CHAPTER ONE: Sideways

Unlocked, the heavy iron door groaned open, its sound echoing through the cold, dimly lit basement of Starlite Estate.

Stretched out like a hotel corridor, its length was lined with six doors—three on each side—equally spaced along the cold concrete walls, which were painted a soft bubblegum pink. Clusters of fake flowers adorned the spaces between them, their plastic petals frozen in an artificial bloom-an additional spritz of colour. The Grand Duchess always imagined the “u” whenever she said—or even thought—the word. It made her feel more sophisticated.

A single, stark overhead light cast a dramatic glow on the enormous portrait at the far end. Encased in an opulent gilded frame, it depicted her draped in a sweeping yet elegantly understated gown, holding a Pomeranian.

“Good morning, Mr. Puff Pastry,” she blew an airy kiss in the direction of the painting.

Hooking the door to its latch, her attendant bumped a button on the wall with her elbow, causing a thin stretch of soft pink carpet to shoot out across the length of the floor.

“It is ready for you,” she stated softly with a gentle bow. “Your Grace.”

Sashaying inside, Giselle de Barbarac released a wistful sigh. Every step dripped with over-the-top theatricality, played like cameras were watching her from every angle.

Dressed in a white corset with pink lace-up detailing that cinched her waist, forcing an hourglass figure, her blonde hair fell in gentle ringlets down her back.

Newly roused from the ten hours of beauty sleep required when one is as fabulous as she was, she decided to wait to completely glam it up. The conversation she’d been waiting much too long for needed to take precedence.

“Oh, I love what you’ve done with the place,” she cooed. “I mean, it still reminds me of a dungeon….but a fabulous one!” Lifting the cigarette holder to her lips, she inhaled deeply. “Congrats, darling.”

Her attendant nodded. The sharp lines of her simple schoolgirl uniform contrasted with the Duchess’s flamboyance.

“It is.” She agreed. “The only things missing are the whips, chains, and the ice cream station.”

“Oh, you naughty little thing,” the Grand Duchess teased, smoke curling from her mouth as she tapped Her attendant lightly on the arm.” Then what would be the point of the third floor?” She tittered. “Let’s see who’s awake, shall we?”

Nodding, Her Attendant straightened into rigid silence as she stepped up and knocked on the first door.

There was no response.

“Brenleigh,” the Grand Duchess took another puff. “Asleep.” She leaned in close to whisper. “No loss there, if I’m being honest,”

Her attendant turned, walking up to the first door on the right and knocking.

No response.

“Daniel,” the Grand Duchess took note. “Sleeping. Oh well.”

Taking a diagonal step to her left, Her attendant knocked on the second door.

No response.

“Joon-Jae,” the Grand Duchess sighed. “That one is a shame. He’s quite fetching, don’t you think?”

The last door on the left creaked open.

“Are you looking for me?” A soft voice chimed with a soft voice chimed with a southern accent as Alice popped her head out.

She was a vision of perfection, dressed in a baby-blue frock adorned with a pastel floral print-tied off with a spotless white apron. Her face was freshly painted, and her chestnut hair was styled into an impeccable bouffant, not a single strand out of place.

“Alice,” the Grand Duchess nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “It’s you!”

She glanced toward her attendant.

“Your Grace!” Alice’s face lit up with genuine delight at the sight of her visitor. “One of your visits is always a pleasure. Do, come in. Please!” She stepped aside, gesturing warmly. “I’ve got a coffee cake almost ready to come out of the oven and a fresh pot of Colombia’s finest.”

Stepping into Alice’s quaint yet immaculate apartment felt like walking into the golden glow of a family sitcom from the early days of television.

The walls were painted a cheery lemon-yellow, adorned with framed needlepoint with sayings like Home Is Where the Heart Is, Behind Every Good Man is an Obedient Woman, and Jesus Loves a Busy Housewife. A floral-print sofa sat neatly against the wall, flanked by side tables with lace doilies and matching porcelain lamps. It was spotless - not a single speck of dust. A cuckoo clock on the wall ticked cheerily, completing the illusion of a picture-perfect suburban paradise.

Fluttering into the kitchen, Alice reached for a set of matching pastel potholders as she peeked into the oven. “Just a few more minutes, Your Grace,” she chirped, glancing back over her shoulder with a smile as bright as a summer day. “Would you like some coffee or maybe some lemonade while we wait? Fresh-squeezed, of course.”

“No, thank you.” The Grand Duchess replied, pulling out a chair from a small table.

“Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Eyeing her determination, the Grand Duchess shrugged. “Got any gin?”

Alice straightened up, smoothing her hair with an exaggerated flourish. “Why, Your Grace, it’s barely noon!” she teased, a scandalized glint in her eyes. “But since it’s you, I suppose I could dig out the good crystal.”

“Do that.” the Grand Duchess blinked blankly, taking a hit from her cigarette.

LATER

The gin was gone, and so was the coffee cake. Pulling her cigarette, the Grand Duchess watched Alice scurrying around, cleaning.

“Darling,” she called to the busy housewife. “Why don’t you come and sit down for a moment?”

“Oh, I would, but you know how the boys like their house just so…”

“They are actually who I’d like to talk to you about.”

Setting the dishrag across the sink, Alice gasped. “Oh no! They haven’t done something untoward now, have they?”

“No.” the Grand Duchess shook her head. “Not yet anyway-and therein lies the problem.”

Sighing in relief, Alice turned to join them at the table.

“What do you mean?” She asked as she sat.

“Well,” the Grand Duchess leaned closer. “I’ve got some very exciting plans, and in order for them to go off without a hitch, I’m going to need his help.”

“Which he? Daniel? Tawan? Joon-Jae.”

“All of the above.”

“Oh my…” she lifted her teacup for a sip, setting the cup on the saucer. “Well, doesn’t that sound like someone is courting trouble?”

The Grand Duchesses eyes shimmered. “Oh, you can count on that, my dear.”

“How can we help?” Alice asked, her tone turning serious.

Taking a slow drag from her cigarette, the Grand Duchess held the housewife in her eyes. “Well…”

A ding from the oven alerted them to a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies.

“Splendiferous!” Alice clapped. Pushing back her chair with a squeak of enthusiasm, she bustled to the oven, her heels clicking against the linoleum. She donned her pastel oven mitts with practiced precision, pulling out a tray of perfectly golden chocolate chip cookies. “Nothing beats fresh-from-the-oven goodness!”

The Grand Duchess inhaled deeply, her lips pressing into a thin line. Setting the cigarette holder down on the ashtray she exhaled slowly, forcing her expression to remain composed despite the obvious strain.

“Alice, darling,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth but taut, “as delightful as your cookies undoubtedly are, I would hate for them to distract us from the real treat: your answer to my little predicament.”

Alice spun around, still holding the tray, her smile never wavering. “Oh, but of course, Your Grace! It’s just…” She set the cookies on the counter, smoothing her apron as she turned back to face the Grand Duchess. “Well, you simply can’t rush perfection, can you?”

Giselle arched a brow, her patience fraying but still holding. “Which is why I have yet to raise my voice beyond the gentle hum of a whisper.”

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, Alice sat back down.

“The others, Darling,” the Grand Duchess pressed. “Will you speak to them?”

“For you, Your Grace?” Alice shifted, taking a small bite of a warm cookie. “Anything.”

“Good. I need The Family to step in to help me with this annoying little reporter.”

“Who dares to trouble you, Your Grace.”

“His name is Trevor Prince.”

Alice nodded. “How can we help?”

“I believe he’s the lover of MoonShadow.”

“The vigilante?”

The Grand Duchess nodded.

“He’s the reason Father ended up in Celadon.”

“So you feel my pain,” the Grand Duchess lifted her cigarette for another drag.

“Yes.”

“Well, I have a plan to rid us of the moonlight menace once and for all.”

“Oh do tell Your Grace, please!” Alice’s eyes twinkled. “Do Tell!”

“If Mr. Prince is in fact his lover, destroying him will destroy MoonShadow.”

“So you want us to kill him.”

“Not yet.” the Grand Duchess laughed. “But, I love your enthusiasm. No, for now I just want him distracted while I am pulling some strings behind the scenes.”

“Distracted,” Alice nodded, her eyes focusing in the distance. “We can do distractions.”

The Grand Duchess took another puff. “Can you speak to them now?

Alice nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Marvelous.” the Grand Duchess beamed. “Simply…. Marvelous-now… Run along. I can wait, dear.”

With a nod, Alice took a breath.

Closing her eyes, the pristine world of her kitchen dissolved.

As it faded, Alice found herself in a dark, tangled void. Gossamer threads of memory and emotion wove a shimmering, chaotic web all around her, pulsing faintly with light. Cautiously, she picked her way through, the heels of her pumps clicking on an invisible floor as she brushed aside strands of obsessive-compulsive thoughts, shards of lingering paranoia, and the heat of unreceptive anger, and the sensual whispers of oppressed sexuality.

In the distance, a single door came into view.

The closer she got, the more solid it became—a polished mahogany surface with brass detailing. Larger than most doors, only five beings in the entire universe were allowed to enter. The faint hum of conversation from the other four spilled out from the cracks.

Reaching for the brass handle, she turned it.

The door creaked open to reveal a lavishly comfortable meeting room, something between a corporate boardroom and a hotel lounge from the 1970s. Velvet armchairs in rich jewel tones surrounded a gleaming oak table.

At the head of the table, Tawan sat with a cold and calculating expression. His dark eyes swept the room as if he were studying the evidence.

He was the man in charge. The head of the family. King of their world.

To his left lounged Joon-Jae, exuding a roguish charm, his tie loosened and his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a defined chest. Next to him, Brenleigh perched with her legs crossed, her phone held aloft as she swiped, tapped, and posed-taking selfies.

Across the table, Daniel leaned back in his chair, flipping a butterfly knife open and shut with idle precision, his dark eyes gleaming with barely restrained boredom. “So,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “is this gonna be one of those talk-about-you-feelings meetings, or are we actually gonna do something?”

“Well,” Alice sat at Tawan’s right with a serene smile, smoothing her apron as she folded her hands in her lap. “You’ll be pleased to know that the Grand Duchess has a mission for us,” she announced, her tone soft but purposeful.

“A mission,” Joon-Jae snorted. “Good.”

“It’s not good,” Daniel shifted happily. “It’s fucking fantastic!” He leaned back and kicking his feet up onto the table. “Who’s the target?”

Alice’s gaze flicked to Tawan, who gave her a subtle nod to proceed. “Trevor Prince.”

“Who?” Daniel asked.

Rolling her eyes, Brenleigh sighed. “You know, if you’d open more than a nudie magazine, you might learn something. Here,”—she held out her phone to him. “This is Trevor Prince. The city’s most beloved reporter, and a former television host.”

Taking in his image, Daniel shrugged. “He looks like a twat.”

“A very successful one,” Alice nodded in agreement. “He’s disrupted several operations for Her Grace, and she needs him to be taken care of.”

“Good,” Daniel flipped his knife again. “A stab to the chest outta do-”

“No.” Alice shook her head. “It seems he’s got a protector.”

“Who?” Brenleigh asked.

“MoonShadow.”

“Now him, I know.” Daniel snorted. “He is a twat.”

“So we’re going to go about this differently.” Alice continued. “I’m going to give Mr. Prince a story to sniff out, something he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“What kind of story?” Daniel asked.

“I haven’t worked that out yet,” Alice replied honestly.

“How about something tied to the human trafficking piece he did a few weeks ago?”

Benleigh offered, holding her phone out to her mother.

Taking it Alice read quickly. “This is good darling,” she looked up, handing the phone back to her. “Very good.”

“Thank you,” she beamed.

Leaning back, Tawan crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Is everything alright, Honey?” Alice asked softly.

“MoonShadow.” He snorted.

“I know how you feel about him,” Alice patted his shoulder. “That’s why I’m happy we’ll be able to take him down.”

He huffed. “If this Trevor Prince is his lover. He’ll be heavily guarded.”

“We’ll be careful.”

With another nod, his eyes landed on Daniel. “And you’re back up. At the first whiff of this going sideways, I’ll want you to cause a little…”

“Chaos.” Daniel interrupted his grin widening. “Love it.”

Alice rose gracefully from her chair, smoothing her apron with a deliberate and cautious motion. “Good,” she said with a serene smile. “Then I’ll let Her Grace know.”

“Be safe, Sweetheart.” Tawan took her hand, giving it a quick kiss as she stepped toward the door.

“Take care, my angels. I’ll return.”

As she stepped through, the world around her began to dissolve. The darkness fading into muted yellows and pastel blues, the velvet chairs and stained glass fractals giving way to floral wallpaper and the warm, homey glow of her kitchen. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted back into her senses, replacing the sharp tang of Daniel’s cologne.

The faint hum of the meeting room’s conversation disappeared, replaced by the cheerful ticking of her beloved cuckoo clock.

Opening her eyes, Alice blinked.

“Good News,” she focused on the Grand Duchess. “We are ready whenever you need us.”

A sinister smile spread across Giselle’s face. “That is exactly what I hoped to hear.”

“When shall we start?”

“Immediately.”

“It’s been so long since I was on the stage Your Grace, this will be a splendid opportunity.”

CHAPTER TWO” Black Heart

The tension in the air curled like smoke, thick and unmoving.

Cole sat on the couch, arms folded so tightly against his chest it looked like he was bracing for an impact. His golden eyes were sharp, his jaw locked, his entire body coiled like a spring wound too tight.

Across from him, Klue sprawled comfortably in the chair, still shirtless, his toned torso catching the ambient glow of the room. His bare feet were kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed in a lazy display of confidence—like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Bro, that’s gnarly.”

Perched on the armrest beside him, Serena observed in quiet calculation, her sharp gaze flicking between them. Her black-rimmed glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of her nose, and with a subtle inhale, she adjusted them—a measured movement that hinted at the quiet storm of thoughts brewing behind her eyes.

“Why didn’t you call me immediately?” Serena asked, her voice sharp with anger.

From the island counter, Trevor lifted his coffee mug to his lips, Tàki curled lazily in his lap. “Yeah, Cole?” he echoed, taking another slow sip of the salted caramel goodness. “Why didn’t we call her immediately?”

Cole exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Serena—”

She cut him off, leaning forward with the precision of a woman who was about to rip someone apart with words alone.

“Cole, come on. I have connections, resources, legal strategies that don’t involve hoping for the best while your creepy neighbor is probably somewhere drafting a ‘Make Prism City Pure Again’ manifesto.”

Trevor smirked into his mug, taking another sip.

Cole clenched his jaw, his fingertips pressing white against his tanned skin. “I appreciate it,” he said, voice steady but firm. “But as I told Trevor, this is something I have to handle myself. I don’t want help from The Powers.”

Serena opened her mouth to rebut.

“Or Powers-adjacent,”—he continued before she could speak—“as your case may be.”

Serena let out a sharp laugh, one with no real humor behind it. “Right. Because waiting for bureaucracy to have a moral awakening is a solid plan, Christopher Cole Carter.”

Trevor snorted into his coffee. “Told ya,” he half-sang.

Serena’s sharp gaze flicked to him immediately.

“And you!”

Trevor froze, mug halfway to his lips. “What about me?” he asked, voice muffled around a mouthful of coffee.

Serena folded her arms. “You didn’t call me either.”

Trevor swallowed carefully, setting the mug down. “We’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

Serena rolled her eyes dramatically. “La la la la! The two of you are impossible!”

“We know, Serena.” Cole exhaled. “We know.”

Serena wasn’t done. She turned, glaring at Klue. “And you! How dare you try to get to Cole through Trevor! That’s despicable!” She slapped his shoulder. “It’s disgusting!”

“Ow!” Klue hissed, rubbing his arm.

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re a superhero. Buck up.”

Trevor sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Between the immigration case, Brindle, Klue, and Project Eclipse… everything’s been a little mucked up.”

“Project Eclipse…” Serena’s expression darkened. Cole sat forward, forearms resting on his knees. “What do you know about it?”

Serena hesitated for half a second before sighing. “Enough to know it’s a nightmare.”

Klue let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Trevor’s journalistic instincts sharpened immediately. His spine straightened, his emerald-green eyes locking onto Klue like a hawk.

“How did you even get involved?” He asked.

All eyes turned to Klue.

He shifted in his seat, finally dropping his feet from the table and sitting up.

“Short answer?” he muttered, fingers tapping idly against the arm of the chair. “My mom was an addict.”

He shifted again.

“She sold me for a fix.”

Trevor visibly tensed. “Oh God.”

“Yeah.” Klue cleared his throat. “That closet I told you about?” He glanced at Cole. “It wasn’t so much a closet as a cell.”

Klue swallowed.

“Once her lumen wore off, I found myself strapped to a cold metal table under a sunlamp in the basement of Celadon.”

“Fuck,” Cole exhaled.

“Yeah.”

“Why did they say the experiment was terminated?” Serena asked, her voice tight.

Klue hesitated, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake something off.

“That was actually all Dr. Brandt.”

Trevor shifted “Brandt?”

“Yeah,” Klue nodded, his expression unreadable. “He knew they were planning on terminating me. Not the experiment—me.”

Cole’s breath hitched, fingers twitching.

Klue leaned back against the chair, exhaling. “I don’t know why. I don’t know if it was guilt, or some weird moral code, or if he just had a bad day and decided to let me go. But for whatever reason… he grew a conscience.”

His voice darkened.

“And then they killed him.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

The implications hung thick in the air, unspoken but deeply understood.

Dr. Brandt had let Klue go.

And now?

He was dead.

“Who’s they?”

“Who’s ever behind Project Eclipse.” He shrugged.

“Do you know who that is?” Trevor asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

“No.” Klue looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait.” Cole’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said Ms. Black told Trevor you moved here from Thailand.”

“I did.” Klue scratched at his chest. “When I was eight.”

Lifting Táki and his coffee cup, Trevor stepped up around the couch, sitting next to Cole.

“I was born in San Francisco. I moved to Thailand with my Grandmother when I was four after my mom went to prison. When I was eight she’d been clean for a years. Against her better judgement, my grandmother allowed me to move with her. A year later…” Klue’s voice trailed off. Taking a breath, he fought the onset of tears. Clearing his throat, he continued. “A year later she sold me to Project Eclipse.”

“When did Dr. Brandt let you go?”

“Six months ago.”

Cole and Trevor exchanged a look.

Trevor’s expression remained unreadable, but his fingers tapped idly against the rim of his coffee cup, his mind already spinning through the angles. “And how long did it take you to find us?”

Klue’s hazel eyes flicked toward him, then he let out a snort, amused but unimpressed.

“Three weeks.”

“Three…”

Cole repeated. His stomach churned, the number rolling over in his mind, impossible to ignore.

“Weeks?”

Klue shrugged casually, unbothered. “You’re a good writer,” he mused, keeping his gaze on Trevor. “But there’s only one reason someone writes that passionately about another person.” He glanced at Cole.“Even if they are a vigilante superhero.”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression knowing.

“You either hate them…” he paused just long enough to let it settle, then smirked. “Or you’re head over heels in love them.”

Trevor shifted slightly, his fingers curling around his coffee mug.

Klue leaned forward. “So, I started watching you.”

Trevor’s green eyes snapped back to him, narrowing. “You mean spying?”

Klue’s smirk widened. “Testing my hypothesis.”

Cole exhaled sharply.

“Lo and behold I was right.”

The weight of his words hung thick in the air, but Klue didn’t give them time to dwell.

“So, you were watching us for six months?” Trevor pressed, his voice carefully controlled.

Klue’s expression didn’t shift. “Yes,” he replied flatly.

Then he added with a casual roll of his shoulders, he added, “And if I could put the pieces together… someone else could too.”

He snorted.

“Shit. Someone probably already has.”

Cole inhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as reality settled over him.

From the island. Trevor’s phone started to ring.

Setting Táki on the sofa between him and Cole, he went to retrieve it.

Maybe Giselle de Barbarac was scrolling across the screen.

“Your Grace.” He answered brightly.

“Hello!” A delighted laugh oozed through the speaker, rich and theatrical. “I do hope I’m not interrupting something… intimate, Mr. Prince.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” he replied smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” she trilled, as if the very idea delighted her. “Oh, darling, I never mix pleasure with business. Except, of course, when the business is my pleasure.”

“I mean,” he corrected. “What can I do for you?”

“I was simply reminiscing about our little chat at the gala,” she mused, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “You were so interested in the story behind those earrings weren’t you?”

“I am.” He nodded. “The tale you and my fiancé told was… fascinating.”

“Tell me love, how is Tall Dark and Dreamy?”

Looking at Cole, a smile split his lips as pink painted across his cheeks. “He’s fine.”

“Devine.” she gushed. “It occurred to me this morning—why, Giselle, you promised that charming young man an exclusive, and yet here we are, days later, and you haven’t followed through! I simply couldn’t let my reputation suffer such an oversight.”

“It’s fine Your Grace. You’ve been busy.” He glanced to Cole, Klue, and Serena. “So have I.”

“Well if you’d like that exclusive, I. happen to be free this afternoon. If you are.”

“I’m free.”

“Oh, I knew you would be.” He could hear the smile playing at her lips. “And that fiancé of yours. Is he free as well?”

Trevor looked to Cole, then Klue. “He’s got some family stuff going on.”

“Oh.” Her voice lowered in concern. “Everything is okay, I hope.”

“Fine.” Trevor replied. “He just has visitors.”

“Well, then it will be just the two of us. Would you like to meet at Regina Regenbogen’s?”

“Regina Regenbogen’s?” He echoed. “Isn’t there like a six month wait?”

“Oh, Sweetness,” she laughed loudly. “No. It’s two years.”

“What?!?”

“But not for me, Love…” she giggled again. “What do you say?”

“That would be wonderful.”

Her delight was immediate.

“Splendiferous!” she declared. “My driver will be there in half an hour!”

Trevor blinked.

“Half an hour?”

“Why yes dear, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

Trevor looked to the clock.

It was 11:30.

“Unless you’d rather do dinner?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Lunch is fine.”

“Perfect. Text me your address and my driver will be on his way.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Tata.”

Click.

Trevor lowered the phone, blinking at it.

“You just scored a sit down with The Grand Duchess Giselle de Barbarac?” Serena’s eyes narrowed.

“I did.” He nodded.

“She doesn’t give those to just anyone.” Cole added.

“I know,” he turned, setting his phone down on the island. “I need to shower.”

Before anyone could say anything else. Trevor headed toward the bathroom.

LATER

Perched atop the gleaming heights of Sunspire—the tallest skyscraper in Marigold Plaza—Regina Regenbogen’s floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking, uninterrupted view of the city all the way to the Spectra Dome.

Seated at a prime table, Trevor adjusted his recorder. The soft click of the button signaled the start of the interview. Across from him, the Grand Duchess was draped in a gown of champagne silk, its high collar elegantly framing her neck as the fabric cascaded in dramatic waves over the plush seating. Her platinum-blonde hair, styled in effortless curls with jeweled pins scattered like hidden stars, completed the picture of refined grace. In front of them, a bottle of Starlite Reserve—one of Prism City’s rarest vintages—sat chilling in a bucket of crushed ice, flanked by two crystal glasses.

Graceful, poised, and entirely in her element, the Grand Duchess finally spoke.“Shall we begin?”

Trevor, ever the professional, leaned slightly forward. “Yes, please.”

Taking her time, she lifted her glass, swirled the wine lazily, took a delicate sip, and set it down, her fingers tapping thoughtfully along the rim. “Oh, darling, I’m here for you,” she said with a playful wink. “Just take the lead.”

Trevor nodded, unmoved by her theatrics. He had dealt with politicians, CEOs, criminals, and even super-powered vigilantes; a dramatic aristocrat wasn’t likely to throw him off.

“Let’s start with the earrings.”

At the mention of the earrings, the Grand Duchess’s expression brightened. “Ah, yes. The Lotus Flowers. How does your lover like them?”

“They’re wonderful,” Trevor replied.

“They’re worth millions, you know.”

Trevor blinked blankly—he hadn’t even considered their value.

“They are?”

“Three hundred of them, to be exact.”

“Three… hundred… MILLION?!?” he nearly choked on the words. “Dollars?”

“Euros.”

Trevor reached for the crystal goblet of water.

“Darling, that’s nothing,” she giggled dismissively. “I have eight 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupés—one in every color of the rainbow—plus a custom pink.”

“I assume those are cars,” he ventured.

“No, darling,” she retorted. “They are works of art.”

Trevor tilted his head. “You mentioned at the gala that the earrings were a gift from an old lover.”

Her eyes drifted for a moment. “I did, didn’t I?”

Trevor waited as she allowed the silence to linger, clearly enjoying the game. Then she sighed languidly, tilting her head in reminiscence. “He was a charming man—mysterious, devoted, a touch too dramatic for my taste, but no one is perfect…” Her voice trailed off as she winked. “Except me, of course.”

Trevor arched an eyebrow. “He just gave them to you?”

“Of course not, darling. I earned them.” The slow, deliberate, teasing way she said it made it impossible to tell if she was being literal or not.

“And before you ask,” she continued, “no, I won’t reveal his name or exactly how I earned them…” A sly smirk played across her face. “A lady must keep some secrets.” She chuckled. “I learned my lesson after my dear college friend, Reba, made millions off my… Fancy story.”

Trevor leaned back, watching her carefully. “And what do you know about their history?”

A teasing smile played across her lips.

“Wait.” The memory of a melody flashed through his mind. “What?”

“As I mentioned, the Lotus Flowers once belonged to Empress Kagubi.”

“You did.”

“But were they a token of love from Emperor Asra?” she shrugged. “Some think so.”

“And what do you think?”

“Oh, I think they’re far more significant.”

Trevor noted an unreadable flicker in her eyes. “Significant how?”

She offered a delicate shrug. “Oh, you know how legends work, dear—they change, shift, and twist over time. I have my own theories.”

“I think perhaps they hold the spirit of Empress Kagubi herself.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “Hold her spirit?”

“Well, people just don’t vanish, dear.” She took another sip of wine. “Especially Spectrals.”

“So…” Trevor pressed gently. “You think the earrings are a prison?”

“Tell me, my dear,” she leaned forward, “how are you doing?”

Trevor hesitated for a fraction of a second—a pause so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed. Yet she did.

Keeping his voice professional, his body language tightened. “I’m… fine.”

“Are you sure?”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

“Have you seen this?” she asked, reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a folded newspaper, sliding it across the table. Trevor recognized the masthead immediately—The Refraction.

“I didn’t realize you were into gossip rags,” he remarked with a soft snort.

“Dear,” she chuckled, “didn’t I tell you that Clarissa de Ghent is one of my nearest and dearest friends?”

“Yes,” he nodded cooly. “But, a gossip columnist and a full-scale tabloid are two very different things, Your Grace”

Unfolding the paper, his gaze landed on the headline:
PRESIDENT AIMS TO REMOVE IMMIGRANTS FROM PRISM CITY – SOURCES CLAIM MASS DEPORTATIONS LOOMING

Trevor’s heart clenched. She exhaled, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “You know, I have considerable influence in political circles, Mr. Prince.”

Looking up, Trevor stilled.

“I could help.”

For the first time since the interview began, her demeanor shifted—no longer playful or teasing, but resolutely serious.

“Help?”

“Being as politically connected as I am, I have access to classified documents,” she continued softly, her eyes locking onto his. “Including the names of the men and women the orange tornado wants to deport from our… magnificent city.”

Trevor swallowed hard.

“I saw Mr. Carter’s name,” she admitted.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled. “That’s why you called.”

She nodded. “And why I asked if he was free to join us?”

“Why would you want to help us?”

Lifting her glass, she swallowed what remained of the wine. “Because, darling, I simply hate to see talented people inconvenienced.”

“I appreciate that,” he smiled genuinely, “but Cole already has a lawyer.”

“Brooke Bingum,” she nodded. “I know.”

Trevor shifted uncomfortably again.

“Don’t get me wrong, love—she’s a shark, but even a great white swims away in fear when they’re up against the American Government.”

Trevor leaned back. “But you are?”

“Darling, I’m the most powerful woman in Prism City—and when you look this good, you don’t even have to ask. You can just grab those withered old snowflakes by the balls—and squeeze.”

Trevor chuckled.

“Listen,” her voice got deeper. “I know when ICE is coming for him.”

With renewed seriousness, he shivered. “When?”

“Tuesday.”

Trevor swallowed hard. “That’s…”

“The day after tomorrow,” she confirmed with a nod. “Yes.”

“Can you really help us?”

“Darling, what good is being a grand duchess if I can’t do something…” she winked. “Grand?”

Smiling weakly, Trevor nodded. “Alright. I’ll talk to Cole.”

“Good. Now,” she poured another glass of wine. “Let’s finish this interview. I’m sure you’re a very busy young man.”

With a nod, Trevor shifted, his mind spinning back to reporter mode.

“So if you think these earrings are a prison for the legendary Empress Kagbui. Is there a way to free her?”

The Grand Duchess’ eyes danced with excitement.

LATER

As the car pulled up at the entrance of Sunspire, Daniel emerged from the driver’s seat, rushing to open the door before Trevor could reach for it.

“Aren’t you coming?” Trevor asked, turning back to her.

“No, darling, I have another engagement,” she replied, glancing to her right. “Besides, that’s my car.” Following her gaze, Trevor noticed a stretched Hummer the color of bubble-gum pink.

He laughed. “I’d expect nothing less, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Prince,” she said, stepping forward to reach for his hand. He took it. “Please tell your fiancé to consider my offer. I really can help you.”

A warm, honest smile spread across his face. “I will, Your Grace,” he nodded, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Nodding, he got into the car.

As Daniel shut the door, he tipped his hat to her. “Your Grace.”

“Daniel,” she nodded. “Get him home safely.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied as he stepped around the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

As they pulled away, the Giselle retrieved her cigarette holder from the cleavage of her dress and placed it elegantly between her lips. Reaching into her purse for a lighter, she clicked, taking a long dramatic drag.

“Hello, darling,” she replied, smoke curling from her lips, as her attendant stepped up on her right.

“You had him,” the attendant noted, nodding toward the car. “You were alone for hours. Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?”

“Oh, sweetheart!” she laughed. “No, no, no!” Her chuckle continued. “These things must be done delicately—I must earn their trust. Their friendship.”

She took another puff.

“That makes the betrayal all the more deliciously devious.”

“I understand.

“And the murder of Trevor Prince must never be tied to me.”

Her attendant nodded. “I can see I have a lot to teach you, my dear.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, nodding once more.

“There’s an art to murder.” Her eyes glistened dangerously. “Especially when you want to torture someone one first.”

CHAPTER THREE: Favourite Colour

Trevor stepped into the loft, pausing in the door way at the sight of uncluttered counters and the shine of freshly buffed hardwood floors. Curtains drawn, the lights of the city flickered in, dancing against the dim golden glow of the overheads. It was warm, soft, and welcoming.

The kitchen— earlier a realm of discarded papers, half empty coffee cups and hurried takeout boxes— was restored to a state of peaceful perfection. The counters gleamed, the utensils hung neatly, and the aroma of caramelized onion and mushrooms wafting with hints of rosemary and garlic hung in the air.

Cole had been cooking.

At the edge of the loft, on a table reserved for special occasions, a plate of seasoned potatoes—crisped to a delicate golden hue—sat beside a bowl of broccoli salad—its emerald florets lightly mixed with bits of bacon and dried cranberries kissed by a tangy citrus drizzle and crowned with toasted cashews. Center stage were thick cuts of prime rib: edges charred to perfection with centers red, juicy, and medium rare—exactly as he liked it.

Trevor’s eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. On the credenza, a handwritten note was propped up against a frame photo-the first they’d ever taken together-next to a vase of freshly picked wildflowers.

Walking up, Trevor lifted the note.

For my intrepid and irresistible fiancé.

Smiling, he set the note down and leaned in to smell the flowers.

“Do you like it?” Cole’s voice asked behind him.

Turning he saw him. Dressed in dark jeans and a simple white teeshirt, he was a vision of casual charm.

“It smells amazing.”

“Well, I know you only ever eat appetizers at your interviews, and since this one went so long…” he took a step toward him. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Famished.”

Crossing the floor Cole placed his hand on the small of Trevor’s back, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“We should eat then.”

Stepping away from him, Cole went for the fridge to grab a bottle of wine chilling in the freezer.

Looking up, Trevor saw the Mezzanine level had not only been cleaned, but a new bed, a dresser, two end tables, and a lamp had been added to the space.

“Where’s Klue?”

Pulling the cork from the bottle, Cole crossed to the table, pouring the dark rosé into two wide wine glasses.

“I sent him out shopping with Serena,” he looked at him. Setting the bottle down, he pulled out the chair closest to the window. “Tonight is about us,” he glanced to the note. “No distractions. No drama. Just…” his voice trailed softly. “You and me.”

Trevor nodded, taking another glance around the apartment.

“Táki is in the bedroom.” Cole smiled. “Sleeping on my pillow.”

“Probably obsessed with that sweet-smelling shampoo you use.”

“Cant trust these luscious locks to just anyone now can I?” He winked, running a hand through his carefully tousled hair.

Trevor’s gaze softened. Walking up to the table, he sat as Cole gently pushed in his chair.

“It looks delicious,” Trevor stated as he carefully filled his plate, ensuring that while the juices of the meat might slide toward the potatoes, the salad would remain untouched.

He hated soggy broccoli.

“Thank you.” Cole beamed, filling his own plate without a thought about if his food would touch or not.

For a moment, the only sound was the gentle clink of cutlery and the soft tones of Carly Rae Jepsen playing in the background.

“How was the interview?” Cole asked, breaking the silence.

“Interesting.” Trevor nodded after a sip of wine. “Very interesting.”

“How so?” He asked, cutting another bite of meat.

“The Grand Duchess wants you to call her.”

“Me?” He slid his fork into his mouth. “Why?”

“She’s very connected politically, and, apparently she knows that ICE is going to come knocking on our door Tuesday morning.”

“Oh.”

The words hung in the air, and the moment shifted imperceptibly from one of domestic serenity to the realm of anxiety.

“Remember,” Cole swallowed, reaching for his glass. “I said no drama tonight.”

“There won’t be.” Trevor nodded, pushing his fork through a floret of broccoli. “She just said she could help us.” He brought the fork to his mouth. “If we wanted her too.”

Holding Cole in his eyes as he chewed. Trevor smiled.

“And since you don’t want to ask The Powers for help, I figured she’d be a sovereign alternative.”

He swallowed.

“This is delicious.”

Leaning slightly forward, Cole reached beneath the table and withdrew a neatly folded bundle of papers which he handed toward Trevor.

“What are these?” He asked, wiping his hand on a cloth napkin before reaching out.

“Serena,” he replied with a wry smile.

Unfolding the papers, Trevor read over them. A crisp Certificate of Naturalization—its embossed seal and golden lettering unmistakably official—proved that Cole had taken the Oath of Allegiance. A voter registration card and updated tax records verified his years of lawful residence. There was even a notarized letter from USCIS confirming his eligibility and a couple of affidavits from community leaders praising his character-including Madeline O’Donnell, one of the most respected judges in the city.

“It seems a few crucial documents went missing when my mother had me naturalized.” He continued, slipping another bite of meat into his mouth. “Right before my visa expired.”

Trevor paused, glancing up with a mixture of relief and concern. “So, all this proves you’re finally a citizen?”

“No.” Cole’s smile was a mix of pride and shit-eating defiance. “It proves that I have been a citizen-for years.”

“Serena did all this?”

“Yes. Then, she had them sent to Brooke. Who got Judge O’Donnell to write the letter and expedite processing.”

“And how did she explain that the paperwork was missed before?”

“Easy.” Cole wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair. “Ethnicity: Asian-and they didn’t look any further.”

“What about Priya?” Trevor took another sip of wine. “She did her own research.”

Cole shrugged.

“It’s not her fault the American government misfiled my paperwork. She did all she could.”

“So it’s over?”

Cole nodded. “Yes.”

Trevor exhaled.

“No more questioning. No more threat of ICE knocking on our door. This part of the story.” Cole reached for the last bite of meat. “Is over.”

He chewed.

“Damn this is moist.”

Their eyes met across the table, and in that look was a universe of unspoken apologies, promises, and shared fears. Trevor’s hand slowly reached out, resting over Cole’s, their fingers intertwining naturally. The physical contact was gentle at first—a tentative reassurance—before deepening into a more deliberate, intimate gesture.

“I’m so happy.” Trevor continued softly.

The pulse of the city, the aroma of the food, and the soft glow of the setting sun through the windows, all conspired to create an atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

Standing, Cole leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving Trevor’s as he reached across the table to gently brush a stray lock of his wild red hair from his eyes.

His touch lingered.

Trevor’s heart pounded in his chest as he felt the warmth of Cole’s hand on his cheek.

“Now.” Trevor started slowly. “Should we talk about Klue?”

Sitting back, Cole reached for his fork, stabbing it through several potatoes, he then promptly popped them into his mouth.

“I noticed you not only cleaned the Mezzanine, you transformed it into a bedroom.”

Cole nodded as he started to chew. “Mmmhmm.”

“First.” Trevor took a breath. “I need to apologize.”

Slightly surprised, Cole continued to chew.

“Now. That doesn’t mean I am letting him off the hook for what he did.”

Cole nodded, sliding his fork through a mound of Broccoli salad, shoveling it into his mouth before he’d fully swallowed the potatoes.

“It was a dick move and I am allowed to be angry at him for it.”

Cole nodded again. “Mmmhmm.”

“But, I am willing to at least give him the benefit of the doubt- especially with everything we know he went through at Celadon.”

Swallowing, Cole reached to pour himself another glass of wine. “It was fucking awful.”

Filling his glass, he set the bottle back on the table.

“And I’m not going to lie, like you said, having him here could help with the investigation and-yes, selfishly-the story, and if you really feel like he’s a part of your family. Then of course we should help him.”

Taking a sip, Cole nodded. “Thank you, Trevor.”

“But if I get a hint of deception or if Serena’s results come back with anything less than a blood relative he’s out. Got it?”

Cole nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Good.”

“Oh,” Cole dished up another helping of potatoes. “Brooke will be moving forward with our case against Brindle-at the very least she wants him evicted from the building.”

“The entire complex would thank us.”

“I know.” He lifted his glass.

Trevor did the same and the two clinked them together.

After eating, they cleared the table, packed the food into storage containers, and loaded the dishwasher.

“That was delicious,” Trevor leaned against the island counter as Cole put the last bit of food into the fridge. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he turned, giving him a quick kiss. “But,”— a devilish smirk spread across his handsome face— “the night’s not over yet”

His eyes shifted.

“If you want to, I mean.”

“Have sex with my fiancé?” Trevor asked.

“Yes.”

Scrunching his face, Trevor closed an eye and looked away from him, playfully coy. “I don’t know.”

Looking back to him, he smiled. Pushing up on his tiptoes, he gave Cole a quick kiss.

“Of course, I do.”

“Good.” Cole smiled.

Sliding his feet underneath Trevor’s, Cole’s body lifted. Gliding just above the surface of the hardwood floors toward the bedroom.

Passing the threshold, Trevor saw Táki, still asleep, being carried out on a cloud of shadows.

“He shouldn’t see what Big Daddy is about to do to Little Daddy.”

Rolling his eyes, Trevor shook his head. “Dork.”

He started to laugh.

Cole leaned in, swallowing the sound with a tender kiss.

In the bedroom, their feet touched the floor and Cole reached up, unfastening the buttons of Trevor’s shirt one by one.

Slowly.

With the final button undone, his fingers traced back up, Trevor skin was pale, smooth, and soft.

Shuddering at the sensation of Cole’s knuckles over his nipples, Trevor trembled.

Leaning in, Cole parted his lips for a kiss, but instead of meeting Trevor’s mouth, he pressed them against his neck with a gentle, quiet patience.

A tender bite. A shivering breath.

Sliding his fingers down his back, Cole tickled at Trevor’s sides as he moved around to unbutton his pants. Pushing them down, he lowered himself to his knees, dragging the tip of his tongue back down Trevor’s body.

As he continued to remove his layers, Cole kissed at Trevor’s thighs and down his legs until he stood exposed in the soft light—vulnerable and unguarded.

Straightening back into a standing position, Cole held Trevor’s face in his hands. Staring into his eyes, a soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Leaning in he, finally kissed him on the lips.

As the kiss deepened, Trevor lifted his hands to pull at the hem of Cole’s tee shirt.

“Not yet.” He spoke into Trevor’s mouth. “Let me worship you a little first.”

With a strong sort of tenderness, Cole lifted him effortlessly, cradling his lithe form before setting him down softly on the bed’s edge, his legs dangling gently. Moonlight spilled through the window, turning their bedroom into a sanctuary of silver and shadow.

Between him, Cole moved with a deliberate grace-his tongue embarking on a slow, artful exploration-caressing every sensitive contour-he was not merely performing; he was composing a silent sonnet of devotion. He’d spent years mentally mapping the terrain, so he knew all the right points to stop and admire-including a quick, gentle bite at the edge of Trevor’s left hip.

With a gasp, Trevor giggled at the tender tickling sensation.

Shifting his focus, Cole bestowed a gentle, almost prayerful kiss upon the tip of his penis as his knees touched on the warmth of the floor.

Running his hands along Trevor’s thighs, Cole lifted them with deliberate tenderness, draping his legs over his shoulders as his body arched into the intimate elevation. Sliding lower, Cole’s tongue continued to explore, curving delicately around the rim with gentle insistence as Trevor’s body twisted softly at his touch-the cadence of his heart quickening, echoing like thunder in his ears.

“Fuck” Trevor exhaled in a breathless whisper. “You’re so FUCKING GOOD at this.” He lifted his head, staring into Cole’s eyes.

Emboldened by Trevor’s words, Cole’s tongue moved with growing intensity, alternating between teasing, playful flicks and deliberate, passionate strokes.

Another whispered whimper.

Uncoiling his right hand from Trevor’s left leg, Cole pulled back his tongue. Spitting softly, he licked his middle finger before gently pushing it against Trevor’s hole.

Reaching out, Trevor tangled his fingers in Cole’s hair-gripping tightly as he slid his tongue back into position.

Faster. Harder. Cole wrapped his arm back around Trevor’s thigh, slapping it as he buried his face deeper.

Trevor gasped.

Hips bucked. Muscles tightened. His entire body began to shiver.

He was close and he hadn’t even touched himself yet.

Cole knew he could’ve stopped, giving Trevor a moment to relax, before he undressed and slipped himself inside of him. They could climax together.

Instead, he stayed focused. Tonight was about his fiancé. He’d get his…. eventually.

“I’m.” He exhaled. “I’m going to…”

Pulling his tongue out of him, Cole shifted again, pushing up to wrap his mouth around him as he cried out.

There was a sweetness to the warmth as Cole felt it splash against his tongue and the back of his throat. Keeping him in his mouth until the shivered pulsation quivered to a stop. Cole lowered himself all the way down to the base, making sure to catch every drop as he finally released him from his mouth.

“Good?” He asked, wiping his lips with his finger, licking it after.

“Fuck.” Trevor shivered again. “Yes.”

Cole teased the tip with another quick brush of his tongue. A soft laugh escaped Trevor’s lips as his entire body twitched in delight.

Standing, Cole steadied himself at the edge of the bed, anticipation humming in his veins. But before he could join Trevor on the bed a quiet yet commanding “No” stopped him in his tracks.

Sitting up, the red head’s eyes glimmered with mischief. “Your turn.”

With that soft declaration, Trevor lowered himself gracefully to his knees at the edge of the bed. As Cole took a careful step back, Trevor’s hand darted forward, taring open his jeans.

Cole’s bare skin, unencumbered by any underwear, glinted like gold in the moonlight. With deliberate tenderness, Trevor pushed the jeans to Cole’s ankles, allowing him to step out of them as he watched, waiting for his chance to take him into his mouth.

As he kicked his jeans aside, Trevor lunged, swallowing him down to the base.

Too much, too quickly he gagged.

“Easy.” Cole chuckled.

Leaning back, Cole fell from his mouth. “You devour your dessert like a glutton.” He smirked. “Why can’t I?”

Brushing his thumb across Trevor’s cheek, Cole shrugged. “Eat up, baby.”

Gripping his shaft, Trevor took him into his mouth again. This time he relaxed his throat. Letting his tongue linger, he took him in inch by inch, savoring the stretch.

The sensation of Trevor’s teasing mingled with the tickle of his nose brushing against the meticulously groomed tuft of course black hair at his groin, caused his entire body to tingle.

A soft gentle pulse, a shot of arousal, slicked against Trevor’s tongue. Salty and warm, it mingled with the heat of his mouth.

Delicious.

Pushing forward-greedy and unrelenting, he devoured him in one swift descent.

Again, he gagged.

Running his hands through his hair, Cole twisted his fingers within the black locks, pulling tight.

Tilting his head back, he let Trevor work. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast. Sometimes smooth. Sometimes with a gentle drag of his teeth.

His entire body was aching.

Opening his eyes, he tilted to look down at him. “I don’t want to nut in your mouth.” He stated breathlessly.

Looking up, Trevor smiled as he released him, trailing one last gentle lick over the tip before standing. Slippery and dripping wet, Trevor loved the sight of him naked in the moonlight.

Tilting, he tripped, catching himself against Cole’s leg before he fell.

“Whoops.” He giggled. “Too much cock. Not enough air,” he chuckled as his tongue raked over the ridges of Cole’s abdomen, pausing to suckle his right nipple before giving it a quick nip.

The sharp sensation sent a jolt through Cole’s body, making him twitch.

Trevor continued his ascent, dragging his lips and tongue along Cole’s heated skin, his nose brushing against the soft hair of his armpit. He inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating mix of sandalwood and sweat.

He was in the sweet spot. Musky but not overpowering.

Cole loosened his grip on his own hair, tangling the fingers of his left hand with Trevor’s, pulling it taught. With his other hand, Cole tilted Trevor’s chin up, his thumb pressing lightly against his jaw. Holding his gaze, Cole parted his lips and spit into his mouth—watching as Trevor swallowed before he pulled him in for another kiss.

Lifting him with quiet determination, Cole guided Trevor gently back onto the bed.

