ADAM'S POV
The sun began to bleed over the Atlantic, turning the gray waves into a shimmering sheet of copper. The "Pinnacle-tier monster" from last night had vanished, replaced by a man in a wrinkled apron that said World's Greatest Scientist (a gift from a colleague decades ago, no doubt).
Father was standing over the stove, a spatula in one hand and a cracked egg in the other. The beach house, despite its shattered windows and missing porch, smelled of sizzling butter and burnt flour.
"Sit," Father commanded, not looking back. "The fuel cells won't charge themselves. You need calories."
Eve and I sat at the scratched wooden table. Eve looked like he'd been dragged through a rift backwards—his hair was a bird's nest of static-charged knots, and he was wearing a hoodie that was two sizes too big. I sat perfectly straight, my hands folded, watching the way Father flipped a pancake with a level of concentration usually reserved for subatomic stabilization.
"Father," I said, eyeing the plate he slid toward me. "The structural integrity of this pancake is... questionable."
"It's not an experiment, Adam. It's breakfast," Father muttered. He dropped a massive, misshapen lump of dough onto Eve's plate.
Eve poked the pancake with a fork. It didn't yield; it bounced. "Dad, I think this thing has a higher density than the Black Impulse I was using last night. If I eat this, will I develop my own gravitational pull?"
"Eat it, or I'll let Lyra come back and finish the job," Father deadpanned.
Eve sighed and took a bite. His eyes widened. He chewed for a long time, his face twisting through various stages of confusion.
"Well?" I asked.
"It tastes like... math," Eve whispered. "And vanilla. Mostly vanilla."
The tension that had been suffocating us since the fight began to leak out of the room. It was hard to be terrified of a man who was currently swearing under his breath because he couldn't get the maple syrup bottle open.
"Give it here," Eve said, snatching the bottle. He didn't use a wrench; he let a tiny spark of Black Impulse flicker at the base of the cap, vibrating the seal until it popped with a satisfying hiss.
"Insolent brat," Father grumbled, though I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Using Pinnacle-tier energy manipulation to open condiments. I should have left you in the tube for another month."
"You love us too much for that," Eve said, his mouth full of "mathematical" pancake. "Plus, who else is going to make fun of your driving?"
Father sat down with his own plate—a perfectly circular, golden-brown stack. Of course, his were perfect.
"We need to discuss the itinerary," Father said, his tone shifting back to the 'Doctor.' "The coast isn't safe. Lyra was the scout. The Council will be sending 'The Exile' next, and she—"
"You already beat her, Dad," Eve interrupted, waving a syrup-covered fork. "We saw it. You did the thing with the fingers. Cling! And then she went whoosh! into the dirt. It was awesome."
Father looked at Eve, then at me. The coldness from last night wasn't gone, but it was buried under the mundane reality of a messy kitchen.
"It wasn't 'awesome,' Eve. It was a waste of energy," Father said, though he reached out and ruffled Eve's messy hair, a rare gesture of affection that made Eve freeze mid-chew.
I watched them—the creator and the chaotic spark. I felt the 'logic' in my mind trying to categorize the moment. Affection: 84% probability of stress-reduction. But for once, I didn't say it aloud. I just picked up my fork and attacked the dense, irregularly shaped pancake.
"Adam," Father said, his eyes meeting mine. "Don't analyze the syrup. Just eat."
"I was merely calculating the viscosity, Father," I lied.
"Liar," Eve coughed into his orange juice.
For a few minutes, we weren't a biological experiment or a threat to the global order. We were just a tired man and his two strange sons, sitting in a broken house, eating breakfast while the seagulls screamed outside.
Then, Eve looked at the pile of bags we had brought from the mall—the ones that hadn't been crushed.
"Hey, Adam," Eve grinned, a devious glint returning to his eyes. "Since we're 'monsters' now, does that mean I don't have to pay you back for that hoodie I 'borrowed' and ripped during the fight?"
I looked at the ruined sleeve of my favorite designer hoodie. "The logic of that statement is flawed, Eve. Debt is a constant."
"I'm a Black-tier Dark user! I am the void! The void doesn't pay debts!"
"The void is about to get a Golden-tier kick in the rear if it doesn't start loading the car," Father interrupted, standing up and tossing his apron onto the counter.
The moment broke, but the warmth remained. As we headed out to the car, Eve tried to trip me, and I used a micro-burst of Divine Light to make his shoelaces untie themselves.
The 'Curse of Logic' was still there, but as I watched Father struggle to fit a giant suitcase into the trunk, I realized that even a masterpiece needs a break from being perfect.