Orion was smiling and cheerful, with only one thought on his mind: showing his classmates the new toy his parents had bought him.
After stuffing his face with cake, it was time for bed.
His dad clapped his hands together.
"That's enough partying for you, birthday boy — time for bed."
Orion nodded, grinning wide, and scampered upstairs to brush his teeth. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
Downstairs, his mom washed the dishes while his dad pulled down streamers, tossing them into a trash bag. But his hands moved slower than usual.
That piece of news from earlier — the prison break — still tugged at him. He kept glancing toward the front door.
His wife noticed.
"You good?" she asked, drying her hands.
He hesitated, then said quietly, "That VORTEX guy. The one who escaped."
She paused, then offered a soft smile.
"It's just one town over, yeah. But they've got people on this. Relax, Theo. Today was Orion's birthday. Let's just—have tonight."
He nodded slowly. Her calm helped. A little.
Still, before heading to bed, he did one last round through the house—checking windows, doors, the side gate.
Everything was locked.
Still, he lingered at the living room window, staring out into the quiet night.
The street was empty.
The world was still.
But something deep in his bones whispered:
Not safe.
He let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes.
"Okay… the Hero League's working on it. No point pondering anymore."
He turned off the last light in the living room, casting the house into a comfortable dimness, and headed upstairs.
His wife was already slipping into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chest.
But before joining her, he padded quietly down the hall to Orion's room. He opened the door just a crack and peeked in.
Orion was fast asleep, one hand resting on the new toy beside him.
His father smiled gently.
"Goodnight, champ," he whispered.
Orion shifted slightly but didn't wake.
Satisfied, he closed the door gently and returned to his room, laying beside his wife. She was already half-asleep, breathing slow.
But sleep didn't come easy.
Something in his chest felt tight. Restless. Uneasy.
Minutes passed. Then nearly an hour.
And then—
Clink.
A sound. Faint, but sharp.
His eyes snapped open. He sat up.
Another noise followed, soft but distinct—something scraping, skittering across the wall.
He turned on the bedside lamp.
Nothing.
Only the room, still and quiet.
He sighed in relief… until he spotted it.
A mouse darted across the far corner and vanished through a crack.
He blinked in surprise.
Mice? We never get mice.
Annoyed but relieved, he made a mental note to call pest control in the morning. Then lay back down, forcing himself to relax.
Eventually—he wasn't sure when—he drifted off.
---
CRASH!
The sound of glass shattering tore through the night.
He bolted upright.
The room was dark again.
He reached for the lamp—flicked the switch.
Nothing.
Dead.
But the power should've been fine.
That's when his heartbeat spiked.
His hand shot to the nightstand. He grabbed the flashlight, clicked it on. A thin beam cut through the dark.
He turned to his wife and whispered, low but urgent,
"Wake up. I heard glass. From downstairs. The lights… they're not working."
She stirred, blinking in the dark.
"What?" she mumbled, then sat up fast as the words registered.
"Wait—what do you mean the lights aren't working? You heard glass?"
Her breath caught. She grabbed his arm.
"Is someone in the house?"
"I don't know," he said, trying to stay calm. "But I'm going to check. Go make sure Orion's okay. Stay with him."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, trembling.
"Oh God…"
"If there's danger," he added, "I'll tap on the floor three times. That's your signal to hide him. You hear me?"
She nodded, swallowing hard.
"Be careful."
He kissed her forehead — brief, urgent — then slipped out with the flashlight, heart pounding.
The hallway stretched ahead, long and silent.
Something was in the house.
He crept downstairs, flashlight steady in his grip, steps soft but deliberate.
As he reached the bottom of the staircase, instinct made him flick the hallway light switch.
Click.
Nothing.
He tried the living room lamp.
Still nothing.
Power's out. But why?
He moved forward, slowly, sweeping the flashlight across the room. Everything looked untouched. The couch. The TV. The scattered streamers.
Then he turned toward the kitchen.
A faint breeze brushed his cheek.
His heart dropped.
He stepped in, the beam of light scanning—then froze.
By the back door, shards of glass glittered on the tile like ice.
The door's been broken.
He inched closer, every nerve screaming. Then he angled the flashlight toward the fridge.
A man was standing there.
Huge. Bulky. Back turned.
Wearing a torn prison uniform, muscles rippling beneath scars and grime. Ink covered his shoulders and arms—symbols, numbers, marks that meant violence in every language.
He was rummaging through the fridge like it was his own.
Food spilled from his arms—cold chicken, a bottle of juice, even a birthday cupcake. He stuffed his mouth like a starved animal, grunting between bites.
And then…
He stopped.
Still facing away.
Then, slowly—too slowly—he turned his head.
The flashlight caught it.
One eye, dead and gray.
The other—glass.
But not ordinary glass.
It glowed faintly.
A soft, unnatural purple.
And it looked straight at him.
The father's throat tightened. Muscles locked. But he didn't run.
He bent down.
And tapped the floorboard three times.
Deliberate. Sharp.
Then stood up again, heart pounding, never taking the light off the man.
The intruder stared for a moment, chewing slowly. His purple eye pulsed.
Then he spoke, mouth still half-full.
"…Didn't mean to wake you."
---
Upstairs, Orion's mom sat beside him, gently stroking his hair as he slept. He looked peaceful—still smiling faintly in his sleep, as if dreaming of school and toys and nothing else.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her hand froze.
The signal.
Her husband's emergency signal.
Her heart leapt to her throat. Cold spread through her chest. But she didn't waste a second.
She shook Orion urgently.
"Sweetheart, wake up."
Orion groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Mom? What's that?"
She crouched to meet his eyes.
"Do you remember our emergency drill?"
He blinked at her, slowly nodding.
"Yeah…"
"There's an emergency now. Just like we practiced."
Her voice was calm, but Orion could hear the fear tucked beneath her words. That trembling edge.
She scooped him into her arms, rushed to the adjoining bathroom, and set him down inside the cupboard under the sink. Small, tight, but safe. Reinforced.
"Mom… what's wrong?" he whispered.
She forced a smile, brushing his cheek with her thumb.
"You hide here, okay? Just like we practiced. You don't come out until I call your name. No matter what."
Orion nodded, fear widening in his eyes.
She kissed his forehead.
"I love you."
Then she closed the cupboard door—softly, carefully.
He was hidden.
She turned and hurried to the nearest landline in the hallway.
Picked it up. Dialed.
911.
A click. Then a calm voice.
"Emergency services. What's your situation?"
She kept her voice low and steady.
"Someone's broken into our house. I think—" she hesitated, then said it, "—I think it might be a villain."
Silence for a second. Then the voice returned, sharper now.
"We're dispatching a hero patrol to your location. Can you confirm your name and address, ma'am?"
"Marie Ashford. Maryland Block," she said quickly. "Building five."
"Understood. Stay on the line. Help is on the way."
She gripped the phone tighter.
But something wasn't right.
She worked in the Hero Building. This area never needed patrols.
It was one of the safest zones on the map. No crime. No accidents. No villain sightings.
So why were heroes already nearby?
Her breath hitched.
They weren't patrolling.
They were pursuing.
Her stomach turned cold with the realization.
God, please. Let it be a random thief. Let it be anything but…
But in her gut, she already knew.
It wasn't random.
And it wasn't human.