The morning air was crisp and bitingly cold, carrying with it the faint scent of fallen leaves and distant chimney smoke. All throughout the streets of Washington D.C., countless Halloween decorations adorned houses and streetlights alike—plastic skeletons hung from porches, carved pumpkins flickered with orange light, and webs of imitation silk glistened faintly in the early dawn. But it wasn't just D.C. that had been overtaken by the spirit of the holiday; all across America, the same scenes played out in neighborhoods both grand and humble. Almost everyone in the country seemed to be celebrating Halloween in one way or another, and even more were eagerly planning to go trick-or-treating, regardless of their age or where they lived.
Today was October 31st—Halloween—and it was also Jasmine's tenth birthday. Alma had woken before the sun, exactly at five o'clock in the morning, and set about preparing everything with meticulous care and quiet enthusiasm. He baked her a cake from scratch, then decorated the apartment from corner to corner with Halloween ornaments: fake skeletons hanging at odd angles, orange and purple lights draped across the ceiling and along the walls, cobwebs stretched across corners with tiny, harmless spiders tucked within them, and a handful of plastic bats dangling from push pins by thin black string. Scattered throughout the apartment were plastic pumpkins ranging from small to medium size, each glowing from within, casting warm flickers of light that gave the room a soft, festive charm.
For Jasmine herself, Alma went one step further. He hung up several pictures of unicorns, wrapped her favorite wooden unicorn toy carefully in pink and purple wrapping paper, and tucked it neatly beneath the kitchen table. On top of that table, he placed the birthday cake—a white creation with a pink trim circling both its top and bottom edges, decorated with delicate purple and pink frosting flowers that surrounded a single unicorn in the center.
When Jasmine finally awoke four hours later, rose slowly from her bed, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet, and began searching the apartment. Alma, was nowhere to be found. She peeked into the empty bathroom, checked both storage closets, and finally wandered into the kitchen—only to find that no one was there. Her cake and her present were gone. Even the birthday card Alma had prepared for her a week earlier was missing from where it had been placed. She stood there in silence, surrounded by the decorations that suddenly felt hollow and still. She stood alone in the kitchen. She stood alone in the apartment. She stood alone once again.
Tears welled in her eyes, trembling as she came to a crushing realization: everyone—even the man she had come to see as a father—had left her. He had forgotten her. They all had.
But then—the apartment door opened with a soft click, and Alma stepped inside, carrying her present and the cake carefully in his hands. Behind him came Roseanne and Jody, both wearing wide smiles and holding their own wrapped gifts. Alma's grin was even wider, teeth showing brightly, his eyes squeezed shut in the kind of joy that couldn't be contained.
Jasmine's sorrow vanished in an instant. Her expression transformed from heartbreak to pure, radiant joy. The sight before her filled her with wonder and disbelief. Her birthday, the day she had assumed would quietly pass without mention, had not been forgotten after all. She remembered vividly how, after she once told Alma the exact day she had been born, he had only nodded in acknowledgment and said nothing more, never mentioning it again in the days that followed. She had been quietly heartbroken in the days leading up to her tenth birthday, believing that he, like everyone else before, would simply overlook it.
But this—this was something entirely different. What she saw made her ecstatic beyond words, not only because of the decorations or the effort, but because someone had truly cared. She had never experienced a happy birthday before this, nor even a genuinely joyful day in her life before meeting Alma. And with how protective, caring, loving, and impossibly gentle he always was, she knew in her heart that this day would be nothing short of amazing.
She dashed toward Alma, throwing her arms around him in an embrace that was full of warmth, relief, and childlike excitement. In that moment, she forgot everything else—forgot what day it even was—for his presence alone filled her entire world. It was that powerful, that consuming.
"Do you know what day it is?" Alma asked, opening his eyes and softening his smile just slightly.
Jasmine looked up at him, and the realization struck her like lightning. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open in surprise before she gasped and shouted, "My birthday!!"
