The first problem with sneaking out after curfew was that Threya had absolutely no plan.
I discovered this six minutes after climbing out my bedroom window.
“So where are we going?” “Somewhere.” “That’s not a place.” “It is if you don’t know where you’re going.” I stopped walking.
Threya made it three steps before noticing.
She turned around.
“What?” “You climbed up the side of my house.” “Correct.” “You committed at least one crime.” “Debatable.” “You dragged me outside after curfew.” “I didn’t drag you.” “You threw my jacket at me.” “And then you voluntarily put it on.” “Under duress.” “Akio.” “And after all of that, you don’t know where we’re going?” She stared at me for a second.
Then smiled.
“I know exactly where we’re going.” “Where?” “I’m not telling you.” I started walking back home.
She caught my sleeve.
“Okay, wait.” “No.” “It’s worth it.” “You say that every time.” “And am I usually wrong?” “Yes.” She thought about it.
“Name three.” “The abandoned train station.” “That was cool.” “The roof of Emory’s west building.” “Also cool.” “You dropped my phone off it.” “You caught it.” “With my face.” She started laughing.
I pulled my sleeve free.
“And the drainage tunnel.” Her laughter stopped.
“We agreed not to talk about the drainage tunnel.” “There were rats.” “One rat.” “It had friends.” “You don’t know that.” “I saw their eyes.” “You were panicking.” “There were dozens.” “There were four.” “That’s dozens emotionally.” Threya covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
I waited.
She finally got herself under control.
“Are you done?” “Maybe.” “Great.
Where are we going?” She pointed toward the city.
“Old Midtown.” I stared at her.
“No.” “Oh, come on.” “No.” “It’s safe.” “That’s what you said about the rats.” “Those were different.” “They were organized.” “Akio.” “Old Midtown closes at ten.” “Most of it.” “Because there’s a monster advisory.” “Class One.” “Still a monster advisory.” “Migration advisory,” she corrected.
“Not threat advisory.” I narrowed my eyes.
She smiled innocently.
“You checked.” “Obviously.” “Before or after climbing my house?” “Before.” That made me feel slightly better.
Not enough.
New York after curfew wasn’t empty.
That was something movies always got wrong.
Cities didn’t shut down because the sun disappeared.
People still worked nights.
Restaurants stayed open.
Trains ran.
Hospitals didn’t stop needing nurses at ten.
Delivery trucks moved between districts, maintenance crews repaired roads, and licensed heroes tended to become considerably busier once normal people went home.
But teenagers weren’t supposed to be wandering around without an adult.
Especially during an active migration advisory.
A display mounted above the intersection changed as we approached.
WEATHER: 48°F LIGHT RAIN EXPECTED AFTER 02:00 Then: REGIONAL MONSTER ADVISORY CLASS I MIGRATION GLASSBACKS MIDTOWN EAST / RIVER CORRIDOR DO NOT APPROACH NESTING GROUPS A small map appeared beneath it.
Yellow lines traced several streets.
Threya pointed.
“See?” “See what?” “Yellow.” “I know colors.” “Yellow means caution.” “Yes.” “Not danger.” “That’s usually what caution is for.” She ignored me and kept walking.
I followed.
Obviously.
That was another thing I hated about Threya.
She had somehow figured out that ninety percent of my objections meant I’m coming, but I want it formally recorded that this was your idea.
The other ten percent usually involved Paul.
Those objections were sincere.
We cut through a residential block where most of the windows were dark.
A convenience store remained open on the corner, its entrance protected by the same reinforced shutters almost every street-level business had.
They weren’t lowered.
Good sign.
If they were, I would’ve turned around.
Probably.
Threya stopped.
“I want something.” “You stole my food at lunch.” “That was hours ago.” “My body remembers.” She went inside.
I followed her.
The cashier barely looked up from his screen.
“Students?” “No,” Threya said.
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at me.
The cashier finally glanced up.
