Chapter 12

  Beginning of the First Act (I)

  An alarm yanked me out of sleep. I swung at the nightstand, missed the glowing screen twice, then finally slapped it quiet on the third attempt. Silence rushed in—I exhaled hard, like I'd been holding my breath all night.

  I lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting for the usual post-waking confusion to buy me a few seconds of ignorance.

  It didn't come.

  Instead, a single clean fact sat on my chest like a cinder block: Today is the first day of the Institute.

  Three months ago, 'today' had been distant—the abstract threat I could prepare for. Now it was morning and the timer had hit zero.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The bridge of my nose flared hot and tender, a dull ache that lived there now to the point I’d gotten used to it. I'd stopped getting nosebleeds two weeks ago, which Alaric called ‘progress.’ The sinus headaches, though, weren't going anywhere.

  My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

  Alaric: Jesse, I'm on my way to get you. Be ready in ten.

  Of course. No ‘good morning.’ No ‘you nervous?’ Just… Alaric being Alaric… or Alan.

  I dragged myself into my bathroom and flicked on the light. The fluorescent bulb clicked a few times then buzzed to life. The mirror gave me the full report: puffy eyes, hair sticking up, a little drool crusted at the corner of my mouth.

  I leaned in and parted my hair at the side.

  More grey.

  Not enough to look distinguished. Just enough to look like I'd aged five years in three months. The Draft had planted tiny white flags across my scalp—at least that is what I am blaming for all this. The mental toll has been excruciating at times, and these grey fuckers just prove it.

  I stared at them for a second, half convinced they'd multiplied overnight, then remembered I was twenty-one and living in another world. What was really supposed to make sense here?

  A quick shower washed the sleep away. I dressed fast—jeans, t-shirt, hoodie.

  In the kitchen, I made cereal. The true breakfast of champions. I poured the sugary mess,drowned it in milk, then sat in the space we'd turned into a war room. Alaric's notes, mixed in with my own, were still scattered all across the table—diagrams, timelines, profiles of the cast. Surprisingly, I knew most everything, and everyone, on here now, since we have covered it all so many times.

  The Draft sat in the center, neat and closed and waiting. I didn't touch it. Three months of training had taught me that much, at least; don't look unless you have to, don't chase outcomes, and don't get greedy. My job here is to help steer the ship, not captain it, and there is a big difference between the two.

  My phone was already in my hand. Thumb flicking through notifications. Doom-scrolling to distract myself—though really it only made things worse.

  I'd followed everyone from the main cast over the summer. Partly because it was useful and partly because I coped by building mental corkboards out of Instagram posts.

  Most of them had some kind of presence online, thankfully. Especially the twins.

  Malika and Matthias St. Claire. The kind of popular that lived in influencer territory—a few hundred thousand followers between them both, polished photos, brand deals. The world already treated them like they mattered because they actually did.

  Malika's posts were not as littered with all the sponsor stuff, she was surprisingly the normal one, between the two of them— if that even makes sense. Friends, places, gym shots, runs. A curated life, but not a loud one.

  Matthias was the opposite. Every post was a statement—angles, lighting, captions, all tailored to convey dominance. It screamed eighth-grader syndrome. Still, he had brand deals and I didn't, so who was really winning?

  "At least I'm not cringeworthy," I muttered, then exhaled, "Hopefully."

  Yvette's account was loud in a different way. Less curated, more unapologetically her. Memes, shitposts, photos of us hanging out over the summer with her siblings and our friends. She was funny—the kind that made you forget she was also paying attention to everything. She could read what you were thinking even when you couldn't. Weird talent. She dared the world to take her seriously, then refused to let it, like spite was just another hobby.

  I scrolled past a photo from two weeks ago—me, Yvette, and three of her friends at some lake I’d never been to nor heard of. It was a good time. I remember smiling for the picture. I looked normal, like I belonged.

  Maybe that’s the weird part. I kind of do belong here now.

  Three months was long enough to fake it, but now I’m passed all that. It’s been long enough now I’ve learned a good chunk of the inside jokes, I laugh at the right times and nod along when people bring up memories I don’t have. Even if I fuck up, we laugh at how bad my memory is and then move on. Yvette's friend group—which also happens to be my friend group, go figure—had adopted me without question. They thought I'd always been there after all.

  Sometimes I almost believed it myself.

  I kept scrolling.