Stepping aside to make room, Jasmine let Alma, Roseanne, and Jody enter. Alma gently set the cake and the gift down, then pulled a pink envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to her. Jasmine accepted it with both hands, her movements careful and deliberate, as though she were handling something sacred. She opened the envelope slowly, revealing a white card inside.
She drew the card out and unfolded it, her eyes scanning each line one by one, taking her time to read every word with care and quiet emotion. When she finally finished, she closed it softly and set it beside her cake. Without saying anything, Jasmine turned and threw her arms around Alma, hugging him tightly as a few tears slipped down her cheeks despite her best efforts to hold them back.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking as she clung to him. "Dad."
Alma hugged her back just as firmly, one hand resting gently against the back of her head, guiding it against his stomach in a gesture of quiet affection.
"You're welcome," he said softly.
Roseanne and Jody watched them with tender smiles, setting their presents carefully beside the table so as not to disturb the moment.
"Happy birthday, honey," Roseanne said, her tone soft and full of warmth as she gently rubbed Jasmine's shoulder.
Jasmine pulled away just slightly, still holding onto Alma, and looked up at Roseanne with a small but genuine smile that seemed to light up her whole face.
"I, uh… didn't exactly know what to get ya," Jody admitted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… I hope this is good for you…?"
Alma gave him a long, unimpressed look.
"What?" Jody asked defensively.
Alma sighed, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I told you what she liked literally yesterday."
"And?" Jody replied, raising his hands slightly. "An old dog can't remember everything."
"You're only forty-five!" Alma said, his tone incredulous and exasperated.
"So? I've got short-term memory loss!" Jody shot back, clearly trying to defend himself.
Alma exhaled deeply, deciding not to spoil Jasmine's special day with their bickering. Instead, he looked down at her and gently patted her head.
"What do you want to do first?" he asked kindly.
"I want to eat my cake first—I'm starving," Jasmine said with a wide, eager smile.
Alma chuckled and made his way into the kitchen, retrieving four plastic plates, four forks, and a silver butter knife from the drawer. He cut the cake carefully into four equal slices, each portion exactly the size each of them wanted, before setting them down on the table.
The four of them sat together, eating in cheerful silence, the sound of humming and quiet laughter filling the air.
"Mmm, it's so good!" Roseanne said between bites, clearly delighted.
"Yeah, this cake tastes great," Jody added, nodding approvingly.
"Thank you, Dad, for making this for me," Jasmine said sweetly, looking at Alma with gratitude shining in her eyes.
He nodded once. "You're welcome. Just don't eat too much of it—it's way too sugary for my taste. Though, I'll admit, at least it isn't pumpkin pie-related."
Jasmine giggled softly at his comment. "I won't. I don't eat that much sugar anyway," she said with a grin.
Ten minutes passed, and it was time for Jasmine to open her presents. She started with Roseanne's gift, which came in a white paper bag wrapped delicately in pink tissue. She tore away the wrapping with eager hands, revealing a beautiful pink and purple T-shirt inside. The shirt had a realistic unicorn printed in the center, a vivid rainbow arching gracefully overhead, and tiny stars scattered around it like twinkling lights. On the back, near the neckline, were the words: "Shine Brighter than Any Star."
Jasmine immediately pulled the shirt on over the one she was already wearing, squealing in delight when she realized how perfectly it fit—even layered over her other clothes.
Jasmine threw her arms around Roseanne and hugged her tightly, the warmth of the embrace making the older woman's face soften into a gentle smile.
"Thank you, Aunt Roseanne," Jasmine said sweetly as she pulled back, her bright eyes meeting Roseanne's kind gaze.
"You're welcome," Roseanne replied softly, nodding with affection.
Next came Jody's turn. Alma, however, remained quietly skeptical about whatever gift Jody might have chosen for Jasmine. His earlier comment about forgetting things hadn't been an exaggeration in the slightest—Jody truly was a man whose mind wandered so easily that, if not reminded, he would nearly forget how to breathe. Even so, Alma couldn't bring himself to doubt that whatever the gift was, it would somehow make Jasmine happy.
