice.
"Last group moving," Reflex reported.
"Five more seconds," Mirage answered, one eye on her watch, one on the bones of the structure. "Three… two… release."
Grey backed off first; Atlas dropped weight after. The beams fell in a controlled collapse, landing where they wouldn't crush anyone.
Mirage drew a steadying breath, tapped her comm. "South Bend secure. Evac complete."
She walked to Grey and Silver. Fatigue touched her eyes; posture didn't. "Thank you. You were key alongside Atlas."
Grey nodded. "Your calls were precise. Without coordination, we'd have casualties."
"I expect you on the next ones," Mirage said, plain.
Grey glanced at Silver; she gave Mirage a light smile and a small nod.
Mirage watched them lift away. Son of Omni-Man, and not a headache like Atlas. This one is an asset.
High above, Grey and Silver vanished into the sky.
Vortex watched from a distance. "Oh, come on… He could've given me a ride."
Reflex laughed. "Let them go. You didn't want class anyway."
Vortex laced his hands behind his head and stretched. "True… perfect excuse to skip."
And another incident closed under the Young Team's watch. The next days kept the same hard tempo. With Mirage coordinating, calls came almost daily—and whenever Silver was tapped, Grey showed up at her side.
Inside the GDA and for Mirage herself, that became an unwritten protocol: if Silver's there, Grey accompanies.
Meanwhile, with the main Guardians still ramping back, Robot's team solidified on its own track. Robot, Rex Splode, Dupli-Kate, and Atom Eve—the Teen Team—covered gaps and became a constant talking point online: comparisons, rankings, fan skirmishes about who did more.
By June, the Guardians were back on heavy duty. Riding the momentum—and with GDA's blessing—Mirage set a small get-together to thank those who carried the load, tighten bonds, and maybe, just maybe, mine a little intel about the squad she led.
June 5, 2014 — Saturday — GDA Young Team Training Field — 8:10 PM
The training hall—usually concrete and steel—actually felt warm. Lights up, pizzas and sodas stacked on a center table. Everyone in uniform—including Grey—for discretion.
Leaning against the table edge, arms crossed, Grey watched the room ebb and flow. Mirage walked over and nodded at the pizza.
"Not grabbing a slice?"
He shrugged, keeping it vague. "If I do, I have to take the mask off."
Mirage took a sip of soda and studied him with the veteran's stare. "that's why mine doesn't cover my mouth. I can look away," she joked, then, frank, "I already count you as part of the team. But I don't know anything about you besides 'always with Silver.'"
Grey side-eyed her. "I like being low-profile. And I don't know anything about you either."
"I'm thirty-six," she said, straight. "Joined the GDA at fourteen. Years in Iran—intel work. Then field: infiltration, counterintel. When I dropped field, GDA pulled me to build and run the Young Team program. Started with Reflex and Vortex."
She set the cup down. "I don't have powers, Grey. Just training, and I learned to read people and battlefields. That's why I'm asking: where did your powers come from? Are your parents like you?"
The question had an edge—probing how much he'd say, and whether Omni-Man knew.
Grey looked down, scratched his neck. "They just showed up. My parents are normal and don't know."
Vague, but a clear no to going deeper. Mirage clocked it and pressed from another angle.
"Got it. Except for Atlas, that's most of them. Almost everyone manifested after a nasty fever years back — you can say that they are Egos, like the feeds."
Grey didn't bite. He nodded once, filing the tidbit away.
Silver arrived balancing two slices. "What are you two plotting? Serious faces."
Reflex and Ghost Girl drifted over, curious. Grey tightened up as Ghost Girl tried small talk—short answers, nods.
Silver noticed; the first chance she got, she tugged his forearm two steps aside under cover of the pizza chat.
"I know you," she whispered. "Why are you dodging Ghost Girl?"
Kai sighed. "Remember the movie with Mark and his grade-school friends?"
Silver nodded. "Yeah. And…?"
"She's Becky."
Silver's eyes widened. She glanced at Ghost Girl across the room, mouth open, then back to Kai, incredulous. "Wow. Why didn't you tell me? I could've said something that gave you away. If she tells Mark, he'll be hurt he heard it from someone else."
Grey nodded, thinking. "I know."
"You should tell him, Kai. I've said it."
Grey looked away. "It's complicated. There's the thing with my dad I told you. Him knowing… it just complicates everything. Fewer people who know, the better."
"Okay, okay," Silver breathed. "I'll cover you here. I agree your dad can't know—but you'll have to tell Mark someday."
Before they could continue, Vortex and Atlas cranked the volume on the other side, arguing training and "who's strongest now." Vortex turned to Mirage.
"Mirage! Can we run a quick power test? Just a little!"
Mirage folded her arms, eyes taking in the scattered group, near-empty boxes, the sensor panel in back. She weighed it, exhaled, shook her head—then nodded once.
"Fine. No excess."
The room hushed on her cue. Atlas and Vortex strode to center. The sensor wall lit.
Vortex raised his hands, elbows tucked in. Air densified along his forearms into a constant pressure, firm as glass—the "wall" he'd copied from Kai. Atlas smiled thinly, dug in, and came forward.
The first hit was a probe: a straight shot to the shoulder. It splashed the pressure and kicked dust across the floor, but Vortex held. He answered with a cross wrapped in a Wind Blast; it popped loud on contact. Atlas slid back half a step, eyes narrowing, then turned it up.
Vortex ran crisp straight lines, micro-jets at his feet to swap lanes in blinks. Each Atlas entry met doubled arm pressure and another explosive counter. The floor scored white arcs of friction. Two, three, four exchanges—balanced.
"Good," Mirage murmured, arms still folded.
Vortex gambled big: palms together, compressing a tight sphere of air to fist size—then fired at Atlas's sternum and expanded mid-flight. The wave punched Atlas's chest back and dragged a real grunt out of him.
Atlas answered by climbing. He stopped testing.
Time shortened. Atlas got quicker and heavier at the point of contact. Vortex kept the air barrier, skated laterally, launched two more Wind Blasts. The second cracked under Atlas's chin and tossed him a meter—but he stepped right back through the dust. Vortex braced, forearm up… and ate a straight to the biceps that shattered the pressure on impact. The follow-up to the ribs took his wind. The third to the shoulder broke the guard. Vortex jabbed a last air spike at the chest, but Atlas slipped inside and bulldozed him to the deck.
"Done," Atlas said, landing beside him without a wobble while Vortex knelt, cursing under his breath.
Reflex sighed at Vortex. "He never learns. Always ends with you swearing on the floor."
Silver and Ghost Girl laughed—then the mood shifted.
Atlas lifted his gaze to the line of heroes. "I'm the strongest here. Anyone else?" His eyes stopped on Grey beside Silver. "Grey? Want a go? If not, I might share the secret I just heard."
His look flicked to Ghost Girl at the back—message received: he'd heard everything.
Grey met Silver's eyes, clenched his jaw, and rose.
How far does that bastard's super-hearing reach?
He drifted to a stop three meters from Atlas. Both rose, hovering just under the ceiling. No talk, no pose — only a small reset in the air.
"Here we go," Mirage muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bye, party."
"Aw, c'mon… It'll be fun to watch," Vortex whispered, still catching his breath, grinning.