His eyes went from Threya’s jacket to my Emory training shoes.
“Curfew.” “We’re heading home,” I said.
“We are?” Threya asked.
I stepped on her foot.
She smiled through the pain.
The cashier sighed.
“Glassbacks are moving near the river.
Stay west of Thirty-Ninth.” “We will,” I said.
Threya bought two drinks.
She handed me one outside.
I checked the label.
Peach.
“I don’t like peach.” “I know.” “Then why did you buy this?” “So Benny can’t steal it tomorrow.” I looked at her.
She looked pleased with herself.
“That’s actually smart.” “I know.” “I hate peach.” “Can’t have everything.” We kept walking.
I opened it anyway.
It wasn’t terrible.
I wasn’t telling her that.
“So,” Threya said.
“So.” “Your mom asked again?” I glanced at her.
“About my Core?” She nodded.
“Kind of.” “And?” “And it’s still not there.” She kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk.
It bounced off the curb.
“Doctors?” “Same answer.” “Which is?” “Wait.” “Helpful.” “Very.” She took a drink.
For a little while, neither of us said anything.
That was something I liked about Threya.
She could be loud.
Really loud.
Put her and Benny in the same room for too long and civilization became temporary.
But she didn’t treat silence like a problem.
Most people did.
Whenever my power came up, adults seemed terrified of leaving empty space afterward.
They filled it.
Your father awakened late.
Everyone develops differently.
You’re still young.
Your readings are unusual.
Maybe it’ll happen tomorrow.
Threya just walked.
“I think I’d hate it,” I said.
“What?” “If it happened now.” She looked over.
“Awakening?” “Everyone would act like they knew.” She laughed once.
“That’s true.” “‘I told you, Akio.’ ‘We always knew.’ ‘Just like his father.'” I deepened my voice for the last one.
Threya smiled.
“You sound nothing like Director Hase.” “I wasn’t doing Hase.” “Who was that?” “Every adult I’ve ever met.” “Your mom doesn’t talk like that.” “Okay.
Almost every adult.” She bumped her shoulder into mine.
“You’d still be happy.” “Probably.” “Definitely.” “Depends on the power.” “What would be bad enough that you wouldn’t want it?” I thought about that.
“Talking to fish.” “Useful.” “How?” “Ocean rescue.” “Fish aren’t known for emergency response.” “You could ask them where people went.” “That’s actually…” “Useful?” “I was going to say less stupid than expected.” “Thank you.” “Still stupid.” “What about turning your teeth invisible?” “Why would only my teeth be invisible?” “That’s your power.” “Then no.” “Talking to fish wins.” “Fine.” She walked backward now, facing me.
“What do you actually want?” I knew what she meant.
“I don’t know.” “Come on.” “I don’t.” “Fire?” “No.” “Why not?” “Everyone with fire thinks they’re cooler than they are.” “Fair.” “Flight would be useful.” “Boring.” “Super strength.” “Frank.” “Exactly.
Never mind.” “Earth.” “You already have that.” “That’s why I recommend it.” She turned around and held out one hand.
The pebble she’d kicked earlier trembled several feet behind us.
Then it lifted.
It wasn’t dramatic.
No glowing circle.
No earthquake.
Just a pebble rising from cracked pavement.
It flew toward us.
Threya caught it.
“You could join my fan club.” “You have a fan club?” “One member.” “Who?” “You.” “I never joined.” “Automatic enrollment.” “Cancel it.” “Lifetime membership.” “Sounds illegal.” “A lot of things sound illegal to you tonight.” “A lot of things you’ve done tonight are illegal.” She pocketed the pebble.
“I don’t think I’d want something huge,” I said.
That surprised even me.
Threya looked over.
“What do you mean?” “I don’t know.
Something useful.” “All powers can be useful.” “You know what I mean.” She did.
Everyone knew stories about abilities that changed lives the moment they appeared.
Flight.