  Paul Jones posted like a golden retriever in human form—gym photos, food, motivational quotes. If he ever became a threat, I’m convinced it'd be by accident. This man was a teddy bear hiding in the skin of a boulder if I’ve ever seen one.

  Then there were the blanks. The ones who didn't exist online.

  Xankoris and Bao Lin, the missing links that round out our cast. All I had were Alaric's personal notes for these two, and those felt less like introductions and more like case files.

  Xankoris not existing online tracked, based on everything I'd read about him. Alaric said he'd already moved onto campus about a month ago—the scout, Elias, had arranged it for him. Even so, he struck me as the kind of guy who'd rather be seen as a rumor than as an actual person. Whatever the case may be, though, I'd find out soon enough.

  Bao Lin's background bothered me more than it helped, mostly because it felt too ugly to be ‘just backstory.’ The spark notes of which consists of her getting exiled from her family because she wasn't supposed to exist. Which then saw her raised by a nomadic coven in the northern badlands, where Canada used to be. They taught her how to use hexes and how to fight the Rot as a people who did not have walls to hide behind.

  Alaric's notes said Elias had recruited her personally as well. Evidently, the man had stupidly good luck when it came to finding people like her—based on how the story named him as the personal recruiter of both Xankoris and Bao Lin.

  I swallowed the last bite of cereal and looked up, realizing I'd been staring at my phone for too long.

  It buzzed again.

  Alaric: I’m here.

  I stared at the message. My stomach did that slow, unpleasant roll.

  Three months of practice and training and learning all building to this. Rehearsal is finished and now we are getting thrust onto the biggest stage of them all.

  I scrolled once more, almost out of spite, and stopped on a photo of some girl at the Institute's front gate with a cheesy hashtag.

  #Pioneer First day! New beginnings!

  Jesus. Are people gonna treat this like a theme park?

  I locked my phone and stood, rinsing the bowl. My bag sat ready by the door since last night. I picked it up and then opened my door.

  “Ah, shit.” I said to myself as I walked back to the table and grabbed the Draft. “Can’t forget about you.”

  ~~~~

  I climbed into the passenger seat and dropped my bag at my feet. Alaric glanced at it, then at me.

  “Did you sleep last night? You look exhausted,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I replied plainly, buckling my seatbelt. “You look short.”

  His mouth twitched. He said nothing as he pulled away from the curb like the street belonged to him.

  After a few blocks, he flicked me another glance. “How are you feeling about today?”

  “Nervous, I guess.” I answered, trying to keep it casual, but my voice betrayed me a little. “You?”

  “I’m feeling quite confident, actually. We have a plan in place and I am quite confident it will pan out.”

  I looked over at him. “So does that mean you are confident in me?”

  “Yes, actually,” he confirmed. I kept staring at him and he finally glanced over. “Try not to look so suspicious. It cheapens the moment.”

  That actually got a laugh out of me, quiet and unwilling. “Where is this encouragement coming from? Are you sick or something?”

  “Not at all, I’m being practical,” he said. “You won’t be able to perform well if all I do is push you hard. You have… done well, you’ve worked hard. I am confident.”

  “Huh,” I vocalized. This is oddly… nice, “Well then, I guess, thank you.”

  He didn’t even blink. “You're welcome.”

  I stared at him blankly. The awkward silence settling in. Oddly enough, I don’t feel comfortable right now.Usually we are bickering like an old couple by this point.

  “You know,” I said, before I could stop myself, “sometimes I forget you’re technically a person.”

  He didn’t look at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not like that,” I said quickly. “Okay, hold on. That came out wrong.”

  “Indeed,” he said, dry and precise. “Entirely wrong.”

  I shifted in my seat, heat creeping up my neck. Why do I do this to myself?

  “I just mean,” I said, forcing it out, “you’re always so put together. So… certain. It’s hard to even get you to agree with me sometimes. You don’t hesitate. You don’t doubt yourself. It’s like you don’t operate the same way the rest of us do.”

  He was quiet for a moment, hands steady on the wheel.

  “So,” he said finally, “the way I carry myself intimidates you.”

  “That’s not—” I stopped, already regretting this. “You know what, forget it.”

  “But it does,” he continued mildly. “I make you feel insecure.”

  I felt something snap.

  “You make me feel like shit, asshole,” I said, the words sharper than I intended. “There. Happy? Conversation over.”

  “Very well.”

  I glanced at him and caught a smug smile on his face. Not wide, but present enough I could deduce what this jerk was doing right now.

  “Oh, so you are doing this on purpose?”

  His eyes flicked towards me, quick and knowing. “I am enjoying this, yes. Usually the roles are reversed. You often grind my gears with your ignorance.”

  I looked back out the window, practically grinding my teeth, watching the city slide past.

  “I hate it here.” He didn’t respond of course, he didn’t need to.

