Warner 32
Warner
By the time my house comes into view down the street, I know for certain that something is wrong.
The house looks fine.
All the houses look fine.
I slow to a stop on the sidewalk, trying to calm the clamor in my chest. Trying to take it all in.
Streetlamps glow at steady intervals along the quiet drive, the crisp winter night underscored by the sounds of crickets and the occasional owl.
On my sprint across campus I passed dozens of storefronts and buildings, many of which had sustained limited, superficial damage.
Luckily, most everyone has gone home for the night; any stragglers still on campus at this hour are coming and going from HQ.
The streets are quiet. Everything appears to be fine—and this is, in fact, the problem.
There are no visible hallmarks of an explosion.
No fire.
No smoke.
Here, in the exclusive residential zone, the scene is even more surreal.
There are no broken windows in sight; no uprooted trees or severed sidewalks.
No signs whatsoever that anything destructive might’ve occurred only minutes ago.
Nazeera is the only one of us who lives close to the center of campus; she says it’s because she likes being near the sound and commotion of Main Street.
Personally, I think it’s because she never liked being alone in her empty house.
Regardless, I’m struggling to make sense of this.
I glance up again at the moon, stepping off the sidewalk for a clearer view.
I stand in the middle of the quiet street and turn in a half circle, taking in the darkened skies.
A light breeze presses at my back. I inhale deeply, appreciating the sharp, cooling scent of eucalyptus trees in winter.
There’s no biting, acrid smell of fumes. No hint of sulfur.
Something is definitely wrong.
When the blast seemed to shift the earth under Nazeera’s house, I worried our protections had failed.
The panic I felt in that moment can hardly be forged into words, and the effects are still coursing through my veins.
I’m trying to unwind my fears, trying to unclench my fists.
Last week’s attack occurred well off campus, far outside the jurisdiction of our protective shield; this is the first time The Waffle has sustained such a direct hit, and somehow, miraculously, the atmosphere is calm.
The moon is no longer warping.
The shield appears to be holding.
I’ve always been confident our protections would repel an attack, but I could never be certain, because I couldn’t know for sure what we’d be up against. The Reestablishment has always been light-years ahead of us in research and development.
Their weapons technology alone is beyond our comprehension.
I release a tight breath.
Whatever happened tonight seems to be over. The harm to Nazeera’s house notwithstanding, the superficial damage done tonight appears to be isolated to nonresidential buildings only.
There’s only one way this is possible.
The effects of the blast must’ve been neutralized by our outer shield before reaching our interior shields, and the effort expended to resist a colossal attack might’ve generated shock waves powerful enough to cause incidental damage.
Our homes would’ve been spared because they’re the only structures on campus reinforced with secondary tiers of protection.
This includes Nazeera’s house.
I hesitate at the thought. The damage to Nazeera’s house is the only part of this explanation that doesn’t fit. By my own logic, her home should’ve been safe.
I stifle a sigh, then check my pager out of habit.
No new notifications.
This gives me pause. I take a moment in the middle of the pavement, scrolling through dozens of older messages.
I experience a prickle of apprehension.
It’s possible my comms are still glitching, but there’s no chance a blast strong enough to penetrate our outer shield would’ve been localized to the diameter of The Waffle. The capital city should be in chaos. I should be fielding a slew of panicked messages and alerts.
Instead, the silence is beginning to feel sinister.
In fact, I’m starting to wonder whether something more disturbing took place tonight. Rosabelle’s words come back to me, delivered on a tide of fear.
You won’t even know it’s happened, she’d said.
The explosions are meant to be undetectable. They could be happening right now.
Our shield around The Waffle is meant to repel any assaults against its borders. An undetectable blast in open land would still register against our shields if the seismic impact was significant enough.
My breath stills in my chest.
When they hit, Rosabelle had said, the supernatural powers that affect your population will suddenly disappear.
If that’s true—if the effect of the explosion was meant to neutralize preternatural powers—then it makes sense that our outer shield was compromised.
The shield is powered almost entirely by preternatural DNA sequences.
But I can still feel latent power surging through my veins.
My body feels the same; my abilities don’t seem compromised.
Which means that, at least here on campus, the attempt to rewrite our DNA has likely failed.
I take a step back, stunned.
I glance at my silent pager again, apprehension escalating, and send Gabriel a quick message.
What’s your status underground?
Those of us lucky enough to have been on campus tonight might’ve circumvented The Reestablishment’s greater plans. This theory still needs to be verified, of course, but if our shields absorbed the intended impact of the explosion, those shields might’ve gone down altogether.
Alarm flares inside me.