Gravity.
Spatial manipulation.
Elemental control.
Abilities strong enough that academies called before families finished processing what had happened.
Dad’s had been like that.
People still argued over what category it truly belonged in.
Whatever I awakened, people would compare it to his.
I had known that since I was little.
Maybe that was why some part of me wanted something boring.
Something that belonged to me.
We reached the edge of Old Midtown twenty minutes later.
The district wasn’t actually old.
Not by New York standards.
Most of it had been rebuilt after a monster incident decades ago, and people kept calling the replacement district Old Midtown because apparently humans hated updating names.
Buildings rose around a wide pedestrian plaza.
Stores were closed.
A transit entrance glowed on the far side.
Protective barriers sat recessed beneath the pavement, ready to rise if an alert changed classification.
I noticed three shelter markers before Threya noticed one.
“Stop looking for escape routes.” I looked at her.
“I’m not.” “You’ve checked every shelter sign.” “I like signs.” “No one likes signs.” “They’re informative.” “You’re nervous.” “I’m appropriately cautious.” “Same thing with worse branding.” She grabbed my wrist.
“Come on.” “Where?” “There.” At first I didn’t understand what she was pointing at.
Then something moved beneath the trees.
I stopped.
There were maybe fifteen of them.
Glassbacks.
I’d seen pictures.
Everyone had.
They were common along parts of the eastern United States, though their migration routes changed every few years.
Seeing one in person was different.
They were about the size of large dogs, low to the ground, with six narrow legs and long snouts that ended in two flexible feelers.
Their backs were covered in overlapping translucent plates.
Streetlight passed through them.
Tiny veins of blue light pulsed beneath the plates.
One of the creatures lowered its head toward a planter.
It bit through a decorative shrub.
Chewed.
I blinked.
“That’s a monster.” Threya looked at me.
“Brilliant.” “It’s eating a bush.” “Also brilliant.” “No, I mean…” I watched another Glassback squeeze between two benches.
A smaller one followed closely behind it.
“I thought they’d be…” “Scarier?” “Yeah.” One scratched its side against a tree.
Its translucent shell made a hollow clicking noise.
Threya smiled.
“They’re cute.” “They have six legs.” “Still cute.” “Those things can bite through aluminum.” “You’re just jealous.” “Of what?” “They have a power.” I stared at her.
Threya lasted three seconds before laughing.
“That was mean.” “A little.” “You’re terrible.” “You like me.” “Unfortunately.” We stayed behind the marked line.
That part mattered.
Yellow lights embedded in the pavement showed where pedestrians were supposed to stop during migration periods.
Most of the Glassbacks ignored us.
A few lifted their heads.
Then went back to eating.
“Why are they in the city?” Threya asked.
“Warm pavement.” She looked at me.
“What?” “Also ornamental plants.” “How do you know that?” “Monster Studies.” “You sleep through Monster Studies.” “I sleep selectively.” “That’s not a thing.” “They migrate south along river systems when nighttime ground temperature drops below eight degrees for several consecutive days.” Threya stared.
I took another sip of terrible peach.
“What?” “Nothing.” “Say it.” “You’re such a nerd.” “You brought me here.” “To look at them.
Not give me a lecture.” “You asked.” She stepped closer to the line.
One of the smaller Glassbacks had separated from the group.
It wandered toward a public trash container.
Its feelers tapped against the metal.
Then it tried to bite it.
The lid clanged.
The creature jumped backward.
Threya laughed.
It looked toward us.
The blue beneath its shell brightened.
My smile disappeared.
“Threya.” “I see it.” The Glassback took a step forward.
Then another.
Threya stopped moving.
I remembered the advisory.
DO NOT APPROACH NESTING GROUPS.
The small one wasn’t the problem.
Three larger Glassbacks had raised their heads behind it.
“Back up,” I said.
“We’re behind the line.” “Back up anyway.” Threya moved.
So did I.
