EVE'S POV
Adam was out in the sun, probably calculating the exact angle of every blade of grass. I, however, had been assigned to "The Interior."
Martha Vance—Grandma Martha, I guess—was a whirlwind of movement. She didn't have a Divine Light core, but she navigated the kitchen with a precision that made me wonder if she was secretly a high-tier kinetic user. She kept handing me things: bowls of dirt-covered carrots, bundles of herbs that smelled like the forest, and a giant, vibrating machine she called a "stand mixer."
"Eve, honey, don't just stare at the flour. Whisk it!" she commanded, her voice warm but impossible to ignore.
I looked at the bowl. I could have used a micro-burst of Black Impulse to vibrate the particles until they were perfectly homogenous in 0.2 seconds. Instead, I gripped the wire whisk like it was a combat knife.
"The manual labor involved in this 'baking' process seems redundant," I muttered, my wrists aching. "If we utilized a high-speed centrifuge, the structural integrity of the cake would be superior."
Martha stopped what she was doing and looked at me. She didn't look annoyed; she looked like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "A centrifuge? Eve, we're making a sponge cake, not trying to separate isotopes. It needs a human touch. That's what gives it the lift."
"Father says 'human touch' is just a poetic term for biological inconsistency," I replied, whisking so hard a cloud of white dust billowed into my face.
Martha sighed, reaching out with a damp towel to wipe a smudge of flour off my nose. I flinched. I couldn't help it. In the lab, a hand moving toward your face usually meant a neural probe or a sensory test.
Her hand froze. Her eyes softened, turning into that watery, sad look I hated. "He really did a number on you two, didn't he? Treating you like projects instead of boys."
"I am a Black-tier Hybrid, Martha. My internal pressure can collapse a—"
"You're a boy who likes extra syrup on his pancakes," she interrupted, pointing a wooden spoon at me. "And right now, you're the boy who is going to help me with the eggs. Go out to the porch; June should be arriving with the delivery any minute."
I grumbled, shaking the flour out of my hair, and stepped out onto the wraparound porch. The transition from the air-conditioned kitchen to the humid afternoon air made my Black Impulse itch. I felt... restless. This "normal life" was a constant exercise in suppressed energy. It was like trying to keep an ocean inside a thimble.
Then, a loud, metallic rattling sound echoed down the driveway. A bright, battered truck skidded to a halt.
A girl hopped out. She had blonde hair tied back in a messy knot and was carrying a wooden crate. She looked up and saw me, and for a second, her entire "vibe"—which my sensors usually read as a steady green—spiked into a chaotic violet.
"Oh! You must be the other one," she said, walking up the steps. "I just saw your brother out in the pasture. He's... intense."
I leaned against the porch railing, trying to look as cool as Adam usually did, though I probably just looked like I'd been in a flour explosion. "Adam is a logic-driven hardware update. I'm the chaotic software. I'm Eve."
June Miller stopped, her eyes wide as she scanned me. Unlike the way she looked at Adam, there was a flicker of a smile on her face. "Eve? Like the first woman?"
I felt my face heat up. "It's a designation! Not a gendered—" I stopped, taking a breath. "It means 'Beginning.' It's... never mind. Do you have the avian embryos?"
June blinked. "The... what?"
"The eggs," I corrected, feeling my Black Impulse swirl dangerously close to the surface. "Martha needs them for the 'sponge' experiment."
June started to laugh. It was a loud, genuine sound that didn't follow any mathematical pattern. "You guys are definitely not from around here. Are you both always this weird, or is it just a Monday thing?"
She handed me the crate. Our fingers brushed, and I felt a jolt—not an electric one, but a sensory overload. She smelled like sunlight and gasoline. It was a messy, disorganized combination that my brain absolutely loved.
"We're just... complex," I said, echoing Adam's words from earlier, but I actually managed a small, lopsided grin.
"Well, 'Complex,' try not to break the eggs," June teased, heading back to her truck. "I'll see you around. Maybe you can explain the 'avian embryo' thing to me over a soda sometime."
I watched her drive away, holding the crate like it was made of thin glass. My heart was thumping against my ribs.
"Eve! Where are those eggs?" Martha called from inside.
"Coming, Grandma!" I shouted back.
I walked into the kitchen, realizing that while Adam was busy learning how to build fences, I might have just found something much more dangerous to play with than a Black-tier rift.
JUNE'S POV
If the first brother, Adam, was a statue carved out of ice and lightning, the second one was a live wire dropped into a bowl of powdered sugar.
I pulled the truck up to the Vance porch, still thinking about the "intense" one out in the field. I figured the house would be quiet, but as I stepped out, I heard the sound of someone—or something—banging around in the kitchen like they were fighting a war with the cabinets.
Then, he stepped out onto the porch.
I almost dropped the egg crate. He looked exactly like Adam, yet not at all. Where Adam was perfectly groomed and still, this boy was a disaster. His dark hair was sticking up in three different directions, and he was covered from head to toe in a fine dusting of white flour. He looked like he'd lost a wrestling match with a bakery.
But his eyes… they weren't ice-blue. They were dark, deep, and looked like they were vibrating with some kind of restless energy.
"Oh! You must be the other one," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "I just saw your brother out in the pasture. He's... intense."
He leaned against the railing, trying to look cool, but the smudge of flour on his nose made it pretty hard to take him seriously.
"Adam is a logic-driven hardware update," he said, his voice a bit more melodic than his brother's but just as strange. "I'm the chaotic software. I'm Eve."
I froze. "Eve? Like the first woman?"
The poor guy turned a shade of red that was visible even through the flour. "It's a designation! Not a gendered—" He cut himself off, looking frustrated. "It means 'Beginning.' It's... never mind. Do you have the avian embryos?"
I blinked. I'd lived in Oakhaven my whole life; I'd heard farmers talk about "clutches" and "seed," but I had never, ever heard someone call an egg an "avian embryo."
"The... what?"
"The eggs," he snapped, though he looked more embarrassed than mean. "Martha needs them for the 'sponge' experiment."
I couldn't help it. I started laughing. Not the polite "church laugh," but a real, loud belly laugh. He was so weird, so completely out of place, but unlike Adam, he felt alive. There was a spark in him that felt like it was about to go off like a firecracker.
"You guys are definitely not from around here," I said, walking up the steps. "Are you both always this weird, or is it just a Monday thing?"
I handed him the crate. When our fingers touched, I expected that weird, burning heat I'd felt from Adam. But Eve was different. He didn't feel like a furnace; he felt like a static shock. A jolt of pure, buzzing energy traveled up my arm, making my pulse jump.
"We're just... complex," he said. He actually gave me a little grin—lopsided and a bit shy.
"Well, 'Complex,' try not to break the eggs," I teased. I headed back to the truck, feeling a strange lightness in my chest. "I'll see you around. Maybe you can explain the 'avian embryo' thing to me over a soda sometime."
As I drove off, I caught a glimpse of him in the side mirror, still standing on the porch holding that crate like it was the most important thing in the world.
The Vance farm used to be the saddest, quietest place in the valley. Now? It felt like a powder keg waiting for a match. And for some reason, I really wanted to be the one to light it.