"Terrifying, more like," Reflex said between Silver and Ghost Girl. "Good thing they're heroes."
Ghost Girl tilted her head, dry. "Are they?"
Atlas moved first; Grey moved with him. Speed against speed. Clean, hard trades: jab, cross, short step, shoulder bump, dash in, dash out. When Atlas tried to crush with power, Grey broke angle; when Grey pressed, Atlas cut with an explosive pick-up and hit the body back. They rose a half meter, then another, floating just under the ceiling, holding back enough not to wreck the hall—but the air hummed.
It kept climbing—faster, heavier—until the fifth clinch. Atlas shoved Grey back with one arm and swung the finishing straight. Grey saw every line with the Six Eyes, knew a clean dodge was impossible, so he turned his hips in Cassie's fluid beat and fired at the same time.
THUD. THUD.
Atlas's straight clipped Grey's face; Grey rolled neck and torso to bleed it. Grey's fist hammered Atlas's jaw flush. The hero skipped back more than ten meters before his heels — then his back — kissed concrete.
He popped up in one motion, blood bright at the corner of his mouth, eyes flaring red for a blink.
"Enough," Mirage cut in, firm. "It went too far. Draw. Stop."
Atlas's breath came strong; his eyes cooled. Jaw tight.
"Not a draw," Vortex whispered toward Mirage. "Grey tagged him clean."
"Hush. Don't poke the bear," Reflex hissed. "Super-hearing, remember?"
They held the stare a few seconds. A thin, victorious smile found Grey's mouth. Atlas broke first. "I'm done. Ping me if it's urgent." He punched into the air and vanished through a side slit in the retractable roof.
Grey turned satisfied—then froze. Silver was crying, her phone screen still lit in her hand.
He snapped to her, landing in front of her in an instant. "What happened?"
"They tried to kidnap my brother in Korea." Her voice shook.
Grey gripped her shoulders. "Want me to fly you there? What do you need?"
"Not now. Just… take me home."
He scooped her up without ceremony and rose. Two seconds later they were a dark streak across the ceiling and then nothing—sky.
Vortex stared at the empty space, then spread his arms at Mirage. "Officially the worst party ever."
Ghost Girl glanced at the table, then the group. "At least there's still pizza."
Mirage exhaled through her nose, tired, and waved everyone to relax. The sensor wall went dark. The echo of those hits still seemed to live in the rafters.
Vance Hayes Estate — Saturday, June 5, 2014 — 9:30 PM
Kai touched down a few yards from the side gate where they'd stashed their backpacks hours earlier. They pulled off their masks, changed quickly in the garden annex, and walked the stone alley to the lit veranda. From the corridor came the clean scent of wax and the low hum of air-conditioning.
At the end of the hall, the study door stood ajar. Inside, Kiana's father was on his feet behind the desk, two security chiefs at his sides, pointing at something on a monitor. Kiana didn't wait—she ran to him and hugged hard.
Kai stopped at the threshold, quiet, hands in his pockets.
Mr. Hayes set both palms between his daughter's shoulder blades—steadying her. "Easy, honey. It was an attempt, not a kidnapping. Your brother's fine. Security moved fast and stopped it before it began."
Kiana breathed, wiped her tears with the back of her hand. The Silver armor was gone; this was just a girl worried about her brother. "Do we know who did it?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. But all signs point to competitors who are expanding into Korea too. We're a step ahead. It's contained."
She nodded and stepped back. Her father's gaze then met Kai's in the doorway.
"Since I'm actually here tonight," he added, straightening his tie, lighter now, "summer break is around the corner. Your brother needs a few weeks of rest. We're taking a trip when school's out." Mr. Hayes looked at Kai. "You too, Kai. You're invited."
Kiana broke into a childhood smile and hugged him again. "Really? All of us, like before? Cross your heart?"
"Really." His smile was rare and genuine. "It's decided."
Kiana was already back at the door, taking Kai by the arm, tugging him down the corridor while she talked nonstop about old trips, the food stops they always made, her brother's favorite beach.
Kai listened with a half-smile. "I don't remember saying I'd go."
She stopped, made a tiny face, knit her brow. "You're not?"
"I am." He relented, laughing under his breath.
"Good." She leaned her shoulder to his and kept pulling, calmer now.
In the study, the door closed and the air shifted. Vance turned to his two security heads; his tone went back to steel.
"That was dangerous. I almost lost one of my children today. Track both my children in real time." He pointed at the monitor, clipped. "If I want to see where they are and can't, I'll hold you responsible. I hope you value your salaries."
Both men nodded at once, throats tight.
"Start now," he finished, looking back to the city map. A Hayes pin would never leave his radar again.
The last week of classes moved in a strange rhythm—too fast for anyone with exams, too slow for anyone already checked out. Mark had been visibly annoyed ever since Kai announced he'd spend break with his girlfriend's family. He wouldn't say it outright, but he sniped and avoided Kai after school.
That changed fast with new news: Kiana appeared at the cafeteria table during break with a half-smile. She sat beside Kai, set her phone down, and showed a message from her father.
"You can bring some friends. I reserved extra seats."
Kai read it, then looked at her. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Guess what? He and my brother have to head back early. He felt bad about it," Kiana said, slipping the phone away. "So he said I can make up for it by inviting my friends."
She sighed—disappointed her dad and brother wouldn't stay the whole time—then lifted her head and looked around the table. "I was thinking you all, plus Mark and Jenny. What do you say?"
Viktor, across from her, shot a look back. "Wait—free? I'm in too?" He leaned into his chair, tossed Kai a look, and raised his hands. "We're set! Sun, beach, and hot girls in bikinis."
Kiana rolled her eyes. "Don't make me uninvite you. And yes—my dad's paying for everything," she confirmed as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Cassie agreed on the spot. "Looks like my dad's on his own at the gym and for dinner a few days."
Viktor grabbed his phone. "I'm telling Jenny we have a vacation spot. Hope her parents don't freak."
And that wrapped the last day of school before break.
Grayson House — Thursday, June 12, 2014 — 5:32 PM
Streetlight came in at an angle through the kitchen window, catching the hanging mugs. Debbie stirred eggs in the pan; the radio murmured traffic. Kai leaned on the counter, watching her cook.
"Is Mark still mad I'm spending break away?" he asked, already knowing.
She laughed softly. "A little. Same as when you said you were switching schools. He left early to see William."
Kai smiled a little. "Kiana's dad said she can bring friends. Tell Mark he's invited—since he's busy avoiding me."
Debbie turned, set down the spatula, and took a second to read her son. "He'll love that." She paused, eyes narrowing just a touch. "I feel like I should be bothered that they're paying for everything, but… they're rich, right?"
Kai nodded. Dinner's smell filled the kitchen like part of the house itself.
Saturday, June 14, 2014 — Morning
In the bedroom, an open suitcase showed two neat stacks: shorts and T-shirts on the left, everything else on the right. Kai zipped it up as Debbie appeared in the doorway, rapping lightly on the jamb.
"Mark's already downstairs…" She paused, crossed her arms, tipped her head. "I was going to say don't forget anything and be careful, but then I remembered it's you." One eyebrow arched, smiling. "Better I say be less careful… and enjoy the trip."