Jasmine picked up Jody's gift: a green bag with matching drawstrings, its surface smudged faintly with grease—a telltale sign that this, without question, had come from Jody. She carefully opened the bag to reveal crumpled green wrapping paper inside. Peeling it away with curiosity, she uncovered what lay beneath—a unicorn coffee mug. The discovery left Alma and Roseanne equally astonished, for two very different reasons. First, Jody had actually remembered what Jasmine loved. And second—he had given a child a coffee mug. A coffee mug. The very idea was as outrageous as it was unexpected.
Alma shot Jody a look of disbelief, while Jody, in turn, responded with a sheepish grin and a chuckle, brushing off the silent judgment as he crouched down to Jasmine's level.
"Do you like it?" Jody asked with a hopeful smile.
Jasmine looked up at him, beaming, before throwing her small arms around his neck. Jody laughed softly and hugged her back, tightening his hold as he rubbed the back of her head in gentle affection.
"Thank you, Uncle Jody," Jasmine said, her voice full of unfiltered happiness.
"Anytime, kid," Jody replied warmly, and they slowly released each other.
Straightening up, Jody turned toward Alma, who was now rummaging through the closet for something.
He glanced at Roseanne, who merely lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. Neither of them had any idea what Alma had gotten for Jasmine, and their shared curiosity was nearly unbearable.
Finally—after what felt like hours of waiting—Alma emerged from the closet carrying a large, carefully wrapped package. Jasmine gasped audibly the moment she saw it, her eyes wide with excitement, while both Roseanne and Jody blinked in astonishment. Whatever was inside, it was clear their own gifts were about to be completely outshined.
Alma placed the sizable present in front of Jasmine with deliberate care, then handed her a pair of small scissors.
"Be careful with these," Alma warned in a calm but serious tone. "They're sharp, and they'll cut you easily if you're not cautious."
But his warning might as well have been carried off by the wind—Jasmine's eager hands were already at work, and concentration had taken the place of caution. Not that she was the only one who tended to tune him out when excited.
Jasmine began cutting in several places, carefully trying to remove the wrapping paper that had been folded so neatly around the gift. After a few moments of effort, she managed to slice an opening large enough to tear it all away in a single motion.
With one swift pull, she yanked the paper aside and revealed what lay underneath. The moment she saw it, she squealed—loudly, joyously, the loudest she had all day—and began jumping up and down in excitement before rushing straight into Alma's arms.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!" Jasmine cried out, her voice overflowing with gratitude and delight that could not be contained.
Alma smiled down at her, wrapping his arms around her small frame and holding her close. "You're welcome, baby," he said softly, his smile unwavering.
After a few precious seconds, Jasmine released him and hurried back to her gift. She climbed onto her brand-new wooden unicorn, giggling as she began rocking back and forth with boundless energy and joy.
Meanwhile, Alma quietly moved toward the table, gathering his and Jasmine's plates. He was about to collect Roseanne and Jody's as well, when both of them stopped him.
They each reached for the plates in his hands.
"It's your daughter's birthday—treat yourself, but treat her even better," Jody said with a grin, already heading toward the kitchen.
"Indeed," Roseanne added warmly, following close behind. "You'll need to conserve your energy for your daughter's antics later."
Alma stood there for a moment, caught between surprise and quiet gratitude. He hadn't expected them to do something so considerate, and though his expression stayed composed, he felt genuinely touched.
Turning his gaze back toward Jasmine, he saw her still rocking happily on her wooden unicorn, her laughter filling the room with life.
"What are you waiting for?" Alma said with a playful smile, pointing toward the wardrobe. "We have a birthday to celebrate!"
At once, Jasmine jumped off her unicorn and dashed to the wardrobe, rifling through her clothes until she picked out several colorful pieces. Without another word, she ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a cheerful slam as she prepared to shower.
Moments later, Roseanne and Jody returned from the kitchen, their hands freshly dried. Alma turned toward them, sincerity plain in his voice.
