Ash had finished his shift and was getting ready to leave when Erick called out to him.
"Ash."
"Yeah, boss?"
Erick hesitated. It was strange to see him hesitate. The man always seemed to know exactly what he was going to say before he said it.
"I wanted to be a hero too, when I was young."
Ash turned around completely.
"What happened?"
Erick shrugged. He raised his right hand. For a second, the skin turned metallic, shining like freshly polished steel. Then it returned to normal.
"My Fracture. I can harden my skin. Useful for cooking. Not so much for stopping bullets." He lowered his hand. "Life happens, Ash. And one day you realize your dreams weigh less than paying the rent."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you still can." Erick looked at him steadily. "I've seen you practice your Fracture. It has a great margin for improvement and evolution. Don't give up."
Ash nodded.
"I won't, boss."
"Now get out. You're distracting me."
Ash smiled and walked out into the street.
---
Ash walked through the empty streets of the south with his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie. The Last Call Bar had closed an hour ago. His arms still ached from scrubbing dishes, but it was a good ache. An ache that meant he had work, a roof, a purpose.
He stopped in front of a closed clothing store and looked at his reflection in the glass.
Seventeen years and almost nine months.
His eighteenth birthday was just around the corner. Three months. Maybe a little more. The exact date didn't matter — at the orphanage, they never celebrated anything. Just another day on the calendar.
But this birthday was different.
Turning eighteen meant the government stopped paying for him. That was why Mrs. Holt hadn't even tried to look for him when he ran away. He was no longer profitable. A kid without a Fracture, about to come of age, was an expense with no return.
Disgusting, he thought. But it wasn't bitterness he felt. It was a cold certainty, like well water. The world owed him nothing. And he owed the world nothing in return.
He started walking again.
I think I'll buy some new clothes.
He hadn't spent a cent of his savings in three months, aside from rent and food. The metal box under the bed had about 4,600 dollars now. It wasn't a fortune. But he had recovered the old man's money and even increased it. Ash showed a smug smile.
I also need to look for a hero academy.
That idea had been haunting him since the ranking broadcast. If he wanted to be the hero of the south — a real hero, not a dreamer with an unstable Fracture — he needed training. He needed a place where they would teach him to control his power, to fight, to protect.
In United City, there were dozens of academies. The best ones were in the north, of course. The most expensive ones too. But in the south, even though it was the poorest district and controlled by Gray Phantom, there were also middle-class areas. Not everything was misery. There were entire neighborhoods where people lived without getting shot in the streets.
Maybe there, in some forgotten corner of the south, there was also an academy.
Am I talented?
He didn't know. But he wasn't going to find out by staying in his room.
He walked faster now, matching the rhythm of his thoughts.
I'll finally meet people my own age.
That thought gave him a strange feeling. At the orphanage, kids came and went. The only ones who stayed were those no one wanted to adopt. And of those, Eliot was the only one he'd truly connected with.
Three months talking only to Erick and drunk customers who didn't remember his name the next day. Three months of silence in his empty room.
I'm getting tired of the old geezers at the bar.
He smiled to himself. Erick deserved that comment, though he'd never say it to his face.
The smile faded when he thought of Eliot.
He always came back to Eliot.
"Eliot, I swear I'm going to save the south," Ash murmured. "So that what happened to you doesn't happen to anyone else."
The promise weighed less than before. Not because it had become lighter, but because he had become stronger.
Gray Phantom.
The name froze his blood for a second. Then the blood flowed again, hotter than before.
Gray Phantom was the reason Eliot had gone to that apartment. Gray Phantom was the reason they had been ambushed. Gray Phantom was the cancer of the south, and no one did anything because everyone was afraid of them. The government talked about them at conferences, but never came down to face them.
Once I become a hero, I'll take care of them myself.
Another goal. Another line on a list that existed only in his head.
First: find a hero academy.
Second: graduate.
Third: become a hero.
Fourth: destroy Gray Phantom.
Sounds too fantastical, doesn't it?
He laughed to himself. A low laugh, without joy.
An orphan from the south, without family, without money, without connections, with a Fracture he barely understood and that no one had officially registered. Wanting to be a hero. Wanting to take down the most powerful criminal organization in United City.