  ~~~~

  We drove for a few more miles until the skyline thinned and the city finally let go of us. The perimeter walls rose ahead, a continuous slab of reinforced concrete broken only by watchtowers and gated checkpoints. On the Denver side, the surface of the walls were mostly intact, all smooth, clean, gray rockface.

  On the other side, it wasn’t the case.

  Bluish-white crystal veined the exterior walls like exposed nerves, stretching across the rock face like roots from a tree. Threading through cracks and seams in slow, deliberate patterns. When it caught the light just right and held it, the veins appeared to glow.

  I exhaled through my nose and leaned back into the seat.

  It was a common misconception that the Denver Institute of Magic was actually in Denver. It wasn’t technically, because it sat just beyond the city limits, where land was cheaper and nobody complained about what they had to build to get it up and running.

  Or for that matter, what they had to keep out.

  It didn’t take long before the campus came into view.

  The Campus Center was the first thing you noticed, and unfortunately the hardest thing to stop noticing after that. It rose out of the surrounding grounds like a misplaced monument, all white stone and rigid symmetry, surrounded by carefully manicured sidewalks, ornamental trees, and stretches of trimmed shrubs that tried, and failed, to soften its presence. The rest of the campus radiated outward from it. Academic buildings, training fields, dormitories. Acres of it.

  “It’s such a monster,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Doesn’t matter how many times I see it.”

  We were still at least half a mile from the entrance, and it already dominated the landscape.

  Traffic thickened as we approached. Hundreds of cars sat in a slow-moving line leading toward the main gate, brake lights glowing in a long, patient chain. Alaric didn’t bother joining them. He signaled, switched lanes, and steered toward the faculty entrance on the far side of the campus.

  “You’ll just have to walk the rest of the way to the Campus Center,” he said, voice calm and unconcerned.

  “Yeah,” I said, letting out a breath. “I figured.”

  I noticed the line ahead and turned around, catching how far it wound back towards the city.

  “How many students are enrolled this year total?”

  “Just under eight thousand.” Alaric replied calmly, “we can handle around ten thousand at full capacity.”

  Up close, the architectural theme became even harder to ignore. Every building leaned into the same aesthetic. Towering white columns. Broad, bright white stone facades, like the Greek Parthenon. It felt like it all served no purpose except to make you feel smaller while you walked before them. It all felt less like a place of learning and more like some bizarre temple.

  We pulled up to the faculty entrance, and there was of course a security booth with a boom gate keeping us from progressing.

  An older man with a larger stature, leaned out of the booth and waved with a friendly face. Alaric pulled out his badge and rolled the window down.

  “Morning Bill, how are you today?”

  “Doing well, Professor. Good to see you.” He took Alaric’s badge and then glanced over at me.

  “Well, I’ll be… is that young man here Jesse?” The man asked, I waved in response.

  “Yes sir, how are you?”

  “Well, I am blessed by the best, young man; thanks for asking. Welcome to the Institute. Y’all take care now.” The man handed Alaric his ID, the boom opened and we were on our way.

  “That guy seems nice.” I say casually.

  “He is. Bill was one of the first hires alongside the rest of the facilities and security teams. He’s been here longer than I have.”

  “Which is… how long?” I asked, oddly enough I didn’t know.

  “I was hired initially to help develop course curriculums about five years ago, but after I finished that, President Fields offered me a tenure track as a Professor of Magical Phenomena.”

  “Gotcha.” I replied, not really understanding all of that, but it sounded important.

  We pulled into a parking spot, and then I hopped out.

  “Alright, do you know where you are going?” Alaric asked me, as he got out of the car.

  “Kinda, I’ll figure it out. Just look for a bunch of clueless freshmen like me, right?”

  Alaric chuckled and then pointed in a direction. “Just look for the Campus Center building, it’s hard to miss.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a case, “Also, this is for you.”

  I took it, turning it over in my hands. Inside the case sat a pair of simple black-framed reading glasses.

  I looked up at him a little confused.

