Chapter Text
Downtown was having a perfectly average Tuesday.
Which meant it was overdue for a disruption.
Wemmbu stood on the edge of a parking garage, mask secured, purple wings folded neatly behind him. The city lights reflected off the smooth surface of the face covering.
Calm. Composed. Infuriatingly collected.
A bank’s decorative fountain below him detonated in a clean, controlled burst of water and marble.
He checked his watch.
“Good,” he muttered. “Now it's finally symmetrical.”
Another small charge went off inside an abandoned construction site across the street. Windows shattered in a glittering cascade. Not structural. Not lethal. Just loud enough to trend.
Gambit, the papers called him.
Flashy. Cocky (rude). Explosive.
Wemmbu flexed his fingers and triggered one more blast, sending a billboard folding in on itself like bad origami. He allowed himself a small, satisfied nod.
Behind him, the wind shifted.
Feathers rustled.
“You ever consider a hobby that doesn’t involve property damage?”
Wemmbu did not turn immediately. He adjusted his cuff instead.
“I do,” he replied evenly. “But this is efficient stress relief.”
A blur of blue, green, and yellow swept down from above and landed lightly on the opposite edge of the garage.
Icarus.
Parrot hybrid. Masked. Lean build. Wings bright enough to insult the night sky. Even standing still, they carried the restless energy of someone who refused to perch.
“You destroyed a fountain,” Icarus said. “For symmetry.”
“It was asymmetrical,” Wemmbu corrected. “Now it’s art.”
Icarus crossed their arms. “You can’t just redecorate the city.”
“And yet,” Wemmbu gestured toward the smoking remains below, “I can.”
A beat of silence.
Wind cut between them.
Icarus tilted their head slightly. “You always pick empty sites. Closed buildings. Cleared zones. You file the evacuation alerts ten minutes before detonation.”
Wemmbu’s wings shifted once. Subtle. Controlled.
“You’re very observant.”
“I have to be. You’re irritatingly precise.”
Wemmbu stepped forward, boots echoing on concrete. “You showed up quickly.”
“You ping emergency channels on purpose.”
“Public engagement matters.”
Icarus let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Wemmbu replied smoothly, “you keep coming.”
Below them, sirens wailed distantly. Not frantic. Just procedural.
Icarus flexed their wings, feathers catching the streetlight in electric streaks. “You know I can’t just let you keep doing this.”
“And I can’t let the skyline get boring.”
A sudden gust lifted dust between them. For a split second, they both launched at the same time.
Icarus dove first, fast and sharp, wind cutting in a focused arc. Wemmbu pivoted midair, purple wings snapping open, releasing a controlled shockwave that disrupted the airflow just enough to throw off trajectory.
Not to injure.
Just to irritate.
They circled once, twice, testing.
Icarus darted in, grabbed his wrist.
“You could do something useful with this brain,” they said quietly, close enough that their masks nearly touched.
Wemmbu twisted free with efficient precision. “I am doing something useful.”
He pressed a remote.
Another explosion bloomed two blocks over, contained and theatrical. A warehouse scheduled for demolition tomorrow.
Icarus shot him a look. “That was already on the city schedule.”
“Yes,” Wemmbu said. “I did them a favor.”
Icarus stared.
Then, against their will, they laughed.
Just a little.
“You are impossible.”
“And you,” Wemmbu replied, stepping backward toward the edge of the garage, “are predictable.”
Sirens were closer now. Helicopter lights skimmed rooftops.
Icarus straightened. Professional again. “This isn’t over, Gambit.”
“It rarely is.”
Wemmbu saluted mockingly, then dropped backward off the building.
For half a heartbeat he vanished into empty air.
Then purple wings flared, catching the wind as he veered between skyscrapers and disappeared into the city’s veins.
Icarus remained on the rooftop, feathers settling slowly.
They looked down at the destroyed fountain.
“…It was asymmetrical,” they muttered.
And despite themselves, they took off after him.
…
The apartment door clicked shut behind them.
It was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The suspicious kind. The kind where the air feels like it’s holding its breath.
Squiddo paused mid-step, keys still dangling from her fingers. 4CVIT stood beside her, goggles faintly reflecting the dim hallway light.
“…He’s not here,” she said.
4CVIT tilted his head slightly, listening the way he always did when he was calculating something invisible. “No background music. No typing. No ominous humming. Statistically, absence confirmed.”
Squiddo dropped her backpack by the couch. “Kitchen light’s off. Window’s cracked open.”