"Thank you. Seriously, thank you—for getting Jasmine those gifts, and for washing the dishes," Alma said, his tone steady but filled with genuine gratitude.
Jody waved a dismissive hand while Roseanne nodded in quiet acknowledgment.
"It was the least we could do," Jody said casually. "It's your daughter's birthday, after all. We couldn't let the father wear himself out over a few dishes."
Roseanne nodded again in agreement, her eyes kind.
"Thank you," Alma repeated softly.
He was about to walk away and get himself ready when Roseanne gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He turned toward her, curiosity in his expression.
"Jasmine's been alone for quite some time now," Roseanne began, her tone careful but firm. "I don't mean that in the parental sense—you've been a wonderful father. But she's been without an actual, genuine friend."
"We don't doubt your parenting for a second, Alma," Jody added quickly, "but you've got to admit—the kid needs more social interaction than just the three of us. When you first brought her into my shop, she wouldn't even come out from behind your leg. If you hadn't introduced her, I doubt she'd have spoken to me at all."
Alma nodded slowly. "I know she does," he said. "However… I cannot. Not at the moment."
"Why not?" Roseanne asked gently, concern creasing her brow.
"Why not just put her in school?" Jody interjected. "You aren't homeschooling her yourself, are you?"
"No. Most definitely not," Alma said immediately, his tone firm. "With all the propaganda being pushed in schools these days, it'd be a cold day in Hell before I ever enroll her. Besides, I did try encouraging her to interact with other kids at the park, but she just clung to my leg the entire time I walked. She acted like a ball and chain."
He sighed deeply afterward, his shoulders lowering as if the weight of the thought alone was exhausting.
Roseanne gently rubbed Alma's shoulder, her smile soft but edged with concern.
"I know it's hard," she said quietly, "but try. For her sake."
"Yeah," Jody added, his tone casual but kind. "She's a good kid, Alma. If anyone can do it, it's you."
Alma looked at them both and smiled faintly, the gesture small but sincere.
"Thank you."
With that, he turned and walked off to get ready for the day.
Fifteen minutes later, Jasmine stepped out of the bathroom, already dressed but with her hair still damp. Alma's stomach twisted with unease the moment he saw her—that familiar flash of worry that came before he could even think.
"Come here," he said quickly, sitting her on the bed. He took a towel and began drying her hair with quiet urgency.
"You know it's the cold months now," he murmured, his tone caught between scolding and concern. "You could get sick with wet hair, even in here."
"I'm sorry, Father," Jasmine said softly, guilt in her eyes. "I was just so excited for today, I didn't think about it."
Alma sighed, finishing the last few strokes with the towel before setting it aside. "It's okay," he said. "But you have to understand—if you get sick, you won't be able to celebrate, or go anywhere. Always dry off before you leave the bathroom during these months. It's important."
His words carried the firmness of habit—protective, perhaps overly so—enough to make Jody roll his eyes while Roseanne's lips curved into a gentle smile.
Jasmine nodded obediently, then stood and grabbed the white beanie Alma had given her a few days prior. She slipped it on carefully, tucking a few strands of hair beneath it, then buttoned her white pea coat.
"All ready," she said, smiling brightly.
Alma gave a small nod of approval and moved toward the door. Just as they were about to leave, he paused—The faint murmur of the television caught his ear. He turned back toward the living room.
"Go on ahead," he said. "Wait for me in the lobby."
He walked over to the TV, remote in hand, just as the broadcast cut to a breaking news report. The image shifted to a grim-faced anchorman behind a glowing red banner.
"Breaking News," the man began. "Reports of Beasts of Ruin have seen a dramatic increase. Just three months ago, the number stood at around seven thousand country-wide. Now, officials are reporting a minimum of thirty-two thousand new sightings each day."
Alma froze, remote halfway to the power button.