Kai chuckled. "Thanks, Mom."
A short honk at the gate announced the car. The sedan took both boys to the Hayes family's private strip. Viktor, Jenny, Cassie, Kiana, and Claire were already waiting.
The jet's cabin was bright; pale leather seats in club layout; a table set with water, juice, and fruit. The sound was a low, clean hum; big windows framed the runway without distortion.
Viktor had his face practically against the glass, eyes wide. "Dude, this is insane," he whispered, running a hand over the leather like testing reality.
Jenny sat by Cassie, both impressed and trying to play it cool. Mark wasn't pretending—he paced the aisle snapping photos of everything, narrating into his phone like a documentary.
When everyone sat, Mark leaned toward Kai, grinning. "Man… this is sick. But if we went with Dad, we'd get there faster."
Kai laughed under his breath. "Probably."
Claire exchanged a few words with a Hayes staffer. The jet surged; the ground shrank.
A Few Hours Later — Cayman Islands — Saturday, June 14 — 1:05 PM
The heat was soft, the wind salted. The resort took a curve of beach: pale wood bungalows, white umbrellas, water in three blues. A golf cart dropped them at the open-air lobby.
Kiana led, hand in hand with Kai. Behind them, Cassie pointed the sea out to Jenny; Viktor tugged his own suitcase and Jenny's, wheels clacking on stone.
Mr. Hayes and his older son, Ian, were already there. Mr. Hayes greeted each of them with efficient politeness. Ian asked Kai far too many questions—school, future plans, intentions with his sister—measuring if he was good enough. In the end, he seemed satisfied. Claire, perfect posture and all, laughed quietly watching Ian hunt for a flaw and fail with style.
Then she handled the rest: reservations, times, keys, outings—as if for a moment she even scheduled the sun.
The first days ran like actual vacation. Mornings of shallow-water snorkeling; late afternoons at the infinity pool, conversation flowing easy. It was a slice of movie-luxury life. Mr. Hayes had dinner with them the first night, listened to Viktor's jokes about "tactical dives," and genuinely laughed. On the second night, a long call pulled him before dessert. On the third, he and Ian flew back to the mainland.
"Make the most of it. I want the full report later," he said before leaving, looking at his daughter and at Kai like approving a plan that didn't need a spreadsheet. "Sorry we have to head back early. The expansion trampled the vacation."
Tuesday, June 17 — 6:42 PM
They were walking back along the beach, sandals in hand, sky turning pink. Mark, Jenny, and Viktor debated which restaurant had the best grilled fish; Cassie walked beside Kai and Kiana, listening more than talking.
Everything's… right, Cassie thought, noticing how Kiana's shoulder eased when Kai joked, how he paused half a step when she tied her hair. Her chest tightened for a moment. What am I thinking? I should be used to this by now. They're my friends and… the perfect couple. She shoved the thought aside.
A noise that didn't belong with surf and laughter sliced the evening: metal scraping metal, then a high-voltage crack. At a small marina two blocks away, a crane swayed. The main cable gave at the crosshead, and a half-suspended container swung over two boats—a speedboat and a catamaran. Staff ran; an operator shouted into a radio; a woman waved, trapped on a narrow pier between the container and the water.
Kai stopped.
The Six Eyes kicked in at once. He saw the cable a breath from snapping completely, the container tipping three degrees per second, the pier structure splitting under load, the woman eight seconds from being crushed.
He met Viktor's eyes.
Viktor nodded, almost imperceptible.
Kiana touched Kai's forearm, low. "We need to help."
He nodded.
Kiana signaled to Jenny. Jenny got it instantly—she pointed at a shop on the opposite corner. "Souvenir store! Let's grab a look and some water—it's insanely hot."
Cassie frowned. "But we could—"
"Oh, I wanted to hit the restroom," Kiana cut in, glancing toward the public bathroom across the way.
Viktor moved to Jenny's side, slung an arm around her, giving Cassie and Mark their cue to follow. "Come on, leave them be… They don't get that the ocean is a bathroom."
Jenny's face scrunched. "Ew, gross."
Mark and Cassie laughed and went. After a few steps, Cassie stopped, turned, and watched the two peel away from sight with a synch that was too neat to be coincidence. Mark swallowed the excuse. Cassie didn't—but she stepped into the shop anyway.
Kai and Kiana headed for the marina at a pace that looked brisk but controlled. Kai put on the sunglasses Kiana had given him the year before, twisted the ring on his finger—white hair. He took three steps like he'd hop the pier—and blinked out in a short, ground-skimming burst.
Viktor signaled Jenny to keep the other two busy, slipped out of the store without fuss, and grabbed a novelty mask off a rack. He raised his hands and drew the wind into a silent funnel. Sand traced a line toward the marina.
The container dropped a handspan.
The woman screamed.
And froze.
Kai was underneath it, arms raised, stance solid, spreading weight into the pier's frame. He turned his head a hair; blue eyes glinted behind the shades. "You're okay, ma'am. Breathe." His voice came steady, calm, tuned not to scare.
She stared at him, eyes wide, and nodded, shaking.
Viktor reached the flank, spread his fingers, and compacted air under the container into a cushion that bled load off the broken cable. "Right-side lateral lock!" he yelled to the operator. A precise burst pasted the upper door against its jamb, keeping it from swinging open and dumping the cargo.
Kiana came in from behind, cap and sunglasses on. She grabbed an aluminum oar, touched the shaft, and synergy lit her eyes—the oar stiffened like steel. She jammed the bar between the lash and the rail and levered it into the deck—the container's vibration eased.
"Go! Come on!" she shouted to the woman. The sailor jumped; Kiana caught her wrist and dragged her to safe ground.
Kai took one step forward, taking the full weight and redistributing it into the stoutest wooden pile. The operator finally cranked the manual brake.
The swing stopped.
It sank under control.
Steel feet touched down with a dull thunk.
Three seconds of silence.
Then shaky applause from tourists. The marina manager ran up, thanks tumbling out, promising a full inspection, offering water. Kai told him to check every cable; Viktor gave the operator two reassuring taps on the shoulder.
"It's good now."
When the three rejoined the street, Cassie stood at the corner, arms crossed, stunned.
She looked at Kai's hair—still white—before he could switch it back, then at Viktor, and finally at Kiana. Silence settled while they traded looks.
"You saw," Kiana said softly, her shoulders dipping a fraction in surrender.
Cassie nodded slowly. "I saw."
Kiana drew a breath. "Cassie—"
"So that's it," Cassie said, cutting in, voice low but steady, eyes tracking the distance from Kai to Kiana and connecting the dots. "I already knew you had powers and were strong, Kai. But holy crap… You're Grey? From the Young Team?"
Kai scratched his neck. "So… Mark doesn't know. He can't."
Cassie glanced at the other two, lifted her hand, and pointed. "And you two are Young Team as well—Silver and Vortex. Damn it."
Kiana opened her mouth, but Cassie cut her off.
"I'm not telling anyone. About anything. Now you two should get that stuff off your faces before Mark gets back and starts asking. And how the hell is your hair white all of a sudden?"
Kai sighed, twisted the ring—hair back to dark. Cassie arched her brows, exhaled again. "I'm not even going to ask. But you could've told me."