4CVIT looked toward the balcony door. “Wind pattern suggests recent exit.”
They both stared at each other for half a second.
Then, in perfect unison:
“He’s out.”
Squiddo walked straight to the TV and grabbed the remote like she was clocking into a shift. “Alright. Let’s see how dramatic he’s being.”
The news came on mid-sentence.
“–identified as the masked individual known only as Gambit–”
“There it is,” Squiddo muttered.
On screen: a construction site downtown. Smoke curling into the evening sky. A crane tipped sideways like it had given up on life.
The footage replayed in slow motion. A clean detonation. Controlled collapse. No debris spilling into the street.
4CVIT leaned forward slightly. “Angle is clean. Structural compromise was precise.”
Squiddo squinted at the screen. “Mmm. Seven out of ten.”
He blinked. “Only seven?”
“The crane was dramatic,” she said. “But the dust plume? Slightly uneven. He could’ve timed the secondary charge better.”
4CVIT considered this. “It’s acceptable at least.”
The news anchor continued: “Authorities confirm that no civilians were inside the site at the time of the explosion–”
Squiddo nodded once. “Good.”
“Emergency services were alerted minutes before the blast.”
4CVIT folded his arms. “Predictable pattern.”
On screen, new footage cut in. A decorative fountain in front of a corporate building burst upward in a symmetrical bloom of water and marble.
Squiddo leaned back into the couch.
“…Okay. That’s clean.”
4CVIT’s voice softened just slightly. “Very clean.”
The fountain detonated outward, but the blast had clearly been directed upward. The water shot into the air in a smooth arc before crashing down in glittering fragments.
Squiddo tilted her head. “Eight point five.”
“You’re inconsistent,” 4CVIT said.
“I’m discerning.”
Another clip rolled. A billboard folding inward on itself, metal supports snapping in sequence like dominoes.
4CVIT nodded once. “Timing impeccable.”
Squiddo pointed at the screen. “See that? He staggered the charges. That’s intentional.”
“Always is.”
The anchor’s voice sharpened. “This marks the fourth incident tonight attributed to Gambit–”
“Fourth?” Squiddo straightened. “He’s speeding up.”
4CVIT adjusted his goggles slightly. “Escalation.”
She grabbed a pillow and hugged it loosely. “Okay, but the aesthetic is there. He’s keeping it cohesive. Industrial theme. Symmetry. No random chaos.”
On screen, a warehouse imploded inward. The roof dropped cleanly, walls folding like paper.
4CVIT watched the replay twice.
“Ten.”
Squiddo looked at him. “You don’t just hand out tens.”
“That was a scheduled demolition site,” he said calmly. “He simply expedited it.”
She smirked. “Efficiency bonus.”
They fell into silence as the helicopter footage zoomed in on smoke rising between buildings.
Sirens echoed faintly through the speakers.
Then the screen shifted.
A blur of blue, green, and yellow cut through the frame.
Squiddo groaned immediately. “Oh. There they are.”
4CVIT exhaled through his nose. “Icarus.”
The parrot hybrid hero landed on the edge of a rooftop, wings flaring bright against the smoke.
The anchor perked up. “And it appears the hero Icarus has arrived on scene–”
“Of course they have,” Squiddo muttered.
The footage zoomed in just as another blast went off two blocks away. Icarus launched into the air instantly.
4CVIT leaned forward again. “Reaction time: excellent.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Squiddo waved a hand. “They’re good. We get it.”
On screen, Gambit stepped into view on a parking structure. Mask on. Wings folded neatly.
Even through the grainy zoom, his posture was relaxed. Measured.
Squiddo went still for a fraction of a second.
Then she forced a neutral tone. “Okay. Entrance score?”
4CVIT studied the frame. “Nine.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Solid nine.”
Icarus landed opposite him.
Even muted through the broadcast, their body language was sharp. Confrontational.
Squiddo leaned forward, elbows on knees. “They’re going to do the circling thing.”
“Always do,” 4CVIT confirmed.
Sure enough, the two launched simultaneously.
The helicopter camera struggled to follow them as they spiraled upward, trading short bursts of movement. A shockwave rippled outward, distorting the air.
Squiddo winced slightly. “Okay, that was flashy.”
“Controlled output,” 4CVIT added.
“Eight.”
“Eight point seven.”
She glanced at him. “You’re biased.”
“I am precise.”