The anchor continued, his voice tightening. "Several Monarchs who have faced these creatures are returning critically injured, describing them as 'becoming substantially stronger'—and, disturbingly, 'more sentient.' Some are even questioning whether humanity's safest refuge lies beyond Earth itself. Is it time for the United States to seek shelter on Mars? Stay tuned for our discussion on what this might mean for the future of not just America—but the world."
The words hung heavy in the air before Alma finally pressed the red button. The screen went black, but the silence that followed was heavier still.
He stood there for a long moment, thoughts circling like storm clouds. The Beasts of Ruin—already a worldwide threat—were multiplying faster than anyone could contain. Even worse, the ones he'd fought before had already been strong enough to end entire cities. If Monarchs were coming back in that condition…
Could they be exaggerating their wounds to hide their strength? Alma had already suspected that, even before this news report. It seemed insane, even for them. And yet—if they were telling the truth, if these Beasts truly were evolving—then the situation was far more dire than he'd imagined. They could saying those things to better hide their true strength, or to make their injuries more believable. But then why say that their numbers were substantially increasing? That was a genuine truth among unknown lies.
How much of what they said was truth? Better yet, how much of what was said in fear?
He exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to quiet. This wasn't his burden—not today. Not on Jasmine's birthday. The Monarchs, the government, the President—they could handle it without him.
For now, there was only her.
Alma set the remote down, turned from the dark screen, and walked out to rejoin his daughter and his friends.
Somewhere beneath Washington, D.C…
A pair of heavy boots dropped into the murky sewer water, the splash echoing down the long, dripping tunnel. For a few seconds, the figure stood still—listening—before stepping forward with deliberate, unhurried movements.
Dressed entirely in black from head to toe, the tall figure's presence was imposing. Every motion carried weight, every step purpose. Whoever this person was, nothing down here could slow them.
A faint sound broke through the ambient drip of water.
"Ah! Son of a bitch!" a voice shouted, high and sharp with irritation.
The figure didn't flinch—just kept walking, boots sloshing through the filth.
"Leave it to this piece of shit equipment to snap back at you like a mousetrap," the same voice grumbled, closer this time.
Turning a corner, the dark figure came upon a narrow passage ending in a door. Warm light flickered from within—candlelight. Inside, the room was cluttered with wires, tools, and old monitors that barely flickered to life. At the far end stood a man.
He was lean, almost androgynous, with light purple and magenta hair that fell in uneven waves. His long-sleeved sweater carried streaks of the same colors running down the arms. Black pants and boots added a few inches to his height, but not enough to make him imposing. He looked eccentric—brilliant, perhaps, but undeniably strange.
"Is it ready, Viroth?" the tall man asked, his deep, gravelly voice filling the small space.
Viroth turned around, grinning wide enough to show sharp, unnervingly long canines. Clear goggles reflected the candlelight as he held up a small, metallic device.
"Of course," Viroth said, handing it over. "Just place this at the National Mall and press this button right here." He tapped a spot on the side.
The tall man—Eclipser—stared at it for a moment. "Are you sure this will work?"
Viroth let out a theatrical sigh. "Undoubtedly. What do you take me for, Eclipser? A noob?" His grin widened. "You just need to work your magic after the device does its part."
Eclipser nodded slowly. "And you're certain it won't appear?" he asked, voice lowering almost to a whisper.
"Are you kidding?" Viroth replied with mock offense. "We'll be long gone before that thing ever shows up—if it even does. Its last sighting was halfway across the country."
Eclipser gave him a look that was equal parts distrust and amusement. "Whatever you say. But if I die, I'm coming back to haunt your sorry ass."
The candlelight flickered—and in the blink of an eye, Eclipser was gone.
---
"How about that Mexican restaurant?" Roseanne suggested brightly.
Alma froze mid-step, shoulders tightening as if struck by a sudden chill.
"Uh…" Jasmine quickly interjected, forcing a nervous smile. "Maybe a different one. My dad doesn't really like that place."
"Oh?" Jody asked. "Why not?"
Jasmine sighed, glancing at her father. "It all started when…"
---
Six days earlier.
