Jace swallowed hard, his throat tight, his mind scrambling for words that wouldn’t come. His mother’s eyes—sharp, wet with unshed tears—held him in place, demanding an answer, demanding the truth he had buried beneath months of secrecy. “Mom, I… I didn’t want you to worry,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. Her expression twisted, disbelief and hurt warring across her face.

  “Worry?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Jace, I thought you were just exhausted from overworking yourself, that you were pushing too hard, but this—” she gestured at him, at the faint bruises still visible, at the weight of something unspoken between them—“this is so much worse. You’ve been out there fighting, getting hurt, nearly dying, and you didn’t want me to worry?” She took a shaky breath, her hands trembling at her sides “Do you have any idea how it felt watching you at Pantheon? Not as some stranger in a mask, but as my son? And you just… you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?” The weight of her words crushed him more than any fight ever had.

  Jace took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Mom, I know you’re worried. I know seeing me like this—hurt, fighting, putting myself in danger—it’s not what you ever wanted for me.” He met her eyes, his voice steady but pleading. “But I can’t just ignore what I’ve been given. I have these powers for a reason. I was given them to do good, to help people the way no one else can.”

  He exhaled, shaking his head. “I know it’s not easy to accept. But if I have the ability to stop someone from getting hurt—to protect people, to protect you—then how could I live with myself if I didn’t? This isn’t about wanting to fight or take risks. It’s about doing what’s right, because I can.”

  Then, he stepped closer, his voice pleading but increasing with intensity; “This scar… yes, it looks bad, I know. But… I don’t feel the pain like you think I should. The CDE… they helped, patched me up, but… it’s different for me now. I’m stronger, faster… I can protect people. I had to protect you, Mom, at Pantheon. When I saw the news… I couldn’t just stay here.”

  "You think this doesn’t hurt?" she snapped, her voice shaking. "Jace, I am your mother. You cannot deceive me. His mother let out a sharp, bitter laugh, pacing the room like she was trying to hold herself together. " And when exactly were you planning to tell me, Jace? After you got yourself killed? After I got another call telling me my family was gone?"

  Jace flinched. She never talked about Dad like this—not with that edge in her voice, like she was barely holding back a scream.

  "I’m not going to die," he said, trying to steady his voice.

  "You don’t know that!" she exploded, turning to face him. "Just because you think you’re invincible doesn’t mean you are! You run around in spandex, throwing yourself into danger like you have a death wish! Do you have any idea what it was like for me tonight? Watching the building you were in burn to the ground? Watching that masked figure—my son—jump off a skyscraper like it was nothing?"

  Jace opened his mouth, but she wasn’t done.

  "You are selfish, Jace. Do you know that? Selfish." Her voice cracked. "I am just getting over losing your father. Just starting to breathe again. And now, now, you—" She exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I can’t do this. I cannot go through this again."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Jace felt something in his chest tighten, something worse than any punch, any bullet, any blast of fire he’d taken. Because she wasn’t just mad. She was scared.

  "I’m trying to protect people," he said, voice softer now.

  "And what about me?" she whispered. "Who’s protecting me, Jace?"

  Silence. Jace had no answer. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

  His mother turned away, rubbing at her eyes. "Go to bed," she muttered. "I can’t talk about this anymore."

  Jace nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and headed for his room.

  For the first time since he got his powers, his body didn't feel heavy. his heart did.

  Jace reached the bottom of the stairs, his hand gripping the railing, but he didn’t move. His mother stood with her back to him, one hand pressed to her temple, the other wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold everything in. The sight made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t leave it like this.

  He took a breath, turned slightly, and looked over his shoulder. His voice was quiet, but firm.

  "I'm sorry, Mom. I really am. But I have this incredible ability, and I can’t just ignore it. People out there need help, and if I can do something—if I can save even one life—I have to. I will. No matter how you feel about it."

  His mother tensed. He saw her shoulders rise, like she wanted to argue, to scream, to tell him he was making the biggest mistake of his life. But she didn’t turn around.

  Jace swallowed, his throat tight. "I know you’re scared. I know you just want to protect me. But I can’t live my life in fear of what might happen. I won’t."

  Silence.

  For a second, he thought she might respond. That she might give him something—anger, disappointment, anything. But she didn’t move, and the quiet stretched between them like a canyon.

  Jace exhaled, gripping the railing a little tighter. Then, without another word, he turned and headed upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

  TWO WEEKS LATER: IN THE CDE

  The CDE facility hummed with its usual efficiency—agents moving with purpose, data streams flickering across holographic displays, the low murmur of voices discussing ongoing operations. But beneath the surface, tension simmered.

  Axel Reed stood in the facility’s dimly lit training bay, wrapping his hands with slow, methodical precision. The air smelled of sweat and metal, a familiar scent that grounded him. Across from him, a combat drone reassembled itself, its sleek black plating clicking into place after their last sparring session.

  His mind wasn’t on the fight.

  The higher-ups had been silent for too long. That silence meant something was coming.

  As if on cue, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoed through the bay—three of them, crisp and deliberate. Axel didn’t need to turn around to know they weren’t just any operatives. He could feel it in the way the air shifted, in the way conversations in the hallway outside seemed to hush as they approached.

  But it was the presence of the man in the center that confirmed it. His posture, his pace, the unshakable weight of command in his very existence.

  Axel finished wrapping his hands, flexing his fingers as he finally glanced over his shoulder.

  Three men stood at the entrance. The two on either side wore standard CDE black—efficient, lethal. The man between them, though… he was something else, The man in the center exuded authority, but there was something colder beneath it—something dangerous. His face was sharp, angular, with a presence that made the room feel smaller just by standing in it. A single, piercing eye locked onto Axel, unreadable yet unwavering. The other was gone, replaced by an old, deep scar running from his brow to his cheekbone, a wound that hadn’t been hidden by any synthetic replacement. Either he didn’t care to fix it, or he wanted people to see it.

  More unsettling was his right hand—completely covered by a sleek black glove that extended past his wrist, disappearing beneath the cuff of his sleeve. The way he held it, perfectly still at his side, made it seem almost unnatural.

  This wasn’t just another bureaucrat hiding behind a title. No, this man had seen war. Had survived it. And had no patience for those who disappointed him.

  Axel exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he finally turned to face them.

  "So," he said, voice steady. "You finally decided to stop watching and start talking."

  The man took a step forward, measured, deliberate. His remaining eye held no warmth, only the weight of a man who had delivered judgment before—and would do so again without hesitation.

  "Director Reed," he said, his voice smooth but carrying a quiet, lethal certainty. "It’s time we had a conversation."

  Axel glanced at the still-reassembling drone, then back at them. He sighed, shaking his head.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "Figured as much."

  Without another word, he unwrapped his hands, tossing the wraps aside. Whatever was coming, he was ready.