  “They will help with your coursework,” he explained calmly. “Logistics and Planning carries a heavy analytical burden. These will ensure you remain… efficient. We can’t have you bogged down with tedious coursework while trying to stick with the narrative.”

  “Okay, then. So… what do they do?”

  I put them on. They were comfortable, I guess? Nothing special.

  Alaric opened his briefcase and removed a sheet of paper. It looked like some sort of practice exam, there were a bunch of questions on it with glyphs and symbols all over the page. Numbers and formulas arranged in patterns that meant nothing to a statistics drop out like myself.

  “Look.”

  He handed it over.

  The moment I focused on it, everything shifted.

  The symbols rearranged themselves in my mind. Relationships snapped into place. Questions answered themselves before I finished reading them. Every just suddenly made sense to me as I looked at them. It was brilliant! Like remembering something I’d already learned and now could recall without any difficulty..

  “Holy shit,” I said quietly. I had to be smiling like an idiot right now.

  As soon as I pulled the glasses off, the clarity vanished, leaving the symbols meaningless again. Like a light switch, it was that quick.

  “Well,” I said. “That’s… totally not gonna get me kicked out. These can’t be legal, right?”

  “No, but they only function for you,” Alaric said. “To everyone else, they’re ordinary readers. They don’t even use magic to function. These are one of one, Jesse. You cannot lose these, or else we will need to come up with a new solution. Understood?”

  I turned them over in my hand.

  “Yeah, I understand. Geez, Alaric, these would’ve been so useful this summer too, why did you not give me these earlier?”

  “For one, I did not make them then. Secondly, they would have stunted your growth, not accelerated it.” he said. “I also needed to observe your natural comprehension first before creating and tuning these to match your needs.”

  Of course he did. I call bullshit on all of that.

  “Now, get going. I have a faculty meeting to attend.” Alaric retrieved the paper and stuffed it back in his briefcase. He then made his way toward the office building at the corner of the parking lot. He struggled a little bit with the stairs height, what a surprise.

  “Alright, I’ll see ya later.” I called out with a smile.

  ~~~~

  Thirty minutes—and one cigarette—later, I stood in front of the Campus Center building.

  This thing really is a monster. Ten stories tall, at least, with massive white pillars out front. The whole structure was extremely grand and over the top. Maybe that was the point, though.

  “Hey there, you know where you’re going?”

  I turned. A woman in a bright blue shirt with STAFF printed across the front smiled as she approached me.

  “I think so. I’m looking for orientation check-in.”

  “Okay!” She pivoted toward the entrance. “Are you non-combatant?”

  “Yes ma’am. Logistics and Planning.”

  She nodded once, already halfway back to wherever she’d come from. “Through those doors, take a left. You’ll see signs. Welcome to the Institute.”

  I followed her inside.

  The lobby hit me all at once. People everywhere. Voices echoing up into vaulted ceilings that disappeared into a glass dome overhead. Sunlight poured through it, pooling on the marble floor like something physical.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  I forced myself forward, following the non-combatant signs before I could stand there gawking any longer. The line wasn’t terrible. Maybe fifty people. It moved fast.

  “Last name?” the guy behind the table asked, not looking up from his tablet.

  “Parks. Jesse Parks.” I adjusted the strap digging into my shoulder.

  He scrolled. “Jesse Parks… Okay, we have you as a Logistics and Planning major, with a Field Operations and War Studies minor. That correct?”

  “Yes sir.”

  He nodded, printed something off from the printer behind him. He slid it into a folder, and handed it over along with a blue lanyard. It had my name and major on it. “Welcome to the Institute. I put a copy of the schedule inside your lanyard. You will need to attend the main session in the auditorium at eleven. Breakouts will follow after that based on department. Reference your schedule for details on that if you need help. You can also ask any of the staff in blue shirts if you need further assistance. Any questions I can help you with?”

  “Nope. I’m good. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Next, please.”

  I stepped aside, put on my lanyard and opened the folder. There was a map, along with a detailed schedule and a QR code in the corner for an app.

  “Ey! Jesse!”

  I looked up.

  Yvette was weaving through the crowd toward me, already smiling.

  “Thought that was your hunched frame,” she said. “You just check in?”

  “Yeah.” I held up the folder. “Was about to figure out where the hell anything is here. This place is basically a shopping mall.”

  “No kidding. I grabbed a table by the café with Ruben and Felicity. You should come sit with us.”

  Of course there’s a café. “Yeah, that sounds good. I could use a drink.”

  “Well,” she added, glancing past me, “good luck with the line.”