Alma spat his food back onto the tray with visible disgust. Carne Asada—one of his favorite dishes when done right, and one of his most despised when done wrong—had just joined the ranks of failure.
"Excuse me! Sir!" Alma called out, waving over the nearest waiter.
The man paused, turned, and hurried over, leaning slightly forward to hear. "Sí, señor?"
Alma gestured to the plate. "Tell me—what is this?"
The waiter blinked, clearly confused. "You ordered the Carne Asada with beans, no cheese, and rice with three corn tortillas." His accent was thick but polite.
"Then please explain," Alma said sharply, "why I have to chew this beef like an aftermarket off-roading tire."
The waiter's eyes widened. "I am so sorry, sir! What else can I get you?"
---
"And?" Jody pressed, leaning forward, amused already.
Alma smirked, the memory rekindling his irritation. "I asked him for a quesadilla. He walked away with my plate, and not even two minutes later, he comes back—sets it down next to me—and on that plate…" Alma paused for effect.
"Well??" Jody demanded.
"A single nacho chip," Alma said flatly. "And then he tells me, 'Here, use your imagination,' before walking off."
Jody burst into laughter while Roseanne covered her mouth, shaking her head. Jasmine, trying to hold in a giggle, gently rubbed her father's hand.
"We're not going back there anytime soon," Alma said dryly, patting Jasmine on the head. "Besides, it's your birthday. You get to pick where we go today."
Jasmine's eyes lit up. "Ah! I know!"
---
They arrived at a small shop with a white sign framed by a red backdrop, an orange stripe at the top, and a blue one at the bottom. In bold white letters, it read: Dairy Knight.
Alma squinted at the sign. "That name feels… unsettlingly close to something else," he muttered under his breath.
Jasmine didn't care—she was too busy happily digging into the banana split they shared. Roseanne nursed a fudge sundae, while Jody drank his strawberry milkshake topped with a single cherry.
He finished first and stood up, stretching. "Well, sorry to cut out early, but the guys back at the shop need me."
Alma looked at him with mock disappointment. "So you just came for ice cream, huh? I see how it is."
"Hey, you and I have different versions of what happened here today," Jody said with a grin. He started to leave, then turned around. "Happy birthday, Jasmine! See you later!"
"Goodbye!" they all called out together, waving.
Once the desserts were gone, Alma and Jasmine walked with Roseanne to a wooded park nearby. The trees thickened the deeper they went, the path winding gently beneath the orange wash of the setting sun.
About halfway through, Roseanne's phone rang. She answered quickly—her tone shifting to urgency after just a few words.
"I'm sorry, Alma, Jasmine—I have to go. Now." She kissed Jasmine's forehead, gave Alma a brief, warm hug, and hurried down the path, vanishing between the trees.
They watched her leave before continuing their walk. After a few quiet minutes, they stopped to rest on a bench.
Alma turned toward his daughter, his tone softer now. "Are you enjoying your day so far?"
Jasmine didn't answer right away. The silence stretched longer than expected—long enough that Alma tilted his head slightly, concern flickering in his eyes.
Finally, Jasmine looked up and spoke.
"Yes," she said, her voice soft and trembling. "This is the best day of my life. And I don't say that because it's my birthday, or because you've spoiled me. I mean it—truly."
She looked down, her tone steadying.
"All my life, I've never had a single good day. Not one good birthday. My parents never cared about me—not even close to how much you do. Honestly, I don't think any parent loves their kid the way you love me, even if we aren't related by blood."
Her words carried a maturity far beyond her years.
"Thank you," Alma said quietly. "That means more than you know. I just want you to have a happy childhood before you turn eighteen—to make those painful years feel like a distant dream compared to the joy you'll live now."
He pulled her into a hug, and she melted into his arms, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. When she finally pulled away, she gazed at the drifting autumn leaves outside—red, gold, and dying in the wind.
"Dad…?" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alma looked down at her again.
"I have something to tell you."
