I jolted awake—not in bed, but on the floor.
Hardwood. Cold against my cheek, the grain pressing a faint pattern into my skin. My mouth tasted metallic, sour, like I'd been holding my breath for too long. The room spun for a second before settling into focus.
"Why are you on the floor?"
Booker's voice cut through the fog. I squinted up at him, one eye still half-closed against the blinding morning light pouring through my window. The sun was too bright, too sharp, like it was trying to burn through my skull.
"I don't know," I muttered, my voice rough.
He stood over me, arms crossed, looking more confused than concerned. "Well, Mom made breakfast and sent me to come get you, so..."
I pushed myself up, my palms flat against the cold floor. My jeans were twisted around my legs—still wearing yesterday's clothes. My hoodie was bunched up under my ribs, one sleeve pushed to my elbow. I must've passed out here hours ago.
"Okay," I said, rubbing my face. "Let's get breakfast then."
The kitchen smelled like butter and burnt toast.
Mom stood at the stove, her back to me, flipping eggs in the old cast-iron skillet Dad bought her years ago. The edges hissed and popped. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, that low hum you don't notice until you do, and then you can't unhear it.
Booker was already at the table, kicking his legs against the chair. My sister scrolled through her phone, earbuds in, oblivious to everything.
I pulled out a chair. The metal legs scraped against the linoleum, louder than they should've been.
I sat down and stared at my plate. Scrambled eggs, slightly overcooked. A piece of toast with too much butter pooling at the edges. I picked at it slowly, trying to remember what happened last night. It was one of those dreams you forget in pieces the moment you wake up. Fragments. The lake. The light. The voice.
The house lights flickered.
I looked up just as Aaliah materialized out of the outlet, her form crackling faintly with residual energy before solidifying. She dropped into the chair across from me like it was the most normal thing in the world.
So much for normal.
Maybe I should stop thinking about it. Maybe if I stop wanting it, it'll come.
"Did you sleep well?" Mom asked, turning from the stove.
"Yeah," we all said in sync.
Her eyes lingered on me for a second longer than the others. I kept my gaze down, focused on the eggs I wasn't eating.
Eventually, both my siblings finished and headed off to school. The house grew quieter. Just me and Mom now.
"Thought about what I said?" she asked, sitting down across from me.
I swallowed. My throat felt tight. "Mom, I want to be normal. And I can't be. And it's all my fault."
The words came out quieter than I meant them to.
She tilted her head, her expression softening. "I know, Kaleb. But it isn't that simple."
I was hoping for words of encouragement. Something to make it hurt less.
But she was right.
I don't know what came over me, but in that moment—sitting at the kitchen table with the smell of burnt toast and the faint hum of the overhead light—everything felt unbearably normal. And that made it worse.
A single tear ran down my face before I could stop it.
I tried to hold it in, but my chest cracked open, and all I could do was sob. Quietly at first, then harder. I felt like a ghost in my own skin. Like I was watching myself fall apart from somewhere far away.
Mom didn't say anything. She just stood, walked around the table, and pulled me into her arms.
"I know, Kaleb," she whispered.
"It's my fault," I sobbed into her shoulder.
She stayed silent. Just held me. Because what else was there to say?
Later, I stood at my locker, staring at the dented metal door.
Hands covered my eyes from behind.
"Guess who?" Sayria's voice was bright, playful.
"Hey, Sayria," I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel.
She launched into a story about some test she had coming up—something about biology, or maybe history. I wasn't really listening. I was staring at her eyes.
Hazel. Flecked with gold near the center, gleaming under the harsh hallway lights. But they felt empty. Not in a bad way. Just... distant. Like I was looking at something I used to understand but couldn't anymore.
Without the Nexus, I couldn't read her. Couldn't feel the frequencies, the colors, the rhythm of her thoughts. It was just static now.
"Kaleb, are you listening?"
Her voice pulled me back.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
I opened my mouth, but the wrong words came out.
"I don't get what you see in me, Sayria."
She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You don't really know me," I said, my voice colder than I intended.
Her expression shifted. "Why are you saying this now?"
"You act like it's real," I said. "You act like it's something you can fix."
The air between us changed. Tightened.
"What is that supposed to mean, Kaleb?" Her voice had an edge now.
"You're reacting to something you don't understand," I said.
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she said, quietly, "Wow."
I frowned. "What?"
"So that's what you think?" Her voice wasn't loud, but it wasn't soft anymore either. "That I'm just some idiot who doesn't know what she's looking at?"
"That's not what I—"
"Then what is it, Kaleb?" she snapped. "Because it sounds like you're saying my feelings are fake."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
She shook her head slowly, her jaw tight. "You really don't know how messed up that sounded."
"I'm just saying if you like me, then you have to start meaning it," I said.
Her eyes widened. Shocked. Hurt.
She didn't say another word. Just turned and walked away, her backpack swinging over her shoulder.
"Sayria—" I said quietly, but she was already gone.
"Bombed that one, buddy," Malique said, appearing beside me.
"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.
He put a hand on my shoulder and walked me to class, offering advice I barely heard.
At lunch, I saw my friends sitting at our usual table. Sayria was there too.
I sat down and said, "Hey, Sayria."
She didn't look at me.
"I don't want to talk to you right now, Kaleb," she said flatly.
"I wanted to say sorry if I said something that might've hurt your feelings," I said.
"If?" she repeated, her voice sharp.
She stood up and left the table without another word.
I watched her go, and something strange happened in my chest. My stomach felt both empty and full at the same time. Heavy. Wrong.
My friends sat quietly, eyes darting between me and the empty seat.
The silence was suffocating.
I couldn't stay there. I got up and left, heading for the restroom.
I locked myself in a stall and sat on the closed toilet seat, head in my hands.
