Kai Langford -December 2120
I don't even realise I've drifted until a hand settles on my shoulder.
It had been gentle but it felt grounding. Real.
When I blink, the world snaps back into focus in uneven pieces, Gerald and Monica stand watching me.
My gaze drops and that's when I see Christopher on the ground.
His arms are wrong. Not just broken in the simple sense, but shattered in a way that makes the thought of how it happened sit unpleasantly behind my ribs.
That's when it clicks.
I did that.
The last clear thing I remember is his mouth curling around Ethan's name. After that… nothing. A gap. A black seam in my mind where I stop being aware and something else takes over.
My shadow, maybe... or me without the restraint.
Even so, there is no guilt that follows with the realisation. Only a flat, quiet emptiness. He earned this. After everything he did, especially after what he did to Ethan.
My fingers loosen slightly around the trigger I don't even remember squeezing properly. My body feels like it's running a little behind my thoughts, like I've only just caught up to myself.
"Tch…"
I exhale once, sharp.
"Let's go," I say, already turning away. The firelight behind me flickers across icy ground. "I want to get back."
Back to the car. Back to Ethan.
I don't care about anything else right now.
Ethan is the only thing that feels real in a way that doesn't crack under pressure. I just want to see him, to hold him.
"Hey, what the hell was that?" Monica's voice cuts in behind me like a thrown blade.
I stop walking, shoulders tightening.
Of course she's not letting it go.
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing my breathing to stay even. It's always like this. Every time something slips, someone wants answers like I can just line them up neatly and hand them over.
"Just drop it" I say.
Monica moves fast and she steps in front of me, forcing me to stop completely.
"You blanked out. Again," she says, eyes locked on mine like she's trying to force the truth out through sheer pressure. "You said you had your shadows under control, but that didn't look controlled, Kai."
The irritation builds before I can stop it. Hot, sharp, familiar.
I don't want this. Not now. Not with blood still in the air and Ethan is waiting for me somewhere far from here.
"Monica," I say, voice lower this time. "Enough."
"Kai-"
"Enough."
Silence snaps between us.
Gerald steps in before it can break further, calm in a way that feels deliberately carved out of habit. "We're done here," he says. "We've caused enough noise and fire like that is going to draw attention whether we like it or not. Let's move."
He's right.
Monica holds my gaze for another second, jaw tight, then finally turns on her heel and storms off toward the car. Snow crunches under her steps like she's trying to punish the ground for not agreeing with her.
I exhale again, slower this time.
"Thanks" I say to Gerald.
He doesn't look at me when he answers. Already lighting a cigarette, flame briefly painting his face orange before settling into a dull ember glow. "Don't thank me yet."
He offers me one out of habit.
I shake my head.
I've been trying to stop since Ethan and Noah made it clear they were done watching me slowly destroy myself. Especially after that burnout incident. Their worry still sits somewhere under my skin, uncomfortable but real.
Gerald shrugs and pockets the pack again.
We start walking.
"You know she won't let it go, right?" he says after a moment.
"Yeah," I answer.
It comes out tired rather than annoyed.
I know Monica. She doesn't let things lie once she decides they matter and unfortunately for me, I apparently fall into that category now.
"It's her way of caring," he adds after a beat.
Still… she pushes too hard. She always has.
It reminds me of before. Back when Monica found out Noah was my twin at the facility.
She didn't even stop to think. Just questions, one after another, sharp and relentless. Names, details, connections, like she could map my entire life if she just asked enough.
Eventually my father found out and the consequences weren't questions.
They were punishment.
I remember coming back after that. The weight of it still in my bones, bruises blooming under my skin like proof I'd existed in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Monica didn't ask me anything after that. Not a single question again.
The memory tightens something in my chest, but I push it down before it can rise too far.
That's not today's problem... Today's problem is simpler.
Ethan is waiting.
And I need to get back to him before he wakes up.
______________________
The drive barely settles into any kind of calm before Monica opens the conversation again, her voice sliding in under the low hum of the engine like it's been waiting for me to relax my guard.
I don't answer her at first. Instead, I lean forward and turn the radio up, letting the music swell until it fills the space between us, loud enough to blur words into noise and thoughts into something simpler. For a few seconds, it works. The car becomes just movement and sound and road.