“Are you okay?” he asked slowly, his voice laced with tender concern as he brushed the wild-red hair out of his eyes. “Or should I wait?”

Trevor smirked as he turned onto his stomach, resting his cheek against the pillow. “If you’re asking permission to fuck me,” he teased, shifting his hips invitingly, “permission granted.”

Cole’s golden eyes darkened as he took in the sight of him—Trevor’s bare back stretching beneath him, the soft curve of his spine, the freckles scattered over his shoulders. His fingers traced slowly over Trevor’s skin, following the dip at the base of his spine, relearning every inch of him like a man worshipping his most sacred devotion.

“You’re so perfect,” he leaned down to bite at his right earlobe, his breath hot against Trevor’s skin.

Trevor shivered beneath him, a low whimper escaping his lips. “Then stop teasing me.”

Cole chuckled, dragging his hands over Trevor’s sides, feeling the way he squirmed under his touch. “I thought you liked it when I took my time?”

Trevor huffed, turning his head slightly, just enough for Cole to see the flushed impatience in his face. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But sometimes I—”

His words cut off in a quiet gasp as Cole spread his legs wider, running his hands firmly over his thighs before gripping his left cheek, squeezing just enough to make Trevor bite his lip.

“Like it when I treat you like a dirty little slut?”

“Please!” Trevor begged, pushing back slightly. He was desperate.

Cole smirked, reaching down to stroke himself, giving a quick, wet spit into his palm to slick himself up. With his other hand, he traced slow, lazy circles, teasing him open.

“You ready?” He pressed the head against him.

Trevor groaned, rocking back instinctively. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Cole pushed inside, sinking into him inch by inch, stretching him with a deep, steady thrust.

Trevor gasped, his fingers twisting into the sheets as a twinge of pain pulsed through him, his body tightening around the thick intrusion.

Cole stilled, pressing a kiss between Trevor’s shoulder blades, his chest flush against his back. “You okay?”

“I’m better than okay.” Trevor whimpered, pushing back to take him deeper.

Cole exhaled, brushing his lips against Trevor’s skin before he started to move.

His hips rolled in slow, deliberate strokes, each thrust sending waves of electric energy slithering up Trevor’s spine. He pressed his weight into him, grinding deeper, his breath hot against Trevor’s neck. Every push, every pull-every sensation of Cole inside him made him tremble, his body melting beneath him.

The rhythm built between them—steady, intoxicating, pushing Trevor closer, making him forget everything except the raw, visceral pleasure of being taken. Owned.

Then, something shifted.

Trevor’s breath caught, his fingers clenching into the sheets as a strange, exhilarating weightlessness crept over him. His stomach dipped—

His eyes fluttered open in shock, and he gasped. “Cole…”

Cole’s thrusts slowed slightly, his hands gripping Trevor’s hips as he looked down at him. “What is it?”

Trevor swallowed hard, his heart hammering. “We’re—we’re not on the bed.”

Cole glanced down and let out a slow exhale. The sheets beneath them drifted. The floor was four—maybe five—feet below. They were suspended in midair, tangled together, their bodies weightless.

Cole’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. “Huh,” he hummed, experimentally thrusting deeper.

Trevor moaned, his whole body trembling. The lack of gravity intensified everything— every movement sharper, every sensation heightened, making Cole feel impossibly deep inside him. He pushed a little harder.

Heat flowed through Trevor’s body, color exploded in his mind. It was fantastic.

Fucking fantastic.

“Cole, what the fuck-I think I think you just made me literally see stars,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement.

“Yeah?”

Trevor gasped, but his voice was wrecked, barely coherent. “Do it again.”

“Yeah?” Cole leaned in, his chest pressing flush against Trevor’s back, his lips ghosting over his shoulder. “Does it feel that good?” he whispered, rolling his hips slowly, teasingly.

Trevor let out another breathless whimper. “It feels incredible,” he admitted, his fingers gripping at nothing, suspended in the air. “Don’t stop.”

Cole growled softly, wrapping an arm around Trevor’s waist, holding him steady as he picked up the pace, thrusting into him with slow, deep, and careful yet powerful strokes that sent them shifting in midair. Their bodies turned in slow, spiraling motions, as if they were caught in an unseen current, completely unmoored from the world.

Trevor moaned, pressing his face into his own arm, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of everything. His body clenched around his fiancé, pleasure coiling, tightening to the breaking point.

“I’m—” Trevor gasped, his voice high and desperate. “Cole, I’m close—”

Cole tightened his grip, thrusting into him harder, deeper, the air crackling around them. “Come for me, baby,” he rasped.

“I want.” He gasped. “I want to ride you while I come.”

“Alright.” Cole nodded. “Hang on.”

Gripping his sides, Cole shifted, pulling Trevor into a sitting position as he tilted flat on his back.

Bracing his hands against Cole’s legs, Trevor sat for a moment. He was facing the wall.

“Well shit.” He laughed. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

“Here.” Cole gripped his hips. Hold your legs out. I’m gonna spin you around.”

Easier said than done, Cole’s movements were smooth, but Trevor’s leg caught the tip of his nose.

“I’m sorry!” He gasped.

“It’s okay.” He continued to turn him. “I’m just trying not to slip out.”

Trevor bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Once he was in position, Cole nodded. “Alright. Relax your legs.”

He did. Dangling around him, Trevor relaxed and let gravity pull.

Cole was deeper than he’d ever been. “I…” he huffed. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“It’s okay.” Trevor winked. “Neither am I.”

Cole pulled his hips, grinding softly.

“Yep.” Trevor nodded-colors dancing in his eyes. “I’m gonna nut.”

“Do it.” Cole pulled again.

“Ooohhhh ffffffuuuuccckkkk!” Trevor cried. A spurt of warmth splashed against Cole’s chest, another grazed his lip.

“That’s my boy,” he said with a breathless chuckle, licking it from his lips with a satisfied smirk as Trevor continued to moan, his entire body was pulsing, milking Cole in the aftershocks of pleasure as he fell forward, collapsing against his chest.

Wrapping his arms around him, Cole felt Trevor tightening, squeezing him—sending him over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he pulled on Trevor’s hips as he pushed one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

“Mother fucker!” He shouted, spilling inside of him.

They hovered together, locked in the afterglow, still tangled, still joined, their heartbeats hammering in unison.

Slowly, gravity returned.

As their bodies drifted downward, Trevor let out a breathless, dazed laugh, still slumped on Cole, completely boneless. “Well… that was new.”

“Yeah.” Cole chuckled, pulling him closer, still buried inside him, he grinned, lazily stroking his fingers through Trevor’s hair. “What should we call it? Super Sex? Lunar Laying?”

“Stop..” Trevor groaned, reaching up to swat at him weakly.

He missed.

“Fuck.”

As they continued to descend, gravity guiding them gently back toward the bed. Their limbs remained entangled, heartbeats still syncing in the quiet aftermath. But as they drifted downward, Cole, lost in the lingering bliss, misjudged the landing.

Instead of settling smoothly onto the mattress, his lower half hit the bed while his upper half slipped off the edge—his broad shoulders and head landing awkwardly on the floor with an undignified thud.

“Shit!” Cole barked, his hands scrambling for leverage.

Trevor slipped, sliding toward the floor.

Wrapping his arms around him, Cole caught him.

For a moment, silence.

Then, the absurdity of it all hit.

Trevor let out a breathy laugh, his forehead dropping to Cole’s shoulder as his body shook with amusement.

Cole, still half-sprawled across the floor, let out a groan. “Well, that wasn’t exactly the smooth landing I was going for.”

Trevor tilted his head, grinning down at him. “I don’t know, babe. You might have missed the landing, but you nailed the actual routine.”

Cole huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Trevor’s waist to keep him from slipping further. “Yeah? And where’s my gold medal?”

Trevor smirked, brushing his lips against Cole’s jaw. “Right here,” he whispered before placing a lingering kiss just below his ear.

“I’ll take it.”

Cole wrapped his arms around Trevor, tucking him securely against him, as his body lifted, shifting back onto the bed.

Holding him, the mess of their love slid between them.

“We should shower.” Trevor kissed at his jaw.

“Agreed.”

The sound of the front door caught their attention.

“Hey!” Klue’s voice rang out through the apartment. “It’s me! Klue! I’m back. Just in case you were—”

A beat of silence.

“Getting nasty!”

“This is going to take some getting used too,” Trevor groaned into Cole’s ear.

CHAPTER FOUR: Curiosity

Focused on the street ahead, moving in time with the tide of people around her, eyes hidden behind the dark tint of her sunglasses. Serena loved observing how everyone had something to do, someone to meet, or somewhere they needed to be. Their daily existence fascinated her. Each person moved as though they were the center of their own tiny universe, their stories colliding in an intricate, fleeting dance—connected by threads only she could see.

Yet even as she navigated the ebb and flow of the city, part of her mind lingered elsewhere. Her left eye scanned the familiar street, adjusting instinctively to the shifting wave of pedestrians, while her right eye remained fixed on the processing strands of DNA swirling within her. The markers were aligning faster than she anticipated.

Much faster.

Clenching her fists, she forced herself to keep moving, to stay invisible within the crowd.

A street vendor hawked skewers of roasted meat while teenagers in letterman jackets loitered near a bus stop, taking bites between bouts of laughter that cut through the passing conversations. On her left, a businessman in a rumpled suit tapped furiously at his phone, a look of sheer exasperation etched across his face.

The shimmer of digital code, reflecting off her lenses, revealed that he had just lost a small fortune in a crypto-currency scheme. He wanted to make a quick buck, but instead, he lost everything.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t get involved. Not only was it forbidden, but she knew herself. Once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d want to solve all their problems.

The Powers would learn her secret and, in turn, Cole’s-and that she could not allow.

The code faded, and she continued on her way.

Approaching the entrance to her building, she paused briefly to gaze up at the skyline. Beyond the tangled web of utility wires, pale against the indigo sky, she could see the moon. It was an oddly grounding sight, a reminder that, despite the questions and confusion swirling in her mind, the earth continued to spin.

Pulling the keys from her pocket, she slid them into the lock of the iron gate of the complex. As it swung closed behind her, she hurried toward the front door.

Stepping into the lobby, the thick door snapped shut, cutting off the noise of the bustling street outside.

Her footsteps padded softly against the hardwood floor as she approached the stairs. Five floors up, she always tried to avoid the elevators. She liked to walk.

Reaching her floor, Serena walked the length of the dimly lit hallway to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside.

An extension of her meticulous personality, the apartment was sleek and minimalistic with simple white walls and a row of shelves filled with manuals and scientific magazines-a smattering of cheesy dime-store romance novels tucked sporadically within. A single intricate spider plant dangled from the ceiling in a geometric planter in the corner of the room that got the perfect amount of sunlight.

Setting her bag down, she moved to her workstation, a sleek glass desk embedded with touch-sensitive panels. The DNA results still lingered in her thoughts, teasing at the edges of her concentration. As her devices whirred to life, projecting faintly glowing schematics into the air, she sank into her chair and exhaled deeply.

Sitting at her workstation, her fingers hovered over the holographic interface, typing away at the air, furious but pointed. The DNA sequence scrolled in a luminous shimmer of blue-green nucleotides, each segment teasing a hint of a potential answer that was always just out of reach.

She leaned forward, her breath misting the surface of the transparent panel as she magnified a region of interest. Her glasses, equipped with enhanced visual resolution, projected detailed genetic markers and their spectral origins.

It was a complex tapestry, a blend of human and spectral bloodlines intertwined with an elegance that defied natural evolutionary patterns.

After a few more clicks, she highlighted the spectral genes— clusters of sequences exhibiting structural modifications resembling quantum entanglement, a property she’d only ever encountered in high-energy spectrophotonic systems.

Specifically SuperMoon.

And with a click the comparison was complete.

Her eyes narrowed. Her face fell.

Cole and Klue were not cousins.

They were brothers.

CHAPTER ONE: Suburban Legends

Stepping through the revolving doors of The Daily Wave, Trevor entered a bustling lobby where reporters balanced steaming coffee cups, interns dashed past with equipment, and the occasional paparazzo waited for a glimpse of whichever celebrity had arrived for an interview in one of the building’s many conference rooms.

It was chaos and he loved it.

Adjusting the strap of his leather satchel, he scanned his badge. A crisp black blazer over a graphic T-shirt and slim-fit jeans created the perfect blend of professional and effortlessly unbothered. He slipped into the express elevator just as the doors began to close. Catching his reflection in the mirrored walls, he adjusted his hair and flashed a quick, reflexive grin at the passengers behind him.

“Morning, Trevor,” an editorial veteran greeted with a pop of bubble gum.

“Rosemary,” he replied with a charming smile. “How was your weekend?”

“Too short,” She yawned. “What do you think?” She asked, holding up a reusable coffee cup emblazoned with But First, Coffee. “Got it at the farmer’s market. Couldn’t resist. Isn’t it cute?”

He nodded. “Adorable.”

Next to her, Klue stood nervously, his oversized camera bag slung across his chest. His sharp features, tousled black hair, and glittering silver earrings gave him a standout presence, though his hazel eyes darted between Trevor and the floor.

“Uh… Mr. Prince?” He ventured nervously.

“Trevor,” he glanced at his reflection. “Remember?”

“Right,” Klue shook his head. “Trevor. I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

“Sure.”

The elevator doors slid open onto the bullpen floor. Trevor stepped out, Klue followed closely behind him.

“What’s up?”

“I got some really great shots of the party.” He continued. “Besides the ones Ms. Black included with your article.”

“Oh perfect!” Trevor smiled as they continued toward his desk. “I’d love to see them.”

“Of course.”

Setting his camera bag on the desk, Klue opened the portfolio. Inside were glossy prints of the opulent soirée—golden chandeliers casting warm light over elegantly dressed guests, the Grand Duchess herself holding court with a perfectly composed smile. NAMBA Boys.

“This one’s my favorite,” Klue said, sliding out a shot of Trevor and Cole. They were standing near the edge of the ballroom, partially framed by the curve of an ornate staircase. Trevor was caught mid-laugh, his head tilted slightly toward Cole, whose expression was uncharacteristically soft. The lighting was perfect, and the moment was incredibly intimate despite the grandeur around them.

“This is… good.” Trevor smiled. “Really good.”

Klue’s face lit up. “Thanks! You two looked great together—it was hard not to get a good shot. I can get you a print if you’d like - or just send you the file.”

“That’d be great!” Trevor handed the prints back. “Thank you! I can see why Peri hired you.”

Encouraged, Klue hesitated for only a second before asking, “So, what do you think? Any chance you’d consider mentoring me? I mean, I know Ms. Black said you prefer to work alone, but I’d love to learn the ropes from someone like you.”

Trevor’s eyes flicked to the prints again before meeting Klue’s earnest gaze. “I’m not the mentoring type.” He replied honestly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”Klue deflated, shoving the prints back into the portfolio. “That’s…” he sighed. “That’s cool.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Trevor added. “I’m constantly throwing myself in danger. You’d hate it.”

Opening his mouth to protest, Klue was cut off by a loud, dramatic voice.

“Prince!”

Trevor turned toward the source—Clarissa de Ghent, The Daily Wave’s resident gossip columnist and self-appointed queen of the bullpen, stared at him with overly-narrowed eyes. Perched on the edge of her desk, she was a picture of effortless glamour in a bold yellow pantsuit that clashed spectacularly with her leopard-print heels.

“Be right there, Rissa,” Trevor greeted, waving before turning back to Klue. “Now she’s someone you could shadow. Clarissa knows it all.”

Taking a breath, Klue’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t really want to follow gossip.”

“Oh. Well, then, I guess you’ll have to figure something out.” Trevor shrugged.

“I’d rather follow the midnight adventures of MoonShadow.” Klue leaned in. “I mean you do know him, right?”

Trevor froze. His sharp instincts kicked in, quickly scanning the bullpen to confirm if anyone was close enough to hear.

There wasn’t.

“What?” He swallowed hard.

Klue leaned back, his innocence replaced by a knowing smirk.

“TREVOR!” Clarissa’s voice rang out, the newsroom noise parting around her like the Red Sea as she made her way to his desk. “We have to talk!”

“I…” Trevor kept his eyes focused on Klue.

“How about a coffee?” He asked. “You take it black right? No sugar.”

“No.”

Klue’s eyes flashed. “You want sugar?”

“Tttrrreeevvvooorrr,”Clarissa sang his name again.

Trevor took a breath. “Yes. I take it black no sugar. No, I don’t know MoonShadow.”

“Right.” Klue eyed him. “Okay.”

Turning, Klue walked toward the coffee machine.

“Prince!” Clarissa cried again.

“Coming,” he turned to face her, offering a faint smile.

Clarissa perched herself dramatically on the edge of his desk, crossing one leopard-print heel over the other. “I am devastated!” She sighed over-dramatically. “Absolutely gutted! We didn’t even get a selfie together at the party!”

“Well….” He smirked, taking his laptop out of his back. “You seemed a little busy schmoozing with half the guest list.”

“Ugh, I know!” she groaned, tossing her auburn waves over one shoulder. “But I kept thinking, ‘Where’s my work bestie? What is he doing? Why hasn’t he come to find me?’ And then I see you with your fiancé looking all cute and adorable. Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two stepped right out of a rom-com or something.”

“Thanks,” He laughed. “I think?”

“Oh my god, can we talk about NAMBA Boys?!?” she gushed, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. “They were everything! I am TOTALLY obsessed. That performance was so high-energy, I’m pretty sure I burned calories just watching them.”

“Yeah.” Trevor agreed. “They were good.”

“Good?” She cocked her eyebrow. “Mark my words, babe... They are icons in the making. I’ve already downloaded their entire discography.”

“I should do the same.” He reached for a pen and a sticky note. “Research for the article Peri wants me to write.”

“You haven’t finished it yet?” She asked with genuine confusion.

“Been preoccupied.”

“You?” Clarissa cocked an eyebrow. “There’s nothing more important to you than a story. Spill it, Prince. What’s up?”

“There is one thing.”

“Cole.” Clarissa’s face fell. “Is he okay?”

Trevor nodded.

“We’re going through some immigration stuff.”

“Immigration?”

“Apparently he’s not exactly a citizen.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah.”

Approaching, Klue set a styrofoam cup down in front of Trevor.

“Your coffee,” he said softly. “Mr. Prince.”

Turning, he walked away, leaving the coffee cup on Trevor’s desk before he could respond.

Reaching for it, something caught his attention as he lifted it, ready to take a sip. Inside the rim, faint but unmistakable, was an inscription written with almost child-like penmanship:

I know you know who MoonShadow is…

A chill ran down his spine as his eyes darted around the bustling bullpen. No one seemed to notice his reaction—except Klue, who was standing near the doorway to the photo lab, his eyes glinting as his sullen face split into a smirk.

Standing, Trevor poured the contents of the cup into the little trash can under his desk. Crumpling it in his hand he started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Clarissa’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Bathroom,” he lied.

“Fine,” she said, flipping her hair dismissively. “But hurry back. I’ve got tea to spill about Kim K’s new beau.”

He was already halfway across the bullpen, his pulse quickening as he neared the photo lab.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of computer screens and the slivers of light that filtered through the Venetian blinds. Once a hub of activity, it was now little more than a place to kill time.

Klue stood by a workstation, his back to the door, casually scrolling through his phone with an unsettling calmness.

Trevor stepped inside. “So?” he started, his voice low in an attempt to sound unafraid as he quietly closed the door behind him, locking it so no one else could walk in. “The mild-mannered photographer thing is just an act?”

Klue didn’t turn. “Maybe,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“So why do you think I know what you said I know?”

“Because Trevor.” Klue snorted his name, shrugging again. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

After a few more swipes on his phone, Klue turned and faced the screen toward him.

It was a photograph taken at the dockyards. Trevor was standing next to MoonShadow; the intimacy of the moment was undeniable.

“This.”

All Trevor could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he stared at the screen. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the outside world faded away, replaced by the echos of his own thoughts.

Oh, shit.

2 WEEKS AGO, THE DOCKYARDS OF THE CINDER BLOCK BURROUGHS

The night air was thick with the scent of saltwater - after the victims had been removed from the crate and before the police arrived - there was a moment of peace, of quiet where it was only MoonShadow and him. The vigilante’s hands rested on Trevor’s shoulders, his eyes filled with pride - and worry.

“We’re going to talk about this when you get home.” His voice was serious, stern. “You know that, right?”

Trevor sighed, glancing up at him. “Of course, I do.”

“I was worried,” MoonShadow admitted. “So worried.”

Trevor gave a half-hearted smile. “I know. I’m sorry. We’ll talk.”

MoonShadow’s gaze shifted, his focus drawn by the faint sound of sirens in the distance. “Your sister,” he said.

“”Go.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

“Fly safe.”

“Remember,” his voice dropped, “We’re talking when you get home.”

Trevor nodded.

With a smile, MoonShadow stepped back. Then, without another word, he leaped into the night, his form glowing white in the moonlight, black against the stars.

NOW, THE DAILY WAVE PHOTO LABS

As the memory faded into the moment, Trevor took a breath. “So what?” He shrugged. A lot of people know I’ve interviewed him. “That doesn’t mean-”

“Again, Mr. Prince,” Klue cut in. “I’m not an idiot. You don’t give someone those eyes after a single interview.”

“Trust me, those are not my ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

Leaning in, a smirk pulled on the lefthand corner of Klue’s lips. It reminded Trevor of his fiancé - whom he suddenly wished was here. “Maybe Cole could tell me. He’s seen your fuck me eyes, right? Would he be interested in this photo?”

Trevor’s chest tightened. He was losing his grip on his composure. Brindle. The immigration situation. The Powers. Project Eclipse. Subject 452-5583. Now this. His mind was spinning. Why was everything falling apart all at once?

With a breath, Trevor tried to rally the confidence of the intrepid reporter who had won not one but two Pulitzers. “Listen-”

“Unless…” Klue cut him off, again his voice was laced with a dangerous edge. “Cole is MoonShadow?”

The words struck Trevor like a hammer. His body stiffened, his heart hammering against his ribs.

No. No. No.

His mind was screaming.

Not this! Anything but this. Fuck! Fuck! No! FUCK!

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Trevor forced the words out of his mouth.

Klue tilted his head, studying him, his gaze sharp and invasive as realization fell over him.

“Holy shit. Are you a Spectral, too?”

“What?!” Trevor snapped too quickly, the denial leaping from his lips like a reflex. “No!” He almost wanted to laugh. “Do you really think I’d need MoonShadow to come and save me if I had my own..” Realization forced him to stop.

Klue’s smirk widened. “So you do know him.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“No. I, I mean, he, I mean…” he stammered. Stopping to take a centering breath. “I’ve met him. He trusts me. That’s all.”

Klue snorted. “Trusts you? Fucks you? It’s all the same, right?”

“Stop!” Trevor spat through clenched teeth. “Just. Stop.”

He shrugged, stepping closer. “Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble. For anyone. I just want you to make an introduction.”

“An introduction?” Trevor repeated slowly. “Why Would I do that?”

Lifting his hand, Klue tapped his knuckles softly under Trevor’s chin. “You’re cute,” he teased. “I know you’re not stupid - or a Spectral,” he leaned in, inhaling deeply. “But I can smell the essence of one all over you.”

Trevor jerked his head back.

“You’re insane.”

“Jury is out on that one,” he shrugged. “Look. All I want is a meeting, or this photo”—he lifted his phone to show Trevor the image again—“gets uploaded to every SNS platform in existence—and you go from world-famous reporter to front page story in the blink of an eye.”

Trevor’s stomach twisted violently.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Unable to move, he scowled, his jaw tightening as he sucked in a slow, shaky breath. His mind raced through scenarios, excuses, plans—anything that could undo this moment—but everything came up blank.

Fuck.

“You have no idea what you’re asking.”

Klue cut him off with a heavy sigh and a deep eye roll.

“I’ll be in touch,” he winked, patting Trevor’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” Trevor jerked away.

Smirking, Klue stepped around him. Unlatching the door, he walked out of the photo lab. Turning, he gave him a quick, two finger salute and started down the hallway.

“Later.”

Alone in the room with nothing but the sound of his own ragged breath and his racing heartbeat, Trevor raced toward the nearest trashcan and vomited into it.

“Fuck.”

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

Cole sat on the edge of his recliner, glasses pushed up, his posture straighter than it needed to be in front of Brooke, who was reclined with effortless poise on the sofa. She held a legal pad in one hand, the other idly stirring a spoon in her half-empty cup of herbal tea.

“I’ve filed for a temporary suspension of deportation proceedings,” she began, her voice firm but laced with compassion.

“Okay.”

“But it’s a Band-Aid, not a cure.”

“I understand.”

“It gives us time to get our ducks in a row and…” her voice trailed off as she glanced over her notes, “we’ve got a lot of ducks.”

Cole exhaled softly, threading his fingers through his hair. “What’s next?”

Brooke didn’t look up. “We appeal the revocation of your temporary protected status—though honestly, that might be more for show than substance.”

Cole nodded, jaw tight. “Right.”

She glanced up, catching the flicker in his eyes. “Have you heard anything else from your superiors at the Prism City Aeronautics Force?”

Cole paused. His mind and heartbeat raced in tandem.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “The base commander told me until this is resolved, I’m considered a risk. I’m grounded.”

Brooke closed her notepad and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve flown every week since I was eighteen. It’s how I stay sane.” He let out a dry laugh. “Trev hates it when I’m out of the sky too long. He says I get stir-crazy and obnoxious.”

“You’re not grounded because you did something wrong, Cole,” she said gently. “You’re grounded because someone’s trying to clip your wings before you can fight back.”

“Still feels the same,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look at me.” She reached out and touched his arm. “We’re going to fix this. You’re still a pilot.”

“Try telling that to my baby…” he replied with a tight smile. “It misses me.”

Brooke cracked a grin, then softened. “Don’t worry. You’ll see her again soon.” She leaned back. “Just keep yourself grounded —emotionally, not operationally— Keep your head clear. Stay visible, but not volatile. You’re walking a tightrope now.”

“I always have been.”

“Yeah, but now they’re shaking the wire.” She tapped her pen against her palm. “So here’s the game plan: we make it clear you’re not just a good guy—you’re an essential guy. Community service records, character witnesses, commendations—everything we can stack in your favor. And most importantly, proof this visa oversight wasn’t malicious.”

Cole nodded slowly. “It wasn’t.”

“You didn’t even know,”—Brooke interjected— “and I get it. But ignorance isn’t going to get you rainbow kisses and unicorn stickers, sweetie. They want proof. Trevor gave me a great start, but… I’ll need more. Tax records, employment history, charity work—you name it. If you’ve ever donated a kidney or saved a kitten from a tree, now’s the time to brag about it.”

Despite his nerves, Cole chuckled. “Right. Anything else? Do you need a kidney?”

Brooke smiled warmly, a hint of encouragement softening her sharp expression. “I know this is a lot, but we’ll get through it. This isn’t my first rodeo with immigration.”

Before Cole could respond, the sound of the front door slamming open startled them both as Trevor burst into the room, his face pale, his chest heaving.

“Trevor?” Cole stood with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry,” he gasped, his eyes darting between Cole and Brooke. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but we have a big problem. Super big.”

Brooke rose gracefully. “Say no more, sweetie.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “We’ve done enough for today, Cole.” She glanced back at him. “You’ve got my number. Call me if anything else comes up.”

Cole hesitated. “Brooke, I want to th-”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she cut him off with a wink. “We still haven’t won.”

He nodded, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Trevor winced apologetically as she passed by him.

“No worries!” She waved it off. “Besides, I’ve got a hot date with a plate of enchiladas and season three of Drop Dead Gorgeous Diva.”

With that, she gave Trevor a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she passed him. “Breathe, Sweetie. Whatever’s got you all riled up can’t be the end of the world.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Cole turned to him, his brow furrowed. “What happened?”

Hastening through the apartment, Trevor dropped onto the sofa, sinking into it.

“It’s bad.”

The color drained from Trevor’s face.

“Trevor?” Cole stepped around, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “What is it.”

“Klue.”

“The photographer?”

Trevor nodded. “He knows.”

“Knows what?”

Trevor shivered, clearing his throat. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Cole echoed.

“He knows your MoonShadow.”

Cole’s face fell.

“What?”

“He knows we’re together.”

Anger flushed in his cheeks.

“Fuck.”

Trevor reached forward.

Cole stepped back.

“I’m going to kill him.”

CHAPTER TWO: The Alchemy

Cole lingered at the base of the steps leading up to Felidae Technologies, eyes wide as he took it in. Dragging a hand down his face, he let out a slow, weary sigh.

“Fuck me.”

Shaking off his hesitation, he pushed forward, climbing the steps.

At the entrance, black glass doors slid open without a sound, a rush of crisp, artificial air, breathed over him.

With another sigh, he stepped inside.

A SHORT TIME LATER, EXECUTIVE OFFICE OF FELIDAE TECHNOLOGY

The glow of the holographic display bathed AJ Bizhiw in cold blue light as streams of data and spectral readings scrolled past her sharp gaze.

“These readings don’t make any sense.” Her voice was low… and annoyed. “Damn it.”

A knock pulled her attention.

With a sigh, she clicked open the internet, the screen shifting to a generic web browser before turning to face the door.

“Come in.”

The door cracked open, and her assistant, Melissa, stepped inside.

“Ms. Bizhiw, there’s a man here to see you.”

AJ arched a brow, amusement curling at the edges of her lips. “Only one?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” AJ stood, stretching slightly. “Slow day.”

Melissa hesitated. “He says he knows you.”

Before AJ could say anything else, the door pushed open further, and Cole Carter stepped inside.

AJ’s amusement sharpened.

“Cole.”

“Hi, AJ.” He waved—sheepishly.

“Melissa,” she nodded. “You can go.”

The assistant nodded. “Ms. Bizhiw.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind her.

Cole stepped forward—slow, cautious.

AJ watched him, savoring the moment before finally speaking.

“Twice in as many days.” She licked her lips, eyes gleaming. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, tilting her head, “I’d think you were obsessed with me.”

She stepped closer, tilting her head.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Cocking a smile, Cole removed his sunglasses. Glancing toward the couch, his eyes drifted to the wet bar beyond it. “Maybe we should have a drink?”

LATER

The ice in AJ’s second glass of whiskey had melted, the dark amber pooling at the bottom, begged to be sipped. She swirled it absently, watching the way the liquid caught the light.

“So, this fiancé of yours?” She leaned back, casually.

Cole smiled almost reflexively.

“You’ve told me all about him,” she continued. “Except his name.”

“Oh didn’t I?”

“No. You didn’t.”

Swallowing the last of the whisky in his own glass. Cole took a slow breath. “Trevor.” He exhaled his name. “Prince.”

“Trevor Prince.” She repeated.

Realization hit.

“Wait!” She gasped. “As in the most intrepid reporter in Prism City, Trevor Prince?”

“The very same.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “Tell me more!”

Cole exhaled through his nose, the smile lingering as heat crept up his spine. “He’s amazing.”

AJ downed the rest of her whiskey, her eyes sharp with amusement. “Yeah? I figured as much. You don’t get all red over just anyone.”

Cole let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s different with him.”

“Different, how?” she pressed.

“Trevor sees me.” He glanced up. “Not as MoonShadow. Not as some mess of a person who just barely keeps it together. Just… me.”

AJ tilted her head, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“And he’s brilliant,” Cole continued. “He walks into a room, and it’s like he’s carrying the whole damn sun in his pocket. He’s got this fire in him - this need to chase the truth, even when it scares him. And God, does it scare him sometimes.”

A chuckle escaped him, warm despite the weight in his chest. “But he still does it. That’s what makes him amazing. He’s reckless, stubborn, and way too curious for his own good, but he fights for people, even when they don’t deserve it. Kind of like Blackfoot.”

AJ watched him for a long moment, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. Then, with a slow shake of her head, the smile widened, “I’m glad someone finally got through that ridiculously hard exterior of yours. Fuck knows I couldn’t.”

Cole’s lips parted slightly as if the weight of the words still surprised him. But he didn’t hesitate.

“Me too.”

His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his leg, his expression darkening.

“Which is why I can’t let anything happen to him.”

The shift in his tone was subtle, but AJ caught it immediately. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched—this wasn’t just his usual overprotective bullshit.

“How can I help?” she asked simply.

Cole exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to work out the words before speaking them. “Is there anything you can give me?” His eyes lifted to hers, steady, determined. “Something to watch him.”

“To watch him?”

“To protect him when I’m not there. Something…” His jaw tightened. “Something he wouldn’t suspect.”

AJ let out a slow breath. “Cole.”

“Trevor knows me. He knows when I’m keeping something from him. He’d ask too many questions; if he figured it out, he’d fight me on it.”

His voice dropped. “He wouldn’t agree to anything protecting him.”

AJ studied him.

Taking in his concern.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“I think I’ve got something for you.”

Cole watched as she walked over to a small glass enclosure in the corner of her office. She pressed a button, and the case slid open with a soft hiss.

Inside, curled up on a plush velvet cushion, was a tiny black kitten.

AJ reached in, lifting the small creature in her arms. The kitten blinked sleepily, then let out a tiny, unimpressed meow.

Cole stared at the kitten.

“AJ.” His tone was flat.

“Project 1938.” Her smirk returned as she held the kitten out to him.

“You’re giving me a kitten?”

“No. I’m giving Trevor a kitten.”

Cole pinched the bridge of his nose. “AJ. I meant something that could protect him.”

“I know.” She nodded.

“But -”

She stepped closer, pressing the small bundle of fur into his hands. Cole reflexively caught it, the kitten instantly snuggled against the warmth of his palms.

“He’s small. Unassuming. Spectral-enhanced. He’ll sense when something’s wrong before anyone else does. And Trevor—” she gave him a knowing look. “Doesn’t seem the type to question taking in a stray.”

Cole looked down at the kitten, who blinked up at him with round, curious eyes before licking his thumb with a tiny sandpaper tongue.

“He’ll keep Trevor safe.” AJ grinned. “I promise.”

Cole nodded.

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

Trevor sat at the kitchen island, fingers flying over his keyboard, completely absorbed in his writing. His mind was deep in the rhythm of his words, so much so that he barely noticed the sound of the door opening.

Cole stepped inside, his boots scuffing softly against the floor.

Trevor glanced up, confused. “You’re home already?”

Cole hesitated, then shifted to reveal the tiny black kitten cradled in his arms. “Found this little guy on the street. He was hungry. Scared. Needed a home.”

Trevor’s eyes dropped to the kitten, who let out a high-pitched meow, his round green eyes blinking up at him.

“Oh my god!”

Trevor immediately pushed his laptop aside, crossing the room in seconds.

“Look at him.”

Trevor’s voice softened instantly, melting into pure affection as he reached for the little ball of fur.

“He’s so tiny!”

Cole handed him over, watching as Trevor cradled the kitten carefully, gently stroking the soft fur between his ears. The kitten let out another tiny meow and burrowed against Trevor’s chest.

“We’re keeping him!” Trevor beamed.

Cole smirked. “Figured you’d say that. Let’s call him Fur Ball.”

Trevor froze, blinking up at him. “Fur Ball?”

“Yeah. Look at him.” Cole nodded toward the kitten. “It fits.”

Trevor groaned. “No. Absolutely not.” He scratched lightly under the kitten’s chin, earning a tiny purr. “I’m thinking up a real name while you’re gone.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

He checked his watch.

“Alright. I’m going to head to The Night Shift to meet Klue.”

“Okay.” Trevor nodded, his attention already shifting back to the kitten. “Be careful.”

Cole stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to Trevor’s lips before heading for the door.

“Hey Cole?” He called after him.

“Yeah?” he glanced back.

“When you kick his ass, give him a nut punch for me. Okay?”

Cole smirked. “You got it, Boss. Later Fur Ball,” he scratched the kitten’s head.

“We’re not naming him that.”

“We’ll see,” Cole winked.

Turning for the door, he left the apartment.

Lifting the kitten, Trevor kissed its forehead. “We’re not naming you that.” He kissed him again. “I promise.”

CHAPTER THREE: Bad Blood

The Night Shift was a hidden tavern tucked into a graffiti-streaked alley between Scarlet Heights and Marigold Plaza, squeezed between a vintage clothing shop and a second-hand bookstore, camouflaged by the urban sprawl of a bustling city.

To the untrained eye, the entrance was nothing more than cracked bricks and faded tags. But to those who knew the secret, when you looked at it from just the right angle, the bricks dissolved into an opening—a hidden passage leading to steep concrete steps.

The descent revealed a cozy, low-lit sanctuary, alive with quiet camaraderie. Worn leather booths hugged the walls, while small high-topped tables scattered around a circular bar at the center that shimmered with spectral motifs: etched constellations, glowing orbs suspended like tiny stars, and carvings of heroes mid-act. Behind the bar, shelves rose high, filled with bottles of rare and exotic spirits, each promising respite and relaxation for the bar’s rare and exotic patrons.

Spectra was home to The Powers and their families, but not all Spectral beings lived there - especially those with low-level or non-active powers. The Night Shift was only one of a handful of these types of sanctuaries.

Sitting in a booth at the back, Cole waited, a tattered baseball cap pulled low over his face, sunglasses perched high on his nose to shield his eyes from wandering glances. Before him sat a stein filled with Jack Daniels and Thunderian Ale. Untouched.

He stared at it, but made no move to drink.

His mind was too busy ping-ponging between anger, frustration, protectiveness, and fear.

“Cole.” Klue’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Thank you for meet-”

“Let me make one thing clear,” Cole cut him off, looking dead into his eyes as Klue sat across from him. “If you come near my fiancé again,” he continued evenly, “I’ll kill you.”

Leaning back, Klue stared at him. His eyes were dark and brooding, like a growing thunderstorm.

Klue loved thunderstorms.

“Wow” He finally snorted, breaking the connection with a slight snicker. “That’s excessive, bro.”

“Do you understand me?” Cole snarled.

Klue tilted his head as if considering the question. “Well, I understand the words, sure.” He shrugged. “Contextually, though…” he sighed, “that feels a little aggressive, don’t you think?”

Cole’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Do you”—his voice dropped a note deeper—“understand me?”

Releasing a slow whistle, Klue tilted back into the booth, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. Hands off the Trevor. Aye, aye, Captain. Message received.”

Cole didn’t relent. “Tell me you understand.”

“I…”—Klue smirked playfully—“understand.”

“Good.”

“But… just to clarify,” Klue continued lightly. “What exactly constitutes ‘near’ though? Are we talking Physical proximity? Emotional closeness? I mean, we do work together. Do you expect me to find another job? Would you help supplement my income while I look? I just want to make sure I totally understand what you-”

A visceral growl rumbled in Cole’s throat.

“Okay, first things first,” Klue pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m assuming Trevor told you about the photo I said I was going to upload to Social Media, right?”

“Yeah.” Cole remained monotone. “He did.”

“Well, here it is,” Klue said. Unlocking his phone, he pushed it toward Cole so he could see an image of Trevor and Cole at the gala.

Confusion swarmed in his eyes. “He said it was a photo of-”

“- The two of you,” Klue shrugged. “Yeah. I know. I lied. One of my abilities is projection. So, you can chill Captain Paranoia. The image he saw was a painting from his own memory - and I can’t upload that. Can I?”

Cole picked up the phone, savoring the image for a moment. Then, with a single flex of his hand, the device snapped in two. “Now you can’t upload anything.”

He tossed the pieces back onto the table, where they clattered before Klue’s amused expression.

“Wow,” Klue sighed, dragging the broken pieces toward him, “once again… excessive, bro.”

“You threatened my fiancé. I break your shit. Remember that because next time, it’ll be your head.”

Klue chuckled. “You really got the tall, dark, and deadly thing down, don’t you.”

Reaching for his drink, Cole finally slugged it down in one long pull. Belching as the empty stein hit the table with a dull thud, he stood. “I’m out.”

“Wait!” Klue leaned forward, grabbing onto his wrist. The lights around them flickered.

“Unless you want me to break every bone in that hand…let go.”

“Don’t you want to know why I wanted to meet you?”

“Not really.” Cole shrugged, reaching for Klue’s hand.

Retracting it, he scowled. “Have you gotten a chance to look over the files from Celadon yet?” he finally asked as Cole started to step away from him.

Realization washed over him like an ice bath. Turning, he took in Klue’s smug face. “It was You?”

“It was,” he nodded. “And I’ve got a lot more I want to talk with you about.”

Stepping back, Cole sat. “You’ve got one minute.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “Okay. How about the fact that we both draw our power from the moon? You’re the dark side.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m the light.”

“So what?”Cole shrugged. “What does that mean? Who are you?”

Leaning back, Klue crossed his arms. “Who am I?” he asked, his left hand drifting up to scratch the scruff under his chin. “That’s a loaded question.”

Cole’s glare sharpened, and his right hand balled into a fist. He debated on whether to plant it on Klue’s face or not.

“Thirty seconds.”

“Fine.” He took a breath. “My name’s Klue. My mother was... to put it nicely…a mess.”

“Your father?” Cole pressed, his voice softer but still firm.

“There was one.” Klue shrugged. “Mom never talked about him. Not when she was sober, and definitely not when she wasn’t.”

“Sad sob story.” Cole scowled. “But what does that have to do with me? Or what happened at Celadon?”

“I think we’re related.” He replied flatly.

Cole’s expression remained impassive. “That’s impossible.” My father was the only survivor of his planet. It exploded. I think. I don’t even remember the name of it.”

“Menaeton,” Klue stated.

“What?”

“Menaeton.” He repeated. “The name of the planet your father was sent to Earth from was Menaeton.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you,” he continued. “I think…. I think you’re my cousin. Well, sort of.” His face scrunched. “I think our parents were cousins.”

“Our… parents?”

“My mother. When she was lucid. Had spectral like abilities, similar to SuperMoon.”

“Like what?”

“Oddly enough, ones that could alter the mind,” he snorted. “Kind of like my ability to project images from memories. Only hers were… way more trippy.”

“Trippy How?”

“She once got me to believe we were at an amusement park when really she’d locked me in a closet so she and one of her Johns could get slammed.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So, while I’m no expert on cosmic genetics. I think the connection I feel toward you, to your powers, means something.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean, you feel it too, right?” He continued. “Some kind of connection to me?”

Cole knew he was right but didn’t want to admit it.

“Okay. Let’s say we are related. What exactly do you want from me?”

Impish mischief flashed through Klue’s eyes. “A kidney.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding,” he said with a dry laugh. “I want you to train me.”

“Now that’s funny.” Cole chuckled, “That’s real funny.” His voice was low and humorless. “But, I’m not a trainer.”

Klue scowled. “What is it with you and your fiancé always having to work alone?”

Cole growled again.

Klue threw up his hands. “Look, I was wrong.” He admitted. “I never should’ve gone to Trevor first. I messed up, and honestly, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” Cole said, his voice steady but cold. “But the answer is still no.”

Klue studied him for a moment.” You think I don’t get it,” he said quietly. “But I do.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Get what?”

“That hollow space where family’s supposed to be,” he continued. “At least, it was hollow… Before Trevor. Right?”

Cole’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. “Leave him out of this.”

“You’re worried about losing him, aren’t you?”

This time both fists clenched.

“Careful.” Cole warned.

Klue leaned in, his tone soft but insistent.

“Think about it. Another set of eyes watching over him. You can’t be everywhere at once. I know that worry has got to weigh on you. Doesn’t it?” He leaned back. “Having me around could be an asset.”

“There’s just one problem,” Cole scowled.” I don’t trust you.”

Klue smirked, raising two fingers to flag the bartender. “I can fix that.”

Cole cocked his eyebrow.

“Two Kyronian Boilermakers!” Klue ordered, confidently shouting toward the bartender.

Cole snorted. “You sure about that?”

“Call it a peace offering. Or a bribe. Your choice.”

“Again, you got guts,” Cole shrugged with a slight smile.

When the drinks arrived, the two lifted their shot glasses, clinking them together.

“To guts,” Cole nodded.

“To glory,” Klue countered with a grin.

“What?”

“It was all I could think of to say.”

“Alright,” Cole laughed as they drank.

The whiskey’s warmth loosened the tension between them.

After chasing the shots with a pint of ale, Klue leaned back, a lazy grin spreading over his face.

“You know, you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

“Trust me, kid.” Cole stifled a laugh. “I am.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Klue said, his grin widening as he signaled for the bartender. “Another round?”

Cole shrugged. “Why the hell not?”

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

Lounging on the sofa, the kitten lay curled up in Trevor’s lap, purring softly as he absently scrolled through social media, barely registering the canned laughter from the holiday special playing in the background.

His thoughts were elsewhere—simmering with frustration over the earlier confrontation.

At the sound of Cole’s keys jingling in the lock, the kitten lifted its head, ears twitching with curiosity.

Trevor perked up too, quickly muting the television as a smirk tugged at his lips. Gently nudging the kitten aside, he hustled to the counter, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

“Daddy’s back!” he giggled, glancing toward the door. “Hopefully, he put that little punk, Klue, in his place.”

“Did you show that little asshole who’s boss?” he called out as he heard the front door swing open.

Turning toward it, Trevor froze, his smile fading into a bewildered frown as Cole stumbled in, grinning ear to ear, with Klue’s arm draped over his shoulder.

The photographer looked just as unsteady, laughing as they leaned on each other for support.

“Honey, I’m home!” Cole greeted warmly.

“Me too, Mr. Prince!” Klue continued. “I mean, Trevor.”

Trevor sighed, his voice flat as his gaze darted between them. “Great.”

“I know who the boss is!” Klue hiccuped. “Tony Danza!”

“Trevor!” Cole stated, his voice was far too loud. “Look who I found!”

They both kicked off their shoes.

“Pretty sure I found you,” Klue quipped, his voice slurring just enough to make Trevor wince. “Through you.” He beamed with pride.

“Hey, Trevor!” Cole stumbled forward. Bracing himself against the island he removed his cap and sunglasses - his eyes were bloodshot and struggling to focus. “Hey, Trevor!” he repeated.

“Yeah?” Trevor stepped toward him..

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I’m drunk.”

“I can see that.” He deadpanned.

“But hey, Trevor,” Cole continued. “Guess what.”

“Klue is drunk, too?”

“No.” Cole shook his head. “I mean, yes. He is - very drunk. But, guess what!”