Viktor pulled off the mask and dumped it in a bin. Kiana stepped to Cassie's side and touched her shoulder lightly. "Thanks for understanding."
"We'll talk later," Cassie said—quiet, firm.
Mark returned with a bag. Jenny was a step behind, trading a quick look with Kiana that said it worked. Mark handed out bottles.
Kai took the water, his face back to neutral.
Viktor took another, cracked it, drank long. "So… dinner pick?"
Cassie, still arms crossed, answered with a half-irritated tone. "You choose."
They followed the shoreline, bar lights kindling, not touching the topic while the sea breathed easy.
That night, with no audience and no rush, Cassie asked for two minutes alone with Kai and Kiana. She listened, breathed, and then nodded—it wasn't about trust; it was about safety. She understood why they hadn't said anything. The talk ended with a jab about how perfectly irritating they were together. And they fell back into the old rhythm on the walk to the hotel, like nothing had happened. Vacation felt like vacation again—now with the sort of secret that actually holds a friendship together.
The next day, the group split up. The girls declared a spa day with massages, sauna, and a heated pool. On the other side, Kai, Mark, and Viktor booked a kitesurf package with the beach instructor. The rest of the day played like a fast montage: wipeout on the first pull, laughter, Viktor pretending he already knew everything, Mark picking it up faster than he would admit, and Kai sending the kite high and carving the water as if he'd always done it. Sun, salt, laughs, zero complications.
Late in the afternoon, before meeting the girls for dinner, Kai and Mark stayed on the sand a bit longer, stowing the boards. Orange light came in from the side; small waves died at their feet.
"Sorry I was mad at you before. She's your girlfriend— even if I couldn't come I should've been happy for you," Mark said, sincere. "But… thanks for inviting me. It's been a while since we did anything."
Kai buckled a strap without hurry. "It's fine. I'm glad we came."
Mark looked at the horizon for a few seconds. "We should come back someday. When we get powers… we'd fly here in no time." He chuckled, but his eyes set firm. "I feel like we're going to be like Dad one day. The three of us with powers— nobody would be crazy enough to commit crimes. We could save everyone."
Kai held back a half-smile. "Ambitious plan."
"Necessary plan." Mark nudged the sand with his toe. "I keep thinking… some people are born ready and some aren't. But there are a lot of people out there who need help. Everything got chaotic without the Guardians this last month. Dad had to head out a bunch of times. If we'd had powers already, we could've helped."
He said it calmly, without posing.
Kai felt the weight of it. For a second, he thought about telling everything: the flight, the rest of the Viltrumite gifts, the blue, the eyes, what he suspected about their father's mission. The truth rose to his throat and stopped there.
If I say it now, I pull Mark into this. And I still don't know exactly what that "mission" is. Besides, Mark doesn't have powers yet. What if he never does? What if he doesn't because I'm here? Guilt pricked, sharp with doubt.
Silence held for a few seconds. There was no way for Kai to know it was less than a year away—or what would follow—but he kept the truth. For now. Even if it felt like the right call to him, it weighed more, because Mark was the only one on the trip who didn't know.
"When you get powers, we'll come back," he said, keeping it natural. "And if you don't, we'll come back anyway."
Mark laughed. "Deal." He jerked his chin toward the resort. "Come on, before Viktor eats the appetizer and the dessert."
"He probably already has," Kai said, and they walked back, laughing at the obvious.
Three easy days followed. Beach mornings, silly talk at night, photos that would still look good years later. At the goodbye, a golf cart took the group to the lobby; quick checkout, promises to return. The jet lifted into a clear afternoon, leaving the foam lines small below. From up high the sea looked like glass, and for a few seconds everyone went quiet, just staring out the window.
Vacation was over. he would handle his father's mission himself. But the other problems… with Kiana and the others, he didn't have to carry alone anymore.
Meanwhile, elsewhere — June 22, 2014 — 10:10 PM
The new lab sat on a windowless floor, hidden behind a double door with biometric access. The air smelled like disinfectant and new metal. Monitors in a row showed pulsing graphs; cold light arms hung from the ceiling like chromed bones. Russell sat on the gurney shirtless, electrodes on chest and shoulders. Beside him, an injector pistol rested on a sterile cloth, ready for another dose.
He broke the silence first, looking at his blurred reflection in the monitor glass. "Well? How are the cells now?"
Mikhail didn't take his eyes off the main screen. He slid windows, compared curves, zoomed regions with two taps. Another scientist in a blue lab coat typed serials and stamped readings on a tablet.
"Well… with the vaccines we've been administering, your energy has definitely gone up," Mikhail said, clinical. "But a fraction of samples didn't respond. And your last encounter with Immortal didn't show the same adaptive pattern as Payton."
Russell's brow creased at once. "Damn it. It was work to stage that whole setup, pretend I was a hostage until he showed. And now it isn't effective?"
"It is effective. Cellular adaptability is the solution to your problem," Mikhail corrected, voice even. "That Payton effect didn't repeat. Perhaps the exposure time to Immortal's powers was insufficient." He dragged in a panel with two spectral columns side by side. "Here, Payton. Here, last night. Mitochondrial activity didn't spike and the vaccine-resistant cells we invented didn't change. In Payton, you remained in the target's field for minutes. This was quick."
Russell exhaled through his nose, impatient. He peeled the electrodes off carefully, one by one, dressed, and started buttoning his shirt. "Makes sense. In the prison I felt the strain of stacking powers, but also like something was clicking into place. This time, I didn't. So... guess I need to stay near him longer."
Mikhail jotted notes and stepped in to examine the fresh red marks where the pads had stuck. "It would be perfect to have the specimen here, but capturing Immortal would be… quite the feat. Either way, with the vaccines we've already ensured that if you use your powers in a controlled manner, you won't collapse. Acute cellular exhaustion is far less likely. How do you feel?"
Russell buttoned the blazer, took a cigar from its leather case, and lit it. The first draw traced a ribbon of smoke under the lamp. "Invincible… and disappointed." He smiled with his eyes, humorless. "I feel stronger, but you tell me I can't overuse the powers."
"Because you shouldn't," Mikhail replied, allowing himself a satisfied corner-smile. "You are the evolution I tried to sketch for years. We just need to replicate Payton and retrain the stubborn fraction that still hasn't 'understood' the new state. When that happens, the whole system stabilizes."
Russell adjusted his watch, the band catching the light. "I can't wait."
He walked to the automatic door, framed in steel reflections. "Being at the top of the high table… recently feels too small." He took a slow drag, exhaling like he was measuring a promise. "Top of the world sounds about right. I'll pay Salamanca a visit, by the way."
Mikhail didn't answer. He simply watched the green lines on the monitors climb half a point— the graph of a man who, step by step, was becoming the evolution and believing in his own legend.
A few months later — October 2014 — Oakwood
The rest of break ran at the right pitch: Kai and Kiana were always together; Viktor and Jenny fell into the rhythm too.
When classes resumed, everything clicked. Afternoon training, occasional missions with the Young Team under Mirage, studies on track. At Oakwood the halls had the same rush as always, but by order of the new principal, talking about "Egos" became taboo to avoid scandal. Even so, in Kai's circle, routines settled into a good kind of predictable.