Yeah. It sounds ridiculous.
But it was all he had.
---
An engine roared behind him.
Ash turned instinctively.
A sleek black sports car, low and aerodynamic, stopped beside him. The windows were so dark he couldn't see inside. The engine purred expensively. Nothing like the beat-up cars that roamed the south.
The driver's window rolled down silently.
A woman in a black trench coat.
Ash recognized her instantly, even though he'd never seen her before. It was something in her eyes. Something in the way she looked at him, as if she already knew everything she needed to know.
"You're Ash, right?"
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
Ash didn't answer. His body was tense, ready to run or fight, though his mind was still processing what was happening.
"Ash Venturi," the woman continued, as if reading from a file. "Seventeen years old. No Fracture. Clean record, except for running away from the orphanage." She paused. "Or should I say no registered Fracture?"
Ash felt a chill.
She knew. She knew.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice firmer than he felt.
The woman smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.
"Someone who's been looking for you for three months. Get in the car."
Ash didn't move.
"I'm not going anywhere with someone who won't tell me their name."
The woman raised an eyebrow. For a second, Ash thought he saw a flash of respect in her eyes.
"They call me Vera. That's all you need to know for now." Her smile widened. "See? That wasn't so hard."
Ash still didn't move.
"What do you want from me?"
Vera sighed, as if the question bored her.
"You have something that belongs to me. Well, that belongs to Gray Phantom. The money you stole from Samuel's office."
Ash's heart skipped a beat.
"I didn't steal anything."
"Of course you didn't. You found it on the floor and decided you deserved it more than we did." Vera rested an arm on the window frame. "Look, I don't care about the money. Four thousand dollars is nothing to Gray Phantom. What I care about is that you killed six of our men — well, five bodyguards and one debtor — and that can't just be left alone."
Ash clenched his fists. The gray electricity glowed faintly between his fingers.
"It wasn't intentional."
"Oh, wasn't it?" Vera stared at him. "So it was an accident. An accident where five men with Fractures ended up dead." She tilted her head. "Tell me, Ash. What kind of Fracture creates an accident like that?"
Ash didn't answer.
"Don't worry," Vera said, straightening up. "I'm not going to kill you. If I wanted to, you'd already be dead." She opened the car door from inside. "Get in. We need to settle the matter of the debt your friend couldn't fulfill. And apparently, you stole the money Samuel owed us."
Eliot.
The name hit Ash like a punch.
"Eliot couldn't fulfill it because he was killed," he said, his voice trembling on the edge of anger.
Vera looked at him for a long time. Then, for the first time, her expression softened.
"I know." Her voice was quieter. "And I'm sorry. But that doesn't change the fact that you killed five of our men."
Ash closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
Two options: run or get in.
If he ran, they would chase him. That was obvious. Vera had found him once. She would find him again. And next time, she might not be so patient.
If he got in...
It's a trap, he thought.
But it was also an opportunity. To see Gray Phantom from the inside. To understand how they operated. Maybe even to find a way to stop them.
He opened his eyes.
"Where are we going?"
Vera smiled.
"To settle your debt."
Ash looked at the black car. Looked at the empty street. Looked at Eliot's photo in his mind.
He stepped forward and got in.
---
The inside of the car smelled like leather and something else. Like gunpowder. Like the smell of a weapon after it's been fired.
Vera started driving without a word. With one hand on the wheel, she took a cigarette from her trench coat pocket with the other. She lit it with a silver lighter. The smoke filled the car with the scent of dark tobacco, almost sweet.
She lowered the window a few centimeters to let the smoke out.
"Do you mind?" she asked, not looking at him.
"No," Ash lied. He did mind. But he wasn't going to complain.
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Ash watched through the window. They didn't leave the south district. Instead, Vera took streets Ash didn't know well, toward the north of the south. And little by little, the landscape changed.
The streets grew wider. The streetlights no longer flickered. The buildings were still old, but better maintained. There were small gardens in front of some houses. Shops open in the early morning hours. The people walking on the sidewalk wore clothes without stains or patches.
Ash stared.
United City was a supercity. Not a normal city. It occupied what used to be entire countries. Its four districts — north, south, east, west — were like nations within a nation. Crossing from one end to the other could take days by car.