On screen, Icarus dove sharply, forcing Gambit to pivot midair. The maneuver sent them both skimming dangerously close to a glass building.
Squiddo’s fingers tightened around the pillow.
“Too close,” she muttered.
4CVIT’s voice dropped half a degree. “He accounted for wind.”
The glass didn’t shatter.
They both relaxed by exactly two percent.
The news cut to a replay of the fountain explosion again, commentators filling space with speculation.
“Authorities are still unclear on Gambit’s motives–”
Squiddo snorted. “Motives? Please.”
4CVIT tilted his head. “Motives are irrelevant.”
“They always try to make it deep,” she said. “Sometimes a man just wants symmetry.”
Another clip played of Gambit pressing something on his wrist. A warehouse two blocks away imploded seconds later.
Icarus froze midair, clearly annoyed.
Squiddo grinned despite herself. “Okay. That’s a ten.”
4CVIT nodded once. “Tactical distraction. Effective.”
The anchor’s voice rose. “Icarus appears to be pursuing–”
On screen, the hero shot forward again.
Squiddo’s tone flattened. “They’re not going to catch him.”
“Probability low.”
Gambit dropped backward off the building.
The camera lost him for a second before purple wings snapped open below the frame.
Squiddo exhaled slowly.
“…Okay. Exit?”
4CVIT did not hesitate. “Nine point five.”
She tilted her head. “Docking half a point for dramatic overuse.”
“It was efficient.”
“It was theatrical.”
He considered that. “Fair.”
The broadcast cut to ground footage. Fire crews spraying water over already-cooling debris. Police tape fluttering.
The anchor concluded, “Once again, Gambit has evaded capture.”
Squiddo muted the TV.
Silence filled the apartment again.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then she leaned back into the couch.
“Overall rating?”
4CVIT clasped his hands together. “Consistent. Controlled. Minimal collateral. One unnecessary crane.”
She nodded. “Seven point eight average. Could’ve pushed harder, but solid showing.”
He glanced at her. “You’re harder on him lately.”
She shrugged. “He set the bar high.”
A faint siren wailed somewhere far outside their own window.
Squiddo stared at the dark TV screen, watching her reflection blur against the fading smoke.
“…He looked fine,” she said, tone casual.
“Yes,” 4CVIT replied just as evenly. “Flight pattern stable. No wing strain.”
She nodded once.
“Good.”
They sat there a little longer, letting the quiet settle.
Then Squiddo stood and grabbed her backpack.
“Homework?”
4CVIT rose too. “Unfortunately.”
She glanced back at the TV one more time before turning it off completely.
“Next time,” she said lightly, “I’m expecting at least one eleven out of ten.”
4CVIT adjusted his goggles.
“He will try.”
And somewhere across the city, sirens faded, smoke thinned, and Gambit disappeared into the skyline, already planning his next inconvenience.
…
The café was small, warm, and aggressively aesthetic.
Plants hung from the ceiling in deliberate chaos. Indie music hummed softly from speakers that looked too old to function but somehow did. Outside, late afternoon sunlight painted the sidewalk gold.
Jumper stirred her iced drink with the end of her straw, goggles resting on top of her head like they belonged there.
Across from her, Minute leaned back in his chair, boot hooked casually around one of the table legs. He looked relaxed in the way people do when they’re pretending they don’t think too hard about anything.
“You’re late,” Jumper said, squinting at him.
“I was exactly three minutes late.”
“That’s late.”
“That’s fashionably delayed.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not fashionable.”
He gasped softly. “Untrue. I have range.”
She looked him up and down. “You’re wearing the same jacket you’ve had since ninth grade.”
“It’s called commitment.”
She smirked despite herself. “Sure.”
They fell into easy conversation after that. School complaints. Teachers they disliked. Kab’s dramatic rants. Mane’s general existence.
Minute sipped his coffee. “You ever notice how people at school just… accept weird things?”
Jumper raised a brow. “Define weird.”
“Like explosions on the news and everyone just goes, ‘Wow, that’s crazy,’ and then goes back to math homework.”
She shrugged. “What are we supposed to do? Walk over and ask the villain to stop?”
He gave her a look. “Fair.”
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
Jumper glanced down.
The contact name wasn’t saved. It didn’t need to be.
Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Minute noticed.
“Bad?”
She locked her screen quickly. “No. Just… dumb group chat stuff.”
Another buzz.
Her jaw tightened just slightly this time.