“What?”

“He’s the Spectral from Celadon.”

Trevor’s eyes darted to Klue. “What?”

Klue nodded. “I am.”

“Hey Trevor,” Cole continued playfully. “Guess what.”

“What?” Trevor kept his eye on Klue.

“He’s also my cousin.”

“Your….” Trevor’s eyes drifted back to Klue. “Cousin?”

Nodding proudly, Klue smiled. “Yep. So that makes us cousinsis-in-law.” He belched. “Almost…So, I am sorry I tricked you.”

“The picture doesn’t exist,” Cole chuckled. “It was all in your mind.”

“A part of my powers.” Klue nodded. “Not real. I’m sorry.”

“Well… that…” Trevor trailed off. “Is great… and mean.”

“Yeah!” Cole spun, pointing his finger at Klue. “That was mean, bro! Don’t do that again!” He scowled angrily.

“I won’t.”

Spinning back to Trevor, Cole smiled. “He won’t do that again, baby. He promises.”

“I promise.” Klue nodded, holding up two fingers. “Scouts honor.”

“Were you in the scouts?” Cole turned back to him.

“No.”

“Oh, man. Me neither.”

“I’m sorry,” Trevor shook his head quickly. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he,”—he pointed to Klue—“Is your… cousin?”

“Yep.” Cole nodded, looking back to Klue. “Hey bro, you want another brewski?” Cole asked, turning toward the fridge.

“Yeah!” Klue cried out. “Brewski beer me, bro!”

“Brewski beer me,” Cole chuckled on his way to the fridge. “Great movie.”

“First,” Trevor scampered to step in front of the fridge, blocking Cole from opening it, keeping his eyes focused on Klue.“Alyssa Milano is, was, and will always be The Boss. Second,” He brought his focus back to Cole. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Reaching up, he grabbed onto the collar of Cole’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“Are you sure we can trust him?”

“Who me?” Klue beamed drunkenly.

Trevor shot him a glance.

Tapping his ear, Klue’s smile widened. “Super hearing.”

“I call it Lunar Listening,” Cole glanced back at him.

“Ah, bro, I like that!” Klue nodded, lifting his fist toward him. “Lunar Listening. Cool.”

“Bro, I know!” Cole wrapped his arm around Trevor’s waist, pulling him with him as he went to fist bump Klue. “We can trust him.” he glanced back at his fiancé. “He’s family.”

“But how do you know?”

“Our powers,” Cole answered matter-of-factly. Pressing his lips hard against Trevor’s cheek, he smiled. “I love you.”

“Focus.” Trevor replied. “How do your powers let you know you’re related?”

“They feel the same…”—Klue shrugged—“like two halves of the same coin.”

“I said the same thing!” Cole gushed. “The night we met.” He hiccuped. “Sort of. I used the moon as an example.”

“Watch,” Klue stated, lifting his hand. Cole did the same.

The faintest shimmer of moonlight rippled around Klue’s left wrist, crackling toward Cole’s.

Shadows coiled around Cole’s right wrist toward Klue’s.

“See.” Cole shrugged.

Klue grinned though his exhaustion dulled the edges. “It’s like we’re wired together. Get it?”

Trevor stared at the display of shimmering moonlight and curling shadows connecting Klue and Cole, a mix of disbelief and intrigue flashing across his face. His mind struggled to process the night’s revelations—his fiancé, drunken and giddy, insisting that Klue was family. That the same person who had blackmailed him mere days ago was now apparently someone to be trusted simply because their powers ‘felt the same.’

His smirk faltered. The warmth that had colored his teasing earlier cooled into something quieter, something more measured.

“It just does.”

Cole’s explanation rattled in his head.

That wasn’t good enough. Not for this.

A soft meow from the sofa pulled their attention.

Klue, still swaying slightly, turned toward the sound. “Who is this!” he gushed, stepping forward.

Trevor’s arms automatically folded across his chest as he quick-stepped around Cole, intercepting Klue’s approach and scooping the kitten up before he could.

“Tákhi,” he replied, lifting the small, purring bundle into his arms.

“Kick-ass name,” Cole nodded. “Way better than Fur Ball.”

“It’s Lakota,” Trevor scratched at the kitten’s head. “for Moon.”

“I love it.”

“It’s a cool name,” Klue nodded.

“Thanks.” Trevor faked a yawn. “I’m tired. We’re going to go lay down in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” Cole gave Trevor a quick kiss. “I think we’re going to play some Smash Bro’s.”

“Smash Bro’s?” Trevor repeated. “Enjoy. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

After giving Cole another quick kiss, Trevor turned to Klue. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

CHAPTER FOUR: Blank Space

The first thing Trevor registered as he slipped from the silence of sleep toward the waking world was the soft, rhythmic purr of the kitten vibrating against his pillow.

He could feel the mini black ball of fluff curled up beside him, his warm little body pressed against the side of his shoulder, rising and falling with each breath. The gentle, steady hum filled the quiet room.

It was soothing.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. The golden light of the dawn seeping through the slats of the blinds, painting soft, broken lines across the sheets.

Turning, he reached for the kitten and noticed the empty space beside him.

Unfurling, at the movement, the kitten lifted his tiny head with a questioning meow.

“Good morning, Tákhi.”

He exhaled softly, smoothing his hand over the kitten’s back.

Stretching he meowed again.

“Yeah, I know,” he yawned. “Me too, buddy.”

A gentle knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Rolling onto his back, he ran a hand through his wild red hair. “I guess that means I have to get up now.

Tákhi meowed again.

“Don’t worry,” Trevor lifted the kitten with him as he stepped out of bed. “You’re coming too.”

Stepping out of the bedroom, Trevor rubbed the lingering traces of sleep from his eyes with one hand while cradling Tákhi against his chest with the other.

The soft sound of snoring, pulled his attention toward the sitting area.

Cole was sprawled out on the sofa, his arm flung over his face, his bare chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. On the floor beside him, Klue was sprawled on his stomach with one cheek pressed against the rug, his dark hair a tousled mess.

There were scars on his back.

The living room was a battlefield, the remnants of indulgence scattered like fallen soldiers. Empty beer cans stood in lazy clusters on the coffee table, some knocked over, leaking the last drops of their contents onto the glass surface. A few bottles, their labels peeling with condensation, sat beside them, evidence of a night that had stretched too long and ended in exhaustion. Greasy takeout containers were stacked haphazardly against the couch, the crumpled paper bags and half-eaten cartons of noodles adding to the mess.

Shaking his head, Trevor sighed, turning back for the door.

Unlocking the deadbolt, he pulled it open to see the smiling face of Serena Maines.

She was slender and petite, her heart-shaped face framed by round white glasses.

She lifted a cup of steaming coffee.

“Salted caramel, double shot double foam latté.”

“Good morning to me,” he reached for it, taking it with a grateful hum. Inhaling the rich, roasted aroma he took a sip.

“Muy delicioso.” He exhaled dreamily. “Gracias”

“De nada, mi amigo.” She nodded.

Stepping inside, Trevor shut the door behind her and they walked up to the island.

“I smell coffee,” a tired voice spoke from the living room.

Trevor turned just as Klue stirred, shifting sluggishly on the floor, scratching at his smooth chest as he pulled himself upright. His hair stuck out in every direction, a mess of black waves flattened on one side.

Still half-asleep, he ran a lazy hand through his hair, fingers threading through the knots as he blinked groggily at them.

Then he saw her - and every bone in his body sprung in reaction.

The stiffness in his back from sleeping on the floor, the disorienting haze of morning, the pounding of his head from drinking two too many Kyronian Boilermakers—vanished.

She might have been the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

The sharpness in her eyes. The effortless way she carried herself. The way the scarlet streaks in her hair caught the light - like fire spun into silk - glowing against the soft, golden undertone of her skin. And those lips—soft, full, and perfectly pink.

The way they curved at the right side of her mouth made a man want to be destroyed.

Heat flushed down his spine, settling low in his stomach.

Oh, fuck.

“Who are you?” Klue asked, his voice coming out slower than he intended, slightly deeper, slightly rougher. “A Goddess?”

Serena tilted her head, her smirk widening as she raised her own coffee cup toward him.

“Out of your league.” Cole patted his shoulder before pulling into a sitting position. “Morning.” He looked at Trevor.

“Good morning.” He nodded back, taking a sip of his coffee.

Lifting, he glided from the sofa to the ground, just before Trevor.

“Can we talk?”

Nodding, Trevor followed him into the bedroom.

Closing the door behind them, Cole turned, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression cautious—like he was bracing for a punch he wasn’t sure was coming.

Sitting on the bed, Trevor scratched at Tákhi’s head. “What’s up?”

Cole exhaled, stepping closer. “Trevor, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For Klue. For getting totally shitfaced last night. For letting you sleep alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Trevor beamed, lifting the kitten to kiss his head. “Tákhi kept me company.”

“You know what I mean,” Cole walked up, giving the kitten a quick pet before doing the same to Trevor.

“I do.” Trevor looked up at him, nodding. “And, it’s okay.”

Cole wasn’t buying it. “It is?”

Trevor nodded. “The good thing about sleeping alone is I had time to think.”

“About?”

“Klue.”

Setting Tákhi on the pillow, Trevor stood, wrapping his arm around Cole’s waist.

“What he did was shitty.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not going to just forgive and forget.”

Cole nodded. “That’s fair.”

“But if you really think he’s your family. Then, I’ll give him a chance.”

“I appreciate that,” Cole lifted his hands to Trevor’s waist. “And just to put your mind at ease, I text Serena last night. She’s going to do a DNA test.”

“Responsible.” Trevor nodded.

“You trained me well,” Cole smirked.

“I did.”

“I love you,” Cole kissed him.

“I love you too.”

“But maybe we should get out there before Klue decides to give her his DNA in a way that will make us want to get a brand new sofa.”

Trevor’s face scrunched. “Eww.”

LATER

“So,” Klue asked, sitting on the coffee table. “How do you want to collect my DNA? And should we do it in private?”

“No need for privacy,” Serena answered, pulling a cotton swab from her bag.

Ripping it open, she held it out to him.“Say ahhhh.”

Klue obediently opened his mouth, letting her scrape at the inside of his cheek and throat without so much as a twitch.

“Impressive,” Serena remarked as she worked. “No gag reflex.”

“Yeah,” Klue smirked, leaning back once she finished. “It was a game-changer when I realized I was bi.”

“Noted. I’ll be sure to update your dating profiles on Bumble, Tinder, Grinder, and.…” she paused, her eyes flickering with digital code. “Farmer’s Only?”

“I got a wide range of tastes.” Klue shot back, flashing a wink. “Hey, can you help me unlock my old Myspace profile?”

“No.”

“Then how about a date?”

Standing, Serena chuckled. “Boy, I would break you.”

“You do have my confidence,” Cole smirked as he walked out of the room, his arm around Trevor.

“Great,” Trevor sighed. “That’s just what I need. Two cocky vigilante superheroes.”

Klue stretched his arms lazily, grinning. “Is that all?”

“Do you have a Spectral Classification Index Number?” She asked..

“I do.” Klue nodded. “But you won’t find it active.”

“Why?”

“On paper. I’m dead.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the number?”

“452-5583.”

Trevor and Klue shared a quick glance.

“What?” Trevor’s eyes narrowed.

Looking at him, Klue’s face darkened into seriousness. “You’ve read the file.”

“What file?” Serena asked.

Cole sighed. “There’s a lot I’m going to have to catch you up on.”

“Great.” She nodded. “Tell me all about it while I do your DNA comparison.”

She stuck the swab into her mouth.

Trevor winced. “Yuk.”

“Baby if you wanted my spit you could have just -”

“Shut up,” she spoke, continuing to suck on the swab.

Digital Code sizzled through her eyes.

Removing the cotton swab she handed it to Klue. “This is for you.”

Unsure what to do with it, he stuck it into his mouth. It tasted like first love and static electricity.

Trevor winced again. “Gross.”

“How long will it take?” Cole asked.

Another flash of digital code, slid through her eyes.

“At least a week.”

“That long?” Trevor took another sip from his coffee.

“I might have ninety-nine percent of Synapse’s lumen, but sadly his speed is not one of them.”

“Synapse?” Klue asked. “Why would you have Synapse’s lumen?”

“I’m a part of him.” She replied flatly.

“You’re one of The Powers?!” Klue shot to his feet, his entire body tensing as fear flashed through him.

Serena took a cautious step back. “No,” she said quickly, her voice steady but measured. “I’m sentient.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Cole rushed between them, hands up in a calming gesture. “It’s okay. She’s okay. You can trust her.”

Klue’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his pulse thundering in his ears. His glare flicked between Cole and Serena, uncertainty tightening his jaw.

“Can I?” he shot back, his voice sharp, his face flushed with heat.

“Yes.” Cole nodded sternly, his eyes burning into Klue’s. “You can.”

“I’m not one of The Powers,” Serena said, stepping back toward him. “Far from it, actually.”

Klue’s skepticism was unwavering. “Then what are you?”

She hesitated, exhaling a slow, measured breath.

“I am…” she sighed, searching for the right words. “I am what Synapse wanted to be before he was forced to change into… Well, for lack of a better word, The Powers’ spy.”

Confusion flickered in his eyes.

“I’m Synthroid.” She continued. “Not human…”—She adjusted her glasses—“but, I’m not Spectral either.”

“So what you’re some kind of living computer?”

“Yes. Exactly.” She nodded. “I’m connected to everything the same way Synapse is, but he’s also ensured my comings and goings remain unseen by The Powers as well.

Klue’s brow furrowed. “You’re saying you’re—what? Analog?”

Serena nodded. “Exactly. I don’t exist in their network. Neither does Cole and,”—her eyes shimmered with digital code—“Neither do you. Anymore.”

“Do you really trust her?” Klue asked softly.

He nodded. “With my Life.”

Klue sighed, his entire body began to relax.

“Okay.”

“In the meantime,” Cole put his hand on Klue’s shoulder, “where are you staying?”

“I’m at a hostel south of Green Street.”

“A hostel?” Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“New in town,” Klue replied with a casual shrug. “Haven’t exactly settled in yet.”

“I think you should stay with us,” Cole offered.

Trevor’s head snapped toward him. “You what?”

Klue blinked, clearly taken aback. “I—uh—appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no problem.” Cole continued. “We’ve got space,”

Trevor let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “We do?”

Cole ignored him.

“Besides, a hostel? That’s no place for family. Especially not one in the Cinderblock Burroughs”

“Cole,” Trevor walked up to him. “Can I have a word again,” he reached for him. “In private.”

Cole sighed but nodded.

Trevor turned to Klue, forcing a polite smile. “Excuse us.”

Grabbing Cole by the wrist, he dragged him back into their bedroom.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Trevor crossed his arms, fixing Cole with a look that could level a city block. “Have you lost your mind?”

Cole exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trevor, he’s got nowhere to go.”

“And we have nowhere to put him!” Trevor hissed. “What are you thinking?”

Cole let out a sharp breath and paced, shoulders taut with tension.

“I’m thinking he needs help. He’s alone. No family, no home. No one.”

Trevor shook his head, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Cole, I get that. I do. But right now, we’re drowning. Your immigration case is a mess, we just learned about Project Eclipse—” he exhaled sharply. “We don’t have room for another crisis.”

“Maybe Klue can help.”

“Help?” Trevor echoed. “With what?”

“With Project Eclipse.” Cole turned to him, his golden eyes sharp with conviction. “He’s Subject 452-5583 - if anything he could give you the inside scoop.”

Trevor let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Do you really think I’m worried about a story right now?”

Holding him in his eyes Cole gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”

“Cole…”

“Maybe it’s not at the front of your mind, but I know it’s there, Trevor,” Cole stated flatly. “Because I know you. You’ve always got an angle - and I’m not saying that is a bad thing. Your mind is always spinning, always working. It’s one of the things I love about you. Besides,” Cole reached up, rubbing his hand down Trevor’s shoulders. “He needs our help.”

Trevor’s frustration cracked. He was right.

Still.

“And who’s helping you, Cole?”

Cole flinched, looking away.

“You’re carrying too much. I know you feel responsible for everything, but we don’t need another person depending on us right now.”

Cole exhaled through his nose. And then, just when Trevor thought he might actually be getting through to him, he smirked.

“I know.” He nodded. “But… There are several reasons why this is a good thing?”

“Oh really?”

Cole nodded.

“One. He’s got no place to go. Two. Having him here will help us with Project Eclipse. Three. Having another Spectral around means you wont have to worry about me as much and four,” he wrapped his arms around Trevor’s waist again, “it means I won’t have to worry about you as much.”

He’d hit every point.

“Besides, you’ve been bugging me to clean out the mezzanine for years now. This is the perfect chance.”

He sighed. Long. Deep. Defeated.

“You said you’d give him a chance.”

Trevor exhaled “Using my words against me.”

“Yep.”

“Fine. But if he snores, I’m kicking him out.”

Cole’s grin widened. “I can live with that.”

Trevor turned toward the door, but Cole caught his wrist, pulling him back for a quick kiss.

“Thank you,” he murmured against Trevor’s lips.

Trevor pulled away, rolling his eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Carter.”

They stepped out of the bedroom—Trevor still reluctant, Cole determined, and Klue sitting awkwardly on the sofa, Serena next to him, mindlessly petting the kitten as both pretended they hadn’t just heard… everything.

“Welcome to the family.” Trevor forced a smile.

As soon as Trevor and Cole step back into the living room, Cole’s phone buzzed.

“Cole’s Phone.” The electronic voice of their phone’s digital assistant spoke through the speakers hung around the house.“New email. From: U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services.”

“Immigration Services?” Serena echoed.
“Subject,” the digital voice continued. “Urgent Notice Regarding Your Case.”

“What case?” Klue asked.

“Long story,” Trevor stated as Cole rushed to the island counter for his phone.

“Shall I read it?” The voice asked.

“No.” Cole shouted. “I’ll do it.”

The speakers hushed.

“Due to an anonymous tip,” Cole read slowly, “your case has been flagged for immediate review. Expedited processing is now in effect. Prepare for a mandatory hearing.”

Turning toward Trevor, the color drained from his face.

“A mandatory hearing?” Klue asked.

“Expedited processing?” Serena did the same.

Trevor shivered.

The air drained from the room.

Trevor clenched his jaw “You’ve got to call Brooke,” he ordered.

Cole nodded.

“Now.”

The phone buzzed.

“Calling,” The digital voice lit up. “Brooke - ”

Swiping to answer, the voice faded again.

“We were just talking about you,” Cole answered slowly “What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

Lowering the phone he hit the speaker button.

“I know. I just got the email.”

“What does that even mean?” Trevor asked.

“It means,” Brooke replied. “your hearing is no longer months away. If they’ve already pulled a judge into this, we could be looking at a matter of days.”

Trevor froze. “What?”

A slow, cold weight settled in Cole’s chest.

“Okay…” he exhaled. “So what do we do?”

“You?” Brooke scoffed. “You sit tight. Margaret and I are already working on the appeal.”

“Okay.”

“Trevor, how’s that article coming?”

“I’ll have it tonight.” He stated. “I’ll make sure Periwinkle prints it.”

“Good.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cole replied.

“I’ll call you as soon as I know more.” Brook offered. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Cole and Trevor nodded in unison.

“Take care Sweeties,” she continued. “I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

Ending the call, Cole wrapped his arm around Trevor.

“Fuck.” He took in a ragged breath, fighting the onset of tears.

“I know baby,” Cole pulled him closer to his chest. “I know.”

“What’s happening?” Klue asked confused.

“What Case?” Serena’s eyes narrowed.

“Like I said,” Cole glanced at Serena. “There’s a lot I need to catch you up on.”

MEANWHILE, STARLITE ESTATE

The Grand Duchess lounged on her velvet chaise, a glass of champagne poised delicately between her fingers stared out the window, watching the shirtless gardeners trim her hedges.

The call had gone exactly as she had hoped.

“Of course, Mr. President,” she teased, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’m always happy to assist in keeping Prism City… pure.”

Pulling the phone from her ear as she took another sip of champagne, she continued to watch the sweat, drip off the backs of the workers. She loved watching them glimmer.

Hearing a pause in his dreadful voice she returned the phone to her ear.

“You’re right, Darling. If they wished to reap our benefits, they should have adhered to the proper channels.” She sighed theatrically. “Rules were written for a reason, after all.”

She cackled as he replied.

“Right. To keep the lower class in their place.”

Another muffled response.

“Oh, you flatter me! But truly, I only did what any concerned citizen would do.” She tilted her head, glancing at her perfectly manicured nails. “These things have a way of getting out of hand if we don’t maintain order, don’t they?”

As he began to drone on again about the shortcomings of his predecessor. She rolled her eyes. “Alright, darling, I’m sorry I really must go.”

Ending the call, she tossed the phone onto the pink cushion and giggled. Reaching for her cigarette holder she took a slow, relaxing drag.

“Isn’t it just delicious?” She asked as her attendant stepped up to her right.

She nodded.

“What a delightful little game this is turning out to be.”

Her attendant nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

As her eyes focused once again on the men outside, the Grand Duchess exhaled in satisfaction, swirling the champagne in her glass.

“Now then,” she mused, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Let’s see how our dear MoonShadow handles this particular setback.”

CHAPTER ONE

Just Like a Pill

Unshowered and comfortably disheveled, Cole sat at the island in a tank top and basketball shorts, lazily spooning cereal into his mouth without a care in the world. Across from him, Trevor—freshly showered, his wild red hair tangled, but clean, dressed in a crisp T-shirt and jeans—stood rigidly over the chaotic sprawl of files and papers covering the counter. Two untouched mugs of coffee sat between them, long forgotten in the mess of documents they were trying to make sense of.

“This is…” Trevor shivered as he read. “… awful.”

“Yeah,” Cole said through a mouthful of Frosted Flakes. “It looked pretty ominous. And the bodies? Super gross.”

Swallowing, he lifted another spoonful without a second thought.

Trevor traced his finger along a densely packed chart, his green eyes narrowing as he absorbed the grim details. “These numbers…” He pulled a sheet from the folder, flipping it toward Cole. “Are these what I think they are?”

Leaning forward, Cole skimmed over the page. “Spectral Classification Index Numbers?”

Trevor turned it back toward himself. “Yep.”

“Yep.”

“Cole.” Trevor looked up at him. “This is fucking disgusting.”

Cole set his spoon down. “Schwarze Sonne-Projekt.”

Trevor glanced up. “What?”

“It’s what the Nazis called their experiments on Spectral beings. Well…” Cole paused to take another bite, chewing as he continued. “There were a few, but that was the worst of them.”

Trevor frowned. “My German’s a bit rusty.” He scrunched his face, closing his eyes to think. “Black Sun Project?”

“Yep.” Cole stirred his spoon through his cereal.

Trevor watched him, waiting as he stood, walking around the counter.

Slurping the last of the milk from the bowl, Cole set it in the sink with a clatter. “They did horrible things to so many people.”

“How, though?” Trevor swallowed. “Why didn’t they fight back?”

Cole leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “After my conversation with The Powers last night? I think it probably had something to do with the dimming effect Celadon has on their lumen.”

Trevor shivered again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Cole exhaled. “Not something you read about in the history books, is it?”

He turned and pressed a quick kiss to Trevor’s temple.

“I thought all the Nazi records were destroyed.” Trevor tilted his head as Cole wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Cole’s voice was quieter now. “I guess the Allied Governments lied.”

Trevor folded his arms over Cole’s. “Yeah… and guess where those documents ended up?”

Cole’s heart sank as he took in the paperwork again. Hugging Trevor closer, he turned, kissing the side of his neck.

Then, he flicked Trevor’s left earlobe with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth.

“Wait.” Trevor turned in his arms to face him. “Let me get this right,” his voice tinged with irritation. “Not only did you conveniently forget to mention a fire-wielding supervillain this morning—”

“With a super lame name,” Cole interjected.

“You also didn’t tell me you met another Spectral with ‘lunar-based’ abilities who just showed up and led you to all…” He stopped, turning to wave his hands over the mess. “This?”

“Forgot?” He shook his head. “No. Prioritized?” He nodded. “Yes.”

Trevor glared. “Prioritized?”

Cole looked past him to the papers on the island. “I figured Project Eclipse would steal your attention away from what really mattered this morning.”

Reaching, he took Trevor’s hand, moving it to cup his groin.

“Are you seriously saying you didn’t say anything so you could get some this morning?”

“I saved hundreds of lives last night.” Cole cut him off with a wicked grin. “I earned that blow job.”

“Fuck Wonderful Man.” Trevor gripped Cole’s balls. “You’re now Manipulation Man.”

“Right.” He squirmed at the tension. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it felt awkward. “Noted.” He cleared his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good boy.” Trevor giggled, pushing up on his tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. Turning, he looked back over the paper. “There’s so much we’ve got to go through.”

The door swung open, and Priya stepped inside, a clipboard tucked under one arm and a travel mug in her hand.

“Morning, boys,” she greeted briskly, nodding to both of them. “How’d you sleep? Ready to get started on Cole’s immigration?”

“Fuck!” Trevor shot Cole an incredulous look. “We completely forgot!”

Priya stopped mid-step, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. “You… forgot? About the fact that your fiancé might be deported?” She snorted. “How does anyone forget that their FIANCÉ might be… DEPORTED?!?”

Cole stepped back from Trevor, leaning back against the opposite counter, entirely unfazed by her tone. “I didn’t forget.” He shrugged. “As I told your brother, I reprioritized.”

Looking to Trevor, he grinned.

Trevor groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m confused.”

“Sex.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “He wanted to have sex.”

“Eww.”

Cole smirked.

Priya’s sharp eyes darted to the disarray of notes, charts, and papers across the kitchen island. Stepping closer, she slid a few papers out of the way so she could set down her coffee. “What is all this?”

“This—” Cole gestured to the papers—“might just be bigger than me getting deported. Way bigger.”

Priya turned to Trevor.

“What the actual fuck?”

LATER

Pacing the living room, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor, Priya was still spinning from the story. “So someone is doing Nazi-type experiments on Spectrals?”

“It would appear so,” Cole shook his head. “That kid on the front page of the newspaper you had last night?”

“Daniel Chatten?” She nodded. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Fuck.”

“He looked like he’d been dead for days.” Cole continued. “Maybe longer.”

“We need to take this to The Powers,” Priya tried to speak calmly.

“They already know.” Cole stated. “They’re hopeful that the death of Dr. Brandt and the burning of Celadon ended his experiments. As far as they know all of his work was lost.”

“And how do you have it?” She asked, taking a much needed sip from her coffee.

“There was another Spectral.” Trevor started before Cole could reply. “One with the same Lunar based powers as MoonShadow.”

Closing her eyes, Priya took a centering breath. “Jesus Christ, Cole.”

“It’s being handled.”

“And I’m working on a story about Project Eclipse,” Trevor added.

“And what about the immigration situation?” Priya’s eyes danced between the two of them. “How are you going to be able to do anything with that looming over your heads?”

“Like we always do,” Cole shrugged, stepping from the kitchen to the living area. “Together.”

“You have to consider asking The Powers for help, Cole,” she pleaded. “They have influence and resources—hell, they probably have people who could make this whole immigration mess disappear with a single phone call. In fact, I know they do.”

Falling into his armchair, Cole shook his head. “No.”

Priya stopped mid-step. “Why are you so against this?”

Trevor, perched at the edge of the counter, glanced between them. “She has a point, Cole,” he started cautiously, his green eyes locking onto his fiancé. “They could fix this. Like that.”

He snapped.

“Done.”

Cole exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Trevor. If I go to The Powers, they’ll want to know everything—my identity, your identity, Priya’s,” he focused on her. “Your husband’s, your kids’. Your Girlfriend. They’ll want it all.”

“They’re not villains, Cole,” Priya argued. They’re here to protect us. To protect you. Besides,” she cleared her throat. “They already have all my information.”

“What?!”

The shadows in the room quivered at his rising tension.

“Why do they already have your information?” He pushed through clenched teeth.

“I’m on the shortlist for commissioner,” she replied firmly, her voice twinging with pride.

“Priya, that’s AMAZING!” Trevor clapped his hands together. “You would KILL IT as commissioner!”

“Commissioner Parrish does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It’s about damn time someone recognized you,” Cole nodded in agreement.

Priya allowed a faint smile to break through her stern expression. “Thank you, but that’s not the point right now.”

“It is exactly the point, Priyanka,” Cole shrugged, his tone low and deliberate. “I’ve worked too hard to keep us safe. I won’t just hand us over to them on a silver platter.”

“And what happens when they deport you?” Trevor leaned forward, his expression unrelenting. “How does that protect us? How does it help me if you’re halfway across the world? I get what you’re trying to do, but you can’t do shit if you’re not here.”

Cole’s mouth opened, but his voice wouldn’t allow him to form any words.

“Your stubborn pride is going to destroy everything we’ve worked for.” Trevor snapped. “Is that what you want?”

“You don’t get it,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“What don’t I get, Cole?” Trevor glared. “Please. Enlighten me.”

“You’re Terran,” Cole stood. “You just wouldn’t get it. I’m sorry.”

“Cole,” Trevor stepped forward.

“I need some air.” He cut him off. “Excuse me.”

Standing Cole reached for his glasses, slipping them on as he walked out of the apartment.

Looking at his sister, Trevor sighed. “I don’t want to lose him, Priya.”

“I know,” she walked up and embraced him. “I know.”

CHAPTER TWO

Funhouse

The platform at Violet Village was cool, crisp, and clean - bright and shiny under a layer of glossy polish. The air was sweet with the scent of lavender and cherry blossoms.

Tipsy from an afternoon of drinking at Sean’s Tavern, Cole kept his hood low and his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, slipping through the train’s doors just as they slid closed.

Inside, the seats were soft, the windows were spotless, and the passengers were quiet, lost in their own little worlds. A young woman in yoga clothes scrolled through her phone, her earbuds tucked neatly into place, while a man in a tailored suit read the financial section of The Daily Wave.

Beyond the window pane, the city glided by like a watercolor blur.

As he crossed the platform to another train at Indigo Acres, the air carried the faint smell of dirt and fertilizer.

A simpler people, the inhabitants of the agricultural district believed in the use of things until they couldn’t use them anymore, and the seats - like most things in this sector bore the marks of time-worn edges, smooth upholstery faded under the harsh light of fluorescent bulbs. A teenager laughed loudly at a dirty joke told by his friend, while a couple a few rows back argued in hushed hisses of frustration.

Cole didn’t pause as he transferred to the Cerulean Line. The interior felt alive, its holographic walls shifting with soft, tantalizing images and invited indulgence: food, drink, fornication.

The faces of the passengers blurred around him—some hidden behind augmented glasses, others lost in the lips of their partner - or partners - in the dim light. Very few boundaries existed in this digital playground- which is why you had to be at least eighteen to enter.

Blazing past Sagewater Bay, the train stopped at the Sunset Plaza, where Cole lost himself in the buzz of commuters. Slipping through them like a shadow, he made his way to the train toward Scarlet Heights.

He was surprised it was still able to travel. Its once-polished metal now streaked with grime. Uncomfortably confined, the seats were cracked, their fabric torn, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat, gin, and desperation.

The few passengers on this train were hunched over in silence, eyes averted, avoiding any interaction with the others, their faces drawn and tired. This was a place for those who had no other choice or for those who thrived in the city’s darker corners—no neon glow, no flowering promises. Just the click-clack of the train’s wheels against the tracks, a steady rhythm of something unwanted, pushing onward toward the heart of the city’s industrial underworld.

After a quick stop, it continued to the end of the line, below the Cinderblock Burroughs.

Stepping onto the platform, Cole felt the air change again. Reeking of urine and forgotten trash, steam hissed from pipes along the walls, their surfaces corroded and leaking. Making his way to the stairs, he trotted toward the surface world.

The first thing that greeted him was a billboard for Amy’s Super Tight Hole—a snug space guaranteed to keep you warm... at least for the night.

It was a capsule hotel.

Warehouses loomed, their metal walls rusted and streaked with graffiti, the tags layered so thick they bled into one another. Street lights flickered in yellow and white, illuminating the broken pavement beneath.

He walked briskly, boots splashing through puddles slick with oil and grime. Here, the only shadows that trailed him were natural ones.

Turning down a narrower alley, swallowed by darkness, he reached into his pocket. Off came the glasses—on went the black domino mask. The glasses disappeared into an inside pocket of his jacket.

Ahead, a single metal door interrupted the stretch of crumbling brick. Above it, a neon sign sputtered, flickering as if struggling to survive. Its faded letters blinked in erratic pulses, clinging to life in the gloom.

Fist Bump.

A man stood by the door, his face a map of old scars. He gave Cole a quick, scrutinizing glance before offering a slight, reluctant nod.

“Ombra,” he stepped aside to let him through the door. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Patrick,” he nodded.

The air inside was worse than the streets—a suffocating mix of sweat, cheap alcohol, and stale cigarettes. The crowd pressed against a chain-link cage of copper and iron in the center of the room, their voices rising in a chaotic roar.

Overhead, a single bulb swung from the rafters, casting erratic shadows over the blood-streaked floor.

Moving through the crowd, his hood low, his hands in his pockets, Cole ignored the glances and whispers that followed him. This was a place for release, pain, and rage to bleed out into the open. He wasn’t here to save anyone, not tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to hit something.

Hard.

Making his way to the bar, Cole slid onto a stool, the crusted surface sticking to his leather jacket. “Yo, Joy.” He signaled to the bartender. “Gimme two shots of that piss you call whiskey.”

“Wait your turn, Ombra,” she sneered as she handed a young woman who didn’t look old enough to smoke - let alone drink - two bottles of beer.

“Make good choices, sweetheart,” she sighed with a Puerto Rican accent as she watched her walk to a table filled with frat boys. “Dumb bitch.”

A living contradiction, her weathered, tough exterior hinted at something softer underneath. A tattered leather vest clung to her frame, a dark bandana tied back a thick mane of unruly curls, and an eyepatch covered one of her stormy blue eyes - which turned toward Cole.

“You fighting tonight?” She set a shot glass in front of him.

“Is there any other reason to come to this shithole?”

Her jaw tightened.

“Besides your beautiful face, that is?” He winked, pursing his lips toward her in a kiss.

“Fuck you.” she filled the glass.

Slamming back the shot, he grimaced at the taste before chasing it with another. The second one hit harder; the cheap burn slithered down his throat, blurring the edges of his mind and sharpening his focus.

“Well, shit!” The Referee’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd.

“Prince Ombra in the house!” he shouted.

A roar of excitement filled the crowd as Cole turned on the barstool.

“Watch this for me,” he looked to Joy, sliding his jacket off his shoulders as he stood.

“Great,” she stated. “I’ve been looking for something I could wipe my ass with.”

Smirking, he moved toward the cage.

“Make some noise, Mother Fuckers!” The Referee cried out.

The crowd screamed.

“I said make some NOISE, mother FUCKERS!” he repeated.

The crowd cried louder.

Peeling off his shirt, Cole tossed it aside.

A girl in the crowd screamed. “Fuck yeah, Ombra!”

“Breed me, Daddy!” A male voice shouted.

“Ten to zero,” the Ref called out, his voice booming over the crowd. “Bets start at a buck twenty.”

The first opponent—a wiry guy, probably on something—charged at him like a cornered animal. Cole sidestepped the wild swing, and with a swift jab to the gut, the man doubled over. A quick knee to the face sent him to the floor. He was out cold before he could even make a sound.

Next up was a stocky, middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and a bald head. He threw a series of heavy, sloppy punches, which Cole easily dodged and countered. He was slow, and Cole worked him like a punching bag, landing precise hits to the ribs and gut until the man’s knees buckled. A final uppercut sent him to the floor, spitting blood as the crowd went wild.

The third was a cocky college boy - brash energy dripping in overconfidence.

“Hit me, Daddy!” he jeered, bouncing around with exaggerated hooks tauntingly. “Tell me I’m your bitch.” He begged. “Please.”

He was hard.

“Sure, kid.” Cole shifted his weight. “You’re my bitch.” Cole narrowed his eyes. “Now come at me, bro.”

The frat boy rushed forward, fist flying. Cole simply held out his hand, and the kid slammed right into it. His nose cracked and a quivering breath escaped him as his body crashed into Cole’s open palm.

“Thank you,” he flushed as a spot of wetness spread over his jeans.

“Weird ass motherfucker!” the Ref snorted. “Anyone else wanna take on the Prince of Darkness?”

The room fell silent - just long enough for the tension to coil.

No one stepped forward.

“Ballsacks!” The Ref shouted. “You’re all weak-ass little ballsacks!”

Looking at Cole, he held out his hand. “Sorry, Ombra. Good to see you fight again, though.”

Shrugging, Cole stepped out of the cage, his muscles still humming with adrenaline. The roar of the crowd faded into a low buzz as he made his way back to the bar, his eyes landing on his coat draped over a stool. Before he could grab it, Joy slid a shot across the counter, her smirk as sharp as the burn of the liquor she offered.

“Feel better?” she asked, leaning casually on the bar across from him.

Cole picked it up, downing it in one smooth motion, the sharp clink of the empty glass hitting the counter punctuated his words.

“A little,” he admitted, his voice gravelly but calmer than when he’d entered the ring.

Joy held his gaze. “What’s your story, baby?”

“Don’t got one,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.

“Everyone’s got one.”

“Well, mine ain’t one I’m ready to have read.”

She nodded. “Alright,” she stood, glancing at the Ref for confirmation.

Three fingers.

Ducking below the cash register she retrieved a stack of bills from the safe. Counting out the cash, she walked back to him. “Three thousand.”

Pulling two Franklins from the top, he held it toward her. “For not pushing about my story.”

Joy chuckled, pocketing the bills. “Happy to not know you any better than I did the first time you walked in here.”

Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door. Stepping into the night, he took a slow breath.

He still wanted to punch something.

A cry in the distance pulled at the air. It was a young woman.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he heard a male voice sooth with sinister intent. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed.

Darting into an alley, shadows rippled, swirling around him as he transformed into MoonShadow. With a powerful leap, he shot into the sky, scanning the streets below, hoping his jacket would still be tucked under the trash bin where he left it when he returned.

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

Standing at the island counter, Trevor spread out the documents, arranging them in neat rows like puzzle pieces waiting for their place. Alone with his thoughts, he could finally focus, letting the chaos of the day settle into something structured—something he could work with. His fingers hovered over the pages, eyes scanning the words, the figures, some of the grainy surveillance stills he had managed to pull from the thumb drive. Each piece told a fragment of a story, but the connections remained tangled, threads that refused to weave together.

He exhaled, pressing his fingertips against the countertop, letting his instincts take over. He had always been good at this - finding the narrative in the noise - cutting through the static to expose the truth. His pulse steadied as he started grouping the information, isolating the key players, the common locations, the patterns that felt too precise to be coincidence.

While most of the SCI numbers were different, there was one that kept repeating in the notes of the experiments: 452-5583. However, the only physical notations he could find were that the subject was male.

Procedure 061-21-929 administered. Subject withstood exposure beyond anticipated threshold. Emotional response remains muted. Further psychological conditioning suggested.

Reaching for his cup of coffee, Trevor went to the sofa and continued to read.

Subject 452-5583 exhibits weakness when subjected to lunar deprivation. Shows extreme sensitivity to prolonged exposure to ultraviolet rays.

Reminiscent of SuperMoon.

Trevor’s fingers ghosted over the document, the words echoing in his mind. Sensitivity to ultraviolet rays. Weakens when deprived of moonlight.

“Like Cole…” his voice trailed off.

Flipping the page, Trevor’s eyes fell onto the words:

Test Log 77-4B: Prolonged Deprivation & Ultraviolet Exposure

Objective: Assess resilience of Subject 452-5583 under extreme lunar deprivation and forced ultraviolet saturation.

Procedure: Subject was placed in Isolation Chamber A, equipped with full-spectrum UV emitters. The chamber was sealed for 72 continuous hours, exposing the subject to intense ultraviolet radiation with no access to lunar light.

Results:

• Hour 1: Subject experienced no change. All vitals, bodily functions, and powers remain at full capacity.

• Hour 6: Subject reported dizziness and muscle fatigue. Visible pallor noted.

• Hour 12: Subject began experiencing acute tremors, loss of motor coordination. Heart rate slowed significantly.

• Hour 24: Subject exhibited symptoms of moonlight starvation. Loss of balance, severe weakness. Skin temperature dropped below normal.

• Hour 36: Subject began convulsing. Erratic breathing noted. Reports of extreme pain. No verbal response beyond incoherent mumbling.

• Hour 48: Subject ceased movement for 3 minutes, 42 seconds. Life signs dangerously unstable. Considered terminating experiment but corporate memo ordered proceeding with full 72-hour exposure.

• Hour 60: Subject regained partial awareness but exhibited severe psychological dissociation. No longer responded to direct stimuli. Stared at ceiling, unblinking.

• Hour 72: Test concluded. Subject removed from chamber. Did not react to handlers. Failed to stand under own power. Eyes remained open, unfocused.

“This is disgusting.” Trevor grunted.

Conclusions:

• Subject requires moonlight exposure for sustained function. Prolonged deprivation leads to critical systems failure.

• Continued exposure to deprivation protocols may induce permanent cognitive degradation.

• Further testing recommended to evaluate potential for forced adaptation.

Note: Subject did not speak for 14 hours post-extraction. When he finally did, he begged for death. Testing yields results consistent to known weaknesses of SuperMoon. Additional genetic analysis recommended.

Then he saw a phrase written at the bottom of the page circled in red.

Connection to Vigilante MoonShadow?

His fingers curled around the edges of the document, his mind racing, colliding with thoughts that refused to slow down.

Fuck.

Whoever had written this—whoever had conducted these horrors—had suspected a link between Cole and whoever 452-5583 was.

And if they suspected, they had searched. Had they found anything?

“Shit.” The word escaped on a breath, barely audible over the hammering in his chest. He ran a hand through his wild-red hair, trying to force some kind of clarity into his mind.

The sharp chime of the door bell cut through his frantic thoughts like a blade.

Trevor sucked in a breath as his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He hadn’t even realized how tightly wound he was until that moment.

“Who is it?” He called out.

“It’s Brooke,” a bright voice replied. “Brooke Bingham.”

Shit.

Trevor’s gaze darted across the apartment, taking in the scattered pages.

“One second!” He called out, already moving. “I, uh—let me put on some clothes.”

Not his best excuse, but it would buy him a few seconds.

His feet barely touched the floor as he rushed to the island counter, scooping up the documents and pressing them against his chest. He moved on autopilot, sweeping every loose page into his arms and bolting into the bedroom. The stack landed in a haphazard mess on the bed, some sheets slipping off to the floor on the other side.

Trevor lingered for a second, scanning them one last time. Had he grabbed everything? Nothing left behind? No stray page sitting out, waiting to ruin them?

Satisfied, he shut the bedroom door behind him and took a deep breath, schooling his expression before finally stepping up to the door.

He pulled it open to find Brooke, her smile warm and easy.

“Hi,” he greeted, forcing a breathless grin onto his face.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced - and so late in the evening,” she started but I was in the neighborhood and wanted to talk about Cole’s defense.”

She peeked past him, scanning the apartment. “Is he home?”

Trevor shook his head.“He’s not.” He exhaled softly, shrugging. “He went out to clear his head, this morning” he said before sighing again. “Which means by now”— he checked his watch— “he’s probably at some dive bar, three pitchers into the cheapest beer money can buy.”

Brooke eyes narrowed slightly. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little… frazzled.”

Trevor swallowed, glancing away for half a second before offering another quick smile. “Just a long day.”

He stepped aside. “Would you like to come in? I know it’s later, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Oh Sweetie,” she teased, stepping inside. “It’s never too late for coffee!”

As she set her briefcase and purse on the island counter, she sat.

“Actually, you might still be able to help me.”

“Of course,” Trevor answered, slipping two pods into the double-pour coffee machine. “Anything I can do to help. What do you need?”

Brooke pulled out a legal pad and flipped it open as Trevor grabbed two cups from the open-air cupboard, setting them under the machine’s nozzles.

“We need to establish proof that Cole has strong personal and professional ties here in Prism City,” she explained. “The more evidence we have that deporting him would be a disruption to not just his life but yours—the better chance we have.”

Trevor’s stomach twisted. The idea of Cole being forced to leave—being ripped away because of some bureaucratic nightmare—made his skin crawl.

“I need things like joint leases,” Brooke continued. “Bills with both your names, anything that ties him to a permanent residence. If you have shared bank accounts, that would help, too.”

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. “We do have a joint account, but he bought the loft before I met him. Though I think we added my name to the deed a year or so ago.”

Brooke was writing on her legal pad. “Good. I’ll need a copy of that.”

She hesitated before meeting his gaze. “I also need proof of your relationship.”

“Like… what?” Trevor snorted. “Love letters? A mixtape?”

The coffee started to pour.

“No,” she smiled, “Photos of your life together, statements from friends—any proof that this is a legitimate, long-term relationship and not just some convenient arrangement for citizenship.”

Trevor bristled.

Sensing his tension, Brooke softened her tone. “It’s standard,” she assured him. “Years of green card marriages have made it harder for real couples.” She forced a smile. “I know it’s frustrating—I’m sorry.”

He sighed, pulling the cups from the machine and handing one to her.

“It’s okay.”

“Thank you.” She took a sip.

“Luckily when I was younger, I was one of those annoying gays who shared every single moment of my relationship on Instagram.”

“Annoying?” Brooke quipped. “Or useful?”

Trevor let out a dry laugh. “And I have every plane, train, and bus ticket for every trip we’ve ever taken.”

“Good.”

Brooke gave him a small smile. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffed. “Nothing about Cole Carter ever is.”

She chuckled, closing the legal pad. “He’s a man. Name one member of your sex who is easy?”

Trevor clinked his coffee cup against hers with a grin.

“Touché.”

CHAPTER THREE

Trouble

Bathed in the silver-blue light of a midnight moon, the vibrant tint of the ruby-red walls of Emeralds, Diamonds, and Rubies, Oh My! no longer burned like fire. Instead, they glowed like dying embers, smoldering in the hush of night.