  ~~~~

  She hadn’t been exaggerating. The coffee line stretched halfway across the lobby. I stood there for about three seconds before deciding caffeine wasn’t worth that kind of suffering.

  I grabbed a Coke from a vending machine instead and followed Yvette to the table she’d claimed.

  I recognized everyone which was nice.

  Paul Jones sat hunched forward with his massive elbows on the table, this guy really is ‘larger than life’. Ruben Sykes lounged beside him, shorter guy with black hair. He had one leg kicked out and a coffee in hand. Then finally there was Felicity Derrick, also a shorter girl but with a stubborn personality that matched her red head of hair. She sat across from the rest of the group, absorbed in her phone.

  Besides Paul, Yvette and I had spent most of the summer orbiting the same places with Ruben and Felicity, along with many others of course. Shopping centers, shitty diners, a bunch of places that were evidently our ‘usual haunts’.

  “Look who I found,” Yvette announced. "Another Red Rocks alumni wandering the halls."

  Felicity glanced up. “Hey, Jess.”

  Ruben leaned forward and bumped my fist. “What up?”

  Paul stood slightly and held out his hand.

  “What’s up man? Paul Jones, nice to meet you.”

  “Jesse Parks.” I shook it. His grip was firm which matched my impression of how strong he was, “Yeah, I remember you. I follow you on Instagram. Not to sound like a stalker or anything.”

  He laughed. “Oh, word? I must have never followed you back.”

  He pulled out his phone. Mine buzzed a few moments later.

  “Fixed that. Glad to be with some folks from the same Academy, feels good.” he said with a smile.

  I sat down, setting my folder on the table.

  Felicity tilted her head at me. “You’re non-combatant?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Noticed your lanyard looks different,” Her eyebrows pulled together. “Wait, but we did Ranger School that one summer together, right?

  Yvette snorted. “More like he barely survived it. I remember him complaining the whole time.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Felicity said automatically.

  Ruben took a sip of his coffee. “You had to ruck like fifteen miles a day with a full kit in under three hours. It was hell.”

  Felicity hesitated. “Okay, it was a little bad.” She then looked at me. “But why non-combat all the sudden?”

  I shrugged. “Seemed like a better fit. I want to be an operations director.”

  Yvette then nudged me with her shoulder, “Look at you having high aspirations.”

  I just smiled at her words. It was easier than explaining something I didn’t fully understand myself.

  “Traitor, you just want to tell us what to do in the field.” Felicity said lightly with a fake frown.

  I just laughed, “Yeah, sure.”

  The lobby churned around us. Students dragging luggage. Parents hovering too close. Staff trying to herd everyone into lines that didn’t really seem to exist.

  Felicity looked back at her phone. “Did you guys download that Institute app?”

  “Yeah,” Ruben answered. “Why?”

  “My schedule wasn’t showing up. Is yours showing up?”

  He leaned over. “Oh, that happened to me. You have to filter by semester on your calendar. It doesn’t default to the Fall for some reason.”

  She handed him the phone. He tapped twice and gave it back. “Oh, there it is.”

  “Where do you get the app?” I asked, looking over at their phones.

  “QR code in the folder.” Yvette replied, while motioning toward my folder on the table.

  I scanned it and signed in. It loaded pretty fast which was nice, the layout was not the best, but at least it was somewhat functional.

  “What classes does everyone have?” Yvette asked, scrolling. “I’ve got Intro to Magic Systems with—” she stopped herself before she finished speaking. “Oh! Jess, look! Your dad is teaching it!”

  She turned the phone so I could see.

  ‘Instructor: Alan Parks.’

  “Sweet! I’m in that one too,” I said as I showed her my schedule too.

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, I got Alan Parks too! That’s your dad?” I nodded at his question, he gave me a thumbs up.

  “I have Intro too,” Felicity said, frowning at her screen. “But it’s with some Professor named Bordeaux?”

  “Oh sick, I got Alan too!” Ruben said.

  Felicity groaned. “Of course you did.”

  She poked at her phone, probably trying to switch sections.

  Yvette leaned back, smiling at all of us. “Well. Looks like we already have a study group figured out then. Yeah?”

  Everyone looked at each other and then at me for half a second. What, was I a deciding vote? “Yeah,” I agreed. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, but I smiled anyway.