Minute leaned forward a bit. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” She grabbed her cup and took a long sip like it was buying her time. “Actually– I just remembered. I told Hannah I’d help her with something.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. It’s… urgent.”
Minute frowned faintly. “You said you were free all evening.”
“I was,” she said quickly. “I just forgot. You know how it is.”
He studied her for a second longer than usual.
Then he leaned back again.
“Sure. Go. I’ll survive.”
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Sorry,” she added, softer now. “Rain check?”
He nodded once. “Text me when you’re not saving Hannah from algebra.”
She smiled thinly. “Something like that.”
Then she was gone, weaving through tables and out the door, sunlight catching in her hair as it closed behind her.
As he stepped outside, he glanced down the street in the direction Jumper had disappeared.
For half a second, something tugged at him. The way she’d left. The tension in her shoulders.
He frowned slightly.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
A secure notification. Encrypted thread.
Clown got spotted. Midtown. Escalation likely.
Minute’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Clown.
Of course.
He tapped the message open.
Additional details scrolled across the screen. Live feed ping. Leo already en route.
He exhaled slowly.
Across the café, someone laughed.
The espresso machine hissed.
Outside the window, the city still looked harmless.
He stared at the door Jumper had just exited through.
She had left fast.
Too fast.
He frowned slightly.
Then he shook it off.
Coincidence.
He stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his jacket. Calm. Composed.
No dots to connect.
No reason to.
He grabbed his phone, slid it into his pocket, and headed for the door.
The bell chimed again as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
And without looking back, Minute turned the opposite direction Jumper had gone and walked away.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Leo: Don’t be late.
Minute rolled his eyes faintly.
“Three minutes,” he muttered under his breath.
He turned in the opposite direction from where Jumper had gone.
Across the city, sirens were starting up again.
He adjusted his jacket sleeve as he walked, expression sharpening into something colder. More focused.
Somewhere else, Jumper ducked into an alley, positioning her goggles on her head, fingers already tapping out a message to someone.
Neither of them knew.
Not yet.
Two cousins.
Two double lives.
And both of them running toward conflict from opposite sides.
…
Evening settled over the house in layers. First the gold light through the blinds. Then the blue. Then the quiet.
Mid was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom she shared with Leo, a textbook open in front of her and three different colored highlighters lined up with unnecessary precision.
She had a system.
Leo claimed the system was “aggressively organized.”
She claimed he was allergic to planning.
Leo was at his desk, chair tilted back on two legs in a way that would absolutely end in disaster one day. A math worksheet sat in front of him, half-finished. His pencil tapped against the wood in a rhythm that suggested he was thinking very hard about anything except math.
“Stop tilting,” Mid said without looking up.
“I’m balanced,” Leo replied.
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
The chair creaked.
Mid slowly lifted her eyes.
Leo froze mid-tilt.
They stared at each other.
The chair legs thudded back onto the floor.
“Thank you,” she said, returning to her notes.
He huffed. “You have no sense of adventure.”
“I have a sense of gravity.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the scratch of pencils and the faint hum of the house settling. Outside, a car drove past. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and then reconsidered.
Mid underlined a sentence in bright yellow.
Leo erased something so aggressively it nearly tore the paper.
“Need help?” she asked.
“I don’t need help.”
“You just erased the same number four times.”
“It’s evolving.”
“It’s wrong.”
He leaned back in his chair again, though this time all four legs stayed planted. “You don’t have to narrate my failure.”
“I’m not narrating. I’m observing.”
“That’s worse.”
She smirked slightly.
They worked like that often. Together, but not interacting constantly. Comfortable in the shared quiet. The room reflected it too. Two desks on opposite walls. A bookshelf in the middle with their stuff blended together. Her stack of novels next to his random collection of mechanical parts and spare batteries. Two beds pushed against opposite corners, separated by a narrow aisle that they both pretended was neutral territory.
Mid capped her highlighter and reached for her calculator.
Leo’s phone buzzed.
Once.
He didn’t look at it.
Mid did.
It buzzed again.
He glanced down this time. Just a quick flick of the eyes.
Something shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough that she noticed.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“It was a notification.”
She watched him.
He picked up his phone, turned it slightly away from her, and unlocked it.
Mid pretended to focus very hard on her textbook.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his expression tighten. Not fear. Not panic.
Focus.
His jaw set.
His thumb moved quickly across the screen.
Another buzz.
He stood up.
Mid looked up fully now. “You’re pacing.”
“I’m not pacing.”
“You’re absolutely pacing.”