Inside, the silent stillness of the air was disrupted by the swift steps of an indigo shadow, moving with precision too sharp, too precise for the mortal eye to track.

But not him.

From the rooftop of a taller building across the street, MoonShadow watched her work. He took his time, casually finishing an egg salad sandwich as he studied her movements.

Folding the last bite into his mouth, he sighed.

“Why are all cats obsessed with anything shiny?”

Nearly invisible in a skintight black suit, she was tall, slender, and incredibly agile. Her hair pulled back, her face hidden behind a sharp, leather mask with cat-like ears and glowing gold lenses. She glided past displays of necklaces and bracelets without a second glance. Slipping behind the curtain, she entered the back room.

A high-backed pink armchair with floral cushions sat in the middle—out of place.

Ugly.

Then, a faint, glistening glow behind the brick wall caught her attention.

Subtle. Hidden.

Perfect.

Her breath slowed. The lenses lightened, her pupils contracted, then stretched into thin, vertical slits. She scanned the room, searching. She’d found the safe, but where was the key and how to open the wall?

A fingerprint scanner? No, too visible.

A voice command? Unlikely.

Her eyes trailed over the molding near the floor—worn in a way the rest wasn’t. The faintest shadow of finger smudges on the lower corner of a framed painting.

She reached out, pressing the frame’s edge.

A soft click.

Bingo.

The panel slid open, revealing a small screen flashing for a passcode.

She tilted her head, scanning. Four digits.

No visible fingerprints. The surface had been wiped clean, but it was sloppy. Whoever set this up had erased the obvious clues but forgot one thing.

Oil residue.

Smirking, she leaned in, her gaze lowering—not to the keys, but to the space just around them. The faintest sheen clung to the edges of four numbers—almost invisible under the artificial glow, but not to her trained eye.

Her pupils contracted again, the narrow slits focused, filtering out distractions. Now came the challenge—the order.

She tapped a random key.

A crisp beep. Untouched.

She pressed one of the oily numbers.

A fraction-of-a-second delay in the tone. Softer. Worn. That key had been used frequently.

She smiled playfully. People are creatures of habit. If the code was used regularly, the middle digits would wear faster than the first or last.

She ran through the pattern, playing the keypad like a piano.

She only had to input the numbers once.

It was the building number 1939.

Click.

“Morons,” she groaned as the wall slid open, revealing a gold-inlaid display case.

Stepping up to it, she pulled the double doors to reveal rows upon rows of priceless treasures. Silver. Gold. Blue diamonds. Yellow diamonds. Black diamonds. Rhinestones.

But no pink.

“Curious.” She sighed, clicking her tongue as she stepped back. “Very curious.”

A shift in the air froze her mid-step.

“Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?”

The voice was low. Rough. Familiar.

Even though she knew exactly who it belonged to, the lenses of her mask darkened, concealing her identity as she turned.

A silhouette stood in the shadows, taller, broader, and wrapped in darkness.

“MoonShadow.” She purred. “Wish I could say it was nice to see you, again.”

She shrugged.

“But it’s not.”

“Blackfoot,” he stepped forward. “You always did have expensive taste. But this is dangerous. Even for you.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “And you always did have a habit of showing up where you’re not wanted.”

“You don’t want me!?!” MoonShadow exhaled a mock sigh. “You hurt me.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “Not yet.”

“Oh,” he snorted. “You think you can take me?”

Lifting her hands, claws ripped through the finger tips of the leather gloves she was wearing. “Let’s find out.”

Lunging, her fist shot forward, but MoonShadow dodged, twisting away just in time. She barely missed his jaw.

“Same old tricks,” he taunted, moving smoothly into a defensive stance.

Blackfoot spun, striking again. “Please. If I used the same old tricks, you’d already be on the ground.”

She was fast. But so was he.

Their movements blurred in the moon-cast shadows—a whirlwind of muscle and shadow. Blackfoot ducked, pivoting low, sweeping a leg toward his knees. He jumped, barely avoiding it, then countered with a hard swing. She caught his wrist midair, using it like a beam to launch herself upward, flipping over his shoulder.

She landed lightly, facing him again, grinning as she kicked his back side.

He stumbled.

“Tell me.” She teased, circling him. “You still got a type?”

“A type?” He spun.

“Bleach blonde. Big boobs. No brain.” She dodged another punch.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going for the smart but less-pretty girls now?”

“Actually,” he took a breath. “I’m engaged.”

She stopped. “Really?”

An honest smile spread across her face. “That’s great!”

“To a man.”

She faltered. “Wait. What?”

“Yep.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “We’ve been together almost six years now.”

“Well, shit,” she huffed, shaking her head. “Stephanie Stiles totally owes me fifty bucks.”

MoonShadow took advantage of the curve ball—sweeping in, aiming to pin her.

She recovered just in time.

Using his speed, weight, and force against him, she adjusted, leaping out of the way.

His body slammed into the display case.

Glass shattered, jewelry glittered like rain as they fell to the floor.

Mixed within the splintered rubble, several milk-white diamonds scattered across the ground, skidding and spinning like marbles, catching flashes of moonlight as they tumbled.

A soft, ultraviolet glow surged within them.

Warmth rippled over him, like invisible fingers tracing his skin, sinking into his bones.

His vision blurred. The world tilted.

He blinked.

“What the…”

Bracing himself on the wall against the shattered display case he shivered.

“Uh…” she took a cautious step forward. “MoonShadow?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “I—” His voice cracked. He pushed harder against the wall, trying to ground himself.

The diamonds glinted again.

Blackfoot’s gaze fell to the scattered stones. The way the light refracted off their facets, the ominous color drumming within them. They were affecting him.

What the hell?

MoonShadow’s breathing slowed. His fingers twitched. Shadows wavered around him, his suit fluctuating between something solid and whips of nearly transparent smoke.

“MoonShadow?” She asked again, taking another step toward him.

His head lifted, eyes slightly unfocused. He blinked—slow, deliberate, like waking from a deep sleep.

“Yeah.” He dragged a hand over his mouth. His voice was lower, rougher. “Sup?” He trailed off like the thought had slipped right through his fingers.

Blackfoot tilted her head. “You alright?”

“Fine.” He swayed. “How.” He burped. “How are you?” He smacked his lips. “Egg Salad.” He grimaced. “Gross.”

Her eyes continued to shift between him and the stones. “You sure you’re okay? ’Cause you look like you just got off a roller coaster and are about ready to throw-up lunch.”

His head tilted slightly like he was listening to something she couldn’t hear.

He chuckled.

“Listen, Cat Lady. Do I criticize you?” He snorted. “How you look. How you move. No.”

“Excuse me?”

“S’fine,” he muttered, exhaling through his nose. “M’fine.” His words slurred together slightly.

He hiccuped.

“Totally good, bro.”

Blackfoot crouched, lifting one of the diamonds. The light thrummed like a weak, shallow breath. She squinted.

What the hell?

“Look.” MoonShadow lifted his fists. “We gotta finish this. I gotta get home. My fiancé is probably wondering where I am.”

She rose to her feet. “Oh.” She slipped the diamond into the pocket of her leather jacket. “We’re finished, buddy.”

His eyes glanced at her—delayed. Then he smiled. He was suddenly softer. Looser.

“We had so much fun in high school.” He snorted. “Didn’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s why I always feel so bad when I have to call the PCPD on you.”

“And yet…” Blackfoot sighed dramatically. “I always slip away… just before they arrive.”

She smiled.

“Strange, isn’t it?”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “I’m just a better villain than you are a hero.”

“Wow,” MoonShadow cooed, glancing around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “Kinda nice, actually.”

Sirens howled in the distance.

MoonShadow’s lashes fluttered as he pulled in a deep breath—like he was savoring the night air. His fingers flexed against the wall before he turned to her, expectant.

“Uh oh,” he chuckled. “It’s the fuzz.”

“That’s our cue.” Blackfoot turned toward the door, stopping after a few hastened steps.

Hesitating, she turned back to face him.

MoonShadow still wasn’t moving. He was too dazed. Too confused.

Damn it.

Rolling her eyes, Blackfoot spun back. Grabbing a fistful of his suit, she yanked.

He barely had time to grunt before she swung him over her shoulder, muscles coiling as she launched toward the window—shattering through the glass as they plunged into the night.

Fluid. Precise. Effortless.

One step onto the balcony railing, then another, her body folding into the motion as she dropped, twisting midair.

A tree branch.

One hand catching it, the other gripping MoonShadow’s leg. She swung once, building momentum—then released from the branch.

Her boots barely skimmed a power pole before she pushed off again, weightless, untethered, twisting through the air like a ribbon caught in the wind.

“Weeeee!” MoonShadow giggled.

Blackfoot rolled her eyes. “Never letting you live this down.” She snorted. “Ever.”

A shop awning.

She landed light, already shifting her weight. A second later—they were falling again.

The pavement rushed up fast.

At the last second, Blackfoot shifted her stance. Landing softly.

Twisting, she rushed them into the protective darkness of a nearby alley, flinging MoonShadow toward the wall.

Still groggy, he teetered, feet unsteady.

Her grip on his suit tightened, steadying him before he could face plant into the concrete.

The sirens were getting closer.

“Well,” she stepped back. “This is where I leave you.”

Lifting her right hand, she flicked at the ear of her mask. The gold lenses radiated with blue light as her body rippled like silk caught in a breeze. The edges of her form bent, trembling as though caught between light and shadow. The leather of her jacket smoothed into streaks of silver and black, pooling and reshaping into the sleek, powerful frame of a feline.

“Wow!” He gushed. “That never gets old, A-.”

“It’s Blackfoot!” A roar swallowed the rest of her name as it drifted off his lips.

Moonlight danced across her changing form, illuminating the seamless transition from human to feline. Hands became paws mid-motion, claws unsheathing like ink brushing across a canvas. Her tail twisted into existence as she landed gracefully on all fours, fur shimmering like frost-kissed velvet.

She stood poised—regal, untamed, utterly in control for a brief, weightless moment.

A jaguar.

Then, with a flick of her sleek, spotted tail and a sharp, knowing glint in her luminous blue eyes—she sprang.

Muscles coiled, her body stretched midair, bounding effortlessly across the alley. She sprang onto a nearby fire escape and then to a rooftop, her movements so fluid they barely disturbed the night air. A final, powerful kick sent her soaring, silhouetting for a heartbeat against the silver glow of the moon—

Then she was gone.

Swallowed by the city.

A moment later, the world around him started to clear.

Bringing his hand to his head, MoonShadow took a slow breath.

The world was spinning.

“Gotta get home,” he tapped the Crescent Moon clasp of his cape.

The shadows starting to spin, he burped again.

“Trevor’s gotta be worried.”

He pulled the shadows closer. As they swirled, he swayed into their embrace, dissolving into the void.

From a distant rooftop, the Jaguar watched.

Her eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Cole” she hung her head, shaking softly.

There were tests she needed to run.

Turning, she stepped away from the edge, leaping from roof top to rooftop like a zephyr - silent and invisible.

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

Trevor was cross-legged on the sofa. Reading. His eyes were glued to the paper. It was fascinating.

Frightening - but fascinating.

Reaching for the coffee, he took a quick sip and started to read.

Experiment Log 89-A
Subject: 452-5583
Procedure: Viability Study - Reproductive & Tissue Regeneration Protocol

Objective:

• With body weakened, it is now possible to extract viable genetic material for continued research into Spectral physiology, cellular resilience, and forced regeneration.

• Assess subject response to extended duress and chemical inducement.

Methodology:

• Initial sedation failed. Subject exhibited aggressive resistance, requiring six-point restraint at the wrists, ankles, chest, and neck.

• Intravenous administration of Lunatite-X serum and Compound 69 resulted in heightened biological response. Subject remained conscious throughout despite secondary attempts at sedation.

• Initial genetic sample extraction began at 20:14.

Trevor’s stomach clenched as his eyes skimmed down. The words on the page blurred before sharpening into something worse.

Forced Genetic Sample Collection – Stage One

20:17 – First Attempt

• Manual extraction initiated via catheter insertion into urethra to collect viable fluid samples.

• Subject convulsed violently, causing unintended urethral tearing. No anesthesia permitted.

20:23 – Secondary Method Implemented

• Direct electrical stimulation applied to prostate and testes to provoke involuntary response.

• Fluid sample collected, though deemed inadequate for long-term study.

20:41 – Forced Ejaculation Protocol Activated

• Repeated administration of electronic probes against pelvic nerve clusters.

• Subject screamed for extended duration. Attempted to bite through mouthguard. Broke three teeth.

• Staff reinforced restraints. Subject displayed muscle tremors, erratic breathing, and full-body convulsions.

• Genetic sample collected at 21:42.

His hands were shaking, but he kept reading.

Stage Two: Tissue and Bone Regeneration Trials

21:55 – Initial Extraction Begins

• Subject’s right femur exposed via surgical incision. As observed, only blades carved from Lunatite-X are capable of piercing the subject’s skin. Anesthetic use remains strictly prohibited.

• Marrow extraction initiated via large-bore needle. Subject exhibited severe physiological distress, attempting to thrash against restraints.

• Heart rate exceeded 220 bpm. Administered minimal depressant to prevent sudden cardiac arrest—but kept conscious for full duration.

• Subject verbalized distress but could not form coherent words.

22:12 – Extended Laceration Response Testing

• Initial blade resistance tested on subject’s forearm. Surgical steel. Slow incisions made at measured depth increments.

• Regeneration rate slowing. Subject showed heightened sensitivity to pain beyond anticipated thresholds.

• Subject’s body convulsed. Indications of neurological trauma noted.

22:30 – Removal of Eye Tissue for Study

• Left eye forcibly extracted from socket. Subject verbalized extensively. Articulation remained garbled.

• Optical nerve severed manually. No regeneration observed.

Trevor wanted to vomit.

22:48 – Subject Became Nonverbal

• Neurological response deteriorating.

• Subject’s body temperature dropping.

• Subject no longer attempting to resist.

• Proceeded with final stage of extraction.

Trevor’s hands clenched the page so hard it crumpled. His pulse thundered in his ears. “They didn’t just experiment on him.” He shivered.

They tortured him.

He forced himself to keep going, turning the next page with stiff, unfeeling fingers.

Just one sentence: Subject 452-5583 - Expired, 23:05. Body to be submitted for further experiments.

“And then they killed him.”

A crash from the bedroom shattered the fragile silence of the apartment.

Trevor jerked away from the paper.

A heavy thud.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, the lingering horror from the files twisting in his gut. “Cole?”

A groan—low, grumbly, daunted but not distressed—followed by a muffled laugh.

Trevor exhaled sharply.

Pushing off the sofa, he rushed up the stairs toward the bedroom, his steps quick, urgent. The door was already half-open.

He pushed through.

Cole was sprawled on the floor, half-naked, surrounded by shadows. His large, bare feet were tangled in the edge of their comforter.

“Oops.” He tilted his head back, golden eyes hazy as they locked onto Trevor’s. A slow, mischievous smile curved up on his lips. “Hey, baby.”

Stepping up to him, Trevor crouched. “Are you okay?”

Cole rolled onto one elbow, his grin stretching wider as he raked a hand through his hair, playfully tousling the dark strands. His golden eyes gleamed, lazy and teasing. Thumb grazing his lip, he bit down lightly as he flashed a wide, wolfish grin.

“I’m Fine.”

Eying him, he tugged at the shadows, still clinging to his body. Tossing them aside, they dissipated.

He wasn’t hurt.

“You’re drunk.”

Still grinning, Cole pushed up to his knees, eyes raking over Trevor like he was a five-course meal.

“Joy’s drinks have gotten stronger.” He burped. “And take a bit longer to kick in.”

“That’s…” Trevor sighed. “Great.”

“Damn, babe. You look way serious.”

“I am.”

Cole shifted, his bare foot sliding into a beam of moonlight spilling through the window, the glow tracing over his skin in a gentle haze of light.

The alteration was instantaneous.

Like a foggy dream snapping into sharp focus, the warmth vanished. A rush of cold clarity flooded through him. His body stilled. His breath shuddered. His mind snapped into focus.

The drunken playfulness, the aggressive hunger —all of it vanished beneath the wave of moonlight washing over him.

His eyes cleared.

His entire body stiffened as realization crashed over him.

“Oh, fuck,” Cole breathed, blinking rapidly.

“Are you okay?” Trevor asked slowly.

“Shit—Trevor, I—” He shivered. “Fuck that was weird.”

“How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not that much,” he exhaled, rubbing his face. “Fuck.”

“C’mon,” Trevor stood, reaching for his hand. “I’ll get you a coffee, and a sandwich. There’s something I have to show you.

Reaching up, Cole took his hand as he stood.

Entwining their fingers, Trevor led him down to the living area.

MOMENTS LATER

Cole sat hunched on the couch, the blanket slipping off his bare shoulders, his eyes focused on the page, moving slowly as the words sank in.

“This is…”

“Awful?” Trevor answered, sitting on the arm of the sofa across from him.

He looked up at him. “Vile.”

Trevor nodded.

“Does it say who”— Cole looked back at the page —“Subject 452-5583 is?”

“I haven’t found anything about him yet.” Trevor slid onto the cushions. “Do you think Serena can try to do some digging with the USB you found? Some of the files seem corrupted?”

“We can ask her.” Cole shrugged. “Whatever Lunatite-X is. It sounds awful.”

Nodding, Trevor snuggled closer.

FELIDAE TECHNOLOGIES

A monolith of black obsidian, the five-story building seemed to devour the starlight around it, rendering itself almost invisible. Its only illumination came from a band of holographic blue slicing clean through its center—casting ghostly reflections across the empty plaza below.

In a lab, five stories below the surface, Blackfoot stepped out of the shadows. Removing her cowl, a cascade of dark curls tumbled free, spilling over her shoulders in wild, untamed spirals. Setting it on a nearby table, twenty-five-year-old AJ Bizhiw made a beeline for the analysis platform at the room’s center.

Reaching up, she pulled the diamond from her pocket—its surface pulsing faintly with ultraviolet light—and set it into the curved cradle of a high-tech scanner.

The machine responded instantly, humming to life as pale-blue beams laced across the gem’s surface.

Crossing to a nearby console, she tapped the keyboard, and the monitor flickered to life—lines of spectral code scrolled across the screen as the system began mapping the diamond’s energy signature atom by atom.

Pulses of ultraviolet light rippled through the scanner’s halo as it analyzed frequency resonance, thermal decay patterns, and reactive spectral radiation—searching for anything recognizable.

Her hazel eyes narrowed.

“Preliminary readings don’t match any known mineral on this planet.”

Typing quickly an image of Kagubi’s Lotus Flower earrings appeared.

“I don’t know if you’re related,” she scowled, looking to the diamond. “But you are fascinating.”

“Ms. Bizhiw.”

A synthesized voice flickered to life around her—cool, measured, annoyingly punctual.

“Yes, Sable?” she replied, eyes still locked on the screen.

“This is a reminder that you have a board meeting tomorrow at 0700.”

“I know.”

“It is already past midnight.”

“I understand. I’ll be finished soon.”

“You know how you get when you don’t sleep.”

“Noted, Sable.”

A pause.

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Ms. Bizhiw”

With a few swift keystrokes, she set the monitor to sleep, the display dimming to black with a quiet click. Behind the glass, the containment cradle adjusted, sealing the gem beneath a layer of spectral shielding as the analysis continued—silent, slow, and unblinking.

“Goodnight, Sable.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Just Like Fire

In the still serenity of their bedroom, Cole was on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting loosely against Trevor’s waist. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against the waistband of his boxers.

Trevor sighed, shifting closer, his wild red hair tickling against Cole’s bare shoulder as he buried his face against his chest. “You’re tense,” he sighed, sleepily.

Cole hummed in response, his thumb absently tracing patterns along Trevor’s back. “Just thinking.”

Trevor’s fingers curled over his ribs, a lazy, soothing gesture. “You’re always thinking.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Trevor huffed a small laugh, the warmth of his breath fanning against Cole’s collarbone. “Yeah, but right now, I’m thinking about you.” He tilted his head, looking up at him through heavy-lidded green eyes. “About us. And how good it feels to be here like this.”

Cole shifted slightly, adjusting so Trevor could settle more comfortably against him. “Feels pretty damn good to me, too baby.”

Outside, a siren wailed in the distance. Trevor traced the shape of Cole’s chest absentmindedly, his fingertips barely skimming over the curve of muscle.

“Are you going to go?”

“No.” Cole shook his head.”Whatever it is, the Police are on their own. I’m not getting out of this bed until sometime late tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Trevor snuggled closer.

“I love you,” Cole whispered, the words slipping out effortlessly in a breath of air.

Trevor’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second, then resumed their slow path across his skin. “I love you, too.”

The space between them shrank until there was nothing left, their bodies fitting together in familiar, effortless, inevitability.

Cole let out a slow breath, his hand tangling into Trevor’s hair, massaging gentle circles against his scalp.

Melting into him, Trevor’s body started to go slack as sleep began to take him.

Cole smiled faintly, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Sweet Dreams.”

The city outside kept moving, lights flashing, people passing below.

But inside the loft, everything was quiet. Still. Safe.

Cole let his eyes drift shut.

A shiver. A shift.

The ceiling flickered.

White. Yellow. White again, buzzing like wasps swarming around his ears.

Cole couldn’t move.

Not because he was restrained—though maybe he was—but because his body no longer felt like a body. Not his, anyway. It was heavy, foreign, too long in some places and too small in others. His breath echoed like it was borrowed. His pulse was erratic, the cadence was strange - a stranger’s drumbeat.

Somewhere far off, water dripped into metal.

And footsteps circled closer.

The bed beneath him felt like vinyl. Then cotton sheets were damp. Sweat? Piss? A mix of both? He couldn’t tell.

A figure passed.

Faceless.

White coat. No eyes. The scent of spiced citrus wafted in the figures wake. Warm. Familiar. Paternal.

His father.

He opened his mouth. The air was too thick to breathe and too heavy to scream.

Sound was swallowed by a void of silence to thick to push through.

A hiss. A crackle.

A static voice overhead— “Patient 452. Vital signs erratic. Shadow pulse, flickering.”

Something sharp slid into his skin. No sensation, just pressure. A soft voice cut through it all.

“Oh, Sugar, be still.”

She glided into view, starched stiff lab coat, Pearls around her throat. A face painted in patience.

Her lips curled - a smooth, practiced smile.

“You never were good at keepin’ secrets, Lightnin’ Bug. And this one’s just eatin’ you alive.”

She brushed back his sweat-soaked bangs. Even through the softness of the kid gloves she was wearing, her touch was like ice.

Cole tried to move his mouth again.

Nothing.

She tsked.

“Hush now,” she soothed. “That tongue’s got nothin’ worth sayin’ anyway.”

Behind her, the room stretched. Warped. A corridor opened in the wall - stretching into an unforgiving darkness. Ivy grew from the floor tiles. Screens blinked in languages he couldn’t read. Cribs rolled like trollies across the wall. They were empty.

A gentle humming of a song.

The tune was familiar—a long forgotten melody.

A lullaby?

A static pop in the sound. A digital glitch of sight.

A boy.

No older than five, he stepped toward him with large curious eyes. Barefoot, his feet were black, like he’d been playing the dirt.

Slowly he reached up to, touching him. His touch was warm, and incredibly familiar.

Then he realized, why he recognized the child.

He was him.

He mouthed something.

Cole tried to move. Tried to reach. Tried to scream.

His body stayed still.

“You!” The voice of the southern woman cried out. “What are you doing in here! Get out!”

The child turned, dissipating into shadows as he ran.

A shiver. A shake.

Blood dripped down the walls around him.

She walked up, taking him in with a smile as she pulled something from her pocket.

A needle.

Uncapping it, he felt her slide it into his arm.

It was a strange sensation—not sharp exactly, but there was an awareness to its presence. Like his skin had opened too easily, too willingly - like it’d been waiting for it.

The needle didn’t pierce so much as glide, threading just beneath the surface - a slow, foreign pressure followed, blooming outward in cold ribbons, coiling beneath the muscle like silk and static.

His body didn’t flinch. It couldn’t, but somehow he knew even if it could - he didn’t want it to. Somewhere deep beneath the flesh, his nerves lit up, uncertain whether to welcome or reject the intrusion. It enjoyed the pain - no matter how small it was.

The woman’s eyes lit up again. “It’s working.”

Pleasantly surprised, her entire body seemed to glow at the realization.

She turned.

“It’s working!”

“Good.”

A deeper, darker more dangerous voice replied.

“Excellent.”

A shiver. A split.

The gurney snapped in half.

Cole fell.

Through water. Through the dirt. Through versions of himself burning from the inside out.

A hand reached from the darkness— gripping his wrist.

Warm. Grounding. Safe.

Trevor.

The shimmer surged through Cole’s arm like ice.

The world around him swirled—

THWACK.

A basketball slammed into Cole’s chest with a dull bounce.

“Wake up, Danny Daydream?” Trevor grinned, already backing up with his hands raised, his emerald-green eyes dancing with mischief. The sun gleamed off his sweat-damp curls, casting a halo of light around him. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, full of boyish swagger in a pair of worn black shorts and a Prism U tank that clung to his frame in all the right ways.

Cole blinked, dazed—but smiling.

He recognized where they were—and when. College.

They were alone on the west court behind the media building, just the two of them, sneakers squeaking on hot concrete. The late afternoon heat shimmered off the blacktop, and the chain-link fence rattled faintly with each gust of breeze. A couple of crows perched on the backboard, lazy spectators to their ritual.

“Sorry,” Cole said, glad for the sound of his own voice. “Just spaced out.”

“Check the ball,” Trevor said with a smile.

With a nod, Cole tossed it at him.

With a quick dribble, Trevor glanced right, feinted left—then shot right, cutting past Cole’s guard with a gleeful whoop. He arced the ball, and it slammed through the rusted hoop with a clean, satisfying clang-clink.

Trevor turned, beaming with pride.

“Boom!”

Cole huffed a laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. “Show-off.”

Jogging backward, arms wide in celebration, Trevor’s grin curved—cocky and golden. “Then stop letting me win.”

The sun beat down, golden and sticky. Somewhere nearby, a sprinkler hissed to life. A bird called. The world was warm. Welcoming. Safe.

A butterfly, fluttering between them, caught Cole’s attention—its wings painted in delicate swirls of burnt orange and midnight blue, like a sunset trapped in motion—pulling his gaze away from Trevor.

In its gentle flutter, a crash of thunder.

The usual hum of campus—the distant buzz of cars, the laughter from dorm balconies—was gone.

Cole’s chest rose and fell faster.

He looked toward Trevor, still standing near the hoop—silent and eerily still.

“Trev?” He stepped forward.

No response.

A gust of wind kicked up—but it was cold. Biting. Wrong.

It tasted like metal and antiseptic.

Trevor cocked his head to the side. The motion was strained. Unnatural. Like his neck bent wrong—broken.

“Trevor?” Cole asked again.

Trevor’s lips slithered into a sinister smile as the light in his eyes was swallowed by darkness.

“Cole?” he heard Trevor’s voice—though his mouth hadn’t moved.

It was layered and echoing, crackling at the edges like a struggling radio signal.

“Trevor?” Cole repeated.

Silence.

But this time, Trevor’s jaw twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Then—with a sickening, wet pop—his mouth cracked open.

Bone creaked. Flesh ripped. His chin dropped low, dangling from his skull like a broken puppet.

From the cavern of his throat, something moved.

A flicker of ultraviolet shimmer—then they began to spill out.

Spiders.

They were the size of silver dollars, their limbs jointed like shards of glass, each one clicking against the blacktop with a sound like shattered crystal. Their bodies pulsed with an eerie, bioluminescent glow—veins of ultraviolet light flickering beneath translucent exoskeletons.

Some had too many legs.

Some had too many eyes.

Some had none at all.

They scuttled from Trevor’s mouth in a cluster of chaos—like he was nothing more than a cracked shell they’d outgrown.

Cole stumbled back.

One of them turned toward him, clicking and clacking with static. Its many legs folded inward, refracting the sunlight into beams of color that twisted on the court like oil in water.

Trevor’s eyes rolled back.

His body jerked once, then froze again—mouth still hanging open, leaking light like saliva—viscous and glittering.

Trevor!” Cole shouted as every single one of the spiders skittered straight for him.

They moved like lightning—glass-limbed, ultraviolet nightmares, rushing across the cracked court in a perfect, horrifying wave, hitting him in an instant.

First one. Then dozens. Then hundreds.

Clattering legs scraped against his shins, his arms, his throat. Their bodies were cold—unreasonably cold—like polished stone left out under a winter moon. They crawled with purpose, moving not randomly but in patterns—spiraling, nesting, testing. He felt the sharp tickle of one tracing the curve of his jaw. Another hooked itself to the dip of his collarbone. A third wedged between his ribs, then inched downward.

Cole screamed.

He slapped at his skin but they were too fast. They slipped between his fingers like liquid crystal, their hard little feet clicking across bone, leaving behind trails of something slick and glowing. One crawled into his ear. Another vanished behind his knee. One reached his mouth and paused there—legs trembling—before beginning to pry it open.

His body convulsed, but not all of it felt like his.

It was like being unzipped from the inside.

Every nerve screamed. His skin pulsed with phantom weight, the itch of invasion, the sensation of something choosing to live inside him.

Cole jolted awake with a ragged, broken gasp.

He sat up violently, eyes wide in the moonlit room, hands swatting, scraping, brushing at his bare chest, his arms, his neck. His breath came in shallow, panicked bursts, chest heaving as if he were still being suffocated by their bodies.

The silk sheets twisted beneath him. Trevor lay sound asleep beside him, undisturbed. The shadows—sensing his panic— coiled around Trevor’s body like a cocoon, ensuring nothing undisturbed and impenetrable protection.

But Cole couldn’t stop.

His fingers clawed at his skin—searching for phantom legs, invisible shapes, anything to prove the feeling was gone.

It wasn’t.

Even now—awake, upright, sweating and gasping—he could still feel them.

Crawling.

Inside.

Just under the surface.

Walking to the bathroom, he tried to still his breathing.

Turning on the light, he felt the shadows scurry away from the mirror.

A flicker caught his attention and his eyes fell onto the glass.

For just a second—only a fraction of a breath—

A reflection.

Not Cole.

Not MoonShadow.

Black.

Depthless.

Devouring.

Turning, Cole’s eyes focused on himself.

His lungs seized.

The room contracted around him, walls pressing inward, shadows writhing like snakes against the ceiling.

His reflection shifted, smirking.

“Kaguya.” It said.

“Kag-”

The skin of his reflection cracked. Deep fissures split across his face, glowing like embers beneath charred wood, the heat searing through as if something inside him was burning to escape. His eyes—once sharp and commanding—boiled into liquid gold, spilling down his cheeks in molten streams. The flesh beneath bubbled, blistered, then sloughed away, revealing nothing but a hollow, gaping void where his face had been.

Shivering, Cole gasped.

Once again, he was laying in his bed. He felt Trevor stir beside him.

“Cole?” he asked softly. “Are you okay”

“Yeah,” He whispered. “Bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He felt Trevor shift, Turning for the nightstand.

“No.” He replied before he could turn on the light. “No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah?” Cole lied, brushing his hand through his hair. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Trevor rolled back toward him.

But even as he settled, the warmth of his breath breaking against him, grounding him in their back reality, Cole refused to close his eyes. He stared at the ceiling.

CHAPTER ONE: Prisoner

The interrogation room was stark and utilitarian.

A single metal table occupied the center of the space, its surface scratched and dented. There were three chairs. Two of them were on opposite sides of the table, their thin padding offering little relief against the rigid frames. The third, at the head of the table, farthest from the door, had no padding at all.

That is where the officers had instructed Cole to sit. His breathing shallow, his mind racing. His head was bowed, resting on his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

They were surrounded by drab, gray walls, only broken up by a large mirror on the right. He’d seen enough procedurals to know on the other side was another room - and they were probably being watched.

Overhead, a fluorescent light hummed and pulsed with a harsh clinical glow.

“What the hell is taking her so long?” Trevor paced back and forth across the small room. His jaw clenched, his eyes dark, and his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“She’ll be here.” Cole spoke into the table, the taste of metal reflecting back into his dry mouth. “It’s only been half an hour.”

“I know.” Trevor groaned. “She should have been here twenty minutes ago!”

“Trevor.”

Cole shifted upright, his voice low but firm. “Sit down. The guards only let you in here because of your sister. Now chill… or I’ll ask them to remove you.”

Trevor stopped in his tracks, frustrated.

Cole’s glasses were fogged, and Trevor might’ve laughed at the cuteness of it—any other time. But not now. Not with the knot tightening in his chest. Instead, he gave in and sat down.

“I’m sorry.”

Trevor sat. The moment he hit the seat, the door opened, and Priya stepped in. She wasn’t her normal pristine, put together self. She was pretty, in a pink dress, but tired. Frazzled.

It looked like she’d been out on a date.

An issue of The Daily Wave was tucked under her arm. Cole’s eyes caught the Headline. ANOTHER TEEN MISSING, FAMILY FEARS THE WORST. Below it was the image of a young man with shaggy blonde hair. Handsome. Happy. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

“It’s about time.” Trevor huffed.

“I was with Channing on the other side of the city.” She stated, keeping her eyes focused on Cole, she pulled out the empty chair on his left, flipping it around so she could sit backward.

Pretty in pink, but still a boss.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just ready to figure out what the hell is going on so we can go home.”

“Good,” Priya’s lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced briefly at the two-way mirror before turning back to him. “I’ve been going through everything. We’ll handle this. I promise.”

“What’s taking so long?” Trevor asked impatiently.

“There was,” she sighed, “a complication.”

“What kind of complication?” Trevor cocked his eyebrow.

She gave him a quick glance before returning her eyes to Cole. “I need you to be honest with me right now Cole. Okay?”

Confused, the color drained from Cole’s face. “I’d never lie to you Priya. Ever”

Looking to her brother, she took a slow breath. “You too - and keep your answers short and to the point. I don’t need any of your regular Punky Brewster bullshit tonight. Got it?”

Trevor and Cole looked at one another in confusion.

“Priya,” Trevor swallowed hard. “What’s going on?”

She leaned forward, her eyes locking on Cole. “How long have you known you’ve been living in this country illegally?”

“What?!” Trevor gasped in disbelief.

His eyes darted between Priya and Trevor. “What?” he repeated, softer this time—barely a whisper. “No. That’s not true.”

Trevor jolted upright in his chair, eyes wide. “That’s ridiculous! He’s lived here his whole life!”

“Trevor—” Priya began softly.

“He’s a goddamn pilot with the PCAF!” Trevor continued.

Priya sighed.

“Well, unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he’s a citizen.”

Trevor opened his mouth, ready to fight—but one look at Cole stopped him. The sadness. The confusion. The fear.

Trevor closed his mouth.

Still dazed, Cole slumped back in his chair. “What the fuck?” The words slipped out like a slow leak of disbelief.

“I’m serious, Cole,” she pressed. “There’s no record of your citizenship and your visa expired over a decade ago. As far as the system is concerned, you’ve been here illegally since you were fifteen.”

“That… that doesn’t make any sense. I—I thought I was a citizen…” he stammered. “My Mom… She said…” His voice trailed. “This…”

He swallowed again. Confusion swelled. His mind was spinning. His vision was starting to blur.

“…doesn’t make any sense.”

Trevor’s fists slammed against the table. “This has to be some kind of mistake, Priyanka!”

“I wish it was,” she remained sharp. “But I triple-checked everything before coming in here, and…”—she took a slow breath— “there’s more.”

Cole and Trevor shared a nervous breath.

“Effective immediately, the PCAF has suspended you from duty. Pending resolution of your immigration status.”

Cole’s jaw clenched. “I’m grounded?”

“For now.” She nodded, sadly. “They’re calling it protocol—but between us? They’re covering their asses”—she sighed—“just in case.”

Trevor took Cole’s hand, looking to his sister. “What do we do now?”

“You get a damn good lawyer,” a bright voice spoke from the entrance of the interrogation room.

Looking up, they saw a full-figured woman in a tailored black suit with a pale pink blouse as she stepped into the room.

Trevor recognized her immediately from photos he’d seen on Priya’s phone.

“Cole, this is a friend of mine.”

“Brook Bingum” she introduced herself with a smile, setting a leather briefcase on the other end of the table. Her voice was warm and upbeat.

“She’s one of the top attorneys at Zbornak, Nylund, and Devereaux.” Priya continued before Trevor had a chance to vocalize his realization.

“No,” Brooke corrected proudly. “I am THE top attorney.”

“Okay, Top Attorney”—Cole looked at her with pleading eyes—“What’s the plan?”

“First, we’re getting you out of here.”

She looked at Priya. “Actually, could you please go check on his release paperwork?”

“Yeah.” She stood. “One sec.”

“Second,” Brooke brushed her hair back as Priya stepped toward the door, “the Brindle issue. Over.”

Trevor sighed in relief.

“Exactly,” Brooke quipped. “His claim is so thin it’s practically see-through.”

She cocked her eyebrow.

“Especially since there is video evidence showing he threw the first punch.

Turns out, he’s infamous around the complex for being, well, to be honest, a big fat friggin’ jackass.”

She offered a wry smile before continuing.

“Third, we’ll be suing him for defamation, discrimination, and assault.”

Cole sighed in relief. “Thank, Fuck.”

“And the whole illegal alien thing?” Trevor gestured wildly.

“I’m getting there, Sweetie.” Brooke smiled.

“Trevor.” Cole’s voice was quiet but firm. “Let her talk,” he took his hand, squeezing softly. “Please.”

“It’s okay. He’s your fiancé. He loves you and he’s worried.” She looked back at Trevor. “We’re going to need that later.”

“Later?” Cole echoed.

“At your immigration hearing.”

“Hearing?!?” They both gasped in unison.

“Are they going to try to deport him?!?” Trevor cried.

“No, no, no,” Brooke shook her head quickly, her pale cheeks flushing with color. “Sweetie, no. Nobody’s deporting anyone. Not on my watch.”

Trevor squeezed Cole’s hand.

“We’ve got options, okay?” Her voice stayed purposefully peppy. “The first step is filing for an adjustment of status. Given the circumstances, we’ll argue for leniency. Cole, you have a spotless record. That works for us.”

Priya re-entered the room, holding a piece of paper. She held it out to Cole. “You’re clear to go.”

Reaching into her purse, Brooke handed them a business card. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll get started.”

Looking at one another, both Trevor and Cole nodded.

“We’ll call,” Cole said, his voice steady. Standing, he stepped forward to shake Brooke’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank me when we win this case.” She winked.

Turning to Trevor, he ran his hand over his back. “I need to use the rest room. Meet me outside?”

“Okay.”

As Cole stepped out of the room, Brook walked up to Trevor. “Love your work. I never miss an issue of The Wave.”

She glanced toward the issue sitting on the table in front of them. Trevor pulled the article closer. He’d written the piece weeks earlier.

“The human trafficking story you wrote.” Brooke almost-gushed. “Riveting.”

“Thank you.” Trevor’s voice softened at the compliment.

“Careful,” Priya stepped up to them. “You’ll give him a big head. Well…”—she shrugged—“bigger anyway.”

“Stop.” Brooke giggled. Jetting a hip towards her.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Trevor smiled.

“You too.” Brooke nodded. “I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Same.”

“Listen,” she leaned closer, rolling her eyes. “Situations like this happen more than people realize. It’s a mess, and the commander-in-hate of the United States seems to only be perpetuating dangerous stereotypes.”

“I know,” Trevor sighed.

“If only a well-respected reporter helped bring cases like this to light? Things might change.”

Trevor smirked in understanding.

She smiled warmly, tilting her head. “You have a way of making people care about things they’d rather ignore. Think about it.” Brooke nodded, lifting her briefcase, winking at Priya as she walked out of the room.

Priya crossed her arms, her tone shifting back to its stern edge. “Listen, we need to talk, but not here. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll be over first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Alright.”

“It’s going to be okay.” She hugged him.

“I hope so, Priya. I hope so.”

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

Stepping off the elevator, Cole led the way to their apartment. The familiar space felt oddly foreign. Reaching into his pocket, he turned to Trevor. “I don’t have my keys.”

“Right.” Still in a daze, Trevor pulled his own keys out of his pocket, handing them to Cole instead of opening the door himself.

Taking them, Cole unlocked the door.

Walking inside, Trevor reached for the dimmer switch, turning the knob just enough for the overhead lights to bathe the living area in a warm, muted glow. Slipping out of his shoes, he lifted his eyes to Cole.

“Are you okay?”

Still lost in thought, Cole trudged inside. He set his glasses down on the island counter, shrugged off his jacket, and tossed it over the back of the sofa before sinking into the cushions. Opening his arms, he glanced back at Trevor.

“Come here.”

Crossing the room, Trevor stepped up to the sofa. Before he could start to sit, Cole pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him with a tender tightness.

Over the years, Cole had become the perfect anchor for Trevor during emotional moments. But tonight, the roles were reversed. Cole might have been the one holding on, but it was Trevor who kept him still. Safe in this unexpected and unpredictable storm.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Trevor sighed after a moment of stillness. “How could your mother keep something like this from you?”

“I don’t know.” Cole shook his head.

“Do you think it was because of your father?” Trevor asked slowly.

Cole shifted. Trevor knew he was uncomfortable.

“I know you said she was always so weary of anything to do with SuperMoon.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “Maybe initially. She didn’t want me near him or The Powers when I was a kid. She felt lied to - and she was. He didn’t tell her who he was - what he was, or what I would become - before it was too late. He was an abomination as far as she was concerned.” He shivered. “I… was an abomination.”

The taste of the word as it slipped over his lips made him want to vomit.

“You’re not.” Trevor turned to face him. “You know that right.”

“Her feelings changed as I got older. And before she died, she told me that God”—he air quoted—“had made me exactly as he meant me to be. A hero.”

“But you still won’t join The Powers?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“If you did, this whole immigration thing would be a non-issue.”

“Not going to happen, Trevor.”

“So they’d know about me. So what? Big deal. I’m a grown-up. I can take care of mysel—”

“We’re not having this discussion.” Cole cut him off with a sharp, barking tone.

“Not tonight. I mean it.” He sighed. “Please”

Taking a beat, Trevor inhaled slowly. “Fine. I’m not going to press you about it.”

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Now, can you just let me hold you a little longer before we go to bed? Please?”

Nodding, Trevor nestled his head on Cole’s chest, as Cole set his chin on Trevor’s head.

“Do you want to talk about being grounded?”

Cole shifted beneath him, growling.

“Okay.” Trevor sighed. “Just,” he took a breath. “I’m here. I’ll listen.”

Wrapping his arms around him, Cole held him tighter. “I know, baby.” He gave him a quick kiss. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

After a few soft breaths of silence, a sharp, piercing, electric scream sliced through the night.

Cole’s body went rigid. It was a violent, visceral surge of agony - a mix of fire and ice surging through his veins and piercing through his brain like a gunshot.

“Son of a bitch!” He cried.

Pushing out of his embrace, Trevor leaped to his feet, turning to face him.

“Cole?” He asked nervously.

He was too busy groaning to answer.

“What is it?” Trevor asked nervously. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The Powers!” He forced the words out. “I’m being summoned… to Spectra!”

Standing, Cole ripped off his shirt, tossing it to the ground as he stepped toward the window.

Trevor watched as the shadows snaked around him, spinning his suit from the darkness.

Transforming him into MoonShadow.

“This is why I don’t give them full autonomy over me,” the spectral hero looked back at Trevor with narrowed eyes. His voice was deep and growling with anger. “Get some sleep,” he added, pulling open the window. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Trevor nodded. “Don’t worry…”

Before the words had even left his lips, MoonShadow was airborne.

White in the moonlight, black against the stars - he was almost invisible to the naked eye.

Lifting the Moonstone Pendant, Trevor brought its face to his lips, kissing it softly.

“…I’ll be fine,” he continued in a gentle whisper. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

With another sigh, Trevor headed toward the bedroom and the master bathroom. A hot shower was exactly what he needed.

LATER, THE EDGE OF SPECTRA

Gliding through the night, MoonShadow sped toward the center of the city. He could see the iridescent dome glistening in the distance, high above the cityscape, its surface a swirling aurora of colors, a protective barrier only Spectral beings could pass through.

The dome pulsed faintly as he approached, and a whisper of energy brushed against him as he passed through.

It felt like slipping out of the water of a pool or lake, into the warm summer night air.

Spectra was even more of a utopia than Prism City was designed to be. Gleaming towers of crystalline structures radiated with ethereal light. Floating bridges connected grand spires as the streets below bustled with activity. Families strolled together, children chased glowing orbs, and spectral beings of every kind mixed and mingled with one another in an air of perpetual happiness.

MoonShadow descended like a bolt of black lightning toward the edge of a grand balcony jetting out from Spectra’s crowning glory.

THE CITADEL

A towering structure of crystal and silver, it was a mix of ancient architecture and futuristic elegance. Its centerpiece was a crescent-shaped platform that jutted into the open air, offering a panoramic view of Spectra and the city beyond the dome.

As his boots tapped down on the polished surface of the balcony, a figure emerged. Tall, slender, and radiating with celestial warmth, her hair was like swirling strands of starlight, spinning around her slender frame in quiet elegance.

Solar Flare.

Second in command to The Powers, her suit, mostly silver, shimmered with accents of the constellations of a distant planet.

Stepping closer, he could see the worry in her eyes. Still, his emotions came first.

“Never do that again.” He spat through clenched teeth. “Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” she continued toward him. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t give a shit!” He growled. “Do NOT do it again.”

“Follow me,” she sighed. Turning on her heels, she led him through the grand halls of the Citadel, their footsteps echoing against vaulted walls lined with murals depicting past battles and the history of Spectral beings, their stories woven into the fabric of Prism City’s history, including the arrival of Empress Kagubi on Earth.

Stepping up to a pair of towering doors engraved with celestial patterns, she turned to him. “They’re waiting.”

Scowling, MoonShadow fought the urge to be snarky.

As Solar Flare pressed her hand against a pulsating rune, the doors slid open.

The chamber beyond was circular, its domed ceiling adorned with a map of the stars that seemed to move in real time.