The smaller creature crossed the yellow lights.
One of the adults followed.
Its plates lifted slightly.
That changed everything.
I’d seen that posture before.
Not in person.
In class.
Defensive display.
“Don’t use your power.” Threya’s hand had already lowered toward the pavement.
She looked at me.
“What?” “Don’t.” “It’s coming toward us.” “Because the little one’s coming toward us.” Another step.
The adult clicked its feelers.
Threya whispered, “Akio.” “If you move the ground, it’ll think you’re attacking.” “How sure are you?” “Enough.” “That’s not a number.” The small Glassback reached the edge of the sidewalk.
Something crinkled beneath its foot.
Plastic.
It lowered its head.
A discarded snack wrapper.
It sniffed.
Then bit it.
I stared.
“Oh.” “What?” “It’s hungry.” “Great.” I slowly reached into my jacket.
Threya grabbed my wrist.
“What are you doing?” “Trust me.” “Those are famous last words.” “Don’t move.” I pulled out the small bag of dried fruit my mother had put in my school bag that morning.
I’d forgotten to eat it.
I opened it.
The adult Glassback’s plates rose higher.
“Akio.” “I know.” I tossed the bag.
Not toward the monster.
Away from us.
It landed across the pavement.
The smaller Glassback’s head snapped toward the sound.
It moved.
The adult immediately turned with it.
The little one tore into the bag.
Two others approached.
Within seconds, the entire situation had moved twenty feet away.
I exhaled.
Threya looked at me.
“You fed a protected monster.” “I littered strategically.” “Is that legal?” “Don’t start.” A light swept across the plaza.
Both of us froze.
“Remain where you are.” The voice came from behind us.
Threya closed her eyes.
“Oh.” I looked over my shoulder.
A city patrol vehicle hovered several inches above the road.
The side read: MONSTER RESPONSE & WILDLIFE CONTROL A woman in a dark municipal jacket was walking toward us.
She didn’t look happy.
“Students?” “No,” Threya said.
“Yes,” I said at exactly the same time.
The officer looked between us.
I pointed at Threya.
“She has a lying problem.” “I have a boyfriend problem.” “Identification.” We handed it over.
The officer looked at our Emory credentials.
Then at us.
Then toward the Glassbacks eating my dried fruit.
“Do either of you want to explain why you’re inside an active migration corridor at eleven twenty-three at night?” Threya raised her hand.
“No.” I lowered it.
The officer’s eyes moved to me.
“You fed one?” “It was approaching.” “So you fed it.” “I redirected it.” “With food.” “Yes.” “That’s feeding.” “When you phrase it like that.” She stared at me.
I stopped talking.
She walked to the yellow line.
The adult Glassback watched her.
She watched it back.
“They’re nesting two blocks east,” she said.
“Juveniles are ranging farther than expected.” Threya glanced at me.
The officer noticed.
“You recognized the defensive posture?” I nodded.
“Monster Studies?” “Yes.” “Good.” She handed our IDs back.
“Then you should also know that recognizing dangerous behavior isn’t permission to remain near dangerous behavior.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And you.” Threya straightened.
“Moving the pavement would’ve triggered the adults.” Threya looked down at her hand.
“I didn’t.” “Because he stopped you.” Silence.
“Yes.” The officer sighed.
“You’re both lucky.” That word bothered me.
Not because she was wrong.
Because she was completely right.
She pointed toward the patrol vehicle.
“I’m taking you home.” Threya looked horrified.
“Do you have to?” “No.” Hope.
“I can call your parents and have them collect you from the district station.” Hope died.
“The car is good,” Threya said.
“Thought so.” My mother was waiting outside.
That was worse than yelling.
The patrol vehicle had barely stopped before I saw her standing beneath the porch light in a sweater and slippers.
Arms crossed.
Threya leaned toward me.
“Run.” “She knows where I live.” “Good point.” The officer opened the door.
I got out.