He stopped mid-step.
“…I forgot something.”
She blinked. “Forgot what?”
“Thing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s… a thing thing.”
She stared at him.
He ran a hand through his hair, already halfway across the room toward the closet.
“Is this about the math?” she asked. “Because you can just say you’re overwhelmed.”
“It’s not about math.”
“You hate math.”
“That’s unrelated.”
He grabbed a hoodie from the closet and pulled it on, movements quick but not frantic. Deliberate.
Mid’s stomach tightened slightly.
“You’re going out,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s almost nine.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
He shoved his phone into his pocket.
“Group project,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“At nine.”
“Time is a construct.”
“That is not how group projects work.”
He avoided her eyes.
Mid closed her textbook slowly.
“Leo.”
“What.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Not like this.”
He paused.
For half a second, something flickered across his face. A calculation. A hesitation.
Then he shrugged.
“It’s just something I have to deal with.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you about to be?”
He almost smiled at that.
“No.”
She stood up now too.
“You could at least tell me where you’re going.”
He glanced at the door. Then back at her.
“Out.”
“That’s still not a location.”
“It’s close.”
“Close to what?”
“Here.”
Mid crossed her arms.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re omitting.”
“That’s different.”
“Not really.”
He stepped toward the door.
She stepped into his path.
“Leo.”
He stopped.
Their height difference wasn’t much, but in that moment he looked older. Not physically. Just in the way he held himself. Like something had clicked into place behind his eyes.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“I know.”
Her chest tightened again. Not fear. Just… awareness. Like the air pressure had changed.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked quietly.
He hesitated.
Too long.
Then: “No.”
She searched his face.
“You paused.”
“I was thinking.”
“You never think before saying no.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
He exhaled.
“I can handle it.”
Handle what?
She didn’t say it out loud.
Instead she asked, “Does Mom know?”
He shook his head.
“So you’re sneaking out.”
“I’m not sneaking.”
“You’re leaving abruptly with a vague excuse.”
He considered that.
“…I’m stepping out.”
Mid let out a slow breath through her nose.
“You always do this.”
“Do what.”
“Disappear.”
“I don’t disappear.”
“You do.”
He looked away.
The house creaked softly. Somewhere downstairs a cabinet closed.
Mid lowered her voice instinctively.
“If something’s wrong, you can just tell me.”
He met her eyes again.
There was something there she couldn’t quite place. Not guilt. Not exactly.
Weight.
“I know,” he said.
“But you won’t.”
He didn’t answer.
Her phone buzzed on her desk.
They both glanced at it.
A news alert banner lit up the screen.
Breaking: Disturbance reported in Midtown. Masked individual identified as Clown spotted near–
Mid grabbed her phone before the preview could scroll further.
Leo went very still.
She frowned at the notification.
“Clown again?” she muttered. “Didn’t they just get caught last month?”
Leo’s voice was carefully neutral. “Did they.”
“I think so. Or maybe that was someone else.”
She unlocked her phone and skimmed the article.
“Midtown,” she read. “Property damage. Possible escalation.”
She rolled her eyes slightly.
“Why do people even do that?” she said. “Like what’s the point.”
Leo didn’t respond.
She looked up.
He was staring at her phone.
No.
Not at her phone.
Through it.
“Leo.”
He blinked.
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like you swallowed a rock.”
“I didn’t.”
She studied him.
“Is that where you’re going.”
It wasn’t even a question. Just an instinct.
He shook his head too quickly.
“No.”
“You did that thing again.”
“What thing.”
“The too-fast no.”
He forced a small laugh. “You’re overanalyzing.”
“That’s my job.”
He stepped around her.
She didn’t block him this time.
He reached for the doorknob.
“Leo.”
He paused.
She swallowed.
“Just… text me if you’re going to be late.”
“I won’t be late.”
“You don’t know that.”
He opened the door.
“I won’t,” he repeated.
She watched him walk down the hallway.
His footsteps were light. Controlled.
The front door opened.
Closed.
Silence returned.
Mid stood in the middle of the room for several seconds.
Then she walked to the window.
Pulled the curtain aside slightly.
She saw him step onto the sidewalk.
He didn’t look back.
He turned left.
Not toward the usual places he went.
The other way.
Toward Midtown.
Her chest tightened again.
Coincidence.
It had to be.
Lots of people lived near Midtown.
Lots of people left the house at nine.
Lots of people had vague group projects.
She let the curtain fall.
The room felt different now.