Why am I like this?
It's like I don't understand my own emotions anymore. And Sayria probably hates me now.
"Stupid. Stupid." I banged my head lightly against the stall door.
The restroom door flew open. Multiple footsteps echoed on the tile.
"I know you're in here," a voice said, followed by laughter.
"Leave me alone, Jason," another voice said from the stall next to me. Younger. Scared.
Banging started on the stall door. "Come out!" someone shouted.
I watched through the gap as the kid was dragged out from under the stall. I heard struggling. A thud. A grunt of pain.
I shot out of my stall.
Everyone stopped and looked at me.
"What are you gonna do, loser?" Jason said, smirking.
"Leave him alone," I said.
"Or what? Gonna blow us away?" He mocked. "We know you lost those powers everyone talks about."
I was at least two feet away. So I closed the distance and punched him in the face.
He paused, touched his jaw, and looked back at me. "Did you just hit me?"
"Not used to that, dumbass?" I asked.
They turned their attention to me. The kid they were after was shoved to the ground. Two of them grabbed my arms. Jason hit me in the nose, then the stomach. I crumpled against the wall, back sliding down the cold tile.
Jason knelt, his face close to mine. "Stay out of my way, or I'll do more than that."
He shoved my head against the wall and stood up. Before leaving, he glanced at the other kid. "It's not over."
Then they were gone.
My nose was bleeding. The other kid handed me a napkin.
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
"And sit by and let you get picked on?" I asked, pressing the napkin to my nose.
"But you don't know me," he replied.
"Do I need to know you to help you?" I asked.
He held out his hand. "I'm Jeremy Diaz."
"I'm—"
"I know who you are, Kaleb. The whole school does at this point."
We shook hands. The bell rang. He thanked me again and left.
The next few hours were a blur. I sat in class thinking about my dream. About Sayria. About how not-so-normal my life was.
After school, I decided to walk home. I had a lot to think about.
But just like every other day, there it was—the black SUV.
This time, it stopped.
The back door opened. A man stepped out.
I stopped walking.
He was mid-forties, clean-cut, dark suit, no tie. Polished shoes that clicked when he walked. He didn't approach aggressively. Just stood by the car, calm, deliberate.
"Kaleb Young," he said. "My name is Agent Graves. Sentinel Solutions. I'd like to speak with you."
"Are you going to hurt me if I don't?" I asked.
"No. But there's something we need to discuss. I'd like to talk somewhere appropriate, don't you agree?"
"Like Sentinel headquarters?" I asked.
"The park, perhaps?" he replied.
We sat on a wooden bench. The paint was peeling. Pigeons pecked at crumbs nearby. The air smelled like cut grass and exhaust from the nearby road.
"So, what do you guys want?" I asked.
"My name is Agent Graves. I work for Sentinel Solutions. We specialize in... anomalies."
"You mean you hunt people like me."
Calmly, he said, "We contain threats. But you're not a threat anymore, are you? You don't have the Nexus."
My jaw tightened.
"We detected the cosmic energy surge after you reset the timeline," he said.
"Allegedly," I said sarcastically.
He ignored my deflection. "We've been monitoring you ever since. We extracted the Nexus. But it won't cooperate. It won't respond to anyone."
He paused.
"Except you."
My fists clenched. Graves pulled out a folder with my name on it. My knee started bouncing—a nervous habit.
The wind rustled the papers as he flipped through them.
"Sorry, I'm not being transparent," he said. "Director Wann wants to understand the Nexus. Control it, if possible."
"I thought I told him it wouldn't cooperate because it only wants to work with me," I said.
"That's why I'm here. We need your help understanding what you did to get it to cooperate with you."
He leaned forward slightly. "We're not asking you to give us power over it. We're asking you to help us understand it."
"That's basically what you just said," I replied.
He leaned back. "Look, I know Sentinel, and you don't have a decent history. But the Nexus could change the tide of this conflict with the Harbingers."
I felt nauseous. I wanted to say no, but I couldn't find the words. I looked away, thinking about my family. My friends.
"You go back to your life. Your mom, your siblings, your friends. And you hope nothing else goes wrong. But we both know that's not realistic, don't we?"
It was like he pulled the words right out of my head.
"We have resources. Information. Access to the Nexus itself. If there's a way to fix what the reset broke—without resetting again—we can help you find it."
That's the one thing I want most.
And he knows it.
He slid a plain white business card across the bench. Just a phone number in small black text.
I stared at it. Didn't want him to think I was interested. So I didn't grab it.
My hand shook when I finally did.
I want to say no. But I can't. This is everything I want. A normal life.
"I don't expect an immediate answer," he said. "But any answer would be great."
He stood up and adjusted his jacket. "Think about it. But don't think too long. The Nexus is unstable. And so are you. I can tell by the way you're acting."
He walked away, his polished shoes clicking on the pavement. Before he got into the SUV, he gave me a smiling nod.
Then he was gone.
I sat in silence. The card in my hand felt like my only escape.
Traffic hummed in the distance. I pulled out my phone and stared at the number on the card.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
He's right. I am unstable. The hallucinations, the memories, the feeling like I'm being pulled apart—it's getting worse.
But if I help them, I'm giving them access to the Nexus. And I know what it's capable of.
But if I don't... what happens to Mom? To my siblings? To me?
I don't have a choice.
I typed the number. My hand was still shaking.
I pressed call.
The phone rang three times before someone picked up.
"This is Kaleb Young," I said. My voice was steady, even though my hands weren't. "I'll do it."
"We've been expecting you, Mr. Young. We'll contact you soon for more details."
The call ended.
The crushing weight I'd been carrying lifted slightly. But I knew it wasn't gone.
Life goes on.