At the center stood The Powers:

Solara, the leader. A statuesque woman of indeterminate age, with radiant brown skin and piercing golden eyes that pulsed with an inner light. Dressed in shimmering armor, she was crowned with a gleaming circlet of solar energy.

Magmantus, a towering muscular man with short black hair and dark almond-shaped eyes, was at her left. Dressed in a style that resembled a mix of medieval Asian culture and a punk rock band from the nineteen-seventies, his broad shoulders and steady gaze radiated a sincere but strange sort of calmness.

To her right, Pulse leaned casually against a glowing pillar. Tall and toned, his blue eyes glared at MoonShadow through a mop of blonde hair. The golden bolts racing across his suit sizzled as an irreverent smirk tugging at his lips.

Shimmering into existence, Synapse radiated a rhythmic, otherworldly light. Energy incarnate, he appeared as a floating sphere.

“MoonShadow,” he greeted, his voice laced with a soft hint of Spanish heritage. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Stepping forward, MoonShadow scanned the group, his eyes settling on Solara with narrowed urgency.

“Why am I here?”

“In about ten minutes, Celadon Heights will burst into flames,” she replied.

“The circuits are going haywire,” the sphere added with a shiver. “Something isn’t right.”

“Those flames will consume everything on Blackreach Island,” Magmantus added.

“Hundreds of lives will be lost,” Solara’s voice continued with a quiver. “We can’t let this happen.”

“You’re The Powers.” he tilted his head in confusion. “How is this my problem?”

Pulse rolled his eyes. “Because you’re the only one on this entire pathetic rock without a dampener on your lumen.”

“Dampener?” MoonShadow repeated in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Synapse pulsed. “Every Spectral is born with a genetic marker that acts as a luminary dampener that activates whenever we’re on Blackreach Island.”

MoonShadow was confused. “What?”

“A protective measure should any of us ever turn to the dark side,” Solara sighed.

“But I wasn’t?”

“You’re not a full Spectral.” Solara continued. “Your lumen is untethered.”

“Must be nice to not have a leash”—Pulse taunted—“huh, Ink Blot?”

“Was that supposed to be an insult, douchebag?”

“Call me douchebag one more time half-breed,” Pulse stepped forward.

“Call me half breed one more time douchebag and I’ll-”

“Okay, boys! Boys! Boys!” Synapse snapped. A whip of electricity sizzled between them. “We have bigger issues than who’s got the smallest penis.”

“The point is,” Solara chimed in. “If we go to the island, we’ll be vulnerable. We wouldn’t be able to help anyone - let alone keep ourselves safe from the criminals we put there.” She stepped toward him. “You, Moonshadow- will keep the full intensity of your lumen.”

“You said the fire hasn’t happened yet. Why not just call the fire department?”

“We did.” Solar Flare shook her head “They’ll save some…”

“But they’ll get there too late, to save everyone,” Synapse dimmed with sadness. “Something isn’t right.” He repeated.

“We need you,” Solara begged. “Please.”

“So you want me to play firefighter,” MoonShadow replied dryly. “Great. But I don’t have super speed. Even at my fastest, it’ll take me at least ten minutes to get there from here.”

“I can get you close,” Pulse offered. “I’ll take you to the water’s edge, but then you’re on your own.”

MoonShadow sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s do it.”

Walking up to him, Pulse grabbed onto his arm.

“Hold tight, Sweetheart,” he chuckled.

Before MoonShadow had time to even think up a response, Pulse’s power ignited, and the ground beneath them blurred in a streak of electric blue and scarlet red - pulling MoonShadow along like a phantom caught in a storm.

The world whipped past in a dizzying blur of color, and he barely had time to regain his faculties before they skidded to a stop on the edge of the beach, his feet still touching the water.

Pulse released him with a hard shove. Stepping back, he glanced around, his face twisting with a spackling of fear.“I can’t get any closer… or I won’t be able to activate my lumen.”

“Go on then,” MoonShadow waved him off. “Git.”

Turning, Pulse tried to run.

He reminded MoonShadow of a car sparking to life and then sputtering out.

“Damn it,” He coughed.

“What is it?”

“I’m already too close,” he groaned. “I can’t charge. Throw me back toward the city.”

“What?”

“Just fucking throw me already, Ink Blot. I’ll charge up before I hit the ground. I’ll be fine.”

Grinning wide, MoonShadow stepped closer.

“Well, I can’t say I won’t enjoy this,” he bent down, one hand on Pulse’s shoulder, the other on his calf.

The speedster groaned. “Just do it.”

With a gleeful laugh, MoonShadow heaved Pulse into the air like a frisbee, sending him spinning toward the city.

“Fuck you, Sparky!” He saluted as he turned back to the island.

CHAPTER TWO: Fever

Standing at the east tower, two guards stood on watch.

Morgan Andrews, a muscular man with a shaggy hair and an anchor tattoo peeking from beneath his collar, cracked his neck with a groan. “Fuck, this night is slow. I can’t wait to get off.”

His partner, Eli Garcia, a shorter man - lanky with dark hair constantly falling into his eyes—leaned lazily on his baton. “Tell me about it.” His eyes drifted toward the building. It reminded him of a fortress of a villain in the fairytales his mother read to him as a child. After a pause, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Hey… you think those stories about the east-wing experiments are true?”

Morgan let out a dry scoff, waving him off. “Urban legend bullshit. You really think a place like this would risk that kind of bad PR?”

Eli smirked. “All publicity is good publicity.”

“Right,” he snorted. “But no.”

A soft rustle in the air caused them both to look up.

MoonShadow descended between them, landing like a figure straight out of the pages of a comic book.

“Shit!” Morgan cried.

Eli’s eyes widened at the sight, but he was too scared to speak.

Standing, MoonShadow’s cape drifted off of him, its starlight shimmer contrasting with the deep black of a suit that seemed to absorb the light around them.

Taking a breath, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Sp…Sp… Spectrals—” Eli stammered before he got the chance. “You’re… you’re…. You’re not supposed to be able to use your powers here ho—”

“There’s no time,” MoonShadow cut him off. “Start evacuation procedures. Now.”

Morgan and Eli glanced at one another in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s going to be a fire,” MoonShadow stated sternly.

“A fire?” Morgan asked. “Where?”

“Here.”

Eli looked toward the asylum. “There’s no fire, bro.”

“It hasn’t started yet, Numbnuts,” he rolled his eyes. “But in about ten minutes-”

A muffled boom echoed from the east wing as if on cue, followed by a sharp burst of light. Flames erupted, licking hungrily at the windows, their glow painting the guards’ stunned faces.

“What the fuck?” MoonShadow turned in disbelief. “I was supposed to have more time.”

Both guards stared at him with stunned silence.

“Move!” He barked, leaping into the air toward the asylum. “Now!”

Scrambling into action, they shouted orders into their radios.

Inside, the acrid stench of burning plastic and bodily fluids fused with smoke and chemicals. If he didn’t extinguish the flames soon, the entire island would erupt into a hellscape that Satan himself would flee from.

The overhead lights buzzed like angry wasps, casting sporadic shadows that skittered over the cracked, damp walls, whose peeling wallpaper clung to them like pieces of diseased skin. “Christ on a Crutch!” he sneered. “This place is vile! People actually live in this dump?”

Shadows twisted around him - alive, restless, and responding to his frustration.

“Find the source!” he ordered. “Keep the flames from getting any worse.”

Snapping into motion, they slithered into the darkness.

Turning, his foot caught on a patch of warped linoleum. Quickening his pace to keep from falling, MoonShadow finally steadied himself, skidding to a stop at the sight of a cluster of people huddled together in the corner of what was probably a recreation room.

Two orderlies were shouting instructions at inmates, trying to get them to move their soot-covered bodies away from the flames.

“Yo!” he shouted. “This way!”

Confused by the sight of a suited Spectral, they hesitated.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” His tone was sharp and final - leaving no room for argument. “Get the fuck out of here! Now!”

The orderlies ushered toward him.

The younger of the two, a white man with a military haircut, was clearly petrified.

“Aaron,” the other, a black woman with graying curls, patted his arm. “C’mon, honey. Let’s go.”

Together, they began to lead the inmates toward MoonShadow.

“This exit is clear,” he pointed. “Just keep straight.”

“Go on, baby,” she patted Aaron’s back, breaking the line to step toward MoonShadow.

“The basement.” She whispered, looking at him with worry-filled eyes. “I heard it’s where the worst of them are kept.”

“I’ll check it out. Go”

“Thank you, MoonShadow.” She patted his shoulder. “You’re one of the good ones.”

Turning away from her, he rushed toward the blaze. Lifting his cape, he pressed it over his mouth like a filter woven from the cosmos.

Stepping deeper into the darkness, his body began to perspire.

“Here to extinguish me?” a deep voice reverberated around him, taunting and distorted by the roar of the flames.

MoonShadow puffed out his chest. “Who are you?”

“I am the devourer of cities…” a deep roar echoed. “The scourge of forests… I buried Pompeii! I burned Alexandria to the ground! I am the unquenchable flame…”

A terrifying figure emerged from around the corner - churning with fire, shifting and writhing like lava. Smoke coiled around it with every movement, and its eyes, two smoldering embers, burned with glaring intensity.

MoonShadow blinked. He’d never seen anything like it before.

“I…AM… CINDERWRAITH!” The living nightmare roared. “Welcome to my fiery furnace!”

MoonShadow stared, sweat dripping down his temples, his chest heaving as the shadows struggled under the growing brightness of the firelight.

Biting down hard, he fought the rising laughter, but a snort slipped free.

Cinderwraith’s eyes popped in annoyance.

Another chuckle escaped.

“Wh…What are you doing?!?” Cinderwraith stammered in confusion.

Finally, a laugh broke loose, and MoonShadow doubled over as he struggled to compose himself.

“I’m sorry!” He gasped between already staggering breaths, “I’m so…sorry…but… Cinderwraith?”

He laughed again.

“Really? That’s… the name… you went with?”

The flames around the hell beast burst dangerously, its body churning with fury.

“You DARE to mock me?!?”

Straightening, MoonShadow wiped a burning tear from his eye. “Don’t get me wrong…” he still struggled to control his laughter. “You’re terrifying. Absolutely fucking terrifying. But seriously…”he chuckled, again. “Dude…”

“Nobody mocks me!” Cinderwraith cried, and a wave of heat shot out.

MoonShadow reacted on instinct, wrapping his cape around himself in a protective barrier as the searing energy surged toward him.

“Nice trick,” he coughed.

His mouth was getting dryer.

“But I’ve put out bigger bullies than you before—and they had way cooler names!”

Sparks rained down, exploding like cherry bombs as they burst in the air around him.

MoonShadow dodged and weaved, but with every strike, as more and more oxygen depleted from the air, so did his energy.

Diving behind a collapsing beam, he pushed his sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead. “See!” he shouted. “You’re fucking terrifying!”

“I’ve only just begun!” Cinderwraith howled.

His mind raced as the shadows surrounded the villain, searching for a weakness.

“You should have a way better name, bro!” He cried. “Like Pyro or Wildfire or something.”He gasped. “Anything.”

The creature groaned.

“Cinderwraith makes you sound like a little servant girl waiting for your fairy godmother to come and fix all your problems.”

He felt a shimmer through the shadows. A dense core of scalding energy bubbled at the beast’s center.

Relief flowed through him.

“So you found my power source.” Cinderwraith stomped at the shadows with its foot, sizzling them into oblivion. “And how do you think you’ll be able to extinguish me?!?” He roared. “Shadows can’t hurt me! I burn too bright!”

“Right,” MoonShadow’s eyes fell on a firehose on the wall. “But that might.”

Rushing toward it, he crashed into the protective glass, shattering it with his elbow. Ripping out the hose, he aimed, and pulled the switch to release the water.

Nothing happened.

Shit.

Laughing mockingly, Cinderwraith clapped two incredibly large hands together, sending a wave of energy rippling toward him.

Pushed back, smoke seared into MoonShadow’s lungs as Cinderwraith started to pull every molecule of oxygen from his body.

“I’ll burn everything you love into dust!”

Staggering, his chest heaved as the flames swirled around him. Every breath felt like he was inhaling red-hot embers. His vision swam dizzily through shades of gray as darkness crept closer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” The deep voice of the monster’s voice echoed around him. “The blistering of your lungs. The discharge of my power devouring each breath you try to take.”

“Gross,” MoonShadow choked out as he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. His vision swam, the edges darkening as his shadows withered. “Not a good enough reason to use the word discharge.”

Through the haze, a faint silver glow caught his eye.

Moonlight.

Shimmering through a high window, it cut through the smoke like a lifeline.

He crawled toward it, every muscle screaming in protest, as the heat threatened to crush him.

A ribbon of fire wrapped around his neck, jerking him back.

Smoke stung his eyes and splashed into his lungs, and he could feel the shadows struggling, curling back like burned paper.

“You see?!?” Cinderwraith’s laughter rumbled around him. “Your shadows are impotent before me!”

Groaning, MoonShadow pulled at the noose of fire.

“Still think my name is stupid?”

“I didn’t say it was stupid.”—he choked as the heat seared his neck—“I said it was fucking stupid.”

He pulled.

“And nothing about me is impotent you fuck!”

His eyes flaring, Cinderwraith screamed. Jerking him back into the smoke.

A piercing wave of light shot through smoke, cutting across the burning corridors.

Moonlight.

But he didn’t see another source.

Pulsing wet, the flames flickered. Recoiling.

“What’s that?” Cinderwraith jerked in the direction of the light. “Who’s there?”

Its attention diverted; MoonShadow was able to claw toward the beam of light through the window. The shadowed glove of his left hand retracted, revealing his fingers, allowing them to brush through the ghostly glow. A cool and calming radiance surged through him like quick silver, extinguishing the inferno’s grip on his body. His lungs expanded, and the scorching pain faded into an invigorating chill.

Another wave of light surged toward Cinderwraith, spiraling through the air like a bullet. Splashing against the core, the liquid light doused the flame. Extinguishing it.

Falling to the ground, the creature coughed.Revitalized, MoonShadow leaped to his feet. Snapping back, the shadows swirled around him with renewed strength, healing him and patching his suit.

“Looks like your pilot light just went out” he exhaled, his voice laced with newfound confidence.

“You think this is over?” Cinderwraith rasped. “I am eternal… a phoenix that cannot be snuffed out…”

Taking a beat to think, MoonShadow shrugged. “See, Phoenix would have been a sick name, bro.”

“I’m not… your bro.”

With a powerful wave of his hand, the shadows surged, striking the weakened core like a tidal wave. The molten monster let out a guttural roar as the shadows and the lingering moonlight entwined, smothering the last embers in an explosive hiss of steam.

Cinderwraith was gone.

In the distance, he could hear the sirens of the fire trucks.

“It’s out!” A deep voice shouted with a slight accent. “Get to the basement!”

“Who’s there?!” MoonShadow spun toward the sound of the voice.

All he saw was the haze left by the flash of light in the smoke.

“Basement!” The voice shouted again.

MoonShadow remembered the words of the gray-haired orderly.

“It’s where the worst of them are kept.”

Taking another step into the moonbeam, MoonShadow inhaled, standing still to ensure he was thoroughly cleansed and ready for whatever fresh hell was waiting for him on the floor below.

MOMENTS LATER

Descending over the creaking stairs, shadows rippled across his face, weaving a mask with thermal-vision lenses.

Softly, the world illuminated into focus with a hazy grayscale view of the corridor. Shapes emerged—splintered beams, overturned crates, and scorch marks etched into the walls.

“Is anyone alive down here?!?” he called out. “I’m here to help.”

Reaching the last step, he saw a door. Pulling it open, he smelled it.

The unmistakable stench of death.

Then he saw the bodies.

They were sprawled across the floor, some slumped against the walls, others piled carelessly in corners. Their skin was pale and waxy, dark, empty holes where their eyes used to be. They hadn’t died in the blaze. They’d been here for days, maybe longer.

MoonShadow knelt beside the corpse of a man with a lean build and shaggy blonde hair. Brushing his gloved fingers against the cold, rigid skin, he noticed deep bruises encircling his wrists and ankles.

Restraints.

The faint traces of puncture wounds dotted his arms, and the veins beneath his skin were blackened as if something toxic had coursed through them.

Drugs.

Rising to his feet, MoonShadow took advantage of the darkness, probing for any sign of movement.

He felt nothing.

“The far wall is fake,” the voice from upstairs said from behind him.

MoonShadow spun.

His lenses surged, picking up only a humanoid shape glowing with spectral light.

“What the—” He shielded his eyes instinctively against the brightness. “Who the hell are you?”

“This place wasn’t just a prison,” the voice continued, calm and resonant.

“No shit,” MoonShadow lowered his hand to squint at the glowing figure.

“Third row.” The voice continued. “Fifth brick from the left. Press it, and the latch will release. There’s a hidden room. Hurry. You’re running out of time.”

“Who. Are. You!” MoonShadow demanded again, his voice sharper.

“Hello?” A distant voice echoed, the sound of an EMS worker calling out. “Anyone there?”

“Get the file on the desk in that room.” The figure ordered. “Do not hand it over to The Powers. Don’t even let them know you have it.”

“Dude”—MoonShadow started—“What? Who-”

“I’ll distract them.” The voice cut him off. “Go! Now!”

Before he could respond, the light vanished. His vision cleared, and the room was still again, save for the flicker of his shimmering cape against the walls.

With a growl of frustration, he turned to the wall and followed the figure’s instructions. His fingers pressed the fifth brick from the left on the third row.

A click. A pull. A whirling rumble. The wall slid open.

Chillingly sterile, it was bathed in a series of stark overhead lights that washed over the space - erasing the comforting shadows he relied on. Without them to ground him, the room felt unnervingly exposed, every cold, colorless detail laid bare under the blinding brightness.

A desk in the corner drew his attention. Stepping closer, MoonShadow’s eyes landed on a stack of documents and folders, TOP SECRET stamped on every one of them. Below it, the words PROJECT ECLIPSE stood out ominously. Reaching over, he swept up the papers, along with a laptop, a thumb drive, and a sealed manila envelope.

“Hello?” The voice of another EMS worker - a woman - called out. “Is anyone down…”

A brief pause.

“Shit!” He heard her scream.

She found the bodies.

Reaching up, he shattered one of the lights with a swift strike of his fist. Darkness spilled into the room, shadows stretching and twisting in the absence of the harsh glare. Tapping the Crescent Moon Shaped clasp of his cape, he pulled the darkness closer. Stepping into its embrace, he dissolved into the void, vanishing from sight.

The portal led to a single destination—the mirror in the bedroom he shared with Trevor in the loft.

A lifeline to safety, if he ever needed it.

It was the only gift he had ever received from his father.

LATER, THE CITADEL

Standing before The Powers, MoonShadow took a slow breath. “The fire was set deliberately.”

“We know,” Solara lowered her eyes with a sorrowful sigh.

“You knew?” He scowled, irritation flashing in his voice. “Did you know about the volcano monster, too? I thought you said Spectrals would have their powers dampened at Celadon.”

“They do.” Solara’s voice was resolute.

“Then what the fuck was that?”

Magmantus sighed. “An abomination-”

MoonShadow shivered at the word.

“- Created by Doctor Aidan Brandt,” Solara finished.

“Who the fuck is that and what does he have to do with a Spectral having powers in a place they’re not supposed to?”

“That’s Classified,” Pulse snarled. “Powers only.”

“Listen, I just did you a solid and saved your asses!” MoonShadow spat back. “I deserve to know.”

“Powers. Only.” Pulse repeated.

“Then next time, handle your own fucking-”

“Enough!” Solara sighed. Her soft voice booming through them.

“He should know.” She softened, exchanging quick glances with Pulse and Magmantus. “It may affect him too.”

“Know what?” Cole pressed

“I fear Dr. Brandt had been experimenting on Spectrals.” She revealed.

MoonShadow shivered as memories of middle-school history lessons sped through his mind. Stories of Nazi’s using Spectral beings as guinea pigs in an attempt to weaponize them to turn the tide of the war.

They were the reason sanctuaries like Spectra were created in the first place.

“Hopefully…” Solara exhaled, “his research was destroyed in the fire and this mess has finally come to an end.”

Get the file on the desk in that room, MoonShadow recalled the voice. Do not hand it over to The Powers. Don’t even let them know you have it.

He’d left everything sitting on the island counter in the kitchen before flying back to the Citadel.

“How long has this been going on?” MoonShadow asked.

“We don’t know,” Synapse glistened.

Flashes of the young man’s body flipped through his mind, colliding with the memory of the newspaper Priya was holding in the interrogation room earlier.

Then it hit him.

It was the same kid.

“The Spectral kids who have gone missing. It was him, wasn’t it? This doctor whoever?”

Solara’s eyes glistened with sadness. “It’s one of the reasons we are asking Spectrals, all over the world, to move into the safety of their domes.”

“Did you see anything else?” Pulse inquired with genuine curiosity.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You did good tonight, MoonShadow.” Solara reached out, touching his shoulder. “Everything on Blackreach Island would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

“All of this could have been avoided if our greatest heroes weren’t born with a laughably idiotic weakness.”

“We don’t think of it as a weakness,” Solara’s face brightened with a gentle smile. “We think of it as a way to keep ourselves on the path of righteousness. Still, I thank you for your help.”

“Don’t thank me.”

He turned his attention to Synapse.

“And don’t ever call me like that again. Got it?”

“If I had your phone number, it’d be easier.” Synapse flickered softly.

“Fat chance, Light Bulb.”

“If you stayed,” Solara squeezed his shoulder gently. “We wouldn’t have to call you.”

“Fat chance on that too,” he paused, nodding respectfully. “Ma’am.”

“Your strength, your resolve—they belong here, MoonShadow.” There was a hint of pride in Magmantus’ deep voice.

“Life with The Powers?” He shook his head. “Not a sitcom I’d wanna watch. Sorry.”

“Why not?” Pulse smirked. “Got a little someone waiting for you back home?”

“None of your business,” MoonShadow warned.

He ignored him.

“A sweet little wifey who keeps the cape ironed and the boots polished?”

“None of your business,” MoonShadow repeated, resisting the urge to lunge forward and punch him in his smug face.

“Just like keeping my private life private.” He cleared his throat. “That’s all.”

“If you ever change your mind,” Solara finally removed her hand from his shoulder. “You’ll have a home in Spectra. The doors of the Citadel will always be open to you.”

“Thank you.” MoonShadow nodded again. “But I’m sorry. I’m not going to change my mind. Ever.”

Solara took a slow breath. “We understand.”

“Look.” Moon Shadow’s eyes washed over the lot of them. “I’ll help where and when I can”—he glanced toward Synapse—“On my own terms, but I don’t want to join The Super Squad.”

Lifting into the air, he glided out of the Citadel and through the protective barrier of Spectra into the night.

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

MoonShadow glided silently through the open window of the condo, the faint shimmer of his cape trailing behind him before dissolving into the night as his bare feet touched down onto the warmth of the hardwood floor.

Dripping off of him, the shadows evaporated, leaving him pale and bare in the cool night air.

Crossing the living room, his mind replayed the events of the night in a relentless loop: The Party. The Police Station. His mother.

Pushing open the bathroom door, he stepped up to the toilet, one hand bracing against the wall as he started to relieve himself. The steady stream hitting the water in the bowl was oddly soothing. As mundane as it was, the sensation was a quiet reminder that, despite everything, he was still just a man - still human. At least… half of him was.

Once finished, he got into the shower. Turning the nob, a cascade of cold water slicked through his hair, pouring down over the rest of his tired body.

Exhaling deeply, he stood still, hoping his mind would do the same as the water warmed - but it refused to settle.

The Powers. The fire. Project Eclipse. Trevor.

He focused on Trevor.

The fierceness of his fiancé. His willingness to take on anyone he thought might hurt him - as Cole, not MoonShadow - even though he knew he was still invincible, was sweet, romantic, and damn right comical.

Trevor was five foot seven inches of chaotic fury, and Cole loved him for it.

Once clean, he turned off the water, reached for the towel hanging on the door, and dried himself off. Walking naked out of the bathroom, the soft rhythm of Trevor’s breathing greeted him as he entered their bedroom.

Curled on his side, face toward the window, his wild red hair caught the light like wildfire. Sliding into bed, Cole wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him close.

Trevor shifted but remained asleep.

Brushing his lips against the nape of his neck, Cole took in his scent.

For now, this was everything he could ever want - or need.

Finally, his mind started to slow, allowing him to fall asleep.

CHAPTER THREE: Physical

In the sunroom of her grandiose mansion, The Grand Duchess Giselle de Barbarac was glued to her television. The images of Celadon Heights ravaged by fire were too delicious to turn away from.

“Prisoners and staff are mourning the loss of Dr. Aidan Brandt, a cherished member of Celadon Heights medical staff,” the voice of Karli Hall was heard before the peppy blonde appeared on the screen. “Dr. Brandt is being remembered as a hero, and miraculous - though tragic - the sole casualty of a devastating accident, sacrificing his own life to save as many patients as he could during the chaos.”

The Grand Duchess giggled.

“Oh, get a nose job!” She rolled her eyes. “Twat.”

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

In the quiet serenity of their bedroom, Trevor was the first to stir from slumber. Instinctively, even before he opened his eyes, he reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against the warmth of Cole’s chest, toying with the faint dusting of hair that softened the hard muscle beneath, the contrast grounding him in the quiet moment.

He blinked awake, his green eyes narrowing as he focused on the man beside him.

“You’re back,” he shifted, his voice soft with sleep but edged with frustration.

“I’d never let you sleep alone,” Cole’s lips curled faintly though his eyes remained closed.

Trevor sat up abruptly, the sheet pooling around his waist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cole yawned, finally opening his eyes.

He reached for Trevor’s hand, lifting it to his lips for a kiss.

“What happened?” Trevor asked, brushing his unkempt hair out of his face.

Sitting up, Cole leaned against the headboard. “There was a fire on BlackReach Island.”

“Celadon Heights?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Why did The Powers need you?”

“Apparently, Spectrals are born with some genetic dampener that dims their lumen whenever they get near the island. So they’d have no power there.”

“Well, that’s fucking stupid,” Trevor scowled.

“That’s what I said.” Cole yawned. “Solara says it keeps them on the path of righteousness or some bullshit like that… I don’t remember. It’s stupid. I guess being the only Spectral-human hybrid, I wasn’t born with the dampener.”

“Okay…?”

“So they called me to take care of it.”

“The fire.”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re not one of them, but they can still call you whenever they want and pull you into their drama?”

“No.” He shook his head. “They promised not to do that again. This was just… a special case.”

“Good.” Trevor nodded.

“But?”

“But? But what?”

“I’m still waking up.” Cole yawned again. “But I know there’s a but coming.”

“Fine.” Trevor sighed. “You were detained last night. Representatives of our government are actively trying to deport you and you still raced off to help The Powers - who you claim to despise - without a second thought.”

“People were going to die, Trevor. What else could I do?”

“You?” Trevor smiled. “Nothing. There was nothing else you would have done.” He cupped Cole’s face in his hands. “You are an incredibly brave and wonderful man.”

Leaning in, he kissed him.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Wonderful, huh?” Cole repeated, breathing the words into the mouth of his fiancé.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Can Wonderful Man get a blow job?”

Trevor’s lips curved into a sly, teasing smile. “Just a blow job?” He asked, continuing to kiss him.

Cole shrugged, his grin lazy and confident. “No… but it’s always the best way to start.”

Trevor scooted closer, his hands sliding down the firm expanse of Cole’s chest, before continuing lower. As his hand wrapped around him, his voice dipped into a whisper. “You’re already hard.”

“Baby, I was hard the moment I felt you reach for me,” he rasped.

Trevor’s smile widened as he brushed his lips against Cole’s jaw. “I love the way your chest hair feels,” he murmured, his fingers moving slowly.

“I love that you love it.”

Bending down, Trevor kissed the tip of Cole’s erection, his lips lingering just long enough to make him twitch. His breath was warm, teasing, savoring the way Cole tensed beneath him. The tip of his tongue glided slowly, collecting a bead of arousal that threatened to slip down the shaft—salty, faintly sweet.

Control slipped like sand through his fingers. His mouth parted, stretching wide as he pulled Cole inside, swallowing him down in one smooth, greedy descent.

“Fuck, baby…” Cole exhaled.

Trevor moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his throat as he moved, taking him deeper, harder, his throat expanding with every eager stroke.

Cole groaned— it was low, guttural.

Trevor pulled back, gently dragging his teeth.

Cole twitched again.

A slick pop breaking the tension, his lips red and swollen. He smirked up at Cole, breathless. “Like it?”

Cole didn’t answer with words. Tilting forward, he hooked his fingers under Trevor’s jaw, guiding him up until their lips met in a fevered kiss.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he said before hooking his tongue curled under Trevor’s teeth, holding him in place .

Trevor hummed around Cole’s tongue.

Releasing his tongue, Cole smiled.

“Not yet” Trevor teased. “You left me high, dry, and restless last night.” His tone turned mischievous. “Now it’s my turn to do that to you.”

Cole lowered his tongue, releasing Trevor from his grip.

“Yeah, right.”

Before Trevor could even register what was happening, Cole had flipped their positions, pinning him against the headboard, both of his wrists captured in Cole’s left hand - pressed firmly above his head.

“Uh-oh,” he gasped playfully. “Whatever am I going to do?”

“You’ve had your fun,” Cole whispered. “But now it’s time to show you who’s the boss.”

“I know who the boss is” Trevor’s eyes flashed with challenge.

“Yeah?”

Trevor nodded. “Alyssa Milano.”

Shaking his head, Cole’s mouth crashed back into his.

“You just love playing games…” Cole smirked. Don’t you?” his lips brushed against Trevor’s neck, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and authority. “Little Trevor…But you always forget who wins.”

“I don’t forget.” Trevor toyed breathlessly. “I know exactly who wins. Me.”

Cole chuckled darkly, his left hand keeping his wrists pinned firmly above his head. His right hand tracing every curve of Trevor’s body until his fingers slid through the waistband of his sea-green briefs.

He tugged lightly, just enough to make Trevor squirm beneath him.

Suddenly, he stopped. His gaze flicked up to meet Trevor’s, the playful glint in his eyes breaking the tension for a brief moment. “How important are these?” he asked softly.

“I can get new ones.”

That was all the permission Cole needed. He ripped them off as if the fabric was no stronger than a piece of tissue paper. Casually tossing the shredded briefs aside, Cole growled.

Trevor moved to lower his arms, ready to wrap them around Cole’s shoulders. Instead, he was pulled back by shadows coiling around his wrists like silken restraints, their touch gentle yet controlling.

Cole dipped his head, his lips exploring Trevor’s exposed body. His kisses were slow and passionate, scattered between teasing nips and slow, hard strokes of his tongue. Each touch ignited a jolt of sensation that left Trevor trembling beneath him.

Faint marks began to blossom where Cole’s teeth and tongue had lingered, painting a possessive trail across his skin—a constellation of evidence that Trevor was his.

Completely.

“You think you’re so clever,” Cole rasped as he licked his way back up towards his chest, his right hand sliding underneath him. He squirmed.

“Cole..” he gasped, his voice trembling.

“That’s right,” Cole’s voice dripped with confidence as he teased down his perineum. “Say my name.”

“Cole…” Trevor whispered, his body arched into the touch.

“Louder,” Cole demanded, his grin dark and commanding. “Say my fucking name.”

“Cole…” his voice was breathless, a mix of plea and surrender.

Keeping his gaze locked on Trevor, he gripped his hips, shifting him Cole spread him open. Then, he lowered his head and spit, the warmth of it hitting Trevor.

Trevor whimpered.

Leaning back, Cole spread the lubricant around with his thumb.

“That’s my good boy,” his voice dripped with hunger as he lined himself up, the tip of his shaft teasing him as he began to push himself inside.

A hint of hesitation flushed over Trevor’s face, his breath catching as his body tensed. “Wait.”

Cole paused, his grin softening as he tilted his head, teasing but tender. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re worried about being clean. I don’t give a shit.” He brushed a kiss against Trevor’s parted lips, proud of the pun. “We’re way past that being a problem.”

“It’s not that, “Trevor shook his head quickly, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s…” He trailed off.

Cole loosened his grip, suddenly worried. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No!” He shook his head. “Not at all!” He sighed in frustration. “I just… I…”

“What is it?”

“I have to pee!”

For a second, Cole stared at him in silent confusion, amusement echoing in his eyes

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Trevor covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry!”

“Alright,” he sat up, freeing him.

Rolling out from under neath him, Trevor turned out of bed and rushed for the bathroom.

“Great.” Cole laughed to himself. “Cock-blocked by an overactive bladder.”

MEANWHILE, SPECTRA

From their thrones, suspended high above the Senate floor, Solara, Magmantus, Solar Flare, and Pulse sat silently as Synapse flickered nervously in the vast chamber below them.

“It doesn’t seem fair.” His voice radiated in soft, gentle wisps of light.

Solara didn’t flinch. “It was a test. He passed.”

“And if he finds out?” Synapse popped. “What do you think will happen if he discovers we were the ones who set the fire?”

“We controlled the narrative,” Solara said coolly. “We gave him the facts that mattered. The rest is irrelevant.

“Irrelevant?” Synapse nearly sparked out of existence before steadying himself. “We burned that place to the ground—not because of what Dr. Brandt was doing, but because of who he was doing it to.”

“It was one thing when he kept to the inmates,”Magmantus’s deep voice shivered with anger, “but when he started taking our own, he had to be stopped.”

Pulse shrugged casually. “At least we put an end to him before he got anyone of note.” He yawned, feigning boredom. “Those Spectrals…” He waved a hand lazily. “If that’s what you can call them. Their lumen was weak, their abilities remedial at best. One of them was just”—he sneered—“sticky.”

“They were still Spectral.” Synapse’s glow snapped.

A sharp silence followed.

Pulse tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne. “You’re acting like MoonShadow would’ve cared. Like it would’ve made a difference. Newsflash: MoonShadow doesn’t give a damn about what we do.”

Magmantus exhaled slowly, his massive shoulders rising and falling under the weight of a truth none of them wanted to say out loud.

“It wasn’t about stopping him,” he admitted. “Not really.”

Synapse flickered. “We should have ended it sooner. Before it had got this far.”

Pulse scoffed, shaking his head. “And what exactly do you think MoonShadow would’ve done with that information? Huh? Run to his little human friends? Had an article written? Lecture us about morality? Cry about ethics?” He laughed. “You act like he’s on some righteous crusade, but you forget—he’s just as much of a weapon to them as any of us are.”

“But unlike us, he truly fights to protect them.” Synapse dimmed.

Pulse leaned forward, his blue eyes crackling with bolts of lightning. “Have you forgotten? Those mundane little piss-ants nearly wiped us out in one of their disgusting little wars.”

“Of course not.” He shimmered. “But humanity has grown since then. They’ve learned.”

Pulse rolled his eyes. “Right. Look at what they’re doing to this planet. To one another. How long before they turn on us… again?”

“All I’m saying,” Synapse hummed, “is that MoonShadow deserves the truth.”

Solara’s golden gaze sliced through the space between them. “Truth is a matter of perspective.”

“I just feel—“

“The last time you felt anything,” Solara cut him off, “your corporeal body was eviscerated. Leave the emotions to the Terrans.”

Solar Flare’s voice softened. “It had to be done. Deep down, Synapse, I know you know that.”

Another silence stretched between them, heavier than before.

Pulse sighed dramatically. “For Kao’s sake, can we stop pretending this is some kind of tragedy? Brandt was a hack, his research was a disaster. He promised results—he delivered failure. We had no choice. The end. Besides,” he added with a groan, “I don’t trust MoonShadow.”

Magmantus turned, unimpressed. “You don’t trust him, or you just don’t like him?”

Pulse smirked. “Can’t both be true?”

Knowing his cause was lost, Synapse lowered his light to a dull hum. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“Good boy,” Solara nodded. “Now go. Find us another potential candidate to replace Dr. Brandt.”

“As you wish.”

With a sharp crackle, Synapse burst into a zillion arcs of electricity and vanished from the Great Hall.

“Well,” Pulse stretched. “I’m out.”

In a snap of blue and red energy, he was gone.

“Do you think Synapse is going to be a problem?” Magmantus asked, shifting his gaze toward Solara.

“No.” She shook her head. “But if he becomes one, I’ll handle it.”

“Good. Now if you’d excuse me. I have a date with a Slytharian and his wife.”

Leaping to the floor of the Great Hall, Magmantus strut proudly from the room.

“Being a leader means making the hard calls,” Solara turned her attention to Solar Flare. “One day. You will find that out for your self.”

Taking a slow breath, Solar Flare chose her words very carefully. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and I am thankful it will be many, many years be fore I have to bear the weight of it.”

Dissipating in a swirl of stars, Solara vanished.

Alone with her thoughts Solar Flare shivered.

Something wasn’t right.

CHAPTER FOUR: Hotter Than Hell

The bathroom was cloaked in soft, golden steam. Candles flickered on the counter, casting shadows that danced lazily across the tiled walls. Somewhere in the background, a Dua Lipa song played faintly—at least that’s who he thought it was.

He wasn’t really listening.

He was sinking.

Not metaphorically—though that was part of it too. He was quite literally sinking, chest-deep in a tub filled with lavender-scented water, the surface rippling gently as he leaned back against Trevor’s chest. His arms draped over the sides of the tub, eyes half-closed in relaxed bliss.

A single rubber duck bobbed near the faucet, absurdly cheerful in the dim candlelight.

Trevor sat behind him, one leg bracketing each side of Cole’s hips, his fingers working through his fiancé’s damp hair with a bottle of coconut-mint shampoo.

Cole let out a soft, involuntary moan. “This,” he sighed, fingertips tracing lazy lines up Trevor’s calves, “this right here is why I proposed.”

“This?” Trevor echoed with a smirk. “I thought it was because I was a hard-hitting reporter who knew your secret and you were afraid I’d expose you if you didn’t.”

“Nah,” Cole tilted his head farther back, that euphoric smile widening. “The blackmail just makes our relationship special.”

“That’s what makes us special?” Trevor snorted. “Okay.”

He leaned forward, lips brushing the hollow of Cole’s throat, right over the flutter of his Adam’s Apple.

The water lapped gently as Trevor rinsed the suds away, hands sliding lower now—gliding over Cole’s chest in slow, massaging circles. Cole exhaled, head tipping back farther until his neck arched like a bow.

Twisting, he kissed Trevor’s navel, teasing.

Trevor twitched at the tickling sensation and giggled, the sound light and breathless.

Then Cole shifted—rising slightly from the water, his toned body gleaming beneath the candlelight. In one fluid, feline motion, he lifted and arched, feet pointing skyward as they slid up and over Trevor’s head.

The water beneath him barely rippled as his body rose higher, as if gravity had momentarily forgotten its job.

Trevor blinked, watching in stunned amusement as Cole hovered a foot above the water—arms still glistening, steam curling off his skin like whispers.

“Show off.” He stated.

“Perks of dating a superhero,” Cole grinned, his voice low and teasing as he rotated in the air above him. He floated easily, effortlessly, like a feather caught in moonlight.

Trevor tilted his head back to follow his movement, eyes tracing every dripping line of him, he was transfixed.

Then, with a mischievous wink, Cole dipped lower—bracing his hands lightly on Trevor’s shoulders—and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then another, softer still, to the tip of his nose. And finally, one to his lips. It was warm and grounding.

Then, Cole floated down gently behind him, barely disturbing the water as he descended. As his feet touched the tub floor, he wrapped his arms around Trevor’s waist and gently pulled, guiding him forward with ease and care.

Trevor allowed himself to be scooted, chuckling as he slid beneath the lavender-scented surface, the warmth enveloping him like a second embrace.

Cole settled behind him now, reversing their earlier position, his arms looping around Trevor’s chest. His chin rested against Trevor’s shoulder, lips brushing against skin with every breath.

“Mmm,” Trevor murmured, leaning into him. “You’re warm.”

“Mmmhmm,” Cole kissed his neck.

“And hard.”

“Well, someone had to pee earlier.”

“So what?” Trevor snorted, shifting just enough for Cole to feel it—skin sliding against skin beneath the water, friction softened by steam and scent. “You’re looking to make up for it?”

Cole’s breath hitched. His hands slid lower, over the plane of Trevor’s chest, the soft dip of his belly, until they rested just below the waterline. “That depends,” he whispered, nipping gently at Trevor’s earlobe. “You planning to let me?”

Trevor tilted his head back against Cole’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as a soft moan escaped his lips.

Cole’s hand moved again—slow and reverent. The water sloshed quietly around them, a hush of waves against porcelain. One of Trevor’s knees rose slightly, creating space, and Cole took the invitation like he always did, with hunger.

His mouth mapped a trail down Trevor’s neck, kissing, sucking, soothing.

Shifting, Trevor forced Cole to straighten, then he twisted in his arms, just enough to catch his lips in a kiss—wet, needy, clinging. He pushed back into Cole’s hips.

The shift was instinctive. Cole braced them with one arm on the side of the tub, his other hand guiding them together beneath the water. Steam coiled around them, candlelight flickering off the beads of water sliding down Trevor’s throat.

A sharp gasp escaped him, breaking between their mouths as Cole pushed himself inside of him—no warning, no patience—just the desperate, aching snap of two bodies crashing together. Water surged over the tub’s edge in a wave, splashing onto the floor, but neither of them cared.

Cole’s teeth scraped against Trevor’s neck, a low growl tearing from his throat. “Fuck, you feel so tight, Trevor.”

Cole exhaled.

“I don’t know how long I can resist-”

Trevor arched back into him, the motion obscene, slick, perfect.

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

With a grunt, Cole slammed into him, fast and hard, and as brutally relentless as he knew Trevor could take. Every thrust sent a jolt through Trevor’s spine, water sloshing wildly around them, their skin slapping wet and loud in the candlelit chaos.

“Is this what you wanted?” Cole panted, driving into him. “This rough enough for you?”

Trevor tried to answer, but it came out as a choked cry, head thrown back against Cole’s shoulder.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then,” Cole bent him forward, one arm tight across Trevor’s chest, the other braced on the edge of the tub.

Trevor clung to the sides, as Cole continued to thrust and pull - water beading down his arms - causing his thighs to quiver.

Cole could feel himself starting to unravel, sinking his teeth into Trevor’s shoulder again, panting curses against his skin as his hips snapped erratically. “I’m gonna cum.” He groaned.

“I already am!” Trevor groaned.

With one final, brutal thrust, Cole came.

Trevor’s breath caught at the sensation, body clenching around him as he groaned through clenched teeth, water sloshing around them like applause.

Cole collapsed against him, panting, spent, still buried deep.

The bathroom was washed in chaos—water everywhere, candles flickering madly, the rubber ducky face-down on the floor like it, too, had given up.

“Ffffuuuucccckkkk,” Cole exhaled breathlessly against Trevor’s back. “Babe.”

Shifting, Trevor winced slightly as Cole slipped out of him.

“Feel better?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Much,” Cole nodded, pressing a quick, lazy kiss to his shoulder. “You?”

Trevor smirked. “Ask Mr. QuakQuak.”

MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE PARADISE LOFTS

Looking up at the stained-glass window of the top floor penthouse, Klue took a slow breath. “Soon, MoonShadow.” He thought under his breath. “Soon.”

Adjusting his camera bag, Klue turned down the sidewalk. Stepping into an ally his body dissipated into the shadows.

CHAPTER ONE: Here Comes Trouble

Perched at the island that divided the kitchen from the living area, Trevor’s fingers danced over the keyboard of his laptop, the rhythmic clatter of keys echoing against the vaulted ceilings of the lofted condo. He was wholly immersed in his writing, and the world around him - including Cole, who was working on his own laptop in the living room - faded into the background.

Even though his head still ached and his eye still stung - he knew he had to get this story out.

Reading over the article one last time, Trevor uploaded it to The Daily Wave’s private server and sent it to his editor, Periwinkle Black, for approval.

Leaning in his chair, he stretched with a satisfied sigh. “And… done!” He yawned.

Cole looked up from an old armchair he’d had since college. It was faded, soft, and had long since molded to his shape. “How’d it turn out?” his voice teased with curiosity as he adjusted his glasses. “Did you make me sound good?”

“Decent enough,” Trevor glanced back at him with a shrug. “Better than the human traffickers anyway.”

“Great!” Cole beamed as he stood, setting his laptop on the coffee table before him. “How about we celebrate with some Bulky Burger Barn?”

Trevor felt his stomach bubble at the mention of food. “Actually, that sounds amazing.”

“Good.” He patted his stomach. “Let’s go!”

MOMENTS LATER

Leaning against the wall of the elevator, Trevor glanced at Cole, a soft smile tugging at the left-hand corner of his lips. “You know, you’re an amazing man, right?”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Me?”—he leaned in to whisper—“or MoonShadow?”

Trevor’s eyes remained steady and sincere. “You.” He lifted his hand, cupping his face. “Cole. The man. MoonShadow is what you do. Cole Carter is who you are.”

Cole felt a puff of pride rise in his chest, warm and undeniable. He straightened slightly, the weight of his dual life momentarily lifting under the words of his fiancé. “It’s not every day the love of your life tells you, you’re amazing.”

“I mean it,” Trevor laughed mockingly. “You don’t just fight for people as some midnight superhero—you fight for them - daily - as you. My Air Force Captain fiancé.”

Reaching out, Cole entwined their fingers. Lifting Trevor’s hand to his lips, he kissed it.

MEANWHILE, SAGEWATER BAY

Nestled within Prism City’s most exclusive sector, Starlite Estate was pink and pristine—a burst of bubble gum against the backdrop of steel gray. Grand gates of rose gold flanked by marble pillars covered in pink vines kept it hidden from view. Lavish fountains of Cupid and his cherubs, their water sparkling in the sunlight like champagne, danced in the front courtyard among vibrant flowers - in every hue of pink - that were always in full bloom.

It was the home of Grand Duchess Giselle de Barbarac.

Inside, the ballroom of the estate was a wonderland of exquisite tapestries—most of which were portraits of The Grand Duchess. Its domed ceiling shimmered with thousands of crystals, refracting light into dazzling rainbows that spilled across the pink-and-gold marble floors. Wrapped in silk roses, towering golden columns framed the space, while walls of mirror-polished glass reflected the room in endless symmetry. Tables decorated with delicacies stretched the length of the room, offering delectable cuisine from every corner of the globe, alongside rivers of champagne that flowed from silver fountains.