Bigger.
Quieter.
She sat back down on the floor slowly.
Picked up her highlighter.
Stared at the page.
The words blurred slightly.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another news update.
Clown sighted near commercial district. Authorities responding.
She muted the notifications.
Not because she didn’t care.
Because she didn’t want to care.
Leo wasn’t part of that.
He was just bad at math and worse at explanations.
He left abruptly sometimes.
He always came back.
She stared at the empty desk across from hers.
His pencil was still there.
His worksheet half-finished.
Chair slightly angled like he’d meant to sit back down in five minutes.
She reached over and straightened the paper without thinking.
“You’re being dramatic,” she muttered to herself.
He was fine.
He said he could handle it.
Handle what.
She stood up again and started pacing now.
“You’re projecting,” she told herself. “He just has… stuff.”
Everyone had stuff.
Not everyone’s stuff showed up in news alerts.
She walked to the bookshelf.
Ran her fingers along the spines absentmindedly.
Her gaze landed on a small dent in the wall near the door. From years ago. When they were younger. When he’d thrown a foam ball too hard and insisted it “wasn’t physics, it was betrayal.”
She smiled faintly at the memory.
He’d always been protective.
Always slightly too aware of exits.
Always watching things other people didn’t notice.
She shook her head.
Lots of people were observant.
Lots of people hated math.
Lots of people–
Her phone buzzed again.
She glanced at it despite herself.
Video clip attached to the article now.
She tapped it.
The footage was shaky. Street-level recording. Sirens in the background.
A figure in a mask darted across the frame.
Big smile. Movement too fast to track clearly.
Clown.
Mid frowned.
“Why would anyone choose that aesthetic,” she muttered.
The figure vaulted over a car hood and disappeared down an alley.
The video cut off.
She locked her phone.
Set it face down on her desk.
Walked back to the window.
The street outside their house was quiet.
Normal.
Unaware.
She pressed her palm lightly against the glass.
“You’re fine,” she said under her breath.
She didn’t know who she was talking to.
Maybe him.
Maybe herself.
She stepped away from the window and sat on her bed this time.
The room hummed with absence.
She glanced at the clock.
9:09 PM.
It had only been twenty seven minutes.
It felt longer.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Counted the tiny glow-in-the-dark stars they’d stuck there years ago and never taken down.
He’d insisted on mapping real constellations.
They’d argued about accuracy for two hours.
She smiled faintly.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t look at it this time.
Instead she rolled onto her side and stared at the door.
“You better not be doing something stupid,” she murmured.
The hallway remained empty.
Downstairs, the TV turned on. Their mom laughing at something in a sitcom.
Normal.
Everything normal.
Mid closed her eyes briefly.
He said he’d be back.
He always came back.
She reached for her textbook again.
Picked up her highlighter.
Drew a straight, careful line across the page.
And tried not to listen for sirens.
…
The house at 1:07 a.m. had that fragile, glassy silence that only exists when the world has decided to sleep.
Mid wasn’t asleep.
She lay flat on her back, staring at the faint glow-in-the-dark stars.
His bed was empty.
It had been empty since 8:42 p.m., when he’d vanished with the kind of speed that implied his group project involved sprinting.
Mid had not believed him.
She still did not believe him.
She rolled over onto her side. The digital clock on her nightstand blinked 1:08.
Outside, the neighborhood was hushed. A distant car passed. A dog barked once, reconsidered, and stopped. The window above Leo’s desk was cracked open an inch, letting in cool air that carried the faint metallic scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet.
Mid sat up.
“Seriously,” she muttered to no one.
She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over Leo’s contact. She had already texted him twice.
Mid: you alive
Mid: if u got kidnapped im telling mom i warned u
No response.
She dropped the phone onto her blanket and flopped back dramatically.
That was when the window slid up.
Not loudly. Not explosively. Just a soft metallic whisper, like someone trying very hard not to be a headline.
Mid froze.
Her brain, helpful as ever, offered several options:
- Burglar.
- Very polite raccoon.
- Leo being dramatically suspicious.
A gloved hand gripped the window frame.
Mid shot upright so fast she nearly headbutted the air.
“Leo,” she hissed.
A figure swung inside in one fluid motion, landing in a crouch on the carpet. Moonlight cut across the room, silvering the outline of a mask, dark fabric, the faint scuff marks on boots that had definitely not been walking through chemistry labs.
He closed the window carefully behind him.
Then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Even through the mask, she knew.