September passed with a few smaller rescues and the odd night patrol. Nothing that shook the board or drew big attention. Kiana and Kai were in sync; Viktor and Jenny, teasing aside and at different schools, kept getting more tuned; Cassie kept her head down— school, boxing, friends. Over at Reginald Vel Johnson High, Mark kept his usual pace with William, but started talking seriously about tests and getting a job for spending money.
By October it felt like the city had exhaled. The air cooled, trees went copper, and life— school, family, team— found a steady beat. It was the calm before changes, but no one knew that yet.
Fall left the Oakwood terrace smelling like wet leaves, a nice chill on the face. Kai and Kiana shared the low parapet, legs on the inside, talking about the chemistry exam and a Young Team session later that day. Morning light came in sideways, clear and unhurried.
Cassie stepped through the metal door, hands in her hoodie pocket, stride shorter than usual. She stopped two meters away, drew a breath.
"Hey… so… Kai?"
Kai and Kiana traded a look. That wasn't Cassie's usual way to start a chat.
"Yeah?" he said, one eyebrow up.
"This is going to sound weird, but I can explain. My dad wants to meet you."
Kiana frowned, looking from Cassie's eyes to Kai's. "Your dad?"
Kai shrugged, open but not seeing the angle yet.
Cassie leaned a shoulder to the wall, searching for words. "Easy. Both of you can come." She looked straight at Kai. "You're learning my dad's fighting style, right? And I always said I wanted to see how far it could go."
Kai nodded, still not clicking the pieces. "Right."
"My dad was prepping a student for that tournament. In the end he lost." Her expression hardened a little. "The finalist wasn't normal. And my dad got pissed, saying that years of dedication, technique, all of it… didn't matter."
Kai tipped his head. "And where do I come in?"
Cassie let the air out and took the leap. "There are clips of you as Grey online. I showed him you fighting. Specifically the one where you went even with Atlas." She flicked a hand. "He watched, got excited and… I told him Grey is you."
Kiana's eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised. "Cassie!?"
"I know. I wasn't going to tell anyone." Her voice came fast, defensive, and sincere. "But seeing my dad think what he does doesn't work… when I know it works… I wanted him to see with his own eyes. And he wants to meet you. Just him, no one else. I promise."
Kai stayed quiet for a few seconds. Wind moved a loose strand of Kiana's hair. He glanced at her, tight beside him. "Looks like not everyone has father problems."
Kiana rubbed her forehead, half laughing at the jab, half thinking through the implications. She looked at Cassie. "Okay. If it matters to you, we'll go."
Cassie's shoulders dropped a centimeter, like she finally set a weight down. "Thanks. Really."
"When?" Kai asked.
"This afternoon, after class. He'll close the gym."
Kai nodded, simple. "Done."
Kiana grabbed her backpack, already in practical mode. The bell rang somewhere inside and they headed down together.
October 15, 2014 — Wednesday — Oakwood
Later at Cassie's dad's gym, the second floor was closed just for them. Ceiling lights made the mats glow like new rubber; heavy bags hung still, ropes coiled, the smell of resin and sanitizer in the air. Cassie pushed through the swing door and jerked her chin. "Dad, this is Kai and Kiana."
Henry stripped the wraps, wiped sweat with a towel, and came over. Broad-shouldered, relaxed on the surface but he had already measured stance and base before he even heard a name. "Pleasure. Henry." The handshake was firm, honest.
"Kai."
A couple of lines and the talk flowed— the two carried that odd same energy of people who'd had problems until they were sick of them.
Kiana and Cassie traded a look; Kiana whispered "they're going to get along," stifling a grin. The girls went up to the apartment next door, one flight, into a cozy living room that looked down half on the street and half on the gym through an interior window.
On the mats, Henry and Kai started slow. Henry asked Kai to demo a few things— and not break anything. He circled, checking. "I don't know how this works in the air, but on the ground, keep less on your heels when you change levels," he suggested. "It'll close distance faster."
Kai adjusted. The motion got cleaner.
Henry got into it and, in a way… so did Kai. They started trading for Henry to demonstrate more. Kai held himself to a near-ridiculous cap for what he could do, answering just enough, letting Henry set the pace. Simple combinations: jab-cross, step off, short body hook that stopped a finger before contact. Henry nodded, silently approving each correction that settled in.
"You have the same habits as Cassie," he said after a minute. "It's obvious you learned from her." He laughed, touched Kai's shoulder into position. "When pressure comes, break off-line, don't return on the rail."
Kai tested it, broke the angle, and dropped a straight into empty space, pulling it. Henry smiled at the corner of his mouth. "There— perfect. Same technical level as Cassie, and only two years in, from what she said."
Two more technical rounds. Henry switched stance to show how to confuse and bait a false opening; Kai mirrored without losing rhythm, recording the patterns. On the break, Henry walked to the bench with his gear. "There's something I saw in your fight clips that caught my eye."
Kai raised a brow. "The fact I fly and can hold more than a ton with my hands?" he asked, dry.
Henry laughed. "No. I'll show you."
He took his phone. "Look— here." The clip showed Kai vs. Coyotl, and Atlas's cuts vs. Jaguar. He pointed and scrubbed slowly. "Watch the moment Atlas yanks and goes into the slam."
Kai watched, not sure yet.
"Now you, landing on Coyotl through the concrete debris." Then another cut, fighting some months back. "See what's different about how you fight and how the others do?"
Kai shook his head. "Honestly, no. I've never studied martial arts that deeply." He glanced over. "But you did."
Henry grinned. "I've lived martial arts my whole life, and I lost countless times running into 'supers.' I almost gave up, then Cassie hit me with this."
Kai stretched, hands behind his head. "I get it. Dedicate yourself and the world's unfair."
Henry nodded. "Well, you have something rare even among experienced fighters… Watch— when Atlas collides, his body knows he's about to feel it, and it's a defensive reflex. Same for the military guys in the other clip. They blink or flinch a fraction, bracing for pain or contact."
Kai frowned. "Never thought about it, but so what?"
"You don't do that—you keep your eyes on the impact. That happens with people who can't see well and rely on peripheral cues, or with maniacs who don't care. You probably are the second kind." He flashed a smile, then leaned closer. "Like me. You look straight at the impact, at the pain, and accept it'll arrive. That's a huge edge."
Kai stepped back, thoughtful, the penny dropping. He remembered instinctively what it was like to watch impacts arrive— in his case, from every possible angle. The inner laugh came automatic. Official diagnosis: super maniac.
Henry pocketed the phone and reset his stance. "Look, it's different with supers and civilians— not that you need it— but it'd be interesting to train a hero. If you want to come by sometimes, we can work."
Kai nodded; their energy really did match, almost like they'd lived— or better, been frustrated by— the same things.
The girls came back as the guys spaced their breathing, hands on hips.
"Aren't you hungry?" Cassie asked, taking the last steps down.
"I am," Kiana added with a corner-smile. "Very."
Henry grabbed the towel again, breath steady. "There's a place nearby that does honest ramen."
"Perfect," Cassie said, already pointing at the door. "And my dad's paying, obviously. Kiana's dad bankrolled vacation, so fair's fair."