The world seemed to stop.
It should've been a beautiful thing—Jasmine opening her heart at last. But Alma's own heart twisted. If she shared her secret, how could he keep his from her? The thought soured everything. None of this was her fault—it never could be. It was his. His failure.
If she told him the truth, he'd have to tell his—but that would make it seem as if he had never trusted her. Yet if he told her too soon, she might fear him, might run. Either way, he'd lose. No matter what, he was the loser.
The ground trembled beneath them.
A sudden roar filled the air as screams broke out across the park. Flames tore through the trees, devouring the colors of autumn in seconds.
Alma's eyes went wide. He scooped Jasmine into his arms and ran.
He darted between trees, the fire crackling and snapping at their heels. Even a hundred feet away, the heat lashed his skin like a living thing. He stayed low, weaving through smoke and falling embers until he found a break in the inferno.
He leapt through the gap and tumbled onto the ground outside the park. Dirt and grass met his hands as he rolled to a stop. Gasping, he turned back—the park was a storm of fire.
A single thought gripped him: What if Jasmine had been caught inside?
He shook it off, clutching her tighter, and ran toward home. When they finally reached the apartment, he slammed the door shut and locked it.
"Are you okay?" Alma asked, sitting her gently on the bed.
"Yes," she said softly, still catching her breath. "What was that?"
"I… don't know. Forest fires happen, but that was inside a protected park."
"I hope no one's still in there," Jasmine murmured, rubbing her eyes. A small yawn escaped her. "I'm going to take a shower."
"Oh—okay. Wait, really?" Alma blinked. "You don't want to go trick-or-treating?" Alma said nothing for a moment after, no one did, his gaze lingering on Jasmine with quiet confusion, as though trying to decipher something he had long since forgotten how to read.
"No... I never liked Halloween," she replied at last, her voice distant but unbothered. "Besides, there's that fire in the major part of town. There'd hardly be any houses offering candy over there." She disappeared into the bathroom before Alma could answer, the sound of running water swallowing whatever thought he might have spoken.
He exhaled slowly, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of something unnamed, then moved to the couch. The leather groaned beneath him as he sat, the remote loosely held in his hand. He turned on the TV, its flicker washing the dim room in a pale, cold light. His thumb drifted through channels without purpose—news, sitcoms, late-night ads—until a comedy show caught his attention for a brief, hollow moment.
Then, the laughter cut off. The screen darkened, and a sterile voice filled the silence.
"We interrupt your scheduled programming to inform residents near the National Mall in downtown Washington: several severe wildfires have broken out in multiple areas. Authorities are urging all residents and visitors—including those in Federal Triangle, Capitol Hill, and the Southwest Waterfront—to remain indoors and avoid the vicinity until further notice."
When the normal broadcast resumed, the sound of forced laughter seemed almost obscene. Alma's leg began to tremble—an involuntary shake that betrayed something deeper. A quiet alarm rose within him, the kind that settles low in the stomach and whispers of danger before reason can explain why.
Minutes passed. The bathroom door opened with a soft click. Jasmine stepped out, hair already dry, a faint curl of steam following her. She noticed him first—his stillness, the flicker of the television, the rhythmic shaking of his leg.
Without saying a word, she walked over and pressed her hand gently to his knee, stilling it. Alma looked down at her touch, the spell of unease briefly interrupted.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly. Then, with an attempt at lightness, "That comedy show have you on edge?" Her tone carried humor, but her eyes searched his face.
He nodded once, slowly, though the gesture felt more like dismissal than reassurance. Jasmine could see it, but said nothing. He stood, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom. They prayed together—quietly, intimately—and soon after, she fell asleep, her breathing steady and peaceful.
Alma lingered a moment longer before heading back toward the living room, intending to shower. But before he reached the bathroom door, the television interrupted again.
This time, the news anchor's voice cracked.
"S-s-several officers have been taken down by a tall individual. His identity remains unknown. He appears to be heading toward the Washington Monument. The President is confirmed to be away on official duties, b-but... what is he planning to do?"