“Are you kidding me?” Mid whisper-yelled.
Leo straightened slowly, like someone trying to convince gravity he wasn’t suspicious.
“Hey.”
“Hey?” she repeated, voice sharp and hushed at the same time. “It’s one in the morning. You just climbed in our window.”
He tugged off his gloves, wincing. “Technically, it’s my window too.”
“That is not the technicality to focus on.”
He reached up and peeled off the mask.
His hair was slightly flattened on one side, wind-tousled on the other. There was a faint smear of something dark near his jaw, like soot or dirt. He looked… tired. Wired and tired at the same time.
Mid swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood.
“Where were you?” she demanded quietly.
He moved toward his desk, too casual. Too deliberate. “Out.”
She blinked. “Out.”
“Yeah.”
“Leo.”
He set the mask down quickly, like it was just another hoodie. “You should be asleep.”
“Oh, sorry,” she snapped softly. “I didn’t realize the rule was I can’t be conscious while you’re doing whatever this is.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Mid, it’s not–”
“It’s not what?” She crossed her arms. “Normal? Because I can confirm that.”
He exhaled through his nose.
For a second, neither of them spoke. The tension in the room felt like static before lightning, sharp and buzzing.
Mid took a step closer.
“You left in the middle of homework,” she said. “You didn’t answer your phone. And now you’re climbing in through a window like a budget action movie.”
He almost smiled at that, which only irritated her more.
“You don’t get to joke,” she said.
“I’m not joking.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He hesitated.
It was small. A fraction of a second. But Mid knew her brother the way you know the sound of your own heartbeat. That hesitation was new. Heavy.
He looked at her, really looked at her, like he was measuring something.
“I had stuff to handle,” he said finally.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”
Mid stared at him.
“You think I’m stupid?” she asked quietly.
His head snapped up. “No.”
“Because you’re acting like I am.”
He stepped toward her, lowering his voice further. “I’m not acting like anything. I just– I don’t want you in this.”
“In what?” Her voice wobbled despite her best efforts.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he moved past her toward the closet, tugging it open and pulling out a hoodie to change. The motion revealed a tear along his sleeve, fabric ripped and hastily tied.
Mid saw it.
Her stomach dropped.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
He paused, then glanced at his arm like he’d forgotten it existed. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re bleeding through nothing.”
“It’s not bad.”
She stepped closer before he could stop her and grabbed his wrist.
He flinched.
Not dramatically. Not in pain. Just instinctively.
Mid’s eyes narrowed.
“Leo.”
He gently pulled his arm back. “Mid. Please.”
That word hit differently.
Please.
Not dismissive. Not annoyed.
Worried.
Her anger shifted shape. It didn’t vanish. It just grew edges.
“You’re scaring me,” she said.
He looked tired again. The kind of tired that sinks behind your ribs.
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then stop doing things that require secret window entries.”
He huffed out a soft, humorless breath. “That’s fair.”
Silence settled again, thicker this time.
Mid looked at the mask on his desk.
It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t a Halloween leftover.
It was deliberate. Reinforced along the edges. Designed to conceal.
She swallowed.
“Are you in trouble?” she asked.
“No.”
“With who?”
“No one.”
“That is not comforting.”
He ran both hands over his face. “I can’t explain.”
“Won’t,” she corrected.
He met her gaze.
“Can’t.”
The distinction hung there.
Mid felt something crack in her chest. Not dramatic. Just a hairline fracture in the easy certainty she’d always had about him.
They’d shared everything growing up. Secrets about teachers. Crushes. Dumb fears. Late-night conversations about what they’d do if they ever won the lottery or had superpowers or accidentally discovered a hidden room in the house.
Now he was standing three feet away and felt like a locked door.
She folded her arms tighter.
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like I’m five.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He stepped forward suddenly, voice low and urgent. “Mid, if I tell you things, you can’t un-know them.”
She blinked.
“That’s ominous.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
They were standing too close now, the air between them tight.
“You think I don’t notice?” she said. “The bruises? The late nights? The way you flinch when there’s sirens?”
He froze.
Her voice softened despite herself.
“I’m not blind, Leo.”
His jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t have to notice,” he said.
“That’s not how being twins works.”
He laughed once under his breath. “Trust me. I know.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Determination. It was a storm contained behind a face she’d known her entire life.
Mid’s frustration boiled over.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she whispered harshly.
His head snapped up. “No.”