Reality was not welcomed here.

At the head of the ballroom sat a single cushioned chair.

Empty.

Checking her watch, The Grand Duchess sighed. “I pride myself on being timely,” she rolled her eyes, taking a delicate puff from her cigarette. “Why can’t everyone else?”

From the right, her attendant stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” she greeted with a soft bow. “The newest member of the court is a bit… indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” She turned to face her. “What under heaven could possibly be more important than me? His benefactress?”

“The dimming sedation of Celadon is wearing off,” her attendant stated. “There are… side effects.”

The Grand Duchess sighed dramatically, exhaling a perfect plume of smoke.

“Show me.”

Turning to the staff who had spent the better part of the morning setting up the room, she sneered.

“Toss it all.” She took another puff from the cigarette holder. “And I better not hear of you sending a single sandwich or piece of fruit to those orphans in the Cinderblock Burroughs again,”— she cocked her eyebrow—“or there will be hell to pay.”

Whirling, she stepped toward the shadows.

MOMENTS LATER

Stepping into the sterile laboratory, hidden in the basement of the estate. The Grand Duchess moved with effortless grace, a flute of champagne in her right hand. The clinical world before her was devoid of personality—a wasteland of blinding white floors, bright overhead lights, and the steady beep of equipment. The air was sharp with antiseptic. The walls were smooth and unblemished—except for one single piece of vanity.

As the doors slid shut behind her, their reverse image revealed a portrait of The Grand Duchess herself, an elegant vision in an understated gown. Her expression was a perfect balance of haughty grandeur and coquettish charm. She was immortalized with a long-deceased Pomeranian—Mr. Puff Pastry.

Strapped to a steel surgical table in the center of the room, was Tawan Thitiphoom.

Naked, his body was rigid, muscles straining against the thick leather straps, head bowed, unconscious.

Electrodes clung to his temples, the soft whirr of machinery humming as data scrolled rapidly across a holo-screen.

His body was literally rippling with energy. Dark. Sinister. Mesmerizing.

The Grand Duchess sipped her champagne, eyes dancing with delight as she studied him.

“Oh, my god,” she inhaled from her cigarette holder, utterly enthralled. “This is just… positively riveting!”

She leaned toward her attendant, her voice hushed, teasing.

“He’s scrumptious, isn’t he?”

Tawan jerked violently.

“Delicious!” She giggled.

A sickening CRACK rang through the lab as his spine twisted unnaturally to the left. His head snapped back, his neck elongating for a breathless moment before returning into place.

His bones shifted, shoulders widening, ribcage expanding—his body warped, flexing, as though something inside him was fighting to escape.

The Grand Duchess was transfixed.

“Go on, darling,” she tilted her head. “Let’s see what’s inside of that miraculous body of yours.”

Tawan let out a scream—or was it screams?

The sound fractured as layered voices overlapped. They were fighting for dominance.

His shoulders bulged, muscles shifting beneath skin too delicate, too small to contain them. His hair receded, pulling into his scalp until only a clean buzzcut remained. His frame hardened, his face smoother and more angular.

“The Soldier,” The Grand Duchess whispered, her eyes glittering with fascination.

“No!” A high-pitched voice shrieked from inside Tawan’s open mouth, though his lips never moved. “Absolutely not!”

Dainty, impeccably manicured fingers pushed outward, forcing their way through his chest.

“Not you!” the voice wailed.

Tawan’s body shuddered, a deeper voice spitting in frustration as another form tried to break through.

“Let go of me, woman!” it growled—before being yanked back, Tawan’s body swallowing the soldier whole before he had a chance to fully emerge.

A railed breath escaped as something softer pressed forward from the muscle.

A slender frame - tender, poised.

“You’re too rough!” The voice shouted—softer, sweeter. “Much too uncouth to be the first.”

Hair pushed through Tawan’s scalp, lightening in color as it extended over the table.

Breasts swelled from his pectorals—slightly sagging.

“The Housewife.” The Grand Duchess turned lazily to her attendant. “How long has this been going on?”

“About forty-five minutes,” she replied.

The Grand Duchess took another slow sip, her expression delighted. “Fascinating.”

Before the woman could fully emerge, a violent jolt sent her reeling, her form shivering back down into the depths of Tawan’s insides.

“Oh.” The Grand Duchess straightened. “Oh, my!”

Tawan’s mouth closed, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. His body tightened, his features sharpening into someone leaner, more confident, and dangerously more handsome.

“The Con Artist.”

“Suck…” a younger voice whimpered.

The face shivered and softened again.

Fingers elongated, delicate yet eerily strong, their bones cracking into place.

“…a…”

Tawan’s torso shrank, his form narrowing, his spasms settling into something graceful.

Then came the hair—wild, corkscrewing chestnut curls, tumbling to his shoulders.

Breasts pushed outward again—this time supple, perky.

“…DICK!”

The transformation pulsed into place.

With a gasp, her eyes snapped open—two bright blue pools swirling with mischief.

She blinked.

Then grinned.

Too small for the straps that had been formed to Tawan’s wider wrists, she slipped through with ease.

“Ugh,” she groaned, rolling her eyes as she sat up. “Took me forever to get through all that dead weight.”

She cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders before throwing her head back in a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“The Teenager,” The Grand Duchess whispered, swooning.

Cocking her eyebrow, she eyed her with disdain. “The name’s Brenleigh,” she corrected flatly, popping a piece of bubble gum that had somehow materialized in her mouth. “Grandma.”

The Grand Duchess clutched her chest in mock astonishment. “Oh, you are fabulous, darling!”

“I know,” Brenleigh snapped. “I’m a miracle of modern science.” She cupped her breasts. “Dr. Matsuda did amazing work.”

The Grand Duchess agreed. “Yes. He. Did.”

“Twenty bucks and you can touch them.”

The Grand Duchess took another sip.

“Oh, darling,” she giggled, “I never have to pay.” Her eyes sparkled. “But you’ve got flair.”

Flipping her hair back over a pale shoulder, Brenleigh ran her fingers across her collarbone. “That’s what the boys say.” Glancing around, she saw only The Grand Duchess and her attendant.

“Hey,” she continued, taking a slow breath. “Whose jock does a girl have to grind on to get some decent clothes around here?”

The Grand Duchess smiled.

“Follow me, darling.”

LATER, VIOLET VILLAGE

“I am so stuffed,” Cole groaned loudly, patting his stomach as they stepped out from under the carport, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

“I’m not surprised.” Trevor laughed, glancing over his shoulder at the motorcycle parked behind them, ensuring the keys had been removed before turning back to Cole. “You only had what? Two bacon burgers, an order of chili cheese fries, three milkshakes, a corndog, a taco and…. oh yeah… you ate half of my cheeseburger!”

“I’m 225 pounds of muscle, babe…” Cole shrugged unapologetically. “.. and last night took a lot out of me.” He let out a satisfied burp, stretching his arms overhead. “Both fights—”

He shot Trevor a pointed look, then smirked.

“—and the makeup sex after.”

Trevor rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Or maybe,” he countered, nudging Cole with his elbow, “you’re just a glutton.”

Cole grinned, nudging him right back. “Hey, it’s hard to resist a good meal and…” He patted Trevor’s left butt cheek, winking, “great dessert. Especially when the cake is so sweet.”

“Alright, Hornball!” Trevor snorted, slapping his hand away with a sharp laugh.

Pushing open the gate to their small courtyard, he glanced around. The sun was setting, bathing the village in soft, golden light.

“Hey,” Cole murmured, reaching for Trevor’s hand.

His fiancé turned back. “Hmmm?”

“Nothing.” Cole shrugged. “I just… I want to hold your hand,” he sang.

“Okay, Paul,” Trevor laughed, but he laced their fingers together anyway. “You’re so cheesy.”

Cole grinned, tugging him a little closer. “A cheesy hornball. Just like you love me.”

He leaned in, lips hovering over Trevor’s, his breath warm against his skin— BANG!

A door slammed, rattling the quiet evening air.

They broke apart, both turning toward the sound. Cole took an instinctively protective step in front of Trevor.

Standing a few yards away, glowering at them like they’d just pissed on his lawn, was Arthur Brindle.

He was short and stocky - with a round belly that strained against an ill-fitting, beer-stained T-shirt. His balding head gleamed in the last rays of sunlight, what few strands of graying hair remained, were desperately combed over in a losing battle against reality. A pair of beady eyes, buried beneath thick, bushy eyebrows, locked onto them in open disgust.

He always scowled—especially when he saw them.

“Fuck…” Cole let out a low groan. “I hate this guy.”

“Be nice,” Trevor warned through clenched teeth. Then, forcing a polite smile, he looked at their neighbor.

“How are you today, Mr. Brindle?”

Cole rolled his eyes at Trevor’s kindness.

Brindle stomped toward them, his scowl deepening.

“I’d be better if you two kept your disgusting perversions in the privacy of your own home,!”

Trevor’s smile didn’t waver—but his grip on Cole’s hand tightened.

“What perversions, Brindle?” Cole snarled.

“There are children here!” The old man’s voice rose, his face reddening. “People like you are an embarrassment to this neighborhood. To this city. To this country.” His lip curled. “To God! Take it elsewhere.”

Cole took a measured step forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“People like us?” Cole’s voice was low and dangerously calm. “You mean people who mind their own business and live their lives without being bitter and hateful like you?”

Brindle’s face twisted, contorting with rage.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, boy!”

“I’m not your boy!” Cole spat. “And I’ll talk to you however the fuck I want.”

Brindle’s fist shot up.

“Brindle!” Trevor moved fast, stepping between them, arms up—

But the old man was already swinging.

Cole yanked Trevor back just in time, taking the hit himself.

The punch landed square in his chest with a dull thud.

Cole didn’t move.

Brindle, however—

Staggering backward, his arms flailed as he lost his balance, his foot catching on the curb.

He went down.

Hard.

A sickening CRACK split the air as his left wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

The howl that followed was instant, piercing and overly dramatic.

“My wrist!” He wailed, clutching his arm, his face contorting in pain. “You broke my wrist!”

Cole stood over him, shaking his head.

“I didn’t break anything.” His voice was tight, controlled. “You punched me!” He tilted his head.

Brindle’s nostrils flared. “I was defending myself! Against you—you unnatural little—”

“Fuck you,” Cole spat. “You vile old-”

“Cole!” Trevor cut him off, crouching down. “Stay still, Mr. Brindle,” he added softly. “I’ll call someone to help.”

“Don’t touch me!” Brindle hissed, shoving Trevor back.

Bending quickly, Cole caught him before he hit the ground.

“Brindle!” He shouted.

Setting Trevor on his feet, Cole turned back to their neighbor.

“Man, you are really determined to get your intolerant ass handed to you today, aren’t you?”

“Cole!” Trevor reached forward, pulling at his arm. “Let’s go,”

Cole stood firm, pointing down at Brindle. “Touch him again, and I will break every single bone in your fucking body. Understand?”

Brindle’s eyes locked onto Cole’s.

And then he spat it out—

“Fuck you, faggot.”

Silence.

The word hung in the air, thick and ugly, curdling like sour milk.

Cole stilled.

His knuckles whitened. His jaw clenched. His breath slowed, too even, too measured—

One second.

Two.

“Cole…” Trevor pulled again. “Please.”

Brindle’s smirk widened.

“Better listen to the little princess.”

Cole moved. This time, Trevor was faster than he was.

“Don’t.” he pressed his hand firmly on his chest, grounding him. “He’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

Cole’s eyes burned as they locked onto Brindle’s.

“You,” he added, his voice steady, “you are the perverted excuse for a human being. Not us.”

Brindle opened his mouth—

But Trevor had already turned away, gripping Cole’s hand as he led him back toward their loft.

And this time—Cole didn’t resist.

CHAPTER TWO: I Like Your Style

The apartment door closed.

Rubbing his chest, he noticed a grease stain marking the spot where Brindle’s fist had hit, the lingering stench of cheap cigar clung to the fabric.

Pulling it off with his sunglasses, he walked toward the kitchen.

“What is it with that guy?” he groaned, more to himself than to Trevor, dropping the shirt and the glasses on the counter, he opened the fridge, reaching for a beer.

Setting the keys on the counter Trevor sighed. “Some people just have nothing better to do than make everyone else around them miserable.”

“He’s a hateful little worm!” Cole snapped, his frustration bubbling as he popped open the can. “It’s 2025, for fuck’s sake! You’d think people like him would’ve crawled back under their rocks by now.”

Trevor turned, leaning against the counter. “You think it’s that simple?” he asked quietly. “That people just... grow out of hate?”

“It should be.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cole. Look at the world around us. Bigotry is alive and well.”

“So what?” He scowled, taking a swig from the can. “We’re just supposed to accept this shit?” He lifted his leg, pushing the door closed with his foot.

Walking up to him Trevor rubbed his hands over Cole’s bare back, kissing him quickly. “You fight monsters every night,” he continued. “You think you’d be used to it by now.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.” Cole swallowed the contents of the can, then crushed it into an aluminum ball.

“I know.” He sighed sadly.

“You’ve seen how vile people can be.” Trevor continued. “You’ve felt it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“I wanted to pummel that intolerant pig into the asphalt.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, well…” Cole snorted. “It didn’t seem like it.”

“I don’t have the luxury of being as strong as you are.” Trevor pressed his lips against Cole’s back again. “I have to handle the monsters a little differently.”

Cole took a deep breath. “I’m not just here to fight monsters, Trevor.”

“I know.”

“I’m here to remind people what they could be. That they’re better than their worst instincts. If I let people like Brindle define humanity, then I’m failing at what I’m supposed to stand for. I’d be no different than The Powers. Just another Spectral for hire.”

“You can’t judge all of humanity by the actions of one person, Cole.”

“I know,” he stated. “I’ve seen kindness, courage… love,” he turned, combing his hand through Trevor’s wild red hair. “In people like you.”

Trevor smiled.

“As much as I know you hated what he did, you still offered to help him.” He kissed the top of Trevor’s head, hugging him. “You are the good I fight for.”

Trevor leaned back, looking up at him.

“As much as I want to believe it’s just me. I know it’s not. You fight for the good of everyone.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a thumb along Trevor’s cheek. “If I don’t who will?” He snorted. “The Powers?”

Trevor shrugged, pressing his ear back to Cole’s chest. “Maybe… if they’re paid enough.”

“Right,” Cole chuckled.

They stood silently for a moment, the weight of their conversation settling between them. Sighing, Trevor hugged him tighter.

Trevor’s phone buzzed from his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled it out and tapped the screen.

He sighed.

“What is it?”

“Periwinkle.” He looked up at him. “She wants to have a quick meeting.”

“Go.” Cole kissed him again. “I’ll be fine.”

“Will Brindle?” Trevor cocked his eyebrow.

Cole shrugged. “No promises.”

LATER, THE DAILY WAVE

The 36-story skyscraper towered over the center of the Cerulean Core. Crowned with a glistening golden wave-shaped sculpture that captured the sunlight, reflecting it back across the city like a beacon of truth and integrity.

Ostentatious but pretty.

Stepping through the revolving doors, Trevor approached the security scanners. It wasn’t until the warning buzz and the blinking red lights started to flash that he realized his keycard was missing.

“Forget your badge, Trevor?” Zach Kade, the front-desk security guard, asked with a toothy smile. He had a handsome face, framed by shaggy brown hair and warm, dark eyes.

“I guess I did,” he groaned, stepping toward the security desk. “I must’ve lost it at the docks.” He realized. “Can I get a temp, and would you be able to put in another order for me please?”

“No need.” Zach winked as he pulled a key from his belt and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Inside, a neat stack of duplicate copies of Trevor’s ID card sat, waiting.

“Ms. Black always makes sure we have plenty on hand. Just let me activate it.”

Gliding in his chair toward the computer, Zach slipped the card into an electronic reader.

“Sure.” He laughed. “How’s Cas?”

“Oh, she’s good,” Zach replied, his eyes focused on the screen, as he clicked the buttons on a wireless mouse. “Got that production gig she was vying for.”

“That’s great! I knew she was really hopeful about it.”

“She was,” he replied, slipping a blank card into the reader. “I mean, she is,” he corrected. “Still. She’s very happy.”

Trevor smiled. “And that adorable little baby?”

“Oh, he’s growing like a weed.”

“Yeah, they tend to do that.”

“You and Cole ever talk about adoption?” He glanced back at him. “I can get you the info for the agency we used.”

“Not yet.” Trevor shrugged. “But if we do, I’ll let you know.”

“For sure,” Zach said, pulling the card from the reader and handing it to him. “Here you are”

“Thank you - and tell Cass I said hello.”

“I will. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Turning, Trevor hastened for an express elevator.

He entered the newsroom as his editor emerged from her office.

Periwinkle Black was short in stature but big in personality. Her rainbow-colored hair, an unrestrained tumble of hues, framed her face, contrasting with the sharp focus of her magnetic brown eyes magnified from the glass of thick ruby-red cat-eye glasses. Seeing him enter, she crossed the bullpen with a practiced ease, her black cane tapping rhythmically against the floor in her right hand, moving in harmony with her left leg, creating a deliberate beat as she wove between desks and carts.

Oh Good, you’re here.” She started, grabbing a piece of paper held toward her by a fresh-faced reporter with blonde hair.

“Did I have a choice?”

“No.” She stifled a laugh. “Shit,” she sighed as she glanced over the paper.

“What?”

“There’s only one ‘s’ in racist, Margot.” She stated, handing the paper back to her.

“Sorry, Ms. Black,” the blonde apologized, taking it. “I’ll fix it.”

“In the future,”—she adjusted her glasses—“Please email Rose the draft. No need to kill trees if you’re going to spell basic words wrong.”

“Yes, Ms. Black.” She nodded again. “I’m Sorry.”

“You.” Periwinkle looked at Trevor. “Follow me.”

Turning, she stepped back toward her office.

Inside, the editor made her way toward an expensive mesh desk chair. Sitting, she clicked open her laptop. “The human trafficking piece is good.”

“Thank you.”

He sat in the chair across the desk from her.

“Not great,”—She continued—“but good. You duplicated a few pros.”

“I want to do another piece on how racism and homophobia are still alive and well, even in a sanctuary like Prism City.”

“Not this again.” She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. Your neighbor?”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,”—Trevor sighed—“and today it got physical.”

Periwinkle opened her eyes, taking him in with softness. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Cole?”

“He’s fine.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Did he?”

Trevor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, Babe. I love you. You know I do. But, My Neighbor is an Asshole is a common annoyance. Not a story.”

“But…”

“You wanna write it? Find me the angle and pitch it to me again. Until then, I want you to cover the NAMBA Boys concert.”

“The who?”

“No.” She shook her head. “NAMBA boys. They’re a group from Japan.” She removed her glasses again. “They’re very popular with the 18 to 25 crowd. They’re performing at The Grand Duchess de Barbarac’s shindig this weekend. I’ll be sending you with our new photographer.”

“The Grand Duchess?” Trevor cocked his eyebrow. “Isn’t that more Rissa’s beat?”

“Clarissa will be covering the social aspect of the party. You’re there for the group.” She forced a smile toward him. “You get a plus one… and a car.”

“Wait,” Trevor had a realization. “New photographer? What happened to James?”

“He moved on to become the art director for some magazine in California.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. This kid’s great, though.”

“What’s his name?”

“Klue.” She stated. “With a K, not a C.”

“Klue,” he nodded. “Okay.”

“He’s from Bangkok.”

“Bangkok,” Trevor nodded. “My cousin Max just moved there for a job.”

“I know.” She groaned. “I’m still pissed we lost out on such a great photographer, but… When life hands you lemons.” She re-shifted her focus. “This Saturday. The party starts at six. You’ll interview them at ten between their two sets. Got it?”

Trevor nodded.

“Okay.”

“I want the story in my inbox by the end of business, Monday.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can. Now go away,” she waved. “I’ve got other shit to do - like reworking your human trafficking piece.”

“Alright,” Trevor nodded as he stood. “Thanks.”

Turning toward the door, he took a step.

“Oh, and Prince.”

“Yeah?” He turned back to face her.

“I saw you on the news. Way to stick it to that bitch, Karli Hall.”

Trevor chuckled, giving her a quick nod. “Thank you.”

Turning toward the door, he took another step.

“Hey,” She called after him.”

“Yeah?” He turned back again.

She winked.

“Don’t let that bastard get you down.”

MEANWHILE, MARIGOLD PLAZA

Emeralds, Sapphires, and Diamonds… Oh, My! was a ruby-red marvel of glass and light, with shimmering panels that refracted the sun’s glow, setting the street below ablaze with fiery, hypnotic waves.

Through towering double doors of aged mahogany, inlaid with diamond-clear crystals that sparkled shamelessly, The Grand Duchess made her entrance, drenched in glitz and glamor. Much more than a princess, she was regal, refined, and undeniably superior in every way.

Descending with elegant precision onto a crimson-carpeted staircase, she glimmered and glinted in the lights around her, a living monument to fashion and fame for the sake of nothing more than being famous.

Even the air bowed in reverence as she swept past two smooth marble pedestals, each bearing a glass-encased masterpiece. A lion on the left, a unicorn on the right, their forms hewn from flawless gemstones frozen in eternal majesty. She’d donated them herself.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, taking them in with a smile as she took a puff from her cigarette holder.

“Oh, darling,” she gushed to her attendant, who stepped silently in time on her right, “it’s so good to be home. Isn’t it?”

“There! She! IS!” A high-pitched squeal pierced the air as a flamboyant, perfectly quaffed man in a vest rushed toward her, pushing another sales associate aside with the force of a diva who refused to share the spotlight.

“William!” She greeted dramatically, blowing kisses in the air toward him.

“Courtney,” he shot her a look of disdain. “Bitch, take your break, already! This one is mine.”

The mousy brunette, clearly used to the treatment, bowed her head and scurried off.

Rolling them dramatically, his blue eyes sparkled like he’d just found the last bottle of champagne at a party. “Duchy!” His voice rang out, dripping with drama.

“Hello, dearest.” She leaned in to kiss both of his cheeks.

Stepping back, he surveyed her with the intensity of someone who’d just seen the most divine work of art.

“Formal wear before noon?” he gasped, clutching his chest like she’d reinvented fashion itself. “So fresh. So forward. So…”

He paused for dramatic effect, giggling.

“You!”

“It is, isn’t it!” She laughed. “Have you got anything new?”

William’s eyes twinkled as he gestured for the curtain to be drawn back. “Follow me, Duchy.”

Stepping into a small private room, William snapped his fingers at a sales associate standing in the corner.

“Do you expect her to stand?” He huffed. “Get the Grand Duchess a chair, you clod!”

The associate rushed to the front of the store.

“The pink one!” William called after her. “High-backed with the rose-print cushion.”

It took the sales associate and two large security guards to bring the over-sized chair into the back room.

“So sorry,” William sighed. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

“Don’t you know, darling?” She cooed. “I said the same thing just last night!”

“How did you handle it?”

“I sacked him.” She shrugged matter-of-factly as she fell into the chair.

Standing at her right, her attendant remained silent, as if invisible to everyone but her.

“I should do the same,” William sighed. “Now, let’s get to the good part, shall we?”

With a flourish of his wrist, he swung open the double doors of an immaculate display case tucked into the wall to reveal rows and rows of priceless pieces.

“How about,” William tapped his lips with the tip of his left index finger, his voice hanging, as he pulled a velvet-lined box from the shelf, “these…?”

He turned, stepping toward her.

The Grand Duchess leaned forward, her long, gloved fingers reaching out as William opened the box.

Inside, nestled on a bed of white velvet, were not just a pair of earrings—but two works of art. Extraordinary didn’t even begin to cover it. They were, in a word…

Divine.

Each earring featured a delicate arrangement of pink diamonds so soft and luminous they shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, as though captured from a distant sunrise. They were cut into the shape of lotus flowers—each a near-perfect replica of nature’s most elegant bloom. In the center of each petal, a sapphire kissed with the deep blue of twilight gleamed while jade accents swirled gracefully around the edges.

Suspended from an intricate setting of silver, the flowers seemed to float within the display.

The Grand Duchess’ eyes flared with hunger. “Are these…?”

“Argyle diamonds,” William answered. “Yes. Yes they are.”

He smirked.

“Rarest in the world, in fact.”

“Beautiful.”

He leaned in to whisper. “Have you ever heard of Empress Kagubi?”

Memories from the art history lessons from her days at university flooded her mind. She leaned forward for a closer look.

“Wait... these are…No! They can’t be?!?”

“They can. They are.” William grinned, his eyes practically dancing with delight. “The Lotus Flower earrings.”

Surprised, her attendant almost gasped.

“A wedding gift from Emperor Asra to the legendary Empress herself. Lost to time... until now, Duchy.”

He let the silence linger.

The Grand Duchess’s lips parted, her breath catching in her throat. The earrings weren’t just jewels; they were history. Relics from a long-forgotten era.

“Oh, William…” she sighed, almost moaning his name.

“They’re yours.” He beamed. “If you want them, that is.”

The Grand Duchess’s eyes, still fixed on the earrings, narrowed slightly. “How much?”

“Oh, it’s not about the price, Duchy,” he waved a hand airily. “It’s about the privilege. It would be an absolute scandal if a woman of your grace and nobility walked away from something like this. It’s fate.” He nodded. “It’s… your… fate.”

She let his words swirl around her, the drama of it all settling in. “You’re right!” She nodded in eager agreement. “I have to have them.”

His smile stretched wider, smugness radiating from every pore.

“I knew you’d say that.”

“How much?” She asked again.

He leaned back, savoring the moment as he watched her eyes dance with desire. The Grand Duchess was caught now—hooked by the history, the allure, and the mystique of the earrings. But now came the final test.

“Fair price?” His voice softened. “Well, darling... for something like this, a piece of history, hidden from the world for centuries... we’re talking a sum that would make most people collapse on the spot.”

He circled the chair like a predator sizing up its prey. “Let’s see... in a private sale, I’d say this little treasure could fetch somewhere in the neighborhood of... Three hundred million.” he said casually. “But for you, two fifty.”

Her eyes raised in calculation.

“Two hundred-fifty million?” She repeated.

“These are legendary.” He repeated with a smirk. “The crown jewels of an extinct dynasty.”

Leaning closer, she studied the earrings with an almost reverential intensity. “And how exclusive is this offer, William?”

“Duchy, I’d never show these to just anyone,” he gasped dramatically, clutching invisible pearls. “You are the first. The only. The chosen one. No one else has seen them. No one else will ever even know they were here.”

Excitement burst behind her eyes as her fingers brushed the velvet again.

“I’ll take them!”

Triumph flashed in William’s eyes. “When you walk out of here with them, Duchy, you won’t just own the earrings—you’ll own their story.”

“My Story.” The Grand Duchess nodded with a satisfied smile.

“Your story,” he repeated.

The deal was done.

CHAPTER THREE: Like a Dream

Staring at his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the bedroom, Cole studied how the cut of the tailored suit Trevor had picked up for him earlier hugged his frame in a way that was snug but still moveable. Adjusting the cufflinks he straightened his tie.

The door opened.

Trevor entered the room. The midnight blue he was wearing was a rich contrast to Cole’s deep burgundy. The dark, warm hue of the fabric seemed to glow against the subtle shine of the silk tie.

As he caught Cole’s gaze, Trevor smiled.

“Looks like we match after all,”

Cole turned slightly, his voice low, eyes lingering on Trevor as he stepped toward him. “We complement each other quite well. Don’t you think?”

Trevor blushed. “Always.”

The two shared a quick kiss.

Nodding, Cole smiled. “Ready?”

“Almost.” Trevor nodded. Unfolding Cole’s glasses, he slipped them on his face.

“Perfect”

LATER, SAGEWATER BAY

The procession of sleek, black cars stretched across the grand avenue, each one rolling toward Starlite Estate like a line of black pearls against the soft glow of the setting sun. In the distance, the estate gleamed— its pink exterior accentuated by the colors of twilight.

Stepping out of the car Ms. Black had sent for them, Trevor was immediately hit with the thick scent of roses, jasmine, and gardenias with subtle notes of bubble gum.

“And I thought you were loaded,” Trevor whispered sarcastically, leaning toward Cole.

“There’s a difference between comfortable and…” He paused, dropping his arm over Trevor’s shoulder. “Whatever the hell this is.”

“Ridiculous,” Trevor whispered. “The word you’re looking for is—” Trevor’s stomach churned at the sight of an unmistakable figure. “Wait… is that…”

The unnervingly vibrant orange hue of a round, cartoonish face in an oversized black suit came into view with a thick, uneven comb over.

“Yes.” Cole nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“Of course, Grand Duchess de Barbarac is a supporter of—”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Cole cut him off.

“Well, he’s here. That means—”

“That means she’s a rich white woman throwing a party,” Cole cut him off again, sliding his hand down Trevor’s back, wrapping it around his waist, “and he would show up to the opening of an envelope if it meant getting in the press.”

“You’re right.” He took another deep breath, nodding. “Well I’m not going to write about him.”

“I know”

“Let’s just find this photographer.” He went back into business mode. “Once we do this interview, we’re out. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Cole kissed the side of his head.

“Good.”

“Mr. Prince?” A deep voice interrupted with a soft accent.

Trevor turned to see a handsome young man with tousled black hair and bright hazel eyes. Dressed in a simple black button-up and wrinkled slacks, a camera bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Trevor asked, brushing his hair out of his face. “Klue?”

Nodding, he extended his hand with a warm, approachable smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Trevor shook his hand. “This is my fiancé, Cole.”

“Hey man,” Cole said, leaning forward with a friendly nod. “Good to meet you.”

There was a brief, almost imperceptible hesitation.

Klue withdrew his hand from Trevor and held it out to Cole. “You too.”

“Ms. Black talks a lot about you,” Klue pulled his hand from Cole’s to adjust his camera bag. “Both of you.”

“That’s sweet.” Cole smiled.

“Don’t believe everything she says,” Trevor warned.

“All… It’s all… good things, Mr. Prince.” Klue stammered. “She says you’re the only reporter on staff who isn’t afraid of her.”

Cole laughed. “That tracks.”

“Trevor,” he corrected him. “Not Mr. Prince.”

“Trevor,” Klue repeated. “Sorry.”

Making their way inside the sprawling mansion, they were greeted by rich tapestries and glistening silks cascading from the ceiling to the floor, like soft, pink waterfalls. A freshly buffed marble floor gleamed underfoot, sending a dazzling dance of color across the room.

The air was thick with chatter and the occasional soft laughter of guests as they drifted through the space, gliding in rhythm to the live music playing from a grand piano and a string quartet at the far corner.

The entire ballroom glistened—each table dressed with sparkling glasses, silverware, and florals in every imaginable color.

Despite its grandness, the ballroom felt small, softened by the warmth of its guests mingling within the flickering candlelight.

LATER

When NAMBA Boys performed, the five men’s voices blended in pitch-perfect harmony to deliver a sugar-sweet track—a melody that spoke of love’s fragility and the care it requires to flourish. Enchanted by the music, the guests danced together, their movements intimate and unguarded - including Cole and Trevor. Lost in the love of one another’s eyes, Cole leaned in, kissing him.

Nearby, his camera up, Klue framed the shot. With the press of his finger, he captured the moment. Immortalizing it.

“Perfect,” he smiled proudly, then turned his attention to the group.

After the performance, inside a sitting room filled with costumes, equipment, and food, the members of NAMBA Boys were swept up by the moment - finding it difficult to control their youthful energy, even with their handlers trying to get them to focus on Trevor.

Finally, they calmed.

“First of all, congratulations on the performance.” Trevor started. “This was your first at a private party, right? How did it feel to step onto such a unique stage?”

Adjusting a pair of thin black glasses, their publicist, Kyle Sweetin, a tall, slender man with reddish-blonde hair, translated the question into Japanese.

“They don’t speak English?” Trevor leaned in with a whisper.

“Not well enough to answer confidently, I’m afraid,” Kyle replied.

“No worries.” Trevor gave a slight nod, then glanced back toward the group. Then, in flawless Japanese, he added, “Please, continue.”

“You speak Japanese?” Kyle asked in surprise.

Trevor nodded.

“It was incredible!” Aloha, the leader of the group, gushed, in English “We’ve performed at many big events - in Japan,”—he continued in Japanese—“but the atmosphere here was so different. It was so…” he looked to his other group members. “What’s the word in English?”—He asked in Japanese.

Taking a moment to focus, his eyes glistened as the word popped into his mind.

“Elegant!” He finally said.

He took another quick beat to reflect.

“Yes. Elegant.” He nodded, repeating in English. “That’s right. That’s the word I’m looking for.” He looked to Trevor, “Right?”

“Yes.” Kyle nodded in Japanese.

“And the crowd! Everyone looked so romantic!” Sora, the youngest member, squeed in Japanese, “I even saw you dancing with your boyfriend!” His smile widened.

“It was very cute!” Miki, the groups youngest (and tallest member) added, in English.

“Fiancé,” Trevor corrected with a slight smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Miki nodded.

“Now that you’re doing more music outside of Japan, is there anything you’d like your international fans to know about you as a group?” Trevor inquired. “Beyond getting them to listen to your music and come to your concerts, I mean… What’s the message you want to share with them?”

The members exchanged looks, the weight of the question settling in. Then, Winter, the group’s most senior member, raised his hand. “We want our fans to know we are all about authenticity. Ours and yours. We love you just the way you are.”

“Exactly!” Hatsukoi, the bubbly rapper who simply went by H, chimed in with a bright smile.

“We want to create a space where everyone feels comfortable and inspired.” Winter continued. “Our fans are our family, so we want them to be happy. Because… that makes us happy. So we can all be happy together.”

“We’re here to uplift them.” Aloha nodded. “No matter where you are, we want to connect with you.”

“Well, you did a wonderful job tonight. I am sure my readers will enjoy getting to know you.” He smiled. “I know I have.”

Aloha’s eyes lit up. “Thank you!” He continued to speak in English. “We’re so grateful for our fans and will keep working hard to make them proud!”

“I’m sure you will.” Trevor nodded. “It was lovely to meet you.” Turning to Kyle, he held out his hand.“You too.”

“Thank you,” he shook it. “Mr. Prince.”

“Trevor.” He corrected.

“Trevor,” Kyle nodded, handing him his card. “I look forward to your article. Please send me the link when it’s up.”

Trevor took the card. “I will.”

With a chorus of thanks from the rest of the group, Trevor waved and made his way toward Cole, who had been observing quietly from the corner of the room.

“Sounds like you liked them.”

He shrugged, slipping his recorder into his pocket. “They’re good.”

Cole nodded. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

Stepping out of the sitting room, Cole and Trevor moved through the crowd toward the door.

“Where’s Klue?” Cole asked.

“I’m not sure.” Trevor shrugged. “But, he’s a big boy. He can make his own way back to,”— Trevor paused and shrugged— “wherever he lives. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Alright. Let’s go home.”

From the second level, The Grand Duchess spotted them, making their way toward the door. Opening a diamond crusted clutch, she pulled out a pink vape and took a quick hit.

“I’ll distract them,” she glanced at her attendant, as she stepped up to her right side. “You know what to do.”

Putting the vape back into her clutch, the Grand Duchess snapped it shut and turned.

He was standing in front of her—short, orange, and reeking of fried chicken and self-importance.

“Apologies, Mr. President,” she waved her clutch dismissively toward him. “But I have far more pressing matters I must attend to.”

Begrudgingly, he shuffled aside.

“Oh Voodoo Zen!” She called back to him in a German accent.

Her attendant leaned forward to whisper in her ear. Correcting her.

“That’s what I said dear,” she started to step down the stairs. “Oh Voodoo Zen. It means, so long, farewell… you know, Oh Voodoo Zen. Adios.”

Nodding, her attendant followed her down the stairs.

“Why Trevor Prince!” She called out as she reached the last step. “Not trying to sneak off I hope?”

Turning at the sound of his name, he smiled, bowing as she approached.

“Your Grace.”

Cole did the same.

“What an absolute delight it is to see you here tonight!” she swooned, placing both hands over her heart. “I’m so glad I could finally get you to one of my little soirées!”

“Thank you for the invitation,” he replied graciously.

“Oh, please,” she said, flapping her jeweled hand. “It’s nothing, darling. You’re the most famous reporter in the city and Clarissa de Ghent speaks so highly of you.” She laughed. “She’s a dear friend, you know. Always writes the nicest things about me in her little column.”

“I’ve heard her mention it,” Trevor smiled.

“A lot,” Cole chimed in under his breath.

Her eyes slid to Cole.

“And who is this?” she asked coyly. Her fingers absentmindedly reaching up to twirl one of the earrings, drawing Cole’s eyes to them.

“This is Cole Carter, Your Grace,” Trevor gestured to him. “My fiancé.”

“Fiancé!” The Grand Duchess gasped theatrically. “What a catch!” She giggled, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Leaning in just slightly, her voice dropped to a playful whisper.

“Tall. Dark. Charming!”

“Thank you,” Cole said, bowing as he adjusted his glasses with a blush. “Your Grace.”

“And what is it you do?”

“I’m a pilot,” Cole replied. “With the PCAF.”

“A Captain,” Trevor added proudly.

“Prism City Aeronautics Force,” the Grand Duchess purred. “Impressive.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. “Tell me, darling—are there any more at home like you?”

“No.” Cole chuckled nervously, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Not really.”

“Well, isn’t that a shame,” she said with a pout before her expression softened into something more curious. “How long have you two been together?” She asked, glancing to Trevor.

“Six years.” He looked to Cole for confirmation. “Almost seven. Right?”

“Right.” He nodded to Trevor. Turning his attention back to the Grand Duchess. His eyes falling to her earrings again.

“Do you like them?” She asked impishly.

“They’re beautiful,” Cole admitted.

“I know!” The Grand Duchess’s hand floated up to touch one again. “Aren’t they just… divine?”

Both Trevor and Cole nodded.

“They were a gift from an old admirer—a very persistent one, might I add. Heartbroken when I turned down his proposal…” she smirked“…for the tenth time.”

Cole tilted his head. “I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere before.”

The Duchess lit up, delighted by his interest. “Oh, darling, you probably have! Or at least drawings of them.” She gushed. “These are the Legendary Lotus Flower earrings, worn by Empress Kagubi herself.”

“No!” Cole’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“The Empress who?” Trevor asked, glancing between them.

The Grand Duchess let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, darling!” she drawled, “Don’t you know about Empress Kagubi?”

Trevor shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t think Bettina Brite has played her in a yet.” Cole teased.

“Shut up,” Trevor swatted at his chest.

“It’s a tragic tale! Love. Betrayal. Power—it has everything!” She said, watching as her attendant passed behind them.

Inhaling deeply, she scowled. There were too many other scents.

“I’ve never heard this story before,” Trevor shrugged.

“Really?” The Grand Duchess gasped.

“Reall?”

“I see, I will have to turn my eyes to the Prism City education system.”

“I guess.” Cole nodded with another gentle smile.

“Should we fill him in, sweetness?” She looked at Cole, grabbing a flute of champagne from a tray as a cater-waiter passed by.

“Sure,” he nodded, his soft tone inviting her to continue.

“Well,” The Grand Duchess started, taking a sip. “It’s important to know that it’s said she was the first of her kind here on earth.”

“Her kind?” Trevor asked.

“Spectral,” Cole whispered.

Trevor was instantly intrigued. “Really!?!”

Another pass.

This time, her attendant held out her hand toward them, brushing the air just beyond their suits.

It was different, but not different enough. She had to get closer.

“Bright as the sun, darling—radiating lumen everywhere she went.” The Grand Duchess started. “Imagine radiating light just like that.”

“Stories say she was like a beam of living sunshine,” Cole added.

The Grand Duchess nodded. “Not like the rest of us. She was,”—she paused, searching for the right words.

There weren’t any.

“Well, she was just… fantabulous!” She shrugged.

“It’s almost poetic, really,” Cole stated. “A woman who was both light and power, who could shine so brightly... but still, she was a person, too. And like all people, she had choices she had to make.”

The Grand Duchess shot him a whimsical glance, her eyes twinkling.

“Exactly,” she said, her voice rising with the drama of the story. “She met Emperor Asra—handsome, strong, you know the type.” She pawed at Trevor, glancing at Cole. “Obviously…”

Trevor blushed.

“Anyway,” she continued. “They fell in love, sweetie, just like in a fairy tale. But…there was a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“His advisors” Cole groaned.

“Those musty old men!” She gasped. “They were so worried about the fact that she wasn’t quite human that they demanded that the Emperor annul the marriage!”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Cole snorted. “When someone’s different, people get scared. They don’t know how to handle it. And in the end, love is always what gets hurt.”

Trevor looked at Cole with a sideways glance. Taking his hand, he squeezed it softly.

Looking at him, Cole smiled.

The Grand Duchess sighed exaggeratedly. “Oh, darling, you have no idea. It was utterly tragic! He had to choose between his love for his wife and his duty to his country.”

“Duty won.” Cole interjected.

“I mean,” she shook her head. “What else could he have done? And then!” She gasped again. “Can you believe they exiled her?!?”

Trevor shook his head. “That’s awful.”

“Choosing between love and duty,” Cole’s eyes lowered in sadness. “I can’t even imagine how much it must have hurt Emperor Asra to make that decision.”

The Grand Duchess waved her hand dramatically. “And so she was sent away, poor thing.”

“But before she left the palace,” Cole continued. “He had a pair of special earrings made for her.”

“Legendary” The Grand Duchess highlighted them again. “He told her to point them toward the sky every single day when the sun was at its highest peak.”

Cole nodded. “He said that way, no matter where she was, he could look up and see the shimmer of her light and know that she was safe, no matter how far apart they were.”

“Romantic isn’t it?” The Grand Duchess giggled.

Wrapping his arm around Trevor’s shoulders, Cole hugged him closer.

They were transfixed. Focused on the Grand Duchess. Too hypnotized by the story to notice the tip of her attendant’s fingers brushing against the bottom edge of Cole’s suit jacket.

She shivered at the sizzle of static energy.

Spectral energy.

Gotcha.

The Grand Duchess was too involved with the story to pull away now.

“It’s really beautiful if you think about it.” Cole leaned in a little closer, his gaze fixed on the earrings. “A way for them to stay connected, even when they couldn’t be together. It’s like he gave her a piece of himself to carry with her, and as long as she wore them, they’d never truly be apart.”

The Grand Duchess smiled.

“Yes! Exactly! But a year to the day after she was exiled...” She snapped her fingers. “Gone.! The Empress. The earrings. Just... POOF! It was like she vanished into thin air!”

“Oh wow.” Trevor gasped. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s one of history’s greatest mysteries,” Cole added.

Nodding, The Grand Duchess brushed the onset of tears from her eyes. “The Emperor… that poor, poor man… never even got a final glimpse of her.”

“Oh wow.” Trevor exhaled sadly. “That’s awful.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she shook her head, finishing the rest of her champagne. “And then he went and died of a broken heart - can you even imagine?”

Cole shook his head. “To lose someone you love, and then to lose the one thing that could have kept you connected. It’s terrible.”

“I know, right,” she sighed.

“Maybe those earrings are the key to reuniting them.” Trevor smiled.

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

“It’s a great story,” Trevor’s mind was already spinning. “One I’d love to share with my readers. Would you be interested in an interview?”

“For you?” The Grand Duchess smiled. “Of course, I’d love to do an interview. But..”

Her voice trailed off as she reached up, removing the earrings. Then she pulled a pink handkerchief from her clutch and folded it around them. “I think you should have them.”

She held the earrings out toward Cole.

Stopping, her attendant’s eyes widened.

Cole was shocked. “Me?”

“Him?” Trevor echoed his confusion.

“What?” Her attendant mouthed.

“Your Grace,”Cole shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly. These are priceless.”

Rushing up, her attendant leaned in, whispering into The Grand Duchess’ right ear.

“It’s fine dear,” she waved her off, a playful twinkle in her eyes, The Grand Duchess smiled, pushing her hand Closer toward Cole.

“Darling, these earrings were meant for you.” She stated, her tone was soft, but serious. “I can feel it.”

“Your Grace,” Trevor stated. “I don’t think-”

“Think of them as a gift”—she cut him off—“not just from me. But..”

She paused, her eyes burning into his.

“…From destiny.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably. There was something undeniably powerful about them. Something that tugged at his heart, making him want them.

“Your destiny,” she added.

No. Making him need them. He took a breath.

“Alright,” he finally gave in. “If you’re sure. I’ll take them.”

A bright smile spread across The Grand Duchess’s face. “Wonderful!”

She gently placed the earrings in his hands, her fingers lingering for a brief moment before pulling away.

Cole stood there for a moment, holding the earrings, feeling their weight in his hands, and then looked at her. “Thank you. I don’t really understand why, but... thank you.”

“You’ll see,” the Duchess leaned back, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “And you’re Welcome.”

Reaching out, she touched a hand to each of their shoulders. “Again, thank you so much for coming to my party.

With a smile and a nod, they walked out of the mansion. Watching them the Grand Duchess emptied the rest of the flute into her mouth. Setting it on a tray as another cater waiter passed by, she opened her clutch and pulled out the vape, taking another quick hit.

“Well?” She asked as her attendant stepped up to her right.

She nodded. “He’s spectral.”

The Grand Duchess’ eyes narrowed. “Brilliant.”

LATER, RAINBOW ROAD EXPRESSWAY

Sitting in the back of the car on the ride home, Cole couldn’t stop thinking of the earrings. He could feel their energy pulsating in his pocket. Too faint for a mortal to feel, but as a Spectral, the sensation was warm…familiar… intoxicating.

“Wow.” Trevor leaned across the seat, resting his head on Cole’s shoulder. “That was the weirdest fucking night of my life.”

“Mine too,” Cole chuckled.

CHAPTER FOUR: Makin’ Mischief

Getting out of the elevator, Cole and Trevor were caught off guard when they found two police officers standing outside the door to the loft.

Trevor paused for a second, then took a cautious step toward them. “Excuse me? Is there a problem, officers?”

“Move along.” The officer barely looked at them. “PCPD business.”