  Did they expect me to have the teaching notes ahead of time? Not like they are wrong with the glasses that Alaric gave me, but the expectation of it all just rubbed me the wrong way.

  ~~~~

  It was about quarter till eleven when we finally let the current carry us toward the auditorium.

  Students funneled in from every hallway, blue lanyards bouncing against chests, folders tucked under arms, the low hum of a thousand separate conversations braiding together into something almost mechanical. The multiple entrance doors situated all across the back wall stood propped open like mouths of a cavern, swallowing us by the dozen.

  Inside, the space opened all at once.

  The auditorium was part of the Campus Center, but it felt like its own isolated ecosystem. Tiered seating sloped upward in a wide fan from the stage. Even half full, the room carried a sense of scale that made you feel puny. Ten thousand seats, maybe more, were all bolted into the carpeted floor.

  We moved down one of the aisles together, shoes thudding against the carpet. Ruben and Felicity led without really meaning to while in a quiet argument about something on Felicity’s phone. Paul trailed behind them with Yvette and I following close. As Ruben and Felicity led us to an empty row about halfway down, we all slid in one after the other.

  After Yvette, I took the end seat. I barely registered sitting before something tightened low in my stomach. This place… I had seen it before. In the Draft, this is where I first got a glimpse of today’s events through Malika’s eyes.

  The slope, the stage, the people… All a memory that wasn’t a memory anymore, it was now. I blinked and forced myself to focus on the present.

  “Man,” Yvette muttered, leaning forward and scanning the room, “how much do you think they dropped on this? This is nicer than a movie theater.”

  Her voice snapped me back into the row.

  Ruben leaned over from the other side. “Denver Post did a piece on this place when they finished construction. Campus Center alone was $200 million.”

  “$200 million,” Felicity repeated flatly, already reclining into her seat. “For an oversized fishbowl. Love that for them.”

  She pulled her phone out again and crossed one leg over the other.

  The room certainly deserved the commentary. The architecture didn’t try to be subtle. White stone lined the walls in clean vertical segments broken by recessed lighting that cast everything in a soft, intentional glow. The seating curved outward as it rose, so no matter where you sat, the stage remained centered.

  At the front, a broad platform stretched across the lowest tier with a single podium in the middle. Behind it, two massive LED panels flanked the Institute’s crest. The shield was minimalist with its clean lines. Two stylized mountain peaks cut through the center like a horizon.

  For a moment, I let myself just look.

  In the vision I had been viewing for the past three months, Malika had been seated somewhere ahead of me. Front right, I think, just a few rows down. The angle was strange, of course, because in the visions I was seeing it all through her perspective.

  I leaned forward slightly, scanning the sections in that direction.

  Rows were still filling in. Students shrugging off backpacks. Parents hovering and snapping last-minute photos before being shooed out. A few faculty members drifted along the aisles, checking lanyards, speaking in low voices, greeting students.

  Still, no sign of her... or him for that matter. Either twin would be enough actually, now that I think about it.

  “Have you seen anyone else from the Academy?” I asked Yvette quietly.

  She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and shook her head. “Nah. Just us so far. I know there are supposed to be a few more. The St. Claires are enrolled here, I believe.” That got my attention, even if I tried not to show it.

  “Want one?” she added, holding the pack out.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I took a piece and folded it into my mouth, grateful for something to do.

  Ruben leaned forward across Felicity’s space, one hand braced on the back of her seat. She frowned at the encroachment but didn’t move.

  “Speaking of people from the Academy, I actually saw Tyler and Veronica on my way in at check-in,” he said with a smile.

  “Tyler Maddox? From Class Three?” Paul asked, eyebrows lifting. “He told me he was going to New York.”

  “Pretty sure it was him,” Ruben replied. “Veronica was glued to his side. Some things never change.” He gave a low chuckle at his own implication.

  Felicity clicked her tongue without looking up from her phone. “Thank you for the field report. Truly vital information.”

  “I’m just saying,” Ruben shrugged. “It was interesting seeing more people from the Academy.”

  “Interesting,” she repeated, slowly pushing Ruben away. “Now would you please return to your assigned airspace, sir? Thank you~.”

  Paul chuckled lightly at the scene, “Well, hey, it’s good to know Tyler’s here, man. He and I were tight back in the day.”

