Luke walks a little ahead of me as we move through the halls of the school, clearly proud to be the one giving the tour. The campus is bigger than it looks from the outside, and there's a strange contrast everywhere — polished floors, banners with smiling heroes, and beneath it all, something colder, more calculated.
"This is one of the main classroom wings," Luke says, opening a door and gesturing inside.
I look in. At first glance, it's just a classroom — rows of desks, a board at the front — but the materials are reinforced, thicker. The walls have faint energy scorches that were clearly not decorative.
"Some classes are more… hands-on," he adds with a grin.
We keep walking. Another room looks nothing like a normal class. Holographic screens float in the air, data streams scrolling endlessly. A tech lab. Another hallway leads to a computer room filled with high-end machines, monitors glowing with simulations of powers, combat scenarios, probability models.
Godolkin isn't just a school. It's a factory.
Luke talks the whole time, animated, almost buzzing with energy.
"I've been training a lot more lately," he says. "They've got me on this new program. Control, output, precision. I can hold my flames tighter now, shape them better. No more accidental explosions."
He laughs, proud — genuinely proud. And I smile back.
It's been a long time since we were just friends, talking like this. No missions, no cameras, no expectations. Just Luke being Luke.
"That's good," I say. "You had the raw power. Control was the hard part."
"Yeah," he nods. "Feels like I'm finally getting there."
As we turn another corner, something catches my eye.
His right hand.
There's a scar — no, scars. Burn marks etched into his skin, starting at his palm and crawling up his forearm, all the way to his elbow. The skin there looks different. Tougher. Like it healed wrong… or maybe exactly how it was forced to heal.
I stop walking.
Luke keeps going for a second before realizing I'm not beside him anymore. He turns, confused.
"What ?" he asks.
I lift my chin slightly, eyes fixed on his arm.
"That," I say quietly. "What happened ?"
For a moment, he doesn't answer. Then he looks down at his hand, like he'd almost forgotten it was there.
He lets out a short laugh — awkward, restrained.
"Oh. This ?" He shrugs, rubbing the scar with his thumb. "Guess I never really explained that, huh ?"
I already know. Or at least… I'm pretty sure I do.
Luke looks back up at me, expression softer now, less confident.
"The lightning," he says. "The one that hit you."
My chest tightens.
"It didn't just disappear," he continues. "It had to go somewhere. Guess it found me."
He tries to play it off, smiling crookedly.
"Difference is, you got the whole…coma package." He taps his arm lightly. "Me ? I just walked away with some permanent burn marks."
I swallow.
"I'm sorry," I say before I can stop myself.
Luke waves it off immediately. "Hey. Don't be. Totally worth it."
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
"You lived, Barry. That's what matters."
I nod, but the weight doesn't leave my chest. Seeing those scars makes everything real again — the night, the pain, the choices that led us here.
Luke claps his hands together, breaking the tension.
"Come on," he says, smiling wider now. "Still a lot more to show you."
We keep walking, side by side, Luke talking and pointing things out like a kid showing off his favorite places. That's when I start to notice the looks.
Students slow down when we pass. Conversations trail off. Eyes linger.
Most of them are girls. Some boys too.
I catch my reflection in one of the polished glass panels lining the hall — Luke with his easy confidence, broad shoulders, hero posture… and me beside him. Taller, leaner, lightning quiet under my skin.
' Yeah, ' I think, amused. ' We probably look like a pair of pretty boys. '
The thought makes me smile to myself.
Luke doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he's just used to it. This school students watch each other the way predators size up competition… or fans look at celebrities before they're famous.
As we turn a corner, someone calls out to him.
"Luke !"
A boys with dark skin and short curls jogs up to us, grinning wide. He's got an athletic build and carries himself with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly how strong you are.
"Man, you straight-up ditched Professor Francis' class," he says, laughing. "You know he hates that."
Luke laughs too, clapping him on the shoulder. "I know, I know. Had to grab a friend. Couldn't avoid it."
He steps half a pace aside and gestures toward me.
"This is Barry," Luke says. "We go way back."
The guy turns to me, studying my face a little more carefully than Luke did. His smile doesn't disappear, but something in his eyes sharpens — cautious, assessing.
"Andre Anderson," he says, offering his hand.
I shake it, firm but relaxed. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Andre replies.
There's a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable… just measured. Like he's deciding what category to put me in.
"I was heading to the Coliseum," Andre says, glancing between us. "You guys should come. It's about to get interesting."
Luke's eyes light up instantly. "Perfect timing. That was actually the next stop on the tour."
I frown slightly. "The Coliseum ?"
Luke looks at me, a grin spreading across his face — the kind that says trust me and you're not ready at the same time.
"You'll see," he says.
Andre chuckles under his breath. "Yeah. You'll see."
That doesn't make me feel any less confused… but it definitely makes me curious.