Henry feigned outrage, hand to chest. "I'm not rich like your friend's father."
"Come on, Dad," Cassie shot back, holding a grin. "You were going to pay anyway."
He surrendered, hands up. "Fine, fine. You run the house anyway."
Everyone laughed. At the door, Henry gave Kai's shoulder a light pat. "Come back when you want. There's a lot of good we can polish."
"I will," Kai said—and meant it.
They headed out together. The neighborhood night was easy; lit signs, people eating at sidewalk tables. With comments about the session and which broth to order, the walk felt short. And in the middle of that simple step-by-step, another unlikely friendship started for Kai— the kind that begins by accident and sticks because of respect.
Freetown, Sierra Leone — November 2014
Fall slipped by without drama. Classes, training, small missions, quiet nights. When Kiana had family tasks, Kai hung out with Viktor, and sometimes he dropped by Henry's gym. What started as fight mechanics turned into cars, movies, and world-weary complaints.
Before they noticed, November had rounded the corner—time for Cosmic and Elisabeth's wedding in a coastal African town where she worked.
It was small and beautiful. Sunset washed the sky orange, sea breeze moved softly through the clinic courtyard. Paper lanterns strung between two acacias; low wooden tables, light linens, simple flowers. No pomp—just the people who mattered.
Kai and Kiana arrived from the sky in hero suits, then found the outdoor changing area.
Kiana came back in a satin, light-blue dress that fell clean along her figure; hair in a low bun, understated earrings. Kai wore a dark suit and slim tie.
They took each other in for a long second.
"You look… stunning," he said at last.
She smiled, straightening his lapel, then smoothed his hair. "So do you. And your hair—staying white tonight?"
Kai caught his reflection in a nearby pane. "Right. No— ever since I stopped keeping the Void 'on' all the time, it's back to normal. Forgot."
He slipped the ring into his pocket; the white faded and his natural dark hair returned.
"You look good both ways—how is that fair?" she teased, taking his arm. "Come on."
Inside, Kai played the observer. Across the courtyard they spotted Cosmic and Elise moving between brief hugs and easy smiles—barely more than a dozen friends for her, fewer for him.
At the entry hall a woman drew their eye. Blonde, sea-green eyes, perfect posture, an olive dress tailored like it was sketched on her. She approached with a courteous smile.
"You two make a lovely couple."
"Thank you," Kiana said. Kai nodded a "good evening."
"Do I know you from somewhere?" Kiana asked. "You look familiar. Actress?"
A light laugh. "No. In a way, you could say I'm a teacher."
"You're gorgeous—I thought you must've done a film."
Another smile. "No. I love what I do… I've thought about stopping, but I like helping people, guiding the young the right way."
"Sounds important," Kiana said.
"It is," the woman agreed. "I'm Rachel."
Before it went further, Cosmic and Elise arrived hand in hand with that glow of having done something big. Elise wore a short white lace dress, hair natural, a simple necklace. Cosmic in a light suit looked like he'd set half his burdens down at the gate.
"You two are pulling more attention than us," Cosmic joked, hugging Kai.
"Take off the bracelet and you'll steal it back," Kai shot, grinning.
Cosmic laughed. "Better leave the spotlight to you then." He turned to Kiana. "You look amazing—good to see you two together."
Elise added, "You make a beautiful pair. I'll want a front row at your wedding."
Kiana flushed, pushing hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Elisabeth."
"Just Elise," she said, lifting a brow. "'Elisabeth' is what my mother used when she was mad."
They laughed.
The ceremony was short and lovely—brief vows, the officiant's words mixing with the surf, a few friends failing to hide tears. When they said "I do," a guitar started up from the far side, and the first applause came easy.
For the first dance, Kiana pulled Kai onto the floor. He tipped his face, half-apology.
"I don't really dance right. I fake it—and not well enough for your high-society standard."
"Come here," she said, placing his hand at her back and setting the other. "Look at me. I'll show you the right way."
They nailed the first turn. He settled into her rhythm like breathwork. The basics were there—enough for Kiana, who'd had lessons in everything since childhood, to guide without stiffness. No formality tonight—just closeness and low laughter.
From afar, Rachel watched, recognizing more than she'd ever admit. Cosmic and Elise spun past again, offers of thanks and clinking glasses under the guitar's thread.
The night ended with the two of them still on the floor, coastal chill slipping in, lanterns trembling. When the music fell, Kiana rested her forehead under Kai's chin a second, and he answered by squeezing her hand.
Weeks would press November into December, then toward Christmas, but that night time slowed—just long enough to file the scene where it belonged.
Christmas Eve — December 24, 2014 — Grayson Home
Cinnamon and roasting turkey in the air; colored lights at the window; an old playlist rolling. Kiana helped Debbie finish the table, Mark handled photos, and Kai ferried dishes.
After dinner, the doorbell. Viktor and Jenny showed up bundled in coats, each with a box of chocolates.
"Just popping in," Viktor said.
"Merry Christmas," Jenny added, hugging Kiana and then Kai.
They stayed half an hour, talked about everything and nothing, promised to go out "right after New Year's, no excuses," and left smiling into the cold. The rest of the night went quiet: old family video on TV, Mark dozing on the couch, Debbie gathering cups. Kai and Kiana slipped to the yard for two minutes to stare at the clear sky and only came back when their fingers protested—even if the cold didn't really bother them.
The next day it was the Hayes mansion. Polished lunch service, trees lit in the hall, that expensive hush in the corridors. Mr. Hayes arrived on time, hugged his daughter harder than usual, and greeted Kai like he already belonged.
"I've got a gift for you," he told Kiana, opening a velvet box: small diamond studs.
"They're beautiful. I'm never taking them off," she said, touching them carefully.
She had dozens, but these were from her father; they mattered.
The year rolled over without noise—one of those rare pockets of peace.
Night of Jan 23 to Jan 24, 2015 — Chicago — 12:01 AM
Clean cold wind on the rooftop. The city below like a scattered board—red signals, white streetlights, squares of windows. Kai and Kiana sat on the broad ledge, legs inside, shoulders touching. His palm rested on the stone; her hands were warm inside her coat, hair high with two loose strands teasing her cheeks.
Since October, his powers had settled, halting the climb she'd watched. Taller posture, adult lines, strength and sight in quiet constant—Viltrumite gifts don't "grow"; they arrive and then mature. And now Kiana had just turned eighteen.
"What are the odds our birthdays line up like this?" she asked, smiling at the horizon.
"Low," he said, returning it. "And technically it's already past midnight—so mine was yesterday, and today is yours."
She laughed, letting her head rest on his shoulder a beat. "Today, then. Later there's lunch at my place. Dad promised to carve out time."
"You don't have to ask."
They listened to the city breathe—distant helicopter, a siren too far to matter.
"Have you thought about college?" she asked, turning toward him. "If I go, you're going. That's the rule."
"Arbitrary rule," he said, the half-smile still there. "I don't want anything that locks me in an office. God forbid."
She laughed for real—unaware that this was old-life trauma talking. "Half of my dad's company is offices, you know?" She faced the lights again. "But there are areas that aren't. We have a pharma division."
Kai thought of Cosmic and Elise helping people in the African interior. That… actually made sense. He exhaled slowly. "Medicine… or Pharmacy. Sounds like a lot."
