“Tisiah!” the man exclaimed, breaking into a grin as he ruffled Tisiah’s dark hair like an older brother who hadn’t seen his sibling in years. “It’s been way too long. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m doing alright,” Tisiah replied, calm as ever.

  The man’s gaze slid toward me. His expression changed—subtle, but sharp. Eyes narrowing just enough to clock me as a variable he didn’t recognize.

  “And who’s this?” he asked, tone cautious.

  “This is Connor,” Tisiah said, gesturing toward me.

  I gave a small wave, awkward for no reason I could explain. Devon chuckled and reached out to shake my hand.

  “Devon,” he said, his smile easy, his grip firm. “Nice to meet you, man. Always good to see a new face. So… what brings you two here?”

  Tisiah leaned in, voice lowered. “We need your help.”

  Devon’s brow arched, but he didn’t protest. He motioned us toward a booth by the window, where sunlight spilled onto the tabletop in soft gold. We slid into our seats. I sat next to Tisiah, my nerves already humming beneath my skin. I felt hot—palms sweating, heartbeat climbing.

  “Help with what, exactly?” Devon asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

  Tisiah scanned the room quickly. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he said, “We’re infiltrating a secure base. We need IDs. High-quality. Military-grade. And we thought you might be the guy to make that happen.”

  Devon leaned back in his seat, exhaling thoughtfully. “That’s one heck of a favor,” he said. “And to be honest… I don’t do that anymore.”

  Tisiah blinked. “You don’t?”

  Devon shook his head. “Things have changed. Security’s tighter than it’s ever been. Everything’s tied into a centralized chip system now—encrypted, scanned, cross-referenced. Forging a badge today means risking a lifetime sentence. Or worse.”

  “Do you know someone who might help?” Tisiah asked, trying not to sound desperate.

  “Not really,” Devon replied. “The good ones either went clean or disappeared. The rest? They’re ghosts. These days, even top-level hackers can’t breach the verification layer without setting off a dozen alarms.”

  “Wow,” I murmured, stunned.

  “Yeah. Every scanner’s linked to Homeland Security. Even if you fool one checkpoint, the next’ll burn you. The margin for error is razor-thin.”

  Tisiah nodded slowly, then stood. “Still… thanks for your time.”

  Just as we turned to leave, Devon’s eyes locked on me. His demeanor changed again—curious, sharp, predatory.

  “Wait,” he said slowly. “You look familiar.”

  My blood turned cold.

  “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere,” he continued. “Wasn’t there a massive explosion not long ago? Leveled half a town? They called it a ‘mysterious energy event.’”

  I swallowed hard. My lungs didn’t feel like they were working.

  “You’re that kid,” Devon said, voice rising. “I remember the footage. You were the only one near the epicenter. People said no one could’ve survived—but now that I’m seeing you in person…”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He leaned forward. “I don’t think you survived it. I think you caused it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tisiah snapped, stepping in front of me. His tone dropped to something sharp and defensive.

  “I’ve been around,” Devon said coolly. “I’ve seen weird things—people with strange powers, blacklisted experiments. But what happened at that site? That was off the charts.”

  “He’s not the one,” Tisiah said firmly, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Devon stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “If you say so.”

  We left quietly. No goodbyes. No looking back. As we walked down the road toward the academy, I could still feel Devon’s eyes burning into the back of my skull.

  “Did you tell him?” I asked once we were clear of the café.

  “No,” Tisiah said quickly, shaking his head. “I’d never do that.”

  “Then how did he recognize me? My face was practically ash in that footage—there’s no way he could’ve ID’d me.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I made sure he believed it wasn’t you. That’s what matters.”

  I didn’t respond. I just kept walking, trying to sort through the storm spinning in my head.

  The next day—Sunday—we were set to retrieve the Armonk.

  The plan was risky: borrow the device for a few hours, move it, then return it before the TSA caught on. Simple in theory. In execution? Anything but.

  We told Mr. Drails everything. He wasn’t thrilled.

  Without Devon’s help, we had to rely completely on Nikki. She forged makeshift IDs and tactical gear using her Perk. They wouldn’t hold up to deep scans, but they’d last just long enough to get us in—if we played it right.

  We regrouped in Drails’ office before departure. Everyone was suited up, tense but ready.

  “Mr. Drails,” Malachi asked, latching a harness across his chest, “why don’t we just teleport inside the facility?”

  “Because,” Drails said as he finished adjusting his own uniform, “every door inside is locked with keycards. And no one outside the base knows what they look like. Without a scan match, Nikki can’t replicate them.”

  He looked up at all of us. “So, are we ready?”

  None of us answered.

  Because we were.

  But we were also terrified.

  Failure didn’t mean we got grounded.

  It meant we died.

  “Wait,” I said suddenly, realizing something. “How will we know when it’s safe to return?”

  “When the TSA leaves,” Drails replied.

  That was all the answer he gave.

  We made our way to the portal chamber. The familiar hum of magic vibrated in the air, wrapping around my skin like a net. Then the light flared—and we were through.

  We emerged just outside the entrance to Port Manuel.

  And it was massive.

  The building stretched into the sky like a skyscraper born of steel and war. Fifty stories high, fortified with gray chrome panels and mounted turrets. Towering walls wrapped around it like armor. You didn’t just enter this place. You earned it—or you died trying.

  “There it is,” Drails said, pointing toward the main structure.

  Six heavily armed guards stood at the front entrance. Five were grounded, holding tactical rifles. A sixth was perched on the rooftop with a sniper rifle, scope glinting in the sun.

  We stepped forward cautiously.

  The portal behind us sealed with a loud thud.

  Every guard turned.

  “Are you here on the general’s orders?” one barked, stepping toward us.

  “Yes,” Drails replied, his voice composed as he flashed one of Nikki’s fabricated IDs. “We’re here for a secure pickup. Classified cargo.”

  “For what purpose?” another asked, hand resting on his sidearm.

  “The president himself requested an evaluation,” Drails said coolly. “He believes the weapon may be targeted soon. We’ve been ordered to relocate it temporarily.”

  “When is it scheduled to move?” a third asked, typing something into a panel nearby.

  “In one hour,” Drails replied. “Prep for transport.”

  The guards exchanged glances—but none of them called him out. At least, not yet.

  Then came the sound.

  A low, steady rumble from the sky.

  At first, it seemed distant. Normal.

  “Probably just a jet,” one guard muttered, turning to glance upward.

  But then the shadows arrived—dozens of them.

  Jets tore through the clouds, black and sleek, wings slicing the sky. One after another, they banked hard and dove.

  “Get down!” Drails shouted.

  Gunfire exploded from above. Bullets rained down in violent bursts. The guards scattered, returning fire as they ducked behind vehicles and barricades. We dove to the ground as debris tore through the air.

  Smoke billowed. Metal shattered.

  The sky thundered.

  Spotters on the roof leapt for cover as explosions rocked the compound. A fuel tank somewhere ignited with a deafening boom, sending fire curling skyward.

  “Move! Move!” someone screamed.

  We ran for the entrance.

  The ground shook. Sirens wailed. Lights flashed red in every direction. The building’s defense protocols activated—barriers rising, doors locking, drones buzzing overhead.

  “Shut the door!” a guard shouted.

  Nikki lunged for the panel and slammed her hand on the sensor. The door hissed closed behind us, sealing us in.

  Inside, the noise dulled—but my heart didn’t. It pounded like it wanted to burst out of my chest.

  Then realization hit.

  This wasn’t a coincidence.