I remind myself that the secondary shields, at least, are holding.
I survey my surroundings one last time, then start moving.
Now that I know my wife is safe within the walls of our home, I need to figure out what’s happening.
I have to return to Nazeera’s house and inspect the damage.
I need to know why her house wasn’t protected.
I need to check in at HQ, check the readings on the shield, find out what kind of seismic impact was registered, and make sure the protections can be brought back online.
I need to find out if anyone I know has suddenly lost use of their powers.
I should not be leaving James and Rosabelle alone together.
I should head back toward the center of campus. Now.
Right now.
Instead, my feet carry me toward my front door without a conscious directive.
I need to see my wife.
Just for a minute. Just to make absolutely certain she’s okay. As my list of tasks grows longer, I grow more anxious to ease the ache to see her face. I usually check in at the house more frequently throughout the day, but today’s demands have been merciless.
I tell myself I’ll be quick.
There’s so much work still ahead of me tonight.
I haven’t even had time to sit with some of the more recent revelations—the appearance of Hugo’s black veins or the files shared by our scientists.
Now, with this new attack, I’m worried if I don’t make a stop to see my wife while the opportunity is in front of me, I might not make it home at all.
I pick up my pace.
I glance at Kenji and Winston’s house as I move down the sidewalk, a few of their windows tinted gold by interior lights. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that I haven’t heard from Kenji in at least a couple of hours.
Always strange.
I retrieve my pager from my pocket as I head up the illuminated walk toward my front door, losing aspects of my armor with every step.
My heart is already beating a little faster, my body feeling a little lighter in anticipation.
I glance at my pager before picking a stray leaf out of a decorative planter, my frown deepening. Still no new notifications.
No response from Gabriel.
I come to a stop just outside the front door, standing under the glow of the warm porch light. I shoot off a message to Kenji.
Where are you?
I’ve hardly hit send when the door flies open, nearly slamming into me. I reel back in shock.
“Bro, where the hell have you been?”
Kenji is framed in the doorway, breathless and intense, his feelings so agitated and frenetic I take another step back, adrenaline flooding my body. I nearly drop my pager. I’m worried I’ve gotten it all wrong.
The blast wasn’t without consequences.
Something happened.
“Where is she?” I say automatically.
“She’s fine—look—she’s upstairs—”
“What happened?” Fear blazes inside me. Consumes me. “Is she hurt?”
I attempt to push past him, trying to see inside my own house, but I’m forced backward as Nazeera and Adam and Castle shove through the doorway and into my personal space.
Kenji pulls the front door closed.
Together they generate an electric swarm of emotional feedback, each one vibrating with nervous energy. Nazeera’s presence at my house makes sense, but Kenji should be working. Castle left for Adam’s house hours ago.
Something is wrong.
Their eyes are fixed on me with anxious caution, as if they’re afraid of my reaction to whatever it is they’re about to say.
This only drives the terror deeper.
“What is it?” I say, rigid with panic. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” says Adam, before catching himself. His eyes widen. “I mean, not nothing,” he adds in a rush, “obviously not nothing, just—”
“Juliette is fine,” Nazeera adds quickly. “Don’t worry—”
“Don’t worry?” I’m going to kill someone. I’m going to kill everyone. “How can you tell me not to worry when you’ve just barred me from entering my own house? Get out of my way—”
Castle claps me on the shoulder, slowing me down.
I feel like I can’t breathe.
“We wanted to give you a heads-up, son,” he says gently. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours.”
“No one knew where you were,” Nazeera says, shaking her head. “Kenji tried looking for you. Adam tried looking for you. Gabriel and Noah couldn’t get a hold of you. I think your comms might’ve been messed up all day. I asked James to try and find you, but—”
“Get out of my way,” I say, anger heating my chest. “Or I will remove you from this path.”
“I told you guys this was a dumb idea,” Adam mutters.
“It’s not a dumb idea,” Castle counters. “He shouldn’t go up there unprepared. That would be far worse.”
“What?” The word comes out in a breath. “Far worse?”
Every devastating scenario I’ve run through the dark aisles of my imagination comes rushing to the forefront of my mind. Every fear I’ve harbored for the last nine months. Every horrible nightmare that’s kept me awake at night.
Dread paralyzes me in place.
“Bro, I swear, it’s not like that,” Kenji interjects, stepping forward. “Look, everything is okay, we got a little overwhelmed and obviously messed this up, but just calm down for a second, all right? And give us a chance to explain—”
“I don’t want you to explain anything,” I say, my voice rising in fury. “I want you to get out of my way. I WANT TO SEE MY WIFE—”