“Go back to your home,” the second officer added, his voice edging impatiently as he knocked again on the door.

“Then step aside, please.” Cole’s voice was stern, but respectful. “This is our loft.”

The first officer turned to him. “You live here?”

“Yes,” Trevor confirmed with a quick nod. “Here.”

“Which one of you is Cole Carter?”

“I am,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, Mr. Carter,” the second officer started, “we’ve received a report of an assault.”

“An assault?” Trevor’s voice shot up in disbelief. “From who?”

“Arthur Brindle,” the second officer continued, his eyes narrowing as he watched their reactions.

“Brindle!” Trevor echoed in disdain. “Are you fucking serious!?”

“Yes.” The first officer nodded.

“Babe, just breathe,” Cole attempted to steady the situation. He turned his attention back to the police officer. “Can you tell me exactly how he alleges I assaulted him?”

“He claims you pushed him, and when he fell, he broke his wrist,” The second officer answered, shifting his weight.

“That’s a load of bullshit!” Trevor spat. “That homophobic bastard is lying through his Goddamn teeth!”

The first officer sighed, clearly used to dealing with this kind of reaction. He looked to Cole. “Maybe we should go to the station and talk this out.”

“Great idea! Let’s all go! I’ll go wake up Brindle and—”

“Trevor.” Cole interrupted firmly, cutting him off before things could escalate.

“Do you know who my sister is?” Trevor added, glaring at the officers.

Cole took a slow breath, then looked at the officers.

“I’ll go with you.”

“What?!?” Trevor asked. “Like Hell you-”

“Trevor,” Cole cut him off. Reaching into his pocket, Cole pulled out the handkerchief-wrapped earrings. “Stop. I’ll go to the station.” He held the handkerchief out to Trevor. “Put these away, and call Priya.”

“Cole.”

“I’ll see you there,” He kissed Trevor’s forehead. “Alright?”

Trevor opened his mouth to protest but caught himself, the weight of the situation settling in.

“For once,” Cole sighed. “Just… do as I ask…Please?”

After a moment, Trevor sighed, nodding reluctantly.

Cole leaned in, kissing his cheek placing the handkerchief in his hand. “I’ll see you in a few,” he murmured.

Trevor managed a slight nod, though his eyes betrayed his anxiety as the officers motioned for Cole to follow them. He waited until the elevator closed before turning to unlock the door and step into the loft.

The door shut and shadows raced from every opening of the apartment door.

They were petrified.

To JittiRain: Your work has inspired me more than you know!

CHAPTER ONE

In the Heat of the Night

Beneath the silvery gleam of a full moon—the kind that makes poets sigh and night owls reconsider their life choices—there is a city brimming with possibility. With purpose. With power.

Prism City.

But this isn’t your average metropolis. This is its own ecosystem—thriving, tangled, and just a little radioactive. Its sectors glow in bold, vibrant hues, each neighborhood defined by color, by character. From above, it looks like stained glass brought to life.

Scarlet Heights. Industrial heart of the city. It’s loud, it’s hot, and it never sleeps. Steel and smoke fill the air as hammers strike metal in a relentless rhythm. Workers move like ghosts through a haze, hardened by the kind of heat that doesn’t just burn—it incinerates.

In Marigold Plaza, commerce reigns supreme. Skyscrapers glitter like golden promises, towering above open-air markets where every vendor is one pitch away from their big break. Capitalism in stilettos.

Then there’s the Sunshine District. Bright. Orderly. Statues of justice line the clean, sunlit streets like they’re guarding some great civic truth. Government buildings, law enforcement Headquarters, and yet... not every law is enforced. Not every hand is clean.

And sometimes justice comes at a price.

Further out? Sagewater Bay. Think money. Think influence. Think champagne chilled in infinity pools beside carefully crafted hedges that spell out last names no one can pronounce—but everyone pretends to recognize. The one-percenters don’t just live here.

They reign.

In the Cerulean Core—tech pulses like a second heartbeat. Digital lights spill from holographic billboards, soaking the streets in electric blue. Laboratories, Virtual Reality hubs, innovation centers so advanced they blur the line between science and science fiction - and in the middle of the circuitry and chaos is The Daily Wave. It’s ot just a newspaper - it’s a narrative machine.

This is where the stories of Prism City get told - and retold. Where facts become framing. Where headlines become history. And where names become legend.

Names like… The Powers.

A legion of superhuman beings, The Powers are as complex as the city they call home. Some fight for love. Some fight for justice. And some fight because—let’s be honest—they just want to punish something.

Beyond the steel and circuitry, Indigo Acres grows the city’s food supply in rainbow-colored rows. A patchwork of tradition and innovation, where robotic tractors share the fields with sun-hats and sweat. This is where “farm to table” meets “lab to lunchbox.”

And then, there’s Violet Village. Picture a postcard—only with better schools and solar panels. It’s peaceful. Suburban. A little too perfect. But if you’re raising a family or starting a bakery, this is your place.

And at the very center of it all—pulsing like a living, breathing jewel—there’s the crystalline dome of Spectra.

It hums with prismatic energy, an alien heart beating at the core of Prism City. It’s the home of The Powers, and others like them. Beings who traveled across the stars not to conquer—but to survive.

And though its mysteries remain sealed to human eyes, its influence? It’s everywhere. In the air. In the light. In every whispered legend and leaked document. Its presence shapes everything.

Whether the people of Prism City want it to... or not.

From the outside, it truly was a bright and beautiful place, but Trevor Prince knew better. Raised in the Cinder Block Burroughs—a slum without a sector—he was intimately familiar with the rot that festered at the edge of the glow.

At twenty-four, he was boyishly lean, with wild red hair and angular features softened by a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Blending into the shadows cast by the shipping containers on the docks, his emerald green eyes kept a stern watch on the happenings around him.

Whispers drifted through the night, mingling with the soft shuffle of guards on patrol, their guns ready. They had switched a large container from a ship that had been idling in the shallows since just before sunset with another on a truck that came and left within the same thirty minute period. But the other container hadn’t been loaded yet.

Something was happening on the ship.

There was chatter. Hushed and irritated. While most of the guards were scurrying around below deck a hand full of them were left to circle the other container.

It’s some kind of exchange. He thought. But what?

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

In a spacious apartment in the middle of Violet Village, twenty-six-year-old Cole Carter stood by the window, the faint light tracing delicate lines across his face and casting a glow over the worry flickering in his honey-colored, almond-shaped eyes. Still in his Air Force uniform, he was undeniably handsome—though clearly irritated.

“Trevor,” he said, his voice low but insistent, as he pushed his square black frames up the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like the idea of you doing any of these things without me. You know that.”

From his hiding place, back on the docks,Trevor shrugged. He could feel the frustration of Cole’s voice vibrating through the communication system he wore around his neck.

Suspended from a delicate chain, a polished platinum pendant cradled an iridescent stone that glistened like a full moon. Its setting was flanked by two crescent gems—on the left, a waxing lapis shimmering like distant stars, while on the right, a waning amber radiating with the warmth of the sun—capturing the eternal balance of darkness and light.

“You were busy, Fly Boy” He stated flatly.

Cole felt Trevor’s voice echo through the shadows around him.

“Trevor…” He growled in response.

“I know…” Trevor mocked with a hissed whisper. “I didn’t want to miss my chance to break this story wide open. It’s going to get me another Pulitzer. I can feel it.”

“But… you’ve already got two Pulitzers…”

Cole glanced toward said awards, proudly displayed on the mantle above an electric fireplace at the far end of the living area.

“There’s not enough room for another one.”

“Hey.” Trevor continued with casual dismissal. “Check my monitors?”

Rolling his eyes, Cole walked to the desk at the window and activated the screens. “Alright,” he stated. “They’re on.”

Lifting the setting of the pendent, Trevor turned the holographic surface of the Moonstone to face him.

Seeing his fiancé appear on the screen, Cole allowed his body to relax.

Slightly.

“How do I look?” Trevor asked, flashing a confident grin at the camera hidden inside the stone of the pendant.

Cole stared at the screens, taking in his handsomely smug, self-assured, and adorable (though far too pleased with himself) face.

“Like a gorgeous asshole.”

“Good.” Trevor nodded. “And for the record”—he glared— “There’s always room for another Pulitzer.”

“Your editor is right,” Cole sighed in defeat. “You’re…”

“Intrepid.”

They said simultaneously.

Sighing, Trevor rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“Jerk.”

“Going silent,” Trevor said, dropping the pendant back to his chest. “These guards with guns look irritated.”

“What?!” Cole scowled, his voice rising in concern. “Guards with… guns?!”

“Make sure I’m recording.”

Clicking a few times on the mouse, the screen extended.

Five burly-built men and one surly woman came into view.

“Yep,” he nodded. “Guards with guns… fuck. Trevor…” he groaned again. “I’m on m-”

“No!” Trevor cut him off with a hiss. “I’m sorry. Don’t come. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“Fine!?!” Cole snorted. “They have guns. Lots of them!”

“And they’re going to shoot me if I don’t stop talking so… shhh!”

Closing his eyes, Cole listened. The crashing of waves against the dock. The steady shuffle of boots—guards with guns. The soft whistle of the wind. The quiet, nervous rhythm of Trevor’s breath.

And beneath it all—his heartbeat.

Exhaling slowly, Cole lifted his eyes toward the moon.

Damn it, Trevor.

MOMENTS LATER, THE CINDERBLOCK DOCKS

A loud bang echoed from the ship, followed by a sharp whistling scream as a cloud of steam plumed into the sky.

The guards whipped their heads toward the source of the noise, their eyes wide with concern. Without hesitation, every single one of them rushed toward the disturbance.

Every. Single. One of them.

Trevor focused on the unattended container.

“Don’t do it,” he felt Cole hiss through his bones.

But he never listened to anyone else, not even when he knew he should.

Scrambling, he slid to the ground, his fingers fumbling over the thick bolts as he pried at the door.

It’s probably drugs, he thought. Or weapons. Groaning, he pulled again.

It didn’t budge.

Maybe it’s both,his mind continued to spin.

Perhaps waiting for Cole would’ve been a good idea.

“Of course, you should’ve waited for me,” Cole’s voice scolded through the com.

“Get out of my head,” he huffed, pulling harder. “Open…” he grunted “Up!”

Finally, the rusted hinges creaking under the pressure cracked free. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Trevor turned on the flashlight and peeked inside.

His eyes widened and he gasped.

“Holy shit.”

MEANWHILE, PARADISE LOFTS

Seeing the dirt-stained faces of several women and girls flash on the monitor, Cole stepped back from the computer desk.

“That’s it!” he muttered, his hand already moving to strip off his glasses. Tossing them onto the desk without looking, his fingers reached back to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes never left the screen.

It was worse than they thought. Much worse.

“Cole…” He felt Trevor’s voice whimper. “This is…”

“I’m on my way,” Cole cut him off.

“Good. I don’t thi-”

Trevor’s voice was swallowed by a sickening crack - the sound of the butt of a gun punching the back of a head.

Trevor’s head.

Fuck! Cole thought. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Ripping off his shirt, shadows began to coil around him, responding to Cole’s will like living strands of thread. Twisting in the air, they spun around his body, weaving into a suit that clung to his toned physique - the black fabric absorbing the light.

From the collar, a cape unfurled - the outer layer was thin, soft, and violet. The inner was a deep, impenetrable indigo shimmering with starlight.

Cole was gone. He’d been transformed into something darker—something more powerful. Something… Super…

MoonShadow!

Rushing toward the floor-to-ceiling window, he unlatched it, pushing it open. Stepping back, he sprinted forward, lifting into the night like an owl - white in the moonlight, black against the stars.

Airborne, MoonShadow sliced through the night. His mind racing as a thousand cries for help and whimpers of fear filtered through the shadows. Sifting through them with practiced precision, he sorted worry from panic, urgency from anguish. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help them - he did - but right now, Trevor was all he could think about.

He knew the sound of his heartbeat, the cadence of his breath. He could even distinguish the flow of blood as it pushed through his veins.

But right now. There was nothing. Every part of Trevor ’s being was silent.

Fuck.

Pushing the darkest thoughts out of his mind, he clung to the memory of the night they’d met in an attempt to remain positive.

It was all he could do to keep from going crazy.

SIX YEARS AGO, LAVENDER CAFÉ

Cole was pissing into a urinal in the men’s room when the door swung open and a petite figure with wild red hair stumbled inside, singing—no, belting—the chorus of Pat Benatar’s ‘Shadows of the Night’ - badly, but adorable.

Swaggering up to the urinal beside him, Trevor fumbled with the buttons on his jeans as he swayed.

“Tequila tastes like shit!” he snarled, turning his head a little too fast. The movement sent him teetering, and he caught himself against the tiled wall.

“Whoa.” He giggled.

“It does,” Cole nodded, amused by the sheer chaos standing next to him.

“But damn is it fun!” Trevor declared, his voice a little too loud for a public bathroom.

Cole chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed the last few drops into the urinal.

“Yeah… yeah, it is. Just don’t drink too much. You’ll feel it in the morning.”

Trevor scoffed, still swaying on his feet. “Just call me angel of the morning!” he half-sang, half-shouted, throwing his arms out dramatically as the pale stream that arced out of him veered past the porcelain, splattering onto the floor.

“Oops.” He hiccuped a laugh, pointing himself back on target.

Giving himself one final shake before zipping up, Cole walked to the sink. He cast a sidelong glance at the redhead in the mirror as he started to wash his hands.

“Good song.”

“Which song?” Trevor turned too fast again, his glassy eyes catching the tall, toned, and handsome stranger watching his reflection.

“Angel of the Morning.”

“Hell yeah it is!” He gushed.“I fucking love Juice Newton!”

Smirking, Cole held him in his eyes.

“Just call me angel… of the morning… baby!” Trevor sang again, nodding as he situated himself and buttoned up his pants.

As he turned toward the sink, his foot squelched into the puddle he had just made. Before he could react, he slipped—hard.

Cole dashed, catching him mid-fall.

One second, Trevor was tumbling; the next, he was cradled in strong, steady arms, pressed against a broad chest that smelled faintly of applewood and cigarettes.

Their eyes locked, Trevor’s breath catching in surprise.

“You alright?” Cole asked, his voice low and steady but undeniably amused.

Trevor’s mouth opened, his drunken brain struggling to keep up with the rapid sequence of events that had just taken place.

“I’m… uh… yeah…” He blinked. “… You’re… um…. You’re…pretty.”

Cole’s smirk deepened. “Thanks.”

Trevor suddenly remembered where he was—and what had just happened. His nose wrinkled as his eyes darted to the floor. “I… just slipped in pee…”— he groaned—“Didn’t I…?”

“You did,” Cole confirmed, trying—but failing—to hold back a laugh.

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” He helped him upright, his hands lingering on the small of his back for a moment before he finally let go.

Trevor shook his head. His hair fell into his eyes. “Thanks for catching me,” he said, flashing a sheepish, slightly lopsided grin.

“No problem.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Trevor.”

“Cole.” He greeted. His grip was firm, but his touch was warm, again lingering just a little longer than necessary.

Trevor squinted at their joined hands, then he glanced back at the urinals.

“Sorry.” He turned his attention back to their hands.

“For what?”

“I, uh…” Trevor snorted, barely holding back his own laughter. “I haven’t washed my hands yet.”

Cole blinked. “Good thing there’s a sink then.”

Trevor nodded. “And soap!”

“And soap,” Cole repeated.

With another nod, they both moved to wash their hands, sneaking glances at each other in the mirror.

While they stood under the dryer, the warm air humming around them, Trevor leaned lazily against the counter, his damp hands outstretched, letting the heat seep into his skin. He sighed contentedly as if this were the coziest place in the world—which, for him, at this moment, it was.

Cole took a slow, nervous breath.

“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you,” he started, lifting his cap to run a hand through his shaggy black hair. “I’m on the worst blind date in the history of blind dates and I could really use your help.”

“Oh?”

“Any interest in helping me get out of it?” A hint of mischief flickered in his eyes. “You know, since I helped you?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. ”How?”

“Honestly?” Cole crossed his arms. “Don’t care.”

Trevor laughed. “Well, that’s not very helpful but… I was in a few plays in high school,” he tilted his chin up smugly. “Got spectacular reviews, so…. I know my way around a scene.” He placed a hand over his chest, eyes fluttering with mock humility. “Some even called me transformative—like Bettina Brite in everything she’s ever done.”

Cole was confused. “Is that a good thing?”

“Do you not know who Bettina Brite is?!?” Trevor gasped dramatically.

“No.”

“OhMiGod!” He squinted at him through an exaggerated pout. “She is only the greatest actress of our time! No - wait - Of ALL time!”

Cole shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of her.”

Trevor was shocked. “How is that even possible?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t watch a lot of television or movies.”

“Oh, we’re going to have to fix that, Dearheart.”

Cole smirked. “So you’ll help?”

“I’l help.”

“Really?” Cole couldn’t hide his joy.

“Of course.” Trevor bit his lip as he started to blush.

“Sweet,” Cole patted his shoulder. “See you soon.”

Turning toward the door, Cole paused—catching Trevor watching him as he walked away.

Something stirred and he spun impulsively, closing the space between them in the blink of an eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said before he leaned in, capturing Trevor’s lips in a kiss.

Heat.

Electricity.

Magic.

Something indescribable sparked between them. Lights flickered, shadows danced across the walls, swirling around them, and for a moment, the entire café sizzled with energy.

When the kiss ended, Trevor blinked at him, his lips still slightly parted. “…You kissed me.”

“I did,” Cole admitted, trying to read his expression.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t ask my permission.”

Cole’s stomach dropped. His heart lurched. “I—I… oh, shit— I didn’t.” I didn’t mean to. I umm..” His voice trailed off. His eyes grew even wider. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean too. I just thought that… Well, I thought that you’d be into it…” He was starting to panic. “Fuck! I’m sorry man. I’m so sorry! I totally read the situation wrong!”

Trevor giggled, leaning in until their noses almost touched.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, did I?”

Cole exhaled a sharp breath, something between a laugh and a groan of relief. “You really shouldn’t scare a guy like that.”

“Why not?” Trevor beamed. It’s fun.”

“For you, maybe!” He snorted.

Reaching up, he grabbed Cole’s collar and yanked him back in for another kiss.

It was drunk and a little sloppy, but eager - and dripping with passion.

They’d been kissing each other every night since.

NOW, THE CINDERBLOCK DOCKS

Artificial light spilled across the rows of shipping containers that filled the dockyard, causing long shadows to dance with the rhythm of the swaying cranes.

A pink and white Rolls Royce glided to a halt at the edge of the pier. A moment later, the door opened, and the Grand Duchess, Giselle de Barbarac emerged. A regal woman in her mid-fifties, she was the picture of Mid-Atlantic aristocracy mixed with soft Southern decadence.

Dressed in a floor-length silk coat, the color of crushed coral—its collar drowning in plush, oversized white fur—she sashayed toward the dock with a theatrical flourish. Her platinum-blonde hair was piled high in an elaborate updo, adding to her petite 4′ 11″ frame. Its height kept in place by sparkling combs shaped like butterflies, their jeweled wings catching the starlight with dazzling excess. A pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her perfectly sculpted nose, as if even the gentle moon was too offensive for her delicate baby blues.

Her gloved fingers clutched a long cigarette holder.

Bringing it to her mouth, she inhaled deeply. The anticipation of the heat of the smoke and what it did for her, was almost as delectable as the minty taste itself.

“Your Highness!” A voice shouted from the darkness.

Rolling her eyes, the Grand Duchess groaned.

Behind and to her right, a petite young woman stepped up. Dressed in the uniform of a school girl, with stark spiked white hair, she was pretty, but unassuming. Fabulous but forgettable. She was her attendant.

She was the Grand Duchess’ most trusted confidant. Swift, silent, and deadly, she moved with quiet precision, her hands clasped before her like a porcelain doll awaiting her next command.

“It’s Your Grace,” The Grand Duchess corrected, her tone slow and exaggerated. “Honestly, how many times must I endure such rude and mentally mistakes?”

Stepping up to her, her attendant whispered into her ear. Correcting her.

“That’s what I said, love. Rude and mentally. You know… Basic.”

Her attendant nodded, stepping back into silence.

Her eyes flicked back toward a man whose very existence seemed designed to give her a splitting headache. Her Operations Manager, Zipper.

As he stumbled closer, she took in his haggard appearance; his oil-stained shoes, his ill-fitting suit - perpetually stained with something - rumpled beyond repair, complimented by a tie that had lost its will to live halfway down his off-white shirt.

He was awful.

“Your Highness!” he blurted again, his voice tight with panic.

“Are you actively trying to annoy me?” she tilted her head. “Because it’s working. I’m annoyed.”

Zipper’s beady eyes darted frantically. He swallowed hard, wringing his hands.

“Your Grace,” He corrected. “We-”

“Too late,” she cut him off with a dramatic wave. “The moment is ruined. Move on.”

“We ran into-”

“Please tell me you’re not about to make my evening even more exhausting,” she cut him off again, pressing the middle finger of her left hand to his chapped lips. “I mean, I’m already performing miracles just by standing here in this dismal….”— She looked around, taking in her surroundings—“place.”

She shivered.

Unsure how to respond, Zipper slowly opened his mouth.

“I mean, it really, really is just… awful.” She continued before he could speak. “Would it kill you to add some color?”

“I-”

So… I don’t think I could handle any bad news.” She gestured vaguely toward the dock with her cigarette holder. “Mmmmkay?”

“There was trouble with the ship,” Zipper’s voice seeped around her finger.

“Damn it!” She scowled, taking another puff. “What did I just fucking say! That sounds exactly like bad news!”

“It’s been fixed.” He added quickly.

“Oh..” She paused. “That’s simply marvelous!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together joyously. “Then…” she pointed toward the open crate. “Why is that empty?”

Zipper hesitated again, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes as she took another drag.

He swallowed, nervously.

“Another problem,” he admitted, reaching into his pocket.

“More bad news!?!” She whined, stomping her foot. “Why does this always happen to me!?!”

She looked back at her attendant.

“Why is life always so unbelievably difficult for the rich?” She groaned again. “I’m so unlucky!”

Nodding silently, her attendant kept her eyes focused on Zipper.

She didn’t trust him.

“It’s always poor, poor pitiful me!” The Grand Duchess continued with a dramatic whine, soothing her hand over her hair. The silk of the glove snagged on the wing of one of the butterflies, pulling at the delicate thread. “See!” She cried. “So Unlucky!”

Reaching for her mistress’s hair, her attendant freed the tangled glove with ease.

Quiet and uncomfortable, Zipper remained silent.

“Alright,” she waved at him dismissively, once she was free. “Out with it. Suspense gives me wrinkles! What’s the other problem?”

He pulled a laminated identification card from his pocket.

“This,” he turned it toward her.

Disgust painted her face. “You don’t expect me to touch that, do you?” She groaned. “It’s filthy!”

Stepping forward, her attendant plucked the card from Zipper’s hand.

Zipper jumped in surprise.

Wiping it on her shirt, she held it toward the Grand Duchess.

Pulling her sunglasses down her nose, she studied the card and the photo of the vibrant redhead who was looking back at her.

“Trevor Prince,” she read. As memories flashed through her mind, she frowned. “Isn’t he that obnoxious little brat from The Dailey Wave who brought down my diamond smuggling operation at Alfredo’s fashion event last year?

Her attendant nodded.

“I knew it!” She clapped happily. “I’m a genius, aren’t I?!?”

Scratching his head, Zipper opened his mouth to speak.

“It was rhetorical.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumbass.”

Zipper nodded, looking down.

“Ugh,” she pulled the holder from her mouth. “He practically had me in tears! So much money! So many beautiful diamonds! GONE!”

She looked to Zipper. Sighing. “It’s a real trajesty you know?”

Leaning in, her attendant whispered in her ear. Correcting her. Again.

“That’s what I said, dear. A trajesty. You know, a false, absurd, or distorted representation of something.”

Turning her blue eyes back to Zipper, she pushed up her sunglasses.

“Where is he now?”

Zipper inclined toward the ship. Another container was being lowered to the stern. “I had him thrown in with the others when we moved them.”

The Grand Duchess took another dramatic puff from her cigarette. “Well, That puts us in a real pickle now, doesn’t it?”

Exhaling slowly, the smoke curled lazily toward Zipper’s face.

“A real condomdrum.”

Leaning in, her attendant whispered in her ear. Correcting her - for a third time.

“That’s what I said, dear,” The Grand Duchess heaved. “A condomdrum. Do you know what a condomdrum is?”

Nodding, her attendant stepped back, giving up.

“I’m sure one of your clients could find use for a slender piece of prissy white ass.” Zipper jeered.

“He’s a world-famous journalist, who was once on one of the most popular morning shows on the planet, you fucking homophobe!” She spat. “Even if you got him out of Prism City, someone somewhere would see him. Someone somewhere would recognize him. Someone somewhere could cause a problem…” Her voice raised. “For me!”

“What should I have done, Your Highness?”

Turning to her attendant, the Grand Duchess sighed with exhaustion. “Darling. Be a dear and handle this.”

Stepping forward, her attendant slid Trevor’s identification card over her wrist. Reaching behind her pleated skirt, she pulled a small handgun from a hidden holster at her back.

“This is what you should have done.”

Her voice was deep, monotone, and emotionless.

Eyes wide, Zipper had no time to think - let alone react - before a silent bullet pierced through his skull.

“Dumbass.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The Grand Duchess cried, inspecting the rip in her glove as the lifeless body of her Operations Manager fell to the ground. “This is ruined. Absolutely ruined!” She held out her finger toward her attendant. “This night is a disaster!” She continued to whine. “Make a note to call Emperor Chow tomorrow. We’ll need to get another pair!”

Her attendant stiffened, shivering as the shadows around her began to vibrate.

A warning.

“A Spectral!” she stated, her voice tight.

Their eyes met.

“MoonShadow…”

The Grand Duchess nearly dropped the cigarette holder.

“Well, isn’t that just the cherry on top of this shit-dreadful evening?!?”

The shadows vibrated again.

“He’s…” she tried to wade through the emotion. “He’s worried.”

“Worried?”

She nodded.

“Yes.” She took another breath. “Very worried.”

The Grand Duchess’ eyes fell on the identification card dangling from her attendant’s wrist. “Keep that,” she pointed at it.

Her attendant nodded.

“Get rid of that.” She gestured toward Zipper, sneering.

Crouching down, her attendant grabbed him by the ankle. Lifting him with ease, she hurled him toward the water. Far enough, he’d never wash back.

Dusting off her hands with a heavy clap she nodded affirmatively.

“Bon fiet, asshat.”

“Now,” the Grand Duchess’s face brightened. “Let’s away, darling. I’ve earned a glass of Chardonnay after this horrible ordeal.”

With a dramatic whirl of her silk coat, she turned on her heel and strutted toward the Rolls Royce, brushing back her hair.”

Once again, her glove caught on one of the butterfly combs.

“God MOTHERFUCKING Damn it!” She cried. “I really am the most unlucky girl in all the universe.”

Patting her back, her attendant guided her into the car.

Next Week: Episode 02: ｢Outrageous!｣

A party at the Estate of the Grand Duchess puts Cole and Trevor face-to-face with the Grand Duchess, a pair of mysterious (and legendary) earrings, and a whole new level of dangerously fabulous - and by the end of the night, someone’s getting arrested!

INTRODUCTION

Blue World

Prism City.

A modern metropolis where every sunrise breaks in a different color.

The steel towers of Scarlet Heights?

They don’t just scrape the sky — they throb with the heat and hustle of industry.

Marigold Plaza? That’s where fortune lives — if you’re bold enough, lucky enough, or ruthless enough to catch it.

And the Sunshine District?

It stands tall. Proud. A monument to justice - or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be.

Down by Sagewater Bay, the wealthy sip their wine-flavored coffee from balconies that almost touch the clouds — and if you listen closely, you can hear them toasting themselves for surviving another news cycle.

The Cerulean Core lights up with every invention, every new gamble that wants to become the next big thing.

Indigo Acres keeps the markets stocked and the fridges full.

Tucked away behind its perfect fences and perfect lawns, Violet Village pretends it’s immune to the chaos.

It’s not.

At the heart of all of it — Spectra.

A domed cathedral of crystal and light.

It’s the pulse that keeps the city breathing.

It’s the power that keeps us alive.

And make no mistake: power... wears many faces.

Some wear sweats. Some wear suits. Some try very hard to stay out of sight.

While others?

Others wear capes while they fly around, seemingly begging for attention—needing the notoriety like human beings need oxygen - and for the exact same reason: to live.

They thrive on it.

We call them The Powers — protectors, heroes… sometimes even gods, if you believe the headlines.

These Spectral beings who’ve traveled to Earth from planets we mere mortals can only dream of, move through Prism City like shadows and sunbeams.

Saving what they can.

Surviving what they can’t.

And always - always inspiring the wildest of imaginations to dream bigger.

Some fight for love. Some for justice. Some just for the satisfaction of punishing the bad guy.

Spectral.

Terran.

They’re all stitched into the same city—

Same streets, same sky.

Dreaming the same dreams. Fighting the same fights.

Different motives, perhaps.

Very different consequences.

But still. The same.

And every morning — every single morning — the citizens of Prism City tell themselves the same thing:

Today, it’s going to be different

.

REEVE WEST STUDIOS

The clock on the studio wall ticked down. Twenty seconds to air.

Beneath the blistering lights of Wake Up, Prism City, producers barked last-second adjustments through headsets. Stagehands darted like mice, scrambling to make final corrections—fixing a mic, wiping a smudge from the desk, straightening a display board that had slipped half an inch off-center.

A nameless intern flapped a cue card in front of twenty-two-year-old Luna Lake, mouthing, “More energy!”

Luna replied with a silent tight-lipped smile and a nod. She was unbothered.

Adjusting her stance, loose waves of dark hair brushing against her cheek. Her white top blended high fashion with simplicity—casual, yet polished

She always made it look effortless.

Her skin, warm and sunlit even under the studio glare, seemed to drink in the colors around her. Her dark eyes sparkled with an energy that didn’t need stage direction; it was just who she was.

A star.

She tapped one heel against the floor — a small, restless habit — then flashed a quick grin toward her co-host, twenty-three-year-old Trevor Prince. Sitting across from her, his legs casually braced behind the glass desk, his red curls — messy despite every attempt to tame them — caught the glare of the lights and shimmered like embers: wild and untamed against the soft green of his button-up

His pale skin, dusted with golden freckles like quiet constellations across his face and neck, looked almost unreal under the cameras’ heavy filters.

The lean cut of his frame—built more for running than for posing—shifted as he flashed an easy, polished grin that had made him one of the most familiar faces in the city.

Fifteen seconds.

Luna flashed her own effortless smile, smoothing back her hair as a producer frantically waved them through the countdown.

Ten.

Cue cards fluttered. Stagehands ducked off set. A final sweep across Trevor’s collar. A tap to his mic. A whisper in his earpiece: “Ready guys?”

He nodded.

Five seconds.

Trevor shifted in his chair, ready to launch into a light segment on how to get that superhero beach body — it was the kind of thing he could sell in his sleep.

Four.

Movement.

Fast. Wrong.

Derek Edison, the network’s executive producer — short and broad-shouldered, with the kind of muscle that came from hauling gear, not bench pressing — stormed into the wings, panic written across his stubbled face and tousled blond hair. He bent low, whispering fast into Trevor’s ear.

Three seconds.

The grin fell.

Luna turned to him, confused.

“What is it?” She asked softly.

Two.

The color drained from Trevor’s face like someone had flipped a switch. For half a second, the bright, polished television personality was gone — and in his place stood a young man, raw, unguarded, and unmistakably flustered. Afraid.

One.

The red light blinked on.

LIVE!

Nodding, the director pointed at Trevor.

Inhaling sharply, he stared into the camera, his freckles stark against ghost-white skin, the weight of something unspeakable hollowing out the space between heartbeats.

And all of Prism City saw it.

“Um—”

He cleared his throat.

“Uh...” He tried again.

“We—uh—”

Luna glanced over, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Trevor?” she asked, voice light but tight as she turned her gaze toward the director. “What is it?”

He shook his head, in disbelief, swallowing hard.

“We have breaking news…”

Another shallow breath. He steadied himself against the desk.

He cleared his throat again. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, ladies and gentlemen... SuperMoon, leader of The Powers... one of the most recognizable heroes in Prism City... is dead.”

CHAPTER ONE

Good Love

Pulling at his collar, Trevor yanked open the top buttons of his shirt.

Fishing his cell phone out of his right pocket, his fingers moved fast, clumsy with panic.

Unlocking it, he jumped to his call log and pressed on the last name glowing back at him:

♡Cole♡

“Come on,” he hissed under his breath. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”

The line clicked.

Voicemail.

“Yo, you’ve reached Cole Carter!” The deep voice was bright and playful. “Full-time pilot, part-time badass. Right now, I’m either flying dangerously fast through national airspace in one of the sweetest machines known to man, stealing some downtime with the love of my life, or screening my calls like a responsible adult. Pick an option. Leave a message. If it’s important, I’ll call you back. If not... that’s on you, bro.”

Lowering the phone, Trevor ended the call and dialed again.

“Please, Cole.”

He quickened his pace.

“Yo, you’ve reached…”

“Damn it!” Trevor groaned. Leaping over the last two steps, he sprinted toward the door.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

“Cole?” He answered quickly. “Are you alrigh-”

“Trevor?” A soft female voice cut him off on the other end.

Pulling his phone from his ear, he glanced at the screen, and sighed at the name of Cole’s oldest friend.

“Serena,” he returned his phone to his ear. “Hi.”

“Have you heard?”

“Yes.”

“Have you spoken to Cole?”

“He hasn’t answered.”

“For me either.”

“I’m on my way home now.” He continued pushing out of the building and out into the city. “How soon will you be able to get here.”

“A few days, but there are not a lot of flights from the middle of the Amazon to Prism City.”

“No,” Trevor sighed. “I bet not.”

“I’ll try.” She sighed. “I promise.”

“I know.” He sighed. “And it’s appreciated.”

“Text me when you get home okay?” She continued her voice quaking with worry. “Let me know he’s okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Serena.”

“He puts on a brave face and I know they didn’t always see eye to eye, but…”

“I know.” Trevor sighed again. “Thank you Serena.

Ending the call, he dialed Cole again.

Voicemail.

LATER, PARADISE LOFTS

Sitting at the edge of Violet Village, Paradise Lofts was 29 stories of Art Deco vision fused with eclectic modernity. Exposed brick, iron-framed windows, and a mezzanine level gave each unit a distinct sense of architectural luxury.

Pushing through the door of the penthouse loft, Trevor kicked off his shoes and dropped his messenger bag to the hardwood floor.

The space was warm and lived-in—exposed brick walls, iron-framed windows, and open beam ceilings softened by layered rugs, neatly arranged shelves, and the faint, comforting blend of applewood cologne and cherry vanilla candles. A framed photo of Cole in his pilot uniform sat beside a Pulitzer Prize on the mantle above the electric fireplace. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden lines across the open living space and up toward the mezzanine.

“Cole!” he called out, rushing toward the stairs and the master bedroom on the second floor. “Are you home?”

Silence.

He found twenty-five year old Cole Carter- the man he’d been dating for the last five years - sitting on the edge of the bed, still as stone, staring blankly out the window.

His broad shoulders, usually squared with casual confidence, were slumped forward. His dark hair — always a little too long, a little too messy — fell across his forehead, shadowing his honey colored, almond-shaped eyes. His hands hung loosely between his knees, fingers lax, like he’d forgotten what to do with them.

On the floor beside him, his phone was face down, silent. Forgotten.

Trevor stepped toward him, reaching out to touch his bare shoulder.

“Cole?” he repeated, softer—more worried.

With a jolt, Cole looked up at him.

“Trevor…”His eyes were glistening. Furrowing his brow, his face twisted in confusion “He’s…”

His whole body was trembling like a wire pulled too tight.

“He’s...” Cole tried again, his voice breaking apart on the word. He swallowed hard, chest heaving with the effort to stay upright.

“He’s dead.”

The words dropped like a stone between them, heavy and brutal.

“My Dad…”—He shivered—“He’s….” He took a railed breath, “dead.”

Trevor tightened his grip instinctively, anchoring them both.

“Cole…”

Cole bent forward, resting his forehead against Trevor’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, his voice cracking. “What the actual fuck, man?”

Trevor lifted his arms and wrapped them around him, pulling him close.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor struggled to keep his own composure we he rubbed slow, steady circles across Cole’s back. “I’m so sorry.”

Trevor held him, feeling every ragged breath shudder through his boyfriend’s body.

For a long moment, Cole didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Then slowly, he pulled back — just enough to wipe at his face with the heel of his hand. He seemed embarrassed - as if the vulnerability betrayed the illusion of invincibility.

He shifted on the bed like he couldn’t get comfortable, like the weight on his chest didn’t know where to settle.

His hands hovered midair, twitching twice before curling into tight fists against his thighs.

He stared at the floor, his jaw clenching and unclenching, breathing hard through his nose.

Trevor didn’t speak..

He didn’t try to fill the silence with words that wouldn’t matter.

He just stayed close, his hand resting lightly on Cole’s back, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the side of his head.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel,” he muttered, not looking up. His throat worked around the words like they tasted wrong coming out.

“We barely spoke. Barely even liked each other. He—”

He cut himself off, biting hard on whatever came next.

“I know,” Trevor whispered.

He felt the ache of it — the hollow confusion twisting tighter between them.

He pulled Cole back, tightening his embrace just enough to remind him he didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I know.”

For a long moment, Cole just sat there, breathing unevenly, taking in the scent of him, his body rigid with the effort of holding everything in.

Then, , slowly, he pulled away, dragging both hands down his face—hard enough to leave his skin red. He turned, leaned back, and let his head fall against the wall with a soft thud.

He stared up at the ceiling like it might have an answer for him.

“I hated him,” He choked out.

Trevor nodded, sitting next to him.

“Like, all the time.” He snorted. “I fucking hated him.”

Again, Trevor nodded.

“The things he said. The way he—”

Cole stopped, his jaw tightening. Then, almost under his breath:

“The way he treated you.”

His hands flexed open and closed in his lap, restless. Frustrated.

Lost.

Trevor remained silent. He was there to offer comfort, nothing else.

Then Cole released a low, broken laugh — empty, hollow — and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I should feel something more, right?” he asked, his voice cracking at the edges. Like he was asking Trevor’s permission to be angry.

His knuckles went white where he gripped the edge of the mattress.

Trevor shifted, sliding next to him to rest forehead gently against Cole’s temple.

Anchoring him.

“You feel what you feel,” he whispered. “And whatever that is... that’s okay.”

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Cole turned, pulling gently out of Trevor’s embrace.

He lifted his hands, cupping Trevor’s face between them.

Their eyes locked — raw, broken, certain.

“I love you,” Cole whispered.

Trevor smiled softly, holding him in his eyes.

“I love you, too.”

LATER

Standing at the stove, Trevor watched the copper teapot, waiting for it to whistle, while Cole was sprawled on the sofa, staring blankly at the television mounted on the brick wall.

Karli Hall of the Prism City Nightly News sat behind the anchor desk; her blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek twist, her usual pop of color and cheerful disposition replaced by a black blazer and somber expression. The studio lights glinted off the corners of her silver microphone pin, but otherwise, the set was stripped down — no banners, no music, just the quiet thrum of live television bearing witness to something the city never thought it would hear.

“Good evening, Prism City. Tonight, we join you in mourning the loss of a hero.”

She blinked, taking a slow, railed breath before continuing.

“According to an official statement from The Powers, SuperMoon’s death occurred early this morning during what was described as a routine mission to Semantia.”

Her hands folded tightly on the desk in front of her.

“This development is both unexpected and unprecedented.” She shifted. “Until now, the Semantians have maintained peaceful relations with Earth - and really the entire galaxy - they have never engaged in any sort of hostility before. Not once. With anyone. Ever.”

Karli paused, visibly recomposing herself.

“Details surrounding the incident remain limited. The Alliance for Extraterrestrial Gatekeeping, Integration, and Security have cited ‘ongoing investigations and the need for intergalactic security as reasons for withholding further information at this time.’”

She took another breath, her mouth tightening slightly at the corners.

“We will continue to bring you updates as we receive them. For now, we extend our deepest sympathies to The Powers and to the millions mourning the loss of Prism City’s greatest protector.”

The camera lingered on her for a beat longer than normal, as if no one knew quite what to do next.

Karli blinked, her voice softening.

“He was a great man... and he’ll be greatly missed.”

Then the screen faded slowly to the station’s mourning banner — black and silver, with SuperMoon’s call sign - a luminous crescent moon cradling - glowing gold within a perfect sphere of silver.

Beneath the insignia: SuperMoon: Ascended to Immortality: 202

5

Cole let out a sharp snort and rolled his eyes, the flickering blue light of the television dancing across his bare chest. “The A.E.G.I.S are dicks.”

From the kitchen, a soft hiss pushed through the spout of the teapot, building into a low whistle.

Turning off the burner, Trevor moved quietly to pour the hot water into marshmallow-shaped mugs filled with hot chocolate powder, each waiting on a wooden tray.

Giving them a quick stir, he lifted the tray carefully and carried it into the living area, setting it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

He slid one of the mugs closer to Cole without a word, the gentle clink of ceramic on wood filling the silence.

Cole didn’t move at first. He just sat there, slouched deep into the cushions.

Finally, he reached out and grabbed one of the mugs.

Wisps of warmth curling up between them, soft and fragile.

“We used to fight all the time,” he started softly.

He stared into the mug, watching the surface ripple with his shallow breath.

“Not just little arguments,” he continued. “Screaming matches. Walk-outs. Weeks without speaking.”

Trevor nodded. He remembered.

“Once… we even got into a fistfight.”

Cole let out a quiet chuckle.

“That’s how I found out I was stronger than he was.”

He lifted his left arm and flexed, the bicep tight beneath his smooth skin—toned, like the rest of his lean frame.

Trevor stayed quiet, letting him find his own way through the words.

“He wanted me to be... different.” He continued with a dry, humorless laugh. “Tougher. Colder….”

He shook his head, his sleek hair falling across his forehead.

“Like him, I guess.”

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough. And when I didn’t try anymore... when I just decided to be who I was…”

He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder helplessly.

“He gave up too.”

Trevor’s chest ached. He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against Cole’s knee.

“He hated the fact that I was gay.” He sighed. “He was an absolute dick about it.”

Trevor curled his fingers in response.

“So…” Cole sighed again, his voice rough - and frustrated. “I’ve spent the last few years hating him.”

He squeezed the mug tighter, the ceramic creaking faintly under the pressure.

“And now he’s gone, and I’m supposed to feel... what?”

He snorted again.

“Sad? Angry? Relieved? I don’t even know which way’s up right now.”

“Like I said,” Trevor replied softly, his hand steady. “You don’t have to feel any one thing.”

Cole looked over at him — tired, raw, a little broken — and something in his posture eased.

He let out a slow breath, setting the mug back on the tray with a soft clink.

Trevor opened his arms. Cole leaned into them.

“This is so fucking weird.”

Trevor kissed his head.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m an orphan,” Cole sighed. “A twenty-five-year-old orphan.”

He paused as the weight of the words settled over him.

“Shit.” He sat up quickly, his eyes locking onto Trevor’s. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about—”

“It’s okay,” Trevor cut in with a soft smile.

“I’m being insensitive.”

“No,” Trevor shook his head. “You’re being human.”

“I know you lost your parents too.”

Trevor shrugged. “I barely remember them anymore.”

Cole reached up, brushing Trevor’s hair from his eyes. “Still. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

“At least you can be sure of one thing.” Trevor pulled him close again. “You’ve got a boyfriend who knows exactly what you’re going through.”

“I know.” Cole nestled into the embrace. “Thank you.”

LATER

The bathroom light spilled a soft gold across the loft, cutting a warm stripe between the shadows.

Trevor leaned over the sink, running a towel through his wild-red hair, his reflection fogged around the edges.

Behind him, Cole moved slower, more methodically — brushing his teeth, every movement heavy with exhaustion.

They barely spoke, but their silence was easy, almost tender.

Walking into the bedroom, Trevor pulled on an old shirt—one of Cole’s, oversized and worn soft with age. It bore the Prism City Thunderbolts logo: a crystal dragon frozen mid-roar. Cole’s old college basketball team. The jagged silhouette, once fierce in vivid blues and purples, had been softened by time and countless washes, the colors now faded into a dreamy pastel.

Lights dimmed. City noise thudded low and distant, tempered by the sound of gentle rain breaking against the glass of the floor to ceiling windowpane.

They crawled under the covers, limbs tangling automatically, the way people do when they’ve long since stopped thinking about where one body ends and another begins.

Cole’s arm found Trevor’s waist. Trevor’s hand found the curve of Cole’s ribs. Breaths slowed. Heartbeats synced.

Trevor pressed a lazy kiss to Cole’s shoulder as he snuggled against him.

They stayed there for a moment, listening to the sound of the world around them.

Then, Cole took a breath.

“Would it be weird,” he started softly—barely above a whisper— “if I asked to make love to you tonight?”

Looking up at him, Trevor shook his head. “No.”

Cole blinked slowly, eyes dipping away from Trevor’s.

“I wasn’t sure,” Cole exhaled, brushing his hand through his hair. “If it was selfish… or weird, or…”

He sighed, the word barely making it past his lips. “Whatever.”

“It’s none of those things.” Trevor shrugged gently. “If you want to, we can. If not, we don’t have to.”

Cole looked at him for a moment, then —with a soft smile— he leaned in, their foreheads touching, their breath mingling.

He shifted his weight, turning just enough to gently ease Trevor onto his back. Their bodies moved in sync, drawn together by instinct.

He hovered for a moment, studying Trevor’s face in the dim light. Then he kissed him — slow but passionate.

One hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt, fingers gliding across his warm skin.

Trevor arched slightly to help, and Cole lifted the worn fabric over his head, casting it aside before returning to the kiss.

His mouth found Trevor’s neck next — gentle nibbles just beneath his ear, the kind that always made his’ boyfriend’s breath catch in his throat.

