Rain fell harder by the time Kale reached the gate.
The porch light flickered, sputtering against the storm. He slipped inside, kicking off soaked sneakers, the faint hum of the wristband still whispering against his skin.
The house smelled of oil and metal — his father's workshop always bled into every corner of their home. His mother's voice floated faintly from the kitchen, humming a lullaby he hadn't heard since childhood.
> Normal, he told himself. Everything's normal.
He hung his hoodie by the door and tried not to notice how his fingers trembled. The memory of the floating cat still burned in his mind — the shimmer of blue light, the sudden weightlessness, the feeling of power pressing outward like a heartbeat too big for his chest.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
His mother peeked out from the kitchen, a smile bright and warm despite the tired lines under her eyes. "You're drenched again. Didn't you bring the umbrella I gave you?"
Kale forced a half-smile. "It broke."
"Mm-hm," she said, unconvinced. "Dinner's almost ready. Go tell your father to come up from his cave."
Kale hesitated. "He's still working?"
"When is he not?" she sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But… I think it's the final adjustments tonight. He said it's important."
That word — important — always meant dangerous.
Kale nodded and headed toward the basement door. The smell of ozone grew stronger with every step, mixed with the faint hum of machinery. He pushed open the door and descended into the workshop.
His father, Dr. Alaric Dane, sat hunched over the workbench, the light of a dozen holographic schematics dancing across his glasses. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Dad?" Kale said quietly.
The older man startled, then exhaled when he saw his son. "Kale. Good, you're home." He gestured toward the small metallic sphere resting on the bench. "I think I've done it."
Kale frowned. "Done what?"
"The stabilizer. Version four." His father turned, eyes gleaming with manic pride. "It should keep the mana suppression field steady even if your energy spikes again."
Kale's chest tightened. "You know about that?"
His father gave a grim smile. "Son, I felt it all the way down here. Every time your control slips, the device reacts. You need to be more careful."
"I was careful!" Kale's voice rose before he could stop it. "It just— it happened, okay? I saw a cat in the road and—"
"You used your power," his father finished softly. "Even a little is too much, Kale. You know what's at stake."
Kale looked away, jaw tightening. He'd heard this speech a thousand times. Hide. Control. Never be seen.
He wanted to shout that he hadn't asked for any of this. That it wasn't fair he had to live like a shadow in a world that didn't even know he existed. But the fear in his father's eyes stopped him.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll be more careful."
His father reached out, gripping his shoulder. "You have a gift no one should have, Kale. The witches— if they ever sense you, they won't stop until you're dead. Do you understand?"
Kale nodded silently.
Above them, thunder cracked. The lights flickered. A faint vibration pulsed through the metal table — soft at first, then sharper, as though something beyond the walls had answered.
His father froze. "...Did you feel that?"
Kale did. The air itself seemed to hum, a pressure pushing against his chest. For a heartbeat, the wristband on his arm glowed faintly blue again — then went dark.
Dr. Dane stood abruptly. "No. No, not tonight—" He ran to the console, fingers flying over the keys. "Their sensors must've picked up the surge. I told you the field wasn't ready!"
Kale's blood ran cold. "Who's sensors?"
Before his father could answer, the lights died completely. The workshop plunged into darkness, broken only by the faint, pulsing glow from Kale's wristband.
And somewhere outside, above the roar of thunder — came a whisper.
A woman's voice, carried on the wind, soft and cruel.
"Found you."