“Because that’s what this looks like.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You climbed through a window at one in the morning with a ripped sleeve.”
“I had it under control.”
“Did you?” she shot back.
The question landed.
He didn’t answer immediately.
That silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.
Mid felt tears prick her eyes, which annoyed her deeply.
“Do Mom and Dad know?” she asked.
“No.”
“Of course they don’t.”
“I’m handling it.”
“You’re seventeen,” she snapped. “What are you handling?”
He looked at her like he wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time.
“Things that need handling.”
“That is not a real sentence.”
His lips twitched despite the tension. “It is technically a sentence.”
She shoved his shoulder lightly.
He stumbled half a step, more surprised than hurt.
They stared at each other.
And then, because they were siblings before anything else, because years of shared space and arguments and whispered jokes couldn’t just evaporate, the fight shifted.
She shoved him again, harder this time.
“Idiot.”
He caught her wrist reflexively. “Ow.”
“You deserve that.”
“For what?”
“For acting like you’re invincible.”
“I’m not acting–”
“You are.”
He let go of her wrist.
“I’m careful,” he said.
“You’re reckless.”
“I calculate risk.”
“You jump out windows.”
He paused. “That was… controlled descent.”
She let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh despite herself.
He seized on it.
“See? You’re laughing. It’s fine.”
“I’m laughing because if I don’t I might actually scream.”
His expression sobered again.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she replied, just as quiet. “But you are.”
That landed harder than anything else.
He looked down.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the house settling.
Mid wiped at her eyes angrily.
“I don’t need details,” she said finally. “I just need to know you’re not throwing yourself into something you can’t survive.”
He looked up slowly.
“I’m not suicidal,” he said firmly.
The word hung there, sharp and real.
She nodded once.
“Okay.”
“I just…” He struggled for phrasing. “I can’t stand by when I can do something.”
“Do something about what?”
He hesitated again.
She noticed.
He noticed that she noticed.
And there it was. The invisible wall.
She stepped back slightly, the fight draining into exhaustion.
“You always do this,” she murmured.
“Do what?”
“Decide you’re responsible for everything.”
“That’s not–”
“It is.”
He opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. Considered.
She softened, just a little.
“You don’t have to carry the world,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You look like you are.”
He gave a faint, tired smile. “You’re dramatic.”
“Says the guy in tactical gloves.”
“Point taken.”
Silence again.
It wasn’t as sharp this time.
More… bruised.
She glanced at his arm. “Let me see it.”
“It’s fine.”
“Leo.”
He sighed, then carefully peeled back the torn fabric.
The cut wasn’t deep. Angry, yes. Bloody, yes. But not catastrophic.
Mid exhaled slowly.
“Sit,” she ordered.
He blinked. “What?”
“Sit.”
He obeyed, perching on the edge of his bed.
She crossed to her desk, rummaged through a drawer, and returned with antiseptic and gauze.
“You keep first aid supplies in your desk?” he asked.
“I live with you,” she replied flatly.
Fair.
She cleaned the cut gently. He hissed once.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You say that about everything.”
He didn’t argue.
She wrapped the gauze carefully, fingers steady despite the swirl in her chest.
When she finished, she stepped back.
“There.”
“Thanks.”
They stood in the dim light, looking at each other.
“I’m still mad,” she said.
“I figured.”
“And I don’t trust this.”
“I know.”
“But I trust you.”
That surprised him.
She saw it.
“I trust that you think you’re doing the right thing,” she clarified. “Even if I think you’re an idiot.”
He smiled properly this time. Small, but real.
“That’s fair.”
She pointed at him. “You don’t get to disappear without texting me something vague but reassuring.”
“Like?”
“‘Alive. Busy. Don’t panic.’”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
He considered. “Okay.”
“And no more dramatic window entries if you can avoid it.”
He glanced at the window.
“No promises.”
She threw a pillow at him.
He caught it easily.
They both froze for a second, listening for any sign they’d woken their parents.
Nothing.
He lowered his voice.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
He hesitated. Then nodded.
They moved to their respective beds.
Lights off. Darkness.
A few minutes passed.
Then, softly, from across the room:
“Mid?”
“What.”
“I’m not trying to leave you behind.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“You’re still an idiot,” she added.
“Yeah.”
Silence again.
The house breathed.
Outside, the wind picked up slightly, rustling trees.
Mid closed her eyes.
She didn’t understand what he was doing. Didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it.
But he was here. In the room. Breathing.
For tonight, that would have to be enough.