"Medicine," Kiana decided. "Feels right. I'm in. We'd be like Cosmic and Elise."
He turned with a quick grin. "I thought of them, too."
She smiled, tucked a strand behind her ear, then—softer—"Then we're synced. Promise you'll go with me? No matter what."
He held her gaze a second longer. Those clear eyes lit with expectation, the lines of her face—hypnotic—and even with the infinite in his, he was the one getting lost. Saying no was impossible.
"I promise."
Her eyes smiled before her mouth. They kissed—quiet at first, then sure, like confirming a decision.
"I'm 18 now. I'm officially an adult," she murmured when they broke, still close, foreheads nearly touching.
He raised a brow, deadpan. "So you're legally responsible for your crimes?"
She laughed, smoothed his hair, tucked her own strand back. "Not what I meant… but if you're the crime, I'm guilty for life."
"Excellent," he replied, mock-grave.
They'd agreed to wait for this day—only after she turned eighteen. And now, they had.
Heat rose the natural way. Kiana slid into his lap in one fluid move; the kiss returned—less shy, more certain. Kai wrapped her at the waist and stepped off the ledge in a short glide.
The world tilted; wind turned to music. They skimmed a few meters above the rooftops, city windows banding into rails of light. He kept the speed low enough to spare her the cold, high enough to make the city feel small. A left over a cluster of towers; a clean line down toward a familiar neighborhood.
Her window gave at the latch. They slipped in—feet on carpet, the room dark but for the mansion's spill of light. Kiana closed it, let her forehead settle to his chest a second, still laughing at her own racing heart.
"Happy birthday," he said simply.
"Thank you," she answered, pulling him back. And for a while there were no villains, no GDA, no clock—just soft breath and shared certainty that tonight was exactly where they were meant to be.
She kissed him again; when the breath ran out, Kai turned his face a moment like someone bracing before stepping over a line.
"You said Viltrumites like your father 'become adults' when powers show," she whispered, tugging his shirt hem. "You've had yours a long time. We're both adults."
His laugh was low; the irony was that he was the older one, and his real caution had always been about her. But now there were no excuses.
The city stayed outside—glass, curtain, wind reduced to hush. They went slow first, then with the certainty of people who've already chosen.
With every touch—through that odd 'synch' her power sparked—Kiana felt the field in him: the Void that draws close and, at once, devours. Her skin seemed to recognize his by instinct, a rhythm only they could find.
She didn't know yet, but she began to realize that her power and his... resonated.
Time changed tempo. The room breathed with them; the window laid moonlines on the floor. When they paused, it wasn't an end—just the space between laugh and whisper, heartbeat and answer.
Dawn was breaking when sleep finally won.
A knock, later than 9:30.
Knock. Knock.
No answer. The door opened.
Kiana and Kai startled awake.
Claire.
She smiled. "Breakfast. Ten minutes. Your father and brother are here for your birthday."
Door closed.
They scrambled up, dressed fast, and headed down. Kai's being there felt more natural than they'd expected. He stayed the whole day and only left after dark.
In the days that followed, the city became the repeated scene of a movie you never want to end—always closing the same way: at the mansion, at Kai's place, after a GDA session, or atop a roof, the wind keeping their words for no one else.
It was simple to name it. Like that rooftop at sunset—Golden Days, meant to be savored second by second.
February 25, 2015 — Evanston, Illinois — 1:02 PM
Sirens had the city by the collar. The First Mutual Bank block was locked down—patrol cars in an X, yellow tape shivering, storefront glass mirroring a tactical line crouched behind open doors. Inside, twelve men in Halloween masks—skulls, clowns, a wolf with painted fangs—held hostages in crouched rows. An improvised bomb, silver tape and red LEDs, rested by the main counter.
On Oakwood's roof, the com pinged. Mirage came through, clipped and professional.
"Bank robbery with hostages, Evanston. Device on-site. If you're nearby, tactical support is welcome. Immortal, Red Rush, Green Ghost, and War Woman en route."
A cold prickle ran Kai's spine. He shook his head and met Kiana's eyes.
"If the Guardians are already going, they don't need us."
The prickle knotted his gut—not fear; more like a warning.
"They do," Kiana shot back, already standing. "Hostages. Every minute counts."
Viktor jogged up from the stairwell, double pack on his shoulders. "Heard it on the channel. I'm in."
Kai exhaled, beat. "Fine."
They suited up in seconds, Viktor swallowing their bags for a clean backline. Kai wrapped an arm around Silver's waist, caught Vortex by the forearm, and the three cut the sky.
They arrived with the Guardians. Press tripods were already planted; a news chopper circled. A camera sweeps down the sidewalk packed with police, then tilts to the roof as hero colors hit the frame.
"Looks like we've got reinforcements," Red Rush said, arriving in a flicker that fuzzed the air around his boots.
Immortal didn't waste a breath. "Red Rush, hostages and device. Green Ghost, War Woman, and I clear the floor." He turned to the young trio. "You're with Red Rush. Get the civilians out."
Kai lifted a hand half an inch. "I might be able to find the—"
"Just do as I said." Flat. End of discussion.
Grey set his jaw and nodded. Red Rush became a blur inside; Vortex blew a clean lane with a pressure sweep that stripped glass and dust from the frame; Silver flowed behind him; Grey slipped through another window, low and fast.
Inside, the bank was echo and glass. Screams, muffled sobbing, the impatient chirp of the device. Green Ghost phased through a column and "pocketed" three guns into the wall; War Woman flattened another with a shield to the sternum; Immortal tore through the counter like cardboard and hog-tied two with the legs of their own tactical pants.
Grey landed in a shadow after moving a group out, eyes lit blue, reading the room—heat, cable tension, microvibrations under the raised floor of the premium desk area. Two human signatures there, compressed behind a side counter with a service step, muzzles waiting on angle.
"Left counter, raised floor!" he yelled to Red Rush without looking away.
"Got it." The speedster went, appeared and reappeared in three places, and the two masks dropped, disarmed before their nerves finished spiking.
Silver and Vortex carved a "clean" corridor, bringing hostages out with gestures and low voice. "With me. Slow. Hand here." One by one they filed out: twenty-six in silent count. One left—a man crouched under the shaky aim of a robber trembling more than threatening.
THUMP. Immortal arrived like a period. The gunman met glass and slept.
Grey touched down beside the last hostage, slid an arm behind his back, and lifted with care. "Let's get you out."
Immortal gave a single nod—credit for the clean call—and said nothing.
The redhead's eyes slid up to meet the hero's. There was something… curious there, gratitude wearing discomfort. As Grey carried him toward the blown-out exit, the man looked back over his shoulder, measuring Immortal top to bottom like someone who didn't want to be removed.
Outside, something shifted. The man glanced down at his free hand, opened and closed his fingers like testing sensation. A thin smile grew at the corner.
Grey set him at an ambulance. The man held the hero's hand a heartbeat longer, firm. Their eyes locked.
"Thank you, young…?" The voice had trained courtesy, pretending not to know the hero—buying a few more seconds.
"Grey."
The redhead nodded, failing to hide the smile.
Two things happened almost at once.
