We sit back down in the living room after she leaves.
The house feels different now.
Quieter—but not peaceful. The kind of silence that presses against your ears, waiting for someone to say the wrong thing. The business card is still on the coffee table, perfectly aligned, like it owns the place.
No one looks at it.
No one looks at me either.
My dad is the first to speak.
"Barry," he says carefully, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. "You should… really reconsider what she offered."
I turn my head slowly. "Reconsider what, exactly ?"
He sighs. "Think about it. Training. Structure. Safety." He hesitates. "You could even go to the same school as Luke. Those Vought schools… they're built for kids like you."
Something inside my chest tightens.
"KIDS LIKE ME," I repeat, sharper than I mean to.
My mom finally looks up, her eyes tired. "Your father just means—"
"I know exactly what he means," I cut in.
I stand up.
I can feel it now—the electricity under my skin reacting to my mood, buzzing faintly, restless. I start pacing, hands moving as I talk because staying still suddenly feels impossible.
"You want me to hand myself over," I say. "To them."
"Barry—" Dad starts.
"No," I snap. "Listen. Please."
I stop pacing and look straight at them.
"You really want me to go work with the same company that dragged Sam into a van ?" My voice cracks, just a little. "The same company that pulled Luke out of school like he was some defective product ?"
My mom's face tightens. "That's not fair—"
"I looked it up," I say, my words tumbling faster now. "I went online. Forums, articles, leaked stuff people keep taking down." I gesture angrily. "Vought doesn't care about helping anyone. They care about images. About profits. About turning people into billboards."
Dad rubs his temples. "You don't know everything."
"I know enough !" I shout.
The room goes still.
I take a shaky breath, trying to slow myself down, but the words keep coming.
"They don't want me because I'm special," I say bitterly. "They want me because I sell. Because a kid struck by lightning is a good headline. Because a smiling speedster looks great on a lunchbox."
I laugh once, harsh and hollow.
"Is that really what you want ?" I ask. "For me to sell myself like that ?"
Neither of them answers right away.
And that hurts more than if they had.
My mom finally speaks, her voice quiet. "We just want you safe."
"Safe ?" I ask. "From who ? From the world—or from them ?"
Dad looks up at me then, eyes heavy. "You don't understand what it's like," he says softly. "Watching your child turn into something you can't protect."
My anger wavers.
Just a little.
But it doesn't disappear.
"I get that you're scared," I say, my voice lowering. "I am too. But giving me to Vought isn't protecting me. It's losing me."
I look down at my hands, faint sparks dancing at the edge of my vision when my emotions spike.
"I won't be another Luke," I say. "I won't be another Sam."
The silence stretches again.
It's suffocating.
I'm still standing when the thought hits me—sharp, sudden, impossible to ignore.
"And Emma ?" I ask.
Both of my parents look up at me.
"If I accepted," I continue, slower now, more controlled, "what happens to Emma?"
Neither of them answers right away.
My chest tightens.
"Would she stay here ?" I press. "In that school ? Alone ?" My voice wavers despite my effort. "Or would she go with me ?"
My mom exhales, like she's been holding that breath for years.
"Barry…" she begins carefully. "Emma isn't like you."
The words land wrong.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Just… final.
"She's not… special in that way," my mother says, almost apologetically. "Vought wouldn't be interested in her."
Everything inside me freezes.
My thoughts slam to a halt, like someone cut the power.
' Not special. '
I stare at her, trying to understand how she can say that about the girl who shared my heartbeat before we were even born. The girl who held my hand while I was in a coma. The girl who cried thinking I wouldn't wake up.
Emma isn't special ?
My dad opens his mouth, realizing too late what just happened. "That's not what she meant—"
But I don't hear the rest.
A wave of disgust rolls through me—hot, bitter, overwhelming.
I don't yell.
I don't argue.
I simply reach down, grab the business card off the table, and in the same heartbeat—
I'm gone.
The room blurs into streaks of color and sound.
I hit the stairs at full speed, the house groaning in protest, and a second later I'm in my room.
I slam the door.
BANG.
The walls rattle.
I stand there, chest heaving, electricity crackling faintly along my arms, the card crushed in my fist.
—---
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, back pressed against the wall.
My hand hurts.
Not from an injury—just from how tightly I'm gripping the card.
I open my fingers and smooth it out against my palm.
Claire Haldane
Vought International
Senior Talent Acquisition
Of course that's her title.
My mind slips into overdrive, not the physical kind—no lightning, no frozen air—just thoughts stacking on thoughts, branching endlessly.
' If I accept… '
I'd be close to Luke.
Close enough to keep an eye on him. Close enough to make sure Golden Boy doesn't crack under the pressure, doesn't burn himself alive trying to live up to expectations that were never fair. I could be there before the whispers, before the manipulation really sinks its teeth in.
And Godolkin.
Godolkin University.
I swallow.
If I go down that path, I'd be there when it matters. I could stop the Forest before it becomes what it does. Shut it down before it ever turns into a lab for genocide. No virus. No weapon meant to wipe out Supes like a bad experiment gone wrong.
Cate.
My jaw tightens.
I could keep her from becoming what they turn her into. A smiling face, a soft voice, a living reset button for broken minds. Used, over and over, until she doesn't know where her thoughts end and Vought's begin.
Sam.
My chest aches.
I could free him.
Not someday. Not after years of torture. I could stop him from becoming a blood bag, a walking resource drained dry so others can stay strong. I could pull him out before the damage becomes permanent.
I could change things.
Really change them.
The card trembles slightly in my hand.
But the cost…
Accepting means playing their game. Smiling when they tell me to smile. Standing where they tell me to stand. Letting them dress me up as hope while they rot everything behind the curtain.
It means being their miracle.
It means selling pieces of myself, inch by inch, until I don't recognize where Barry ends and the brand begins.
And Emma.
I stare at the wall, teeth clenched.
I wouldn't be abandoning her—not completely—but it wouldn't be the same. Different schools. Different worlds. Different dangers. Phone calls instead of shared rooms. Distance instead of instinct.
She's my twin.
My anchor.
The one person who has always been with me, not behind me.
I rub my face with both hands, the card slipping onto the bed beside me.
If I refuse… I stay free.
But Luke still breaks.
Sam still suffers.
The Forest still grows.
People die.
If I accept… I become part of the machine.
But maybe—just maybe—I could jam it from the inside.
I stare at the card again.
This isn't about what I want.
It's about what I'm willing to sacrifice.
And I don't know yet which choice will cost me more.