The broadcast ended abruptly, replaced by static.
Alma froze, then dropped the clothes he had been carrying. He moved without hesitation—put on his coat, pulled a ski mask over his face, grabbed his keys, zipped them securely into his pocket, and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
The air outside was cold and smelled faintly of smoke. Sirens echoed in the distance, sharp and distant, as he ascended the fire escape to the roof. From there, the city sprawled beneath him in flickers of orange light and shadow. He scanned the skyline, found his direction, and leapt across to the next building.
The world below became a blur as he ran—feet slamming against concrete, breath steady, heart driving him forward. He crossed rooftop after rooftop until Independence Avenue opened beneath him. Then, he dropped down, the wind tearing at his coat, and sprinted through the empty streets, faster than any car still daring to drive that night.
He reached the National Mall in minutes.
And there—beneath the looming white of the Monument—stood the figure. Tall. Still. The kind of presence that bends the air around it. Alma's pace quickened until the ground itself seemed to blur.
Searchlights from police helicopters swept over both of them—two silhouettes moving under a storm of light.
The tall man turned. Even from that distance, Alma could feel the weight of his gaze. For a moment, the floodlights flickered—just once—and when they steadied again, the man was gone.
Then came the first explosion.
A flash in the sky, followed by a roar that split the night open. Alma's head snapped upward. Another explosion followed, then another, until the whole horizon pulsed with fire. The air trembled with it.
Crowds had gathered there—families, children, couples celebrating Halloween—and now, they were all gone. The sound of laughter, of talking, of life, was replaced by the crackle of burning grass and the far-off whine of sirens.
Alma's teeth clenched. He ran.
When he reached the site, he activated Evil Eyes. What he saw froze him. There were no souls. None. The smoke thinned, and the truth was laid bare—thousands of charred bodies, scattered across the Mall like fallen leaves. Adults. Children. Entire families.
He stood there for a long, unbearable moment, staring into the aftermath. Then, he felt it—a presence behind him.
Alma turned.
The tall man stood there, just beyond the firelight. He was the same height as Alma, his coat flowing soundlessly in the wind. Nothing about him could be seen clearly—his features seemed to shift with the smoke, as though the night itself refused to remember him.
Rage, grief, and confusion collided within Alma.
"WHY?!" he roared, the sound tearing from his throat, echoing across the dead field. "WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!"
The man did not respond. The fires dimmed for a moment, then flared again—and he was gone.
But Alma saw it. The trace of his soul.
He ran.
Through streets and alleys slick with ash and what he hoped was rain, until he came upon a manhole cover. He pried it open and dropped down, the stench of rot and sewage hitting him immediately. The water splashed cold around his ankles.
He followed the faint traces of the soul, winding through narrow tunnels, until he broke through a barricaded door. Inside, a small chamber glowed with candlelight—recently used, the flames still steady. Tables sat empty, papers scattered. Someone had been here moments ago.
Alma searched every corner, every shadow. No doors. No exits. No one.
He clenched his fists. All those people, burned alive. All those officers, slaughtered. And the one responsible—gone, leaving only the memory of his presence.
He realized, as he retraced his steps through the tunnels, that he hadn't been following a living soul at all. Only the remnants of one. The man's ability—teleportation, instantaneous and precise—made all pursuit meaningless. Alma was chasing what no longer existed. He was chasing the past.
When he emerged again, the city was quieter. The fires still burned in the distance, staining the horizon red.
He made his way into the woods beyond the city, stripped his clothes, and set them ablaze. He stood there in silence until the flames consumed everything.
Then, under the faint light of dawn, Alma returned home.
He slipped through the apartment door as quietly as he had left, showered until the smell of smoke and sewage was gone, and lay down beside Jasmine. Her breathing was slow and peaceful.
For a moment, he stared at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of all he had seen. Then, exhaustion took him, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Whatever had transpired that day, tomorrow, it would forever be known as... "The Halloween Mystery."