The south was the poorest district, the most dangerous, the one Gray Phantom controlled with an iron fist. But even there, on the border with the city center, there were middle-class areas. Entire neighborhoods where people lived without rubble on the sidewalks.
"Where are we?" Ash asked.
"In the north of the south," Vera replied, exhaling smoke. "The middle-class area. Not poor like you, not rich like the northerners. Normal people. The ones who work, pay taxes, and look the other way when Gray Phantom passes by."
She pointed to a white building with columns.
"That's Aurora Academy. One of the best in the city. South branch."
Ash stared at the building. Large windows. A courtyard with statues of ancient heroes. A glowing sign that read "FORGING THE HEROES OF TOMORROW".
"Do you think they'd take someone like me?" he asked, almost without realizing it.
Vera let out a dry laugh.
"An Alien with no official registration, an undocumented Fracture, and a record of running away from an orphanage?" She looked at him with amusement. "Sure. They'll welcome you with open arms."
Ash didn't respond. He knew it was sarcasm. But he still stared at the academy until the car turned a corner and it disappeared from view.
---
Vera stubbed out her cigarette in the car's ashtray. She immediately lit another.
"I'm not going to blindfold you," she said, exhaling smoke toward the window. "I'm not interested in scaring you. I just want us to talk."
"About what?"
"About you. About your Fracture. About what happened that night." She paused. "Your Fracture appeared when Eliot died, didn't it?"
Ash didn't answer.
"Don't lie to me. The forensic reports said the electrical marks on the bodies were... recent. About thirty seconds after the impact that killed your friend."
Ash felt the air escape from his lungs.
"How do you know that?"
"Because Gray Phantom has better forensics than the government." Vera shrugged, the cigarette dangling from her lips. "The question is: why did your Fracture take so long? Most people awaken at ten. You waited seven more years. That's not normal, Ash. That's either a miracle or a curse."
"I don't know," Ash said, and it was the truth. "It just happened."
"Things don't just happen, Ash. They happen for a reason." Vera glanced at him. The cigarette smoke curled between them. "And I want to know what that reason is."
Ash clenched his fists on his knees.
"And you? What's your Fracture?"
Vera smiled. She closed her eyes for a second. Ash felt something strange, as if the air grew heavier. A gentle pressure in his chest, in his head. As if someone were looking inside him.
Then it passed.
"What was that?" Ash asked, his voice tenser than he wanted.
Vera opened her eyes.
"My Fracture. I was reading you. Not your mind, don't misunderstand. Just... your emotions. Fear, anger, sadness. I see them as colors."
"And what do you see in me?"
Vera looked at him for a long time. The cigarette smoked between her fingers.
"A lot of gray. Appropriate, don't you think?"
Ash said nothing.
They made a turn. Ash recognized the streets. They were going back. Not east, not north. They were returning to the place where Vera had picked him up.
The car stopped exactly where it all began.
Vera stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. She didn't light another.
"Get out," she said.
Ash opened the door and stepped out. The cold early morning air hit his face. The street was just as before. Empty. Silent. As if nothing had ever happened.
Vera rolled down the window. She took a piece of paper from her trench coat pocket and handed it to him.
"Take it."
Ash took it. It was a note. A phone number written in small, neat handwriting.
"You have four days," Vera said, her voice no longer carrying any trace of its earlier softness. "Friday at five in the afternoon. Call me. I'll give you a job. Something small. Something you can do. That will pay your debt."
Ash looked at the paper.
"And if I don't call?"
Vera smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. Nor was it cruel. It was worse. It was the smile of someone who already knew the answer.
"Then there will be consequences." She tilted her head. "I won't kill you, Ash. That would be too quick. But Gray Phantom has many ways to make someone disappear without killing them. Ways that hurt more. Ways that last longer."
Silence settled between them.
"Four days," Vera repeated. "Don't waste them."
She rolled up the window.
The black car roared and disappeared into the south district night.
Ash stood alone on the empty street, the paper in his hand.
He looked at the number.
Then he looked at his hands. The gray electricity glowed faintly between his fingers, as if responding to something he didn't yet understand.
Four days.
He tucked the paper into his hoodie pocket and began walking toward his room.
He wasn't a hero yet.
But the time to decide was running out.