He trailed lower, his lips leaving a warm, tingling path down Trevor’s chest. Pausing at one nipple, he gave a soft tug with his teeth—just enough to draw a gasp—then soothed the sting with a tender kiss and the slow sweep of his tongue.

Trevor’s hand slid into Cole’s hair, not to guide — just to feel.

Cole’s other hand moved lower, slow and steady, easing Trevor’s underwear down, his fingers grazing the inside of his thighs as he pulled the fabric away.

Trevor shivered beneath him.

Cole stopped and looked up.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Trevor nodded. “I’m sure.”

Cole lowered again, pressing more kisses along his hip, up his stomach, then back to his mouth — grounding them both in the rhythm of their breathing.

He shifted, settling between Trevor’s legs, guiding his thighs apart with a gentle nudge of his knee.

One hand slid between them, slow and practiced, a mix of spit and touch easing the tension with tenderness.

Cole lined himself up, then pressed his forehead to Trevor’s.

“I’m sorry," he whispered. “I’m weirdly horny, but…” he sighed. “I don’t know how long I’m going to last.”

“This is about you,” Trevor replied. “Take as much - or as little - time as you need.”

Cole kissed him again. “Thank you.”

Slowly, he began to press forward.

The initial heat of pain was sharp — familiar, expected — but it passed quickly, soothed by the rhythm of Cole’s breath against his cheek and the warm press of his palm along his side.

Cole stilled, just for a moment, giving him time to adjust.

Their eyes met.

Trevor’s hand slid up to cup the back of Cole’s neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

“I’m good,” he exhaled into his mouth. “You’re good.”

Cole moved again, slow and deliberate, his body aligning with Trevor’s like it had a thousand times before — but tonight, it wasn’t just habit, or need, or comfort.

It was healing.

With his right hand still cupped against Cole’s neck, the fingers of Trevor’s left curled in the sheets. Cole’s right hand slid over it, lacing their fingers as he pushed it up against the headboard.

The mixture of their hushed breaths, the gentle creak of the bed, the sound of rain — the grief didn’t vanish, but it softened.

Cole moved with quiet intensity, hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm that matched the cadence of their breathing. Trevor’s thighs tightened around him, grounding him, holding him close.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together, noses brushing, the air between them thick with whispers and soft sighs.

Angling his hips, Cole slid deeper.

Trevor gasped—a spark of pleasure arching through him. He clenched around Cole, instinctive and intimate, and Cole shuddered.

He was close. Trevor could feel it—he always could.

Even that first night, somehow, their bodies had moved in perfect sync, allowing him to time his release with Cole’s.

With a gentle nudge, he shifted, rolling his hips as he guided Cole onto his back. Their bodies moved in sync, naturally, instinctively. Trevor straddled him, his thighs framing Cole’s hips as he sank down with a breathless moan, taking him deeper.

Cole’s hands flew to his waist, gripping like he might lose himself. He moaned again—low and aching—and Trevor reached down, to brush his fingers over Cole’s lips, tender and teasing all at once.

Trevor held his gaze, eyes steady and intense. His left hand pressed firmly to Cole’s chest, fingers splayed. With a slow, deliberate motion, he dragged his fingernail across a nipple, flicking it just enough to make Cole gasp.

Cole’s rhythm faltered.

A low, broken moan escaped his lips as his body tensed and trembled above Trevor’s, hips pressing deeper as he spilled inside of him.

With a soft gasp and a shuddered breath, Trevor came too—warmth streaking between them, splashing across Cole’s stomach.

With a low groan, Cole pulled him close again, then rolled once more—gently, so he ended up on top, still inside of him.

“I think we might need another shower,” he exhaled with a soft laugh.

“I think you might be right,” Trevor nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Cole kissed him again, lingering just long enough to feel it—then lifted himself up, easing back to gently slide out.

Trevor winced at the shift, then chuckled. “You start the water. I’ll change the sheets.”

Cole nodded, pushing up and stepping out of bed with a soft groan—his limbs loose, heavy, and finally relaxed

.

MOMENTS LATER

In the bathroom, Cole adjusted the water of the shower, waiting for it to warm.

The shadows spasmed around him.

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Not tonight.”

They twitched again.

“I said…”—he growled—“not tonight.”

He closed his eyes, letting the steam curl around him like breath.

Trevor’s voice pulled him from the silence.

“You have to go.”

Cole turned. Trevor was leaning in the doorway, still naked, arms crossed, his gaze was soft but direct.

“Do I?”

“Technically?” Trevor shrugged. “No… but I know you will.”

“What makes you so sure?” Cole smirked playfully. “Maybe I’m spent.”

Trevor stepped forward, brushing damp hair off Cole’s forehead.

“Because I know you,” he said. “And because now that SuperMoon is gone, every street-level thug, Corporate crime boss, and Spectral with a grudge is going to start testing the waters. Especially since they know The Powers will be tied up in intergalactic PR and the political fallout of what the Semantians have done for the next few weeks.”

Cole nodded.

“I know, but…”

“I wouldn’t blame you for staying.” Trevor cupped the side of his face. “But I know you will if you don’t.”

Cole met his eyes.

A short, tired laugh followed.

“Might feel good to punch something.”

Trevor nodded.

“Then go.”

Cole kissed him — long enough to say everything else he didn’t have time for.

“Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.” Trevor turned toward the shower. “Be careful.”

Cole paused, looking back.

He winked.

“Always.”

Trevor stepped into the shower just as Cole walked to the edge of the bedroom and pulled open the window.

CHAPTER TWO

Animals

Spectra’s crystalline dome glimmered faintly above them, refracting the bruised light of a city in mourning. But inside the council chamber of the citadel, the glow felt brittle — like a thin shell stretched too tight.

About to crack.

Solara stood tall at the center, her radiant brown skin catching the fractured light, her golden eyes pulsing with a soft, gentle iridescence. The solar circle above her crown flared with each breath she took — as if fed by her relentless conviction.

Magmantus was at her left, his armor—reminiscent of Chinese feudal war gear but with sharper edges and bolder colors—cast jagged shadows across the polished floor. His dark eyes observed the others in silence, absorbing the tension without yet joining it.

Pulse leaned against a glowing pillar. Arms crossed, his blue eyes burned under a disheveled mess of blond hair while the golden bolts crisscrossing his suit crackled in restless arcs.

Synapse hovered just above the floor — he was nothing more than a shimmering sphere of rhythmic, pulsating energy, silent and analytical.

Solar Flare stood slightly apart from the others, her silver suit dancing with ghostly constellations. The strands of starlight that made up her hair spun gently around her slender face, as if moved by a current no one else could feel.

“Next order of business,” Solara’s voice rang out — sharp, clear, without hesitation. “SuperMoon’s public funeral will proceed after the sixth day, as is customary with Terran traditions.” She took a slow breath. “Spectral rites will commence the next day. Off planet—”

Pulse made a sound low in his throat — half snort, half growl.

“Why are we giving them anything?”

Magmantus shifted.

“Respect matters, Grant.”

“What about our respect?” Pulse replied with a snarl. “Simu. We deserve our privacy.”

Solar Flare’s voice — warmer but equally strained — slid into the tension.

“Both matter,” she said softly, sweeping strands of starlight from her face and tucking them behind her ear. “But we have to face the truth. This city is scared. It’s angry. A funeral might help to quell some of that emotion—give the people of this planet a way to grieve.” She sighed again. “To say goodbye to a hero most of them have loved their entire lives.”

Pulse snorted.

Synapse convulsed with jagged bursts of energy, his frame flickering like a corrupted transmission.

Sparks of electricity danced off him—crackling, twisting—until they coalesced into a shimmering screen of light that hovered midair.

“Pattern recognition indicates destabilization across multiple sectors,” his voice was layered with static and strain, like a broadcast on the verge of collapse. “Increased unrest among Spectrals and Terrans alike. Minor flare activity detected in Scarlet Heights, Cerulean Core, and even… Indigo Acres.”

Pulse straightened.

“They’re ants.” He shrugged. “We should just squash them and be done with it.”

“Grant…” Solar Flare scowled softly.

“Melissa!” He mocked back.

“It’s not just unrest,” Synapse continued. “It’s a leadership vacuum. Everyone is looking for someone to follow.”

A jagged flicker split across the screen, distorting into a new feed—grainy and unstable.

“And guess who’s trying to step up to the plate,” he continued.

The footage sharpened for a breath before fracturing again: a lone figure crouched on a rooftop, swallowed in silhouette, barely distinguishable from the shadows of the city.

The screen stuttered once more—then locked.

Solar Flare narrowed her eyes. “The Vigilante…”

“He’s been operating in Prism City for years,” Solara nodded.

“He’s not a threat.”

“You’ve said that before” Magmantus commented. “So did SuperMoon - every time he’s brought up.”

“Because it’s true.” She replied, a notable shift in her tone.

Pulse’s eyes narrowed. “Because you know him?”

“No,” she replied evenly. “But SuperMoon did.”

“Who is he?” Magmantus asked.

Solara hesitated, her gaze flickering to Synapse.

“It’s time,” the sphere shuttered.

“You’re right,” she swallowed hard.

“Time for what?” Solar Flare asked, Solar Flare asked, once again tucking a few sparkling strands behind her ear without missing a beat.

“He’s SuperMoon’s son.”

The words hung in the air.

It felt like hours before the tension finally cracked.

“What?” Solar Flare’s voice shook with disbelief.

“Solara?” Magmantus repeated, his tone sharp and incredulous. He leaned forward, his stature imposing as if to demand more. “You can’t be serious?”

Pulse smirked. “SuperMoon. Getting it on?” He chortled, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Who was the lucky lady?”

Solara shifted, visibly uneasy, her gaze flickering across the room before she forced the words out like a confession.

“She was Terran.”

Absolute silence followed.

Solar Flare’s breath caught, her lips dropping. “That’s…” she whispered. “not possible.”

The lines in Magmantus’ face sharpened with confusion. “He said it couldn’t happen,” he growled, low and guttural. “He told us it wasn’t biologically possible.”

Solara didn’t respond.

Pulse stared at her, anger flickering in his eyes. “You’re telling us… he broke the laws of nature?” He blinked, stunned. “Laws HE said WE could NEVER break.”

Solara exhaled slowly, shoulders rising with the weight of the truth she never wanted to speak aloud.

“He made something that shouldn’t exist,” Solar Flare whispered again, almost in reverence.

“A half-breed,” Pulse muttered, his voice like iron on stone.

“An abomination,” Magmantus grunted, the word spitting like venom on his tongue.

“A shadow,” Solar Flare whispered before she could stop herself.

“It’s where he operates,” Solara nodded. “So that nobody knows he exists.”

“But…” Solar Flare’s eyes narrowed again, her mind spinning. “That shouldn’t be possible. Our genetic structures—our entire reproductive systems—aren’t even compatible.”

She blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Technically speaking we’re not the same species… it defies everything we’ve ever been told.”

Glancing at her, Solara nodded. “I know.”

She took a beat and a breath.

“SuperMoon didn’t know it was possible, that’s why hid him, burring the truth of his existence from everyone.”

“Almost,” Synapse sizzled in.

Nodding, Solara continued. “There’s no birth record. No Spectral Identification Number. We don’t even know his Terran identity.”

Pulse took a step forward, crossing his arms.

“Then it’s time we changed that.” He looked around the chamber before locking eyes with Solara. “Bring him in. He belongs here. In Spectra. With us at The Citadel.”

Solara shook her head, slow and definitive. “No. He doesn’t.”

“No?” Pulse’s voice twinged with confusion. “He’s SuperMoon’s son. Doesn’t that make him the heir apparent?”

“He’s not just Spectral,” she took a step back, turning away. “He’s Terran too, which makes him…” she paused to find the most appropriate word. “Unstable.”

Magmantus shifted. “You’re saying he’s dangerous?”

She shook her head.

“I’m saying he’s unpredictable. He’s not bound by the same laws we are. Physically. Mentally. He doesn’t respond to the dome’s influence and”— She took another railed breath— “He’s immune to the dampeners on Black Reach Island.”

“Immune?” Magmantus asked. “How is that even possible?”

“None of us are immune,” Pulse shot in quickly. “It’s literally in our blood.”

“Again,” Solara sighed. “The Terran markers in his genetic make-up make him different overriding some of our weaknesses while giving him his own, and his powers—” she faltered for a moment— “fluctuate. Grow. Adapt.”

“Adapt?” Solar Flare echoed.

“To stress. To trauma. To emotion.” Solara’s voice tightened. “He’s too much of a wildcard and SuperMoon didn’t trust that he could ever truly be one of us.”

“So what do we do?” Pulse flickered with irritation.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “He’s not a threat to us.”

“And if he becomes one?” Solar Flare asked.

“If he becomes one.” Solara took a long breath. “We’ll take care of him.”

CHAPTER THREE

Black Suit

Sometimes, a city can be so loud that the noise just becomes... background.

You tune it out.

You live inside it, but you kind of lose track of it.

Even in the dead of night, Prism City is supposed to breathe.

Sirens wailing somewhere off in the distance. Helicopters rumbling overhead. The occasional laughter—maybe a fight breaking out—spilling from windows left cracked open against the summer heat.

It’s noisy.

It’s messy.

It’s alive.

At least… it’s supposed to be.

But now, even in the heart of the Cerulean Core—the sector known as the Pleasure District—the air hangs still.

Heavy.

Quiet.

Strange.

It’s like the city itself has forgotten how to live.

Except to mourn.

Beneath the twin spires of Moonlight Plaza, there are crowds.

Silent—but there.

Since the news of SuperMoon’s passing, a sea of black coats, bowed heads, and trembling candles has gathered, covering the ground in white lilies, violet irises, and roses dyed every shade of color— so thick that you can’t even see the steps of City Hall anymore.

Handwritten signs lean against railings and zipped to chain-link fences.

Propped up in windows:

Thank you, SuperMoon.

Protector. Savior. Friend.

We will never forget.

Fly High, Hero.

We Didn’t Deserve You.

For the first time in generations, both the humans of Prism City and the Spectral beings who have sailed the stars to call this planet home have lost one of their heroes.

But the Spectrals, they’ve lost something more than we have.

To them, he wasn’t just a hero - he was a symbol of what the best of us could be.

They lost the man who fought tooth and nail to bridge the connection between their world and ours.

And The Powers? Who knows how they feel? Tucked away inside the shimmering dome of Spectra, they must be in just as much chaos as we are.

If not more.

For almost eighty years, SuperMoon has been their north star, their steady hand.

The humans grieve the hero.

The Spectrals grieve the promise.

And The Powers—whether they would ever admit it—are certainly grieving the control they have lost along with him.

In the coming days and weeks, there will be funerals and celebrations. Sadness will shift to joy in a single breath. Then back again.

Concern. Confusion.

We’re in despair.

They’re in disarray.

And none of us — not since the Nazi experiments of World War II — have experienced anything like this.

This is unprecedented.

What comes next?

No one knows.

But it’s imperative that we don’t lose the one thing we can all agree SuperMoon stood for.

Hope.

Lifting his fingers from the laptop, Trevor read over the document one last time.

The words stared back at him—It’d been years since he’d written anything other than what the writers of Good Morning Prism City, had told him too.

Running a hand through his hair, he sat back against the headboard, sighing. Scratching absently at his collarbone, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the dresser—and the faint red glow of the alarm clock reflected on the nightstand beside him.

02:30.

Three hours before he had to be in the studio.

He hadn’t slept a wink.

And Cole was still out there.

Still patrolling the streets of the city—or processing his own conflicting emotions—probably both.

Trevor’s lips curved into a tired half-smile.

He almost felt bad for anyone who thought committing a crime tonight would be a good idea.

Almost.

Trevor’s cursor blinked in the top corner of the document.

Save? Publish?

He hesitated, the cursor winking at him like it was in on the joke.

Once he sent it out, there would be no taking it back.

He reached for his cup, took a sip of water that tasted stale, and set it down with a shrug.

“Fuck it.”

Publish.

Closing the laptop, Trevor set it on the nightstand and turned off the light.

He didn’t care.

In his heart of hearts, he was a writer.

This was the biggest story in the world.

And he had to make sure his voice was at least somewhere in the crowd, even if no one could hear it.

THE NEXT MORNING, REEVE WEST STUDIOS

The studio buzzed with a soft, quiet chaos—controlled but still stressful.

A makeup artist dabbed gently at Trevor’s jawline, brushing away a smudge of powder, while another fluffed Luna’s already-perfect hair with an expert’s touch.

“Ready!” The stage manager cried out.

“You okay?” Trevor asked, reaching for Luna’s hand.

She nodded. “I am.”

“Three!” The stage manager shouted again.

Trevor squeezed. “We can do this.” He mouthed.

She took a breath.

“Two!”

They exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance—the kind only best friends could share.

“One!”

The red light above the camera blinked on.

Showtime.

Luna flashed a smile—smaller than usual, softer around the edges—but genuine. “Good morning, Prism City,” she greeted, her voice steady but not pretending everything was okay.

There was a beat of silence.

“Today, like so many of you, we’re still grappling with the loss of a legend.”

Her voice cracked.

“Together,” Trevor continued smoothly, voice low and honest, “we’re trying to figure out what it means to wake up in a world without SuperMoon.”

Dabbing at her eye with a handkerchief, Luna shivered, the real person slipping through the polished personality.

“It’s weird,” she admitted, voice cracking slightly.

“It’s so weird,” Trevor agreed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching with sadness.

Luna nodded, collecting herself, then turned back to the camera. Her voice grew stronger, more certain.

“But,” she said—breaking lightly from the script—“I think you hit the nail on the head with that piece you published on your blog early this morning.”

Trevor blinked, caught off guard.

No one had said anything about the post until now.

Reaching into her pocket, Luna pulled out a sticky-note, unfolding it carefully. “It’s imperative that we don’t lose the one thing we can all agree SuperMoon stood for.” She read aloud. “Hope.”

Her voice lingered on that last word, letting it hang heavy and full in the studio air.

“That’s what we need to hold onto right now,” she finally continued, looking back into the camera, speaking not just to Prism City but to the world. “Not fear. Not anger. Not division.”

She took another beat.

“Hope.”

Trevor swallowed past the tightness in his throat, feeling the weight of the city pressing through the glass of the studio—through the audience in front of him and those watching from living rooms, waiting rooms, and cafés across Prism City and the world.

Luna let the silence linger a moment longer before she turned to him, her voice quieter, more personal.

“I know what I think, Trevor” she said. “But in your own words…. why is hope so important right now?”

Trevor held her gaze for a moment, then turned slightly toward the camera, speaking to everyone as much as to her.

“Because hope isn’t about pretending everything’s okay,” he started quietly. “It’s about believing it still can be—even when everything feels broken.”

Luna nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“SuperMoon was a symbol of what we could be—”

Trevor shook his head, correcting himself.

“No. What we should be. And while, yes, even if he’s no longer physically here… the sentiment of that symbol remains.”

“Personally, I hope that we can be better, that we can - and will - care for each other the way SuperMoon cared for us. I hope that his light doesn’t end with him—because as our world gets darker, we’re going to need it. For ourselves. For those around us. For the entire universe.”

The sound of the audience erupting into applause took him by surprise. He smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you.”

“No.”

Luna reached for his hand, squeezing it.

“Thank you.”

She smiled, this time with a little more strength behind it.

LATER

Trevor barely had time to unclip his mic after the camera was off before Derek stormed into the wings of the studio, his headset slung around his neck, his face tight with frustration.

“We need to talk,” he exhaled, his voice low and grumbling.

Trevor sighed, standing straighter.

“Let me guess-”

“The Board is losing their fucking minds, Prince.” He cut him off.

“You posted it on your personal blog—a blog your contract explicitly stated was a conflict of interest. One you said you’d shut down. And you did it without clearance. Without routing it through Standards and Practices.”

“It’s the truth, Derek,” Trevor said evenly. “And it needed to be said.” He stood. “I wasn’t about to let legal sanitize it.”

Derek rubbed a hand over his face, looking older than he had an hour ago.

“I’m not arguing with you about the truth, okay? I get it - and it was a great piece.”

He dropped his hand, leveling a look at Trevor.

“But - as far as the board is concerned - you embarrassed them. You made them look like they’re sitting on their hands while the city cries tears of blood.”

Trevor’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

“They’re terminating your contract,” Derek shivered quietly. “Effective immediately.”

The words landed with a dull, inevitable thud.

He wasn’t surprised. But Luna was.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!?!” She gasped.

Jerking his eyes toward her, Trevor shook his head. “It’s fine, Luna,” he cleared his throat, steadying himself. “I’m Fine. It’s…Fine.”

“You’re a hell of a host, Prince,” Derek said, his voice softer now, almost regretful. “But you’re an even better writer.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said quietly.

Derek hesitated, then pushed on. “But this world?” he said. “It’s not about telling the truth. It’s about controlling the story.”

Trevor stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head with a tired, humorless smile.

“Maybe that’s the problem, Edison.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Derek said again, softer this time.

“Yeah...”

Trevor took a slow breath.

“…I don’t know if I am, though.”

Without waiting for a request, he unhooked the station ID badge from his belt, handed it to him, and walked toward the elevators.

Sixteen floors below, Trevor stepped out into the mid-morning air and took another breath — finally, the realization set in - and panic hit him like a body blow.

What the fuck did I just do.

CHAPTER FOUR

Wonder Boy

Walking into the loft, the door clicked shut with more force than Trevor intended. “Oops.” He looked back. “Cole?” he called softly.

No answer. Just the low mumbling of the television on the mezzanine level.

Trevor climbed the stairs slowly, each creak of the black iron louder than it should’ve been.

At the top, he stopped.

Cole was sprawled across the sofa like a man undone.

Reclined deep into the cushions, one leg stretched long, the other bent and half-hanging over the edge. A near-empty tumbler dangled from his fingertips, the amber liquid inside catching the flickering light from the screen. His other hand rested limply across his stomach — bare — rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths.

He was wearing nothing but pink boxer briefs.

Skin flushed. Eyes glazed. Hair wild and unwashed.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. Didn’t seem to notice Trevor standing there at all.

On the television, the city glowed in distant footage — crowds gathering at Moonlight Plaza, candles flickering like stars. A chyron scrolled beneath Karli Hall’s voice.

Prism City prepares for the public farewell to SuperMoon.

Silently, Trevor took a few steps forward and sat gingerly on the coffee table across from him.

Cole didn’t look over.

He took another sip from the glass, then set it on the floor.

“You’re home early,” he commented.

“I…” he sighed. “I got fired.”

Trevor let the silence stretch. The news flickering in a montage of SuperMoon’s greatest saves replaying for the tenth time today.

Cole’s gaze didn’t leave the screen.

“They keep showing that one,” he pointed. “The rooftop collapse in Scarlet Heights.”

Trevor glanced up.

On the screen, SuperMoon caught a plummeting monorail in a blaze of violet starlight.

“It was my seventh birthday,” Cole said. “He didn’t even know I was in the city that week. Didn’t bother to call.”

His voice wasn’t bitter. It was empty.

“But I watched that clip a hundred times. Thought maybe if I memorized the way he held up that train, I’d figure out how to hold myself together too.”

He laughed— short. Flat. Humorless.

“Didn’t work.”

Bending down, Trevor lifted the tumbler and noticed the two empty bottles of whisky under the sofa.

“How much have you had?”

“Not enough.”

Cole looked at him with red eyes and a jaw slacked with emotion.

Trevor reached for the bottles. Cole didn’t stop him.

“You sure?”

On the television, SuperMoon’s insignia shimmered again.

“Nope.”

He burped.

“Cole,” Trevor stood.

“They’re building a monument to a myth. And I’m sitting here in my underwear, trying to remember the sound of his voice…”—he sighed—“when he wasn’t disappointed in me.”

Setting the tumbler and bottles on the tabletop, Trevor sat beside him, placing a hand on his thigh.

“He couldn’t love you the way you deserved,” he replied quietly. “That’s not your fault.”

Cole’s eyes flicked to him.

“Still hurts,” he snorted drunkenly.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it true.”

Cole shifted, sliding to rest his head in Trevor’s lap.

“I know it will get better,” he sighed.

“It will.”

“But not today.”

“Probably not.” Trevor nodded, pressing a kiss into his hair. “But I’m here.”

Cole nodded. “I”— he burped again—“know.”

They stayed like that for a while — Trevor’s hand warm against Cole’s skin, the television flickering like a ghost in the background.

The city kept grieving behind the glass.

Finally, Cole pulled back just far enough to look at him. His eyes were still unfocused, rimmed with exhaustion.

“You really got fired?” he asked softly.

Trevor let out a breath that tasted like shame and relief. “Yeah.”

Cole huffed, a half-laugh through his nose. “For the blog post?”

Trevor nodded. “Derek said I embarrassed the board. That I made it look like they were playing with their dicks while the city bled into chaos.”

“So? It’s true.”

“I know.”

“It was a good post. Serena thought so too.”

Trevor smiled — “Thanks. Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have a job anymore.”

Cole tilted his head, brushing his chin with his hand. “You okay?”

Trevor didn’t answer right away.

“I’ll land on my feet.” He finally shrugged, brushing back his wild-red hair.

Cole looked at him — really looked this time.

The edge of his mouth tugged up, barely.

“You always do.”

“Did Serena say anything about finding a flight back?” He asked with a desire to change the conversation.

“Before the funeral,” Cole burped again. “She hopes.”

“Good.” Trevor nodded. “It’ll be good to have her back.”

“She’s a good friend,” Cole nodded, his eyes, locking back to the television.

“You know what else would be good?” Trevor patted his thigh.

“What?”

“Bulky Burger Barn.”

Taking a beat, Cole nodded. Standing, he stretched.

“I’ll put some clothes on.”

“Maybe take a shower too,” Trevor called after him as he started down the stairs. “You stink.”

“You like it!” Cole called back

.

LATER, BULKY BURGER BARN

The lunch rush had started to thin, but the smell of charred meat, sautéed onions, and the heavy sent of oil still hung thick in the air. A dozen conversations layered over the soft crackle of the overhead speakers, an old pop song bouncing between peeled wallpaper and ketchup-stained booths.

Trevor wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and leaned back, satisfied in the way only cheap food and shared silence could provide.

Across from him, Cole was working on the last of the fries with lazy precision, his posture loose and relaxed.

Something Trevor noticed with a gentle smirk of relief.

“Okay,” Cole looked up at him, his mouth still full. “I’ll admit it”—he swallowed—“You were right.”

“About what?”

“ Bulky Burger Barn.”

“Oh. I know.” He nodded with a smile. “ Bulky Burger Barn is always the right choice.”

Cole stood. “Let me take a leak, and then we can go.”

“Alright,” Trevor nodded, reaching for his tray. “I’ll clean this up.”

Stopping beside him, Cole leaned down, giving him a quick kiss. “Thanks, baby.”

“You’re welcome.”

As Cole stepped toward the bathroom, Trevor went for the trash cans, separating between combustibles, recycling, and leftover food.

Sitting back at the table, he let his eyes drift out the window.

Sunshine spilled across the sidewalk, and life—as it always did—was crawling back toward normalcy. Soon, the city would slip into its everyday routine: carpools, coffee runs, a thousand tiny distractions would help to heal the hole left by the death of SuperMoon.

It would take time—he knew that. But eventually, it would get there.

He hoped.

A soft chime signaled the door opening. He didn’t look up at first.

Then, a different sound.

A voice, sharp and commanding:

“Nobody move. This is gonna be real quick.”

The room froze. Conversations died.

Trevor jerked toward the front.

Two men, no masks— just hooded sweatshirts, hard eyes, and something shiny clutched tight in one of their hands.

A gun.

The cashier backed up. A teenage kid near the drink station raised his hands.

“Wallets on the counter,” the first guy barked. “No heroes. No calls.”

Trevor’s heart pounded against his chest.

He shifted just enough to glance toward the hallway.

The bathroom door opened, and Cole stepped out.

His focus landed on Trevor. The fear pulsing in his eyes.

In the reflection of the window he saw the men with the weapons.

Hidden by the hallway, they didn’t see him.

Trevor continued to stare at him.

Cole’s body stilled.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

Gently, he took a step back.

Just one.

But it felt like stepping off a ledge.

Across the room, one of the men shoved the cashier. A tray clattered to the ground. Someone whimpered behind a booth.

“Let’s go!” The man with the gun pointed it at him.

“Y’all wanna die?” The other shouted.

Cole’s heart slammed against his ribs. It was racing—wild and uneven. He could feel the shadows vibrating beneath his skin, begging to be released.

He could stop this.

He should stop this.

But if he did—

There’d be no undoing it.

No more slipping through the shadows in secret. No more patrolling the city like an unknown specter.

The world would see him.

And worse—

So would The Powers.

He glanced to Trevor again.

He was frozen, pressed halfway against the booth wall, trying not to be noticed.

Trying not to look afraid.

But he was.

Cole took another step back.

Slow. Deliberate. Silent.

His heel touched the edge of a shadow stretching from beneath a vending machine.

Trevor was the only one who could see him.

There were no cameras.

Cole took a breath.

The kind that came from somewhere deeper than his lungs.

And in it, a decision was made.

The shadows around his ankles stirred — tentative at first, like smoke caught in a breeze.

Then they snapped.

Alive. Ready. Angry.

Cole closed his eyes.

The sound of the world fell away.

The shouting. The fear. The cheap pop music still looping overhead.

There was only the beat of his heart.

And a whisper swirling like thunder as it uncoiled inside of him.

The shadows surged upward in a ripple — cool against his skin, wrapping around his calves, his thighs, his chest, his arms — not binding, but building.

Like silk woven from starlight and magic.

His breath hitched. His back arched.

A pulse of silver-blue light burst from his chest —

Another crack of thunder on he could hear.

The world tilted.

A crescent of light exploded beneath his feet, carving itself into the floor like an ancient seal. It lifted him off the ground — a slow, breathless rise — as the shadows twisted into ribbons, threading together across his skin.

His clothes vanished, burned away in wisps of violet smoke.

Dark armor formed in its place.

Not metal. Not cloth.

Something in between the two.

Something woven from the shadows of midnight.

Each piece was shaped by instinct, anchored by purpose.

His boots laced themselves from the ankles in glowing strands that tightened with each breath.

His gloves snapped into place like constellations clicking into alignment.

A cape unfurled behind him — dark as an eclipse, smooth as nightfall.

It burst outward in a bloom of power, then settled behind his shoulders.

His eyes flared open — Twin glints of moonlight in a shadowed sky.

Across his chest, the crescent moon blazed once— then dimmed.

A crescent moon, cradled, surrounded by a circle of light. The insignia of his father.

The light dropped away as he lowered to the floor, his boots touching down with a soft thud.

The cape brushed against his calves.

The shadows stilled.

As the seal beneath his feet faded and with a steady breath, he stepped out into the light.

Everything stopped.

The cashier froze mid-sob.

Even the criminals hesitated—eyes wide, knuckles white.

The thug holding the gun was the older of the two—wiry, jittery, his eyes flicking beneath a scar that cut through his left brow. He took an unsteady step back.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Cole’s eyes narrowed.

“My name?” he said in a low growl, taking a blink to think. “It’s—”

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped.

Point. Click. Fire.

Trevor screamed.

Cole felt the heat of the bullet hit him dead center in the chest.

He staggered half a step from the impact.

A gasp rippled through the restaurant.

He looked down.

Smoke twirled around him. The suit shimmered, dark and metallic where the bullet had struck.

The round clinked to the floor, wobbling like a nickel—and just as flat.

“Bulletproof…”

Cole exhaled.

“Nice.”

The shooter’s hands trembled.

He fired again — this time wild, panicked.

The second shot missed, slamming into the soda machine behind him.

Syrup sprayed. The crowd screamed.

Cole was already across the floor.

One hand outstretched —the gun was gone before the man even realized it - sliding under Trevor’s booth with a sharp clatter.

The second thug — younger, sweat-slicked, wide-eyed beneath a mop of greasy brown hair — rushed from the side with a desperate yell.

He threw a punch at full force.

His knuckles smashed against Cole’s chin.

Big mistake.

The man screamed — wrist broken, pain blooming through the air like static.

Cole didn’t even flinch. Instead, he cocked his left eyebrow - smirking playfully.

“Really?” He snorted. “If the bullet didn’t hurt me, what the fuck made you think that was gonna work?”

Still cradling his wrist, the thug looked up, confused.

“Huh?”

Cole replied with a head-butt.

Quick. Sharp. Hard.

The younger criminal dropped like a rock.

He was out cold before he hit the ground.

Gasps were followed by silence.

Phones hovered in shaking hands.

A woman whispered, “That’s not SuperMoon…”

Someone else murmured, “Who is he?”

Another: “A new Power! Someone should call the news!”

The first man bolted — or tried to.

Shadows streaked across the floor like spilled ink.

They coiled up around his legs, yanking him back mid-stride.

He hit the tile. Hard.

Cole stood in the center of the chaos, breathing slowly, his cape billowing behind him.

He took a breath.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked, his voice deep.

A few more affirmations. Nods. No one moved too quickly.

His eyes snapped to Trevor. He was still frozen at the booth, his hands trembling.

Their eyes locked.

“Sir?” he asked, his voice softer. “Are you okay?”

Trevor blinked, nodding slowly.

“I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

Cole gave a short nod.

He could hear sirens now. Still blocks away, but they were closing in.

“The police will be here soon,” he said, glancing down at the unconscious men.

“They won’t be getting back up for a while.”

He turned toward the door.

The crowd parted without a word.

With a single step, he was airborne.

Trevor watched him disappear beyond the view of the window.

“Huh,” he exhaled breathlessly.

A shiver crept up his spine — slow at first, then sharper.

Like cold water poured straight into the marrow.

Ice rippled through him.

His fingers tingled.

His knees buckled.

Every nerve in his body felt like it was short-circuiting — a thousand pins and needles pressing inward simultaneously, and his eyes rolled back.

All he saw was white— then—darkness.

His body tipped, and he fell - but he didn’t hit the ground.

The familiar scent of applewood and menthol cigarettes swirled around him.

Cole.

Trevor’s eyes rolled forward, struggling to focus.

He was being held — cradled in strong arms.

Looking up his eyes locked with his boyfriend’s.

Cole looked worried — his eyes soft behind a pair of glasses Trevor hadn’t seen in years.

“Are those…”—his eyes narrowed in confusion—“are those my old—”

“Shhh.” Cole cut him off gently, brushing his thumb across Trevor’s lips.

“It’s okay, baby.”

Then, louder — loud enough for everyone else to hear:

“I saw those creeps sneaking in when I came out of the bathroom,” he continued. “I called the police.”

“Bruh, you missed it!” a teenager shouted from somewhere near the door, buzzing with adrenaline.

“We just met a new Spectral!” The girl beside him gushed.

“SuperMoon dies, and we get a new hero!” another voice shouted. “Is that how it works?”

“Does it?” Another asked.

“Who knows! The teenage boy shouted. “This is fucking awesome!!”

“Exciting,” Trevor echoed, nodding faintly from the safety of Cole’s arms. “And newsworthy.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Midnight Fantasy

Okay. So. This happened today.

Just after lunch, a robbery was attempted in the middle of a crowded Bulky Burger Barn in Violet Village — the one on Robbie Lee Drive near the library.

Two armed men entered the establishment. One was carrying a knife. The other — a standard handgun - classic, off-the-shelf, civilian-grade bad guy weapons.

Nothing futuristic. Nothing Spectral. Average.

For a moment, it was just another city robbery — Until HE stepped out of the shadows.

A new Spectral.

He engaged the assailants directly — and he was shot for it.

Point-blank.

“We thought he was dead,” one witness said.

But instead, the bullet hit his suit — which appears to be made of some kind of reactive Spectral armor, possibly shadow-class.

The man’s response after being shot was — and I quote “Bulletproof. Nice.”

Yes.

That’s the line.

That’s actually what he said.

So — just to recap — he ran head-first into danger, toward a man with a gun, not knowing if he could survive being shot.

And when the bullet didn’t kill him, he said:

“Nice.”

Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

A second assailant then attempted to physically engage him by punching him in the face — and broke his wrist on contact.

The spectral responded — again, I’m quoting directly:

“If the bullet didn’t hurt me, what the fuck made you think that was gonna work?”

The attacker was rendered unconscious via a single, very effective head-butt.

After subduing both assailants — using what appear to be tactical-level combat abilities involving shadow manipulation and enhanced agility — the unidentified Spectral turned to the crowd and notably asked:

“Is everyone okay?”

And then — before police arrived — the masked figure exited the restaurant and (this is important) took to the sky.

Yes.

He flew.

From the sidewalk.

Straight up.

Into the air.

Now.

Let’s pause there.

Because in the wake of SuperMoon’s recent passing, the emergence of any new Spectral — particularly one with flight and shadow capabilities — is going to raise… a lot of questions.

We do not know who this spectral is.

There is no one with his abilities listed in the Spectral Database. So that begs the question, does he have a Spectral Identification Number? It’s something required of all non-terrestrial born individuals.

So where’s his?

The Powers could not be reached for comment - obviously.

It’s also unclear if this was a one-time act of vigilante protection… or the beginning of something more.

But we do know this: Something changed today.

Not just for the people in that restaurant - myself included.

But in the chaos of mourning and mayhem, the entire city saw a figure step forward.

Someone who stood between fear and the people he knew absolutely nothing about. He didn’t blink when the gun was pointed at him. He just reacted.

Like a true hero - and he looked just like SuperMoon, wrapped in shadows.

So maybe that’s what we call him…

MoonShadow.

“MoonShadow,” Cole’s voice whispered softly in his ear.

Spooning him from behind, he’d been quietly reading over Trevor’s shoulder as he typed.

“I like it.”

“Are you sure?” Trevor turned his head, his lips brushing the edge of Cole’s cheek. “I can change it if you want.”

Cole shook his head. “No. It’s catchy.”

He kissed him, quickly.

“Really.” Cole hugged him closer, resting his chin on Trevor’s shoulder. “I like it.”

Trevor relaxed just a little, fingers still resting lightly on the keyboard.

“It does tie you to SuperMoon,” he shrugged.

“It does,” Cole agreed, nodding more seriously now. “Which is good. Give the bad guys something to fear…”

He took a beat to think.

“While also being something different. Something new.”

“As long as you’re sure…” Trevor tapped the trackpad, hesitating.

“Do you think I sound too harsh? It’s not exactly a puff piece.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Cole shrugged. “You can’t just fanboy out of the gate. You should sound skeptical.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Cole said, his voice a little quieter now. “If you go too easy on MoonShadow, people will start asking why. You’ve gotta be tough on him—remember, you’re a journalist reporting on a Spectral, not my fiancé trying to protect me.”

Trevor blinked. “And the name? You’re sure—”

“The name is perfect,” Cole cut in with a laugh. He placed his hand over Trevor’s, gently guiding the mouse toward the publish button. “Post it.”

“Once it’s out there…” Trevor took a breath. “You can’t take it back.”

“I love it,” Cole said—and tapped his finger against the trackpad.

And just like that… MoonShadow was born.

Cole wrapped his arms around Trevor’s waist, pulling him close.

“Wait.” Trevor froze, pulling back suddenly. “Did you just say fiancé?”

Cole opened his mouth… then bit down on his smile.

Wordlessly, he leaned across the bed, opened the top drawer of the nightstand—
—and pulled out a small box. Sitting up, he stepped onto the floor, kneeling beside the bed.

“What are you doing?” Trevor asked with a soft laugh.

Cole cleared his throat. He was nervous now, vulnerable.

“I was going to wait,” he whispered. “Do something big. Something… coordinated. But after the last few days?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly, eyes glassy but bright.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He opened the box.

Inside was a simple silver band, pressure-set with an iridescent stone that shimmered in shades of green, pink, and indigo.

Trevor didn’t say anything at first.

Then he looked up at him — tears welling in his eyes.

“I never thought I’d get to have something like this.” Cole exhaled, his voice cracking with emotion. “A life. A partner. A future with someone who saw all of me… and stayed.”

He paused. Swallowed.

“You’ve stood by me through the good. The bad. The bat-shit crazy.”

He stopped, smiling.

“The wonderful.”

Another beat. Another breath—deeper this time.

“Trevor Light Prince—will you marry me?”

Trevor stared at him, stunned, his lips parted like a breath caught between two heartbeats.

“Yes.” He finally nodded. “I will.”

Standing quickly, he fell into Cole’s arms.

“Of course I will!”

Cole caught him, and together they collapsed to the floor in a tangled heap of laughter.

“A hero in love with a reporter…” Cole snorted with a laugh. “Who woulda thunk?”

“You know…” Trevor giggled, tilting his chin, eyes glinting as he looked down at him, “That’d make a great story.”

Cole blinked.

“What would?”

Trevor’s smile widened.

“My Super Fiancé.”

He laughed.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

Then, with a wide, happy smile, Cole leaned in, and kissed him.

EPILOGUE

Storm

The plaza outside City Hall was flooded with mourners—thousands of them, some in suits, some in capes, all gathered under a sky smeared with mourning gray. A colossal hologram of SuperMoon hovered above the steps, playing loops of his greatest victories: lifting a monorail to safety, shielding civilians from a collapsing bridge, saluting a child in a wheelchair who waved back with stars in his eyes.

The Prism City Philharmonic Orchestra played a slow, orchestral version of his theme—a song composed to herald hope now reimagined as a requiem.

Trevor stood near the back of the crowd, his hand wrapped tightly around Cole’s. Both wore black. Cole’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark aviators, but his jaw was tight, unmoving. Trevor had only seen him cry a few times. This wasn’t one of them—but he knew he was close.

“He saved the whole city,” a little boy whispered nearby, tugging on his mother’s dress.

“I know dear,” she replied softly, lifting him into her arms.

“Who’s going to save us now?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, wiping her tears in his hair.

“MoonShadow?” The boy asked.

“Maybe,” she hugged him. “Maybe.”

Trevor swallowed the lump in his throat. Cole remained still. But Trevor felt his fingers twitch.

“Sorry I’m late,” A soft voice greeted behind them.

Turning, they saw Serena Maines approaching, her petite frame wrapped in a long black coat, a few scarlet streaks gleaming through her ink-black hair. Her heart-shaped face was partially hidden behind oversized round glasses, but her smile was unmistakable.

“Serena,” Cole breathed, stepping forward to embrace her.

She held him tightly. “How are you holding up?” she whispered into his ear.

“Better than expected.”

As they parted, Serena turned to Trevor and smiled, reaching out to brace him in a hug.

“Welcome home,” Trevor said, patting her back gently.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Stepping back, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression shifting as she turned toward the stage.

“It’s weird,” she muttered, eyes narrowing toward the front of the crowd.

“So weird,” Trevor echoed, his voice low as he turned to follow her gaze.

On the dais, a host of dignitaries took turns speaking. The mayor. The head of the Spectral Council. Even one of the less active Powers, Honey Bee, her voice quivering as she delivered the final words:

“SuperMoon believed we were all capable of being better—stronger—brighter. That no matter our mistakes, we could choose to rise above them.” She took a breath, her eyes lifting to the sky. “And so we shall.”

Looking to the side of the stage, she nodded, wiping away a fresh onset of tears as a hundred doves were released.

A hush fell over the crowd as the frantic flapping of white wings soared into the sky like scattered prayers.

“You know the worst part,” Cole whispered, focusing on him.

Serena watched Trevor take his hand.

“He never really did apologize to you.” Cole snorted. “For being such a dick when I introduced you.” He looked at Trevor.

Trevor knew this wasn’t the time or place for the discussion.

“Let’s go home,” he offered a soft smile, stepping closer to press a soft kiss to Cole’s cheek. Glancing to Serena he smiled. “Would you like to come over or dinner? I was going to cook.”

“I’ve spent the last twenty-seven hours enjoying mediocre airport food,” she replied with a sigh. “Yes, I would love to come for dinner.”

As the hologram of SuperMoon flickered one last time—eyes raised to the stars, cape fluttering in a phantom breeze—Cole slipped his aviators back up his nose. I’m going to be ten times the hero you were, he thought as he felt the right corner of his mouth twitch up in a sneer. I’m already ten times the man.

Then, he allowed Trevor on his right to guide him pack toward the train station while Serena stepped in time on his left.

SuperMoon may have been his father, but they were his family.

THE NEXT DAY, THE DAILY WAVE

At the heart of the Cerulean Core, The Daily Wave was a towering structure of steel and glass. A modernist marvel, the building curved like a cresting wave against the skyline, its mirrored surface catching the city’s electric blues and ocean hues. Inside, glass elevators zipped up its hollow spine, revealing bustling newsrooms and suspended gardens that reminded those inside to stop and smell the roses, while they rushed to meet their deadlines.

In her glass-walled corner office on the top floor, forty-year-old Periwinkle Black stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding a tablet — her nails painted with a prismatic swirl of color. Her hair coiled around her face in streaks of deep violet, bright green, neon pink, and electric blue shimmered under the light like an oil slick with an agenda.

She wore a sleeveless silk blouse patterned in miniature constellations. The frames of her glasses were white with mirrored lenses — because Periwinkle Black, the editor and chief of the City’s most trusted news outlet never looked at people; she assessed them. And right now, she was assessing this article hard.

The headline glowed at the top of the screen:

A HERO IS BORN

by Trevor Prince

She reread the last paragraph, lips pursed — not quite a smile, but close.

“Well, well, well,” she smiled, then turned toward the door.

“Rose!” she called sharply, her voice slicing through the air like a well-thrown letter opener.

From outside, her assistant poked her head in — young, nervous, and already the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Yes, Ms. Black?”

“Get me this Prince kid.” She called out. Trevor. The one who named the new hero.”

She waived her tablet toward her.

“Make sure we bring him on board before someone else does.”

“Right on top of that, Ms. Black!”

She turned to the window, watching the city flicker below like a sleeping dragon.

“Trevor Prince,” she inhaled deeply. “Welcome to The Daily Wave.”

LATER

The sun had set, and the soft light of a waning crescent moon was hidden behind thick clouds. Standing on the edge of a rooftop, MoonShadow closed his eyes and listened.

He could feel the shadows swirling in the darkness. With a breath, he stepped forward leaping into the night.

For Perry

Hero inspired me and you encouraged this super crazy dream...

I wish you were here to see it come true.

— Kenyth Mogan

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