Mom thanked her.
That somehow made everything worse.
The officer explained what happened.
Not dramatically.
Which made it worse again.
Then she left.
Mom looked at me.
I looked at Mom.
Threya remained inside the patrol vehicle.
Traitor.
“Inside.” “Yep.” I started toward the door.
“Akio.” I stopped.
She walked up to me.
Looked at my face.
My arms.
My clothes.
“You’re okay?” The question caught me off guard.
“Yeah.” She touched the side of my head.
Then pulled me into her.
I stood there.
After a second, I hugged her back.
“I’m okay.” “I know.” She held on another moment.
Then released me.
Her expression changed.
“You’re grounded.” “There it is.” “Two weeks.” “Mom.” “Three.” “You can’t add time because I complained.” “Four.” I closed my mouth.
She pointed inside.
I went.
Before closing the door, I looked back.
The patrol vehicle pulled away.
Threya had her face pressed against the window.
She gave me a thumbs-up.
I gave her a different finger.
She laughed all the way down the street.
The next morning, everyone knew.
I didn’t know how.
That was a lie.
Threya had told Kenya.
Kenya had told nobody.
Kenya had, however, sent a picture of Threya sitting in the patrol vehicle to our group chat.
Benny had done the rest.
By first period, Montiro had created a fake wanted poster.
By second, Paul had printed it.
By lunch, someone had taped one to my locker.
AKIO KITA WANTED FOR ILLEGAL WILDLIFE FEEDING ARMED WITH DRIED MANGO I tore it down.
Benny appeared beside me.
“Criminal.” “Go away.” “You used to be such a good kid.” “I’ve known you since I was six.” “Exactly.
Look what happened.” I crumpled the poster.
He leaned away.
“Violence too?” “Keep talking.” “Your mother know you’re threatening innocent people?” I grabbed him.
He laughed as I put him in a headlock.
“Akio!” “Apologize.” “Never.” “Apologize.” “You’re proving the poster right!” Someone pulled me backward.
Frank.
Of course.
Benny escaped.
“Coward.” “Survivor.” Threya arrived carrying her lunch.
She looked at the crumpled poster.
“Oh, I wanted one.” “I’ll kill all of you.” Emi joined us.
“Your stance is wrong.” I stared at her.
“I’m threatening my friends.” “You can threaten them with proper footing.” Beth walked past.
“Technically, he threatened all of us.” “Thank you, Beth.” “That wasn’t support.” Toma arrived behind her.
Kenya followed.
Paul.
Montiro.
Ten of us filled the hallway until another student complained that we were blocking traffic.
For a minute, nobody moved.
Benny was still laughing.
Threya was trying to flatten the wanted poster so she could keep it.
Frank stole something from Paul’s tray.
Emi noticed and didn’t say anything.
Kenya handed one side of her headphones to Toma without looking at him.
He took it.
Beth watched that happen.
Then looked at me.
I knew that look.
“Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were going to.” “No.” “You absolutely were.” A tiny smile.
Barely there.
Then she walked away.
The rest followed toward lunch.
I stayed behind for a second.
Not for any reason.
I just watched them.
My friends.
Nine idiots I’d somehow ended up spending most of my life around.
Benny turned at the end of the hall.
“You coming?” “Unfortunately.” “Good.
I’m taking your drink.” I started after them.
At the time, there was nothing unusual about that moment.
Nothing worth remembering.
There would be hundreds more lunches.
Hundreds more training sessions.
More arguments.
More nights with Threya.
More mornings with Mom.
More chances to tell Benny to stop stealing my stuff.
I believed that with the complete confidence of someone who had never had time taken away from him.
So I didn’t slow down.
I didn’t memorize their faces.
I didn’t think about how Kenya leaned into Toma when she laughed, or how Frank always walked slightly ahead of everyone, or how Threya looked over her shoulder to make sure I was following.
I didn’t know I needed to.
I just caught up.