Then Monica exhales sharply, and I feel the shift before I see it.
Energy gathers at her fingertips, that familiar crackle she never fully restrains when her patience runs out. I don't even have time to properly warn her before she flicks her hand and a small spark snaps out, striking the radio. It bursts with a sharp pop of static and plastic, the music cutting off instantly as smoke curls weakly from the dashboard.
"Monica!" I warn, my voice already tightening.
"Kai" she says immediately, turning toward me.
The word is flat, deliberate, and it makes my jaw clench.
"We are a team," she continues, "and if you're just going to disappear on yourself like that, you become a risk."
The way she says it makes something in my chest go cold.
"We're not in the facility anymore," I say sharply, my gaze fixed ahead, "and we're not a team anymore."
For a moment, the car feels like it shrinks around that sentence.
Monica turns fully in her seat, eyebrows drawn tight as her irritation sharpens into something more controlled but no less dangerous.
"So that's it?" she snaps. "After everything, after you dragged us out here in the middle of Christmas night, we're just what? Disposable?"
I lean back against the seat and drag a hand down my face, trying to steady myself before I say something that makes this worse. The road outside slides past in dark shapes and weak streetlight flashes, but I barely register it.
My attention is stuck inside the car, stuck in her voice, stuck in the pressure building behind my ribs.
"I didn't drag anyone" I say more quietly than I feel, "you chose to come."
"That's not the point," she fires back immediately. "You're the one that asked us for help. If we hadn't been there, god knows what you would have done"
My fingers curl against my thigh before I realise I'm doing it. I force them to loosen, but it doesn't stop the feeling underneath it, that slow tightening sensation I recognise too well now, like something inside me is waking up and deciding it doesn't want to stay quiet.
"I was handling it" I say, but it comes out flatter than I intend.
Monica lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You didn't handle it. Gerald was the one that stopped you"
That word lands wrong.
Again.
Something inside me shifts, subtle at first, like a breath I didn't realise I was holding finally being released.
The shadows respond before I consciously call them.
At the edges of the car interior, darkness starts to gather, not dramatic or sudden, but creeping in like ink spreading through fabric. It curls under the seats, along the seams of the doors, and around my boots as if it's trying to find where I end and it begins.
Gerald notices first. His posture shifts slightly in the driver's seat, his grip on the wheel tightening just enough to show he's paying attention now in a way he wasn't a moment ago.
"Kai," he says quietly, "ease off."
Monica's attention drops too, her expression sharpening as she sees it. Whatever anger she had a moment ago tightens into something more cautious, more alert.
"There," she says, voice lower now but still cutting. "That's what I mean. You say you've got it under control, but you don't."
"I do" I snap before I can stop myself.
The shadows react immediately, pressing closer in response to the spike in my emotion. It's not violent yet, but it's heavier, more present, like the air itself is leaning in.
I force my breathing slower, but it doesn't settle properly. There's a pressure behind my eyes now, familiar in the worst way, like a gap trying to open in my mind where awareness slips out and something else slips in.
"I said I do," I repeat, quieter this time, but it feels less like conviction and more like denial.
Gerald exhales slowly, the cigarette ember flaring as he does. "You're not in a good place right now."
"I'm fine," I say automatically, and even I can hear how untrue it sounds.
My vision feels like it's faulting and my head begins to explode with a headache.
Monica leans forward slightly, studying me like she's trying to catch the moment before I tip. "You're doing it again, Kai. You're losing focus."
"I'm not losing anything," I reply, but the words feel distant, like they're coming from somewhere slightly behind me.
Because I can feel it now.
That familiar blankness pressing at the edges of everything.
The shadows thicken again, responding not just to emotion now, but to instability itself. The interior of the car darkens in subtle waves, light dimming unevenly as if the world outside is struggling to reach us.
I swallow hard and try to anchor myself and I close my eyes.
Images of Ethan sleeping soundly in the bed calms me down and after I let out a slow breath everything begins to settle again.
The car rolls forward in tense silence, the kind that isn't peaceful so much as suspended, like everyone is holding their breath and pretending they aren't.
Monica doesn't speak again. I can feel her watching me instead, her attention heavy in a way that makes the back of my neck tighten. Gerald stays focused on the road, but even he feels different now, quieter.
But the silence doesn't hold.
A sharp, piercing squeal tears through the air.