  Around us, the auditorium continued to fill. The sound shifted gradually, less scattered chatter and more unified anticipation. Every seat that snapped down added to the rhythm. I kept searching the front right section.

  If the vision meant anything, she’d be somewhere in that cluster of faces. That short, shoulder length brown hair, the straight posture. She would carry herself like she was measuring the room. All refined and everything. But still... nothing yet.

  “Who’re we looking for?” Yvette asked, leaning closer and following my line of sight.

  I realized I’d been staring too long.

  “Anybody,” I said. “Feels weird not seeing more Academy faces.”

  She studied me for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I miss that place too. Just give it time, more people are coming in still.”

  She stretched her arms overhead, back arching. “Ugh! Honestly, all I care about is the cafeteria right now. I'm hungry.”

  That pulled a quiet laugh out of me. “The cafeteria?”

  “Yeah," She spoke with an expression that seemed to berate me for even questioning her, "I’m serious! Their Tex-Mex grill is unreal.”

  “They already opened it?” I asked.

  “Yeah. For move-in.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Which you did not help me with, by the way.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Look, that wasn’t intentional. Alan needed help with some stuff.”

  I noticed Paul leaned over, and looked at me “Alan...?” Paul repeated slowly.

  “Your dad?” Yvette asked, a grin forming. She then repeated, “You mean your dad?”

  “Yeah, I called you and told you I couldn't help, remember? So what's the beef?”

  Paul leaned across the row and chuckled. “Hold on, you telling me you call your dad by his first name?”

  Yvette straightened, the conversation now shifted entirely. “Okay, right?! I’m not the only one who thinks that’s weird!”

  Ruben twisted around in his seat. “You actually call your dad Alan? That's sick.”

  Felicity lowered her phone, and chimed in. “Why?”

  The attention hit all at once. I shrugged, forcing a small laugh. “It’s not that weird. I mean, he adopted me so... he's still my dad, but it’s- it's not that deep, you know?”

  The words left my mouth casually but they landed like a dropped plate. Silence stretched across the row.

  “…What?” Yvette’s voice didn’t rise. It flattened.

  Her expression emptied in a way I’d never seen before. I blinked. Then echoed her sentiment, “what?”

  “You... were adopted?” she asked, tthe gum in her mouth stopped moving.

  I hesitated. “Yeah,” I said lightly. “What? It’s not a big deal.”

  Paul shifted first, filling the quiet. “I mean… if he’s your adoptive dad, that makes more sense. You’ve got a good relationship, right?”

  I nodded at his question, which satisfied him enough.

  “Yeah,” Felicity added quickly, searching for something safe. “It’s actually kind of sweet then. Like, you’re close.”

  Ruben nodded. “Meh! Either way, it's not that weird, bro.”

  I gave another small chuckle. “Exactly.”

  But Yvette hadn’t looked away. Her brows were drawn slightly, not in judgment, but more so confusion.

  “...How long?” she asked.

  The question was simple, but I felt the edges of something fray inside my head.

  ‘How long… what?’

  I don’t have an answer for that.

  “What’s that?” I asked. It came out slower than I meant it to.

  “How young were you?” she pressed, her usual pep was gone, now she was just serious but… gentle, which actually made her a little more scary than anything.

  The auditorium noise swelled around us, filling the space where my response should have gone. I pictured my own childhood back on my earth, the one I actually lived, but none of that would obviously line up here at all.

  I’m beginning to realize I maybe should not have said anything now. This is one of those foot-in-mouth moments.

  I forced a shrug because nothing else came to mind. “I don’t know. Probably when I was born. Why?”

  Her eyes didn’t leave my face.

  “You never told me that… ever,” she said quietly.

  It was an accusation without it being an accusation, which frankly made it feel worse. Before I could spew even more bullshit, the lights overhead dimmed a shade lower.

  A ripple moved through the auditorium as conversations thinned and phones lowered. Parents and students slipped quickly through the aisles toward open seats.

  The stage lights brightened in contrast, drawing every gaze forward, the LED panels slowly illuminated to a still frame of the Institute logo with a blue backdrop.

  Yvette leaned back in her seat slowly, but I caught her looking at me one more time out of the corner of my eye. I leaned back too, but forced my attention toward the front right quadrant. Still no Malika anyway to be seen. Should I be concerned?

  Could just be nerves, but the air felt charged now. Like something had shifted, even if no one else could name it. If the vision was right, this was where everything tightened and converged. If anything, I wasn’t just waiting for the twins to appear, I was waiting for everything else to snap into place.