The first, miles away in a broad office. A TV ran out of habit, muted. Mr. Hayes skimmed between the screen and papers—until a wide shot gave him Silver in close: mask, pale hair, that shoulder movement he'd know among a thousand. Reflexively he opened the security app on his phone, courtesy of those earrings he'd had made—and a small coincidence: they'd brought their things this time, which they never did.
Viktor's dropped their backpacks in the next building before the op.
Kiana's location pulsed on the map. Evanston, Illinois.
He looked back at the TV: Silver in another hero's arms—Grey—who, minus the hair color, was indistinguishable from his daughter's boyfriend.
BLAM.
His fist met wood with controlled force. A porcelain pen cup rattled and toppled. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
The second happened on-scene. A reporter, mic out, narrated the rescue footage with rising energy: "Among the hostages saved by the combined action of the Young Team and the Guardians was billionaire philanthropist Russell Baskin Borisov." The camera caught the redhead smoothing his suit as he slid into a dark sedan, a smile much too discrete for a survivor.
Inside the car, Russell hit a speed dial.
"Doctor… my cells… It wasn't Immortal." He spoke low, contemplating his palm again, pleased. "I felt it again. Test my blood, it'll read different."
On the other end, Dr. Mikhail's precise tone: "And who is the key to the research?"
"Grey." The answer tasted good. "Don't remember him at Payton. Maybe he was hidden. Maybe he was just near the prison. But the boy's physiology—his power—healed my cells. I was trying to copy Immortal, but I felt it. The same signature from Payton. It came from him."
The door thumped shut; the sedan muffled the world; Russell sank into leather like a man leaving rehearsal already booking opening night. Another coincidence was already in motion: the same blood as Omni-Man's ran in Grey's veins—the same blood that had aided Russell before.
Back on the ruined block, medics were clearing the last civilians. Immortal took one look at the sky, and Grey hovered half a second with Silver and Vortex before they left.
The bad feeling in his gut didn't fade. In truth…
It had just turned real, a knot of coincidences announcing the storm.
Interlude — Part 1: A Father's Final Line
Hayes Mansion — Late Afternoon
When Kiana got home, a strange quiet blanketed the mansion. The hallway to the office felt longer than ever. Two staff stepped aside without a word; no one smiled. Claire stood by the door—posture flawless, gaze not.
"Your father is waiting," Claire said, face still.
Kiana nodded and moved. Her hand was on the handle when Claire's voice came lower.
"I tried. Good luck."
Kiana went in.
Half-light. Blinds half-closed. The city in cool lines through the glass. Mr. Hayes sat behind the desk, suit pristine, TV remote in hand. He pressed a button. The frozen image filled half the wall: Silver in Grey's arms, dust hanging, police lights behind.
His eyes were red from short nights—and from a mix of frustration, anger, fear.
"Why?" No ornament on the question.
Kiana held her breath, stared at the screen, then at him. "Because it's right. Mom did the same."
His palm cracked the wood as he rose. "That's how I lost her!" The words hit the ceiling. "Your grandfather still blames me. So do I. I allowed the schedule, the missions—and one day… it ended."
"It isn't about permission," she said, steady though the floor shifted. "It's about doing what needs to be done."
He walked around the desk, slower. "Kiana, our company has an entire arm built to help. We develop medicine. We deliver where no one goes. We save thousands without anyone needing to fly into a bullet."
"Dad, I won't stop."
"You will." The word cut. He lost the height of the gesture and sank into a side chair, hands covering his eyes. Silence got heavy. Kiana stepped, almost touched his shoulder—and pulled back.
His voice returned, muffled through his palms. "I won't make the same mistake twice."
He breathed, lowered his hands, and met her. "When you were little, you said you wanted to be an actress. Our Korea office is bankrolling one of the largest studios there. They approached me two months ago—about you. I said nothing because…" his eyes flicked to Grey frozen on the wall, "it didn't feel right. Now you're going."
Kiana's eyes widened—surprise mixing with heat. "No. I'm staying—with Kai, and—"
"If you want Claire to keep her job," he cut in, voice low and cold, "you will go to Korea. You'll help your brother and accept the studio's offer. Series, film, whatever they want. And I'll be clear: you will not see him again."
Her face burned; she swallowed hard. She had zero intention of giving up Kai; at the same time, she respected what her father built and how far he reached. The first tear slipped before she could stop it. "I won't leave him."
Mr. Hayes's gaze held no hatred—only decision. "If you insist, or if I learn you met in secret, I will put the full legal and financial power of our companies into making sure his parents never work again. I'll sue them for exposing you to risk. And I'll make sure the world knows who he is." He drew a breath, hard. "Before you say anything, your grandfather will sign off. He nearly pushed me out after your mother died."
Kiana felt the floor vanish. The tears came all at once. She turned and left without a word, stumbling over her own sobs into the hall.
Mr. Hayes stayed still for several seconds. Then he sank back and, with no one around, cried too—briefly, contained, like bleeding inside.
A knock minutes later pulled him back together. "Come."
A staffer leaned in. "Sir? You called?"
"Adan, everything we discussed. By Friday." He stood, voice back in command. "Flights to Korea for Kiana and Claire. Immediate removal of her name from Oakwood's rolls. Kai is barred from the mansion. Teams on the windows, all floors. Everything."
Adan nodded, almost automatic. "Yes, sir."
The door closed. Mr. Hayes stared at the paused frame—Silver and Grey frozen mid-rescue—and tapped the remote. The image vanished. The office silence fit the room again, not his chest. He wasn't cruel, didn't want to hurt his daughter, and he liked Kai in truth. But he was resolved to protect her at any cost—and he would not watch history repeat.
Interlude — Part 2: Away From the Fire
Grayson Home — Same Day
Garlic and butter drifted out of the kitchen ahead of Debbie. Nolan sat on the couch, newspaper in lap, TV muted, Evanston footage looping. Mark came in, one-strap backpack, nudged his sneakers aside, and stopped mid-living room.
"Mom, Dad… I've got news." He straightened. "I got a job. Burger Mart."
Debbie smiled first. "Really? When do you start?"
"Monday. Closing shift." He lifted a hand to head off questions. "I want my own money. Not asking you. And not depending on Kai either. It's time."
Nolan looked up, said nothing; Debbie looked pleased. "Work is good. It gives you routine, goals, responsibility." A brief pause. "Can you keep up with school?"
"I can." Mark nodded, firm. "I'm gonna save. Buy my stuff. And… I'm sticking around, focused, until my powers kick in." The corner of his mouth almost smiled. "When it happens, I'll already be in rhythm."
Debbie set a dish down and hugged him. "I'm proud of you. If you need anything, say so. But schedule, grades, and sleep—okay?"
"Deal."
Nolan watched, newspaper forgotten. "It'll be good. It'll help you mature until your powers come."
Mark laughed. "I'm waiting."
"When's your first day again?" Debbie asked.
"Monday." He swung the pack to the other shoulder, energized. "Maybe things start happening… I don't know. Feels close."
"Sweetie, don't pin everything on powers," Debbie said, hand on the counter.
But Nolan nodded slowly, agreeing with Mark—as if something old lit up behind his eyes. "Maybe it is close."
Debbie frowned at that, then turned back to the stove.