My body reacts before my thoughts catch up, shadows surging instantly from under my control. They lash outward instinctively, trying to coil around the vehicle, trying to shield it, but the warning comes too late.
Something hits the side of the car with brutal force.
Metal screams.
The world tilts violently as the car flips, spinning off the road in a chaotic blur of snow, headlights, and fractured sound. Gravity stops feeling like a rule and becomes something optional for a few seconds before everything slams down.
The car lands upside down.
Pain spikes through my shoulder as I hit the roof interior. Glass cracks somewhere near my ear, and the air smells like fuel and cold metal.
For a moment, everything is disorienting noise.
Then my shadows settle.
I realise they've wrapped around the others instinctively, cushioning them from the worst of the impact. Protective. Controlled even in the chaos.
"Shit," Monica coughs, pushing hair from her face as she rubs her head. "What the hell was that?"
"No idea," I answer immediately, forcing the shadows back in before they overextend further.
Monica turns toward the door and tries to shove it open, but it won't budge. She pauses for half a second, then presses her palm against the frame and releases a burst of force. The entire door tears free with a deafening crack and flies outward into the snow.
She climbs out without hesitation.
I shift my shadows under the frame of my door, forcing a gap open just enough to push through. Cold air rushes in like a slap. I reach back blindly and grab Gerald, pulling him through the broken space as carefully as I can manage in the wreckage.
We regroup in the snow, breath visible, bodies tense, ears still ringing from the impact.
That's when we hear it.
An engine.
Close.
Deliberate.
It slows as it approaches, headlights cutting through the night and throwing long shadows across the snow-covered road. The car stops just beyond the wreck, light pouring over us like an interrogation.
Monica moves first, instinct sharp as ever. She steps back and forces Gerald behind us, her hands already sparking faintly with unstable energy. I move slightly ahead without thinking, shadows gathering low around my feet, coiling like something restless under restraint.
The doors sudden opens and two figures step out.
They don't move quickly. They don't need to.
The headlights frame them in harsh white light, making details difficult to read at first, just silhouettes against brightness. But the voice comes clearly, cutting through everything else.
"004, 009, 016."
Cold. Familiar in a way that drains the heat from my chest.
"Such disappointments."
The second he shifts forward, I see his face properly and everything in me stops.
My father.
The world doesn't blur. It doesn't fade. It just locks, like something inside me has been physically pinned in place.
Why is he here?
Monica's hands ignite instantly, sparks building as she reacts before fear can fully catch up to her. That movement pulls me back into the present just enough to function.
But then Gerald drops suddenly to one knee beside us.
"Gerald," Monica says, voice breaking as she turns, "what happened?"
Blood is already spreading down his side, dark against the snow, too fast to ignore. The smell of it hits before the full reality does.
Monica reaches for him.
"Don't-" I start. My shadows flare on instinct, snapping outward pulling her back.
Something moves between us.
A knife flashes through the air, aimed clean and precise, cutting through the space where Monica's throat would have been if she hadn't been pulled back.
I drag her backward hard with my shadows, just as something else reveals itself.
A strike connects with something invisible but solid.
The impact sends it flying into the side of the wrecked car, and the distortion breaks.
A young girl.
She is breathing hard. Shocked, clutching her chest like she can't quite understand how she ended up there. She looks up at us with wide, terrified eyes before curling in on herself.
A collar around her neck catches the headlights.
Special Division.
My stomach tightens.
Gerald groans again, blood spreading further into the snow. The sight pulls everything into focus in a way I don't want but can't ignore.
"Monica," I say quickly, turning towards my father "get him out of here. Now."
She turns sharply. "What? What about you?"
"I'll handle it," I answer, already feeling my shadows deepen again, spreading outward into the snow like ink spilling through cracks in the world. "Just move."
"No," Gerald rasps, coughing hard. "You can't let him take you back-"
I don't let myself hear the rest properly.
My attention shifts fully to the figure in front of me.
To him.
The air feels heavier now, like the world itself is bracing for something.
I take a step forward.
"Don't worry," I say, and I can hear the edge of something unsteady in my own voice as I glance back briefly at Monica and Gerald, forcing something like a smile that doesn't belong in a moment like this. "Ethan and Noah are waiting for me."
Then I turn fully toward my father.
And I walk.