I approached the door to my house, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. My eyes fell on the scattered mess of empty beer cans and cigarette butts that lined the porch. It was the kind of mess that told you exactly who was inside before you even turned the knob.

Coming home to Jake was never anything short of walking into a trap. My hand hesitated over the handle when the muffled sound of his voice reached my ears.

"...not yet. I need more time. The boy's... unpredictable," he muttered in hushed tones.

The boy? That pricked my skin. Was he talking about me? I focused on his voice, no longer suppressing my keen hearing.

"That ain't enough," Jake said.

Static laced the deep rumble that followed. "It's plenty enough and you know it. Don't get greedy now."

Well shit, that definitely wasn't Mom. He was on the phone, and that baritone voice wasn't one I'd ever heard before. Who the hell was he even talking to?

"...I'll handle him." Jake replied. "You just worry about your end, got it?"

My hand tightened on the knob, the metal groaning in protest. I shoved the door open, a wave of stale smoke and rotting beer greeting me. Next to the malfunctioning heater, a gaping hole marred the drywall—a souvenir of Jake's explosive tantrums.

Considering my cursed abilities, this dump should've been reduced to rubble ages ago. God knows it's been close a couple of times. But causing more destruction wasn't an option, not with Mom caught in the crossfire. The warped door handle seemed to creak in disagreement.

Stepping into the living room, Jake's gaze snapped towards me, his expression souring. "I'll call you back," he grunted, shoving his phone into his pocket.

His perpetual scowl deepened even further as he looked me up and down. "Creepin' up on me now, huh, boy?" he muttered gruffly. "How long you been lurkin'?"

I slid my hands into my pockets, rolling my metal elephant between my fingers like a lifeline. "Yeah, Jake," I muttered, rolling my eyes, "I'm secretly reporting you to the FBI. Relax. I just got back from uni."

His shoulders shifted, barely, but I caught it. What the hell was he so nervous about?

"Who were you talking to?" I asked.

"Ain't none of your goddamn business, boy," he spat.

"Uh-huh," I shot back, arching an eyebrow. "Seemed serious."

His lip curled, baring yellowed teeth. "Maybe you oughta spend more time worrying about your own shit instead of mine."

I stepped closer. "You know, you're real good at dodging questions, Jake."

"Yeah?" He squared up, so close now I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "And you're real good at runnin' that mouth. Maybe you oughta quit while you're ahead, boy, 'fore I remind you what happens when you don't."

The heat in my chest built, but I bit down on it. It'd be so easy, too easy, to send him flying across the room. "Where's Mom?" I ground out instead, steering the conversation away before it spiraled.

He barked out a hollow laugh. "How the hell should I know? She's probably off cryin' in the goddamn grocery aisle, 'cause she raised a freak who can't go a week without breakin' somethin' or eatin' us dry."

I kept my face stone. My fists stayed in my pockets, squeezing the metal lump until it was flat. He smirked, reveling in getting under my skin. If I let loose, Jake would win. He always did.

"Fine, then. I'll wait for her," I replied coolly. I walked past him, my elbow grazing perilously close to his side.

"Watch it, boy," he growled, but I didn't look back.

"Friggin' hell," I muttered under my breath as I stepped into my room, an uneasy feeling slithering up my spine. Something was off, I could feel it in my bones. My eyes scanned the room in a heartbeat.

The stack of books on my desk was a hair's breadth closer to my busted lamp than I distinctly remembered. The picture frame on my nightstand was tilted at an odd angle, and I could see that a few of my clothes had been rummaged through in my closet.

Most people wouldn't notice these tiny shifts, but to me, they screamed a different story. Someone had been here, rifling through my stuff. And it pissed me off. Big time.

Damn it, Jake. That sneaky bastard had been nosing around in my room again. Just another reminder why I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. And believe me I could throw him pretty fucking far.

I closed the door behind me with a resigned sigh. I inhaled deeply, expecting the usual stench of Jake's cigarettes and cheap whiskey. But instead, a different aroma hit me, one that made my nose wrinkle in confusion. It was a musky scent, a man's scent. Definitely not Jake's signature eau de garbage. I would recognize it anywhere.

What the hell?

I froze, inhaling deeply again, straining to latch onto the source of the scent. It was like a mix of forest floor, leather, and something sharp, like chemicals. My gut twisted with anxiety. Who the hell was this stranger, and what was he doing in my room?

The unease that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind for days came roaring back. I'd been brushing off that creeping sensation of being watched, telling myself I was paranoid. But this? This wasn't paranoia. This was proof.

I planted myself in the middle of the room, straining my ears for any hint of the intruder. A footstep, a breath, a rustle of fabric. But all I got was the usual city soundtrack turned to eleven: The blare of car horns and screeching tires, the booming bass from nearby clubs, some drunk idiot screaming obscenities in the distance. All useless noise, drowning out any hope of figuring out who was messing with me.

My fists clenched, my nails biting into my palms. The day had already been one shitstorm after another. Tyler, Jake, that creepy-ass phone call. And now, this? Some creep practically breathing down my neck in my own damn space? It was the last fucking straw. The volcano in my chest started to rumble.

Fury and helplessness choked me. Power surged through my veins, demanding release. The urge to smash something, anything, warred with the knowledge that a single blow from me would destroy the entire wall.

The day's events pounded in my head, each rotten word and humiliation resurfacing with a vengeance. The throbbing in my temples escalated into a full-blown headache, the fire licking at the edges of my vision. Not this shit again. I knew the feeling all too well.

"Stop," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Fucking stop." But the pressure behind my lids felt like someone was shoving glowing coals into my sockets.

I couldn't let the heat out. Years of forcing it down, kept it mostly at bay. Mostly.

The first and only time I'd lost control, I'd been thirteen. It started with a stupid Gameboy.

Jake had been in one of his moods, his face already flushed from the bottle he'd drained before dinner. I'd muttered something under my breath, a smartass comment I didn't even remember anymore.

"What'd you say, boy?" he'd growled.

"Nothing."

"Don't you mumble at me!" he barked, spit flying all over my face. The chair creaked under me as my hands tightened on the arms.

Five minutes. He kept at it, screaming, insulting. That was all it took. One second I was gripping the chair arms, the next, they were splintering in my hands with a CRACK.

For a second, everything froze. Even Jake stared, blinking at the broken pieces in my hands. Then he went ballistic.

"You goddamn freak!" he'd bellowed, snatching my Gameboy from the table and flinging it across the room.

CRASH

I watched the only thing of value I owned explode in a shower of plastic guts against the wall. It had been a hand-me-down from my best friend Pete, and my only escape from this miserable life. Now it was gone.

Jake's enraged face was the last thing I saw before the world went red. Then, fire.

Twin beams of white-hot rage ripped from my vision, the kitchen table in front of me bursting into flames.

"Jesus Christ!" Jake roared, stumbling back, his chair scraping against the floor.

I immediately slammed my eyes shut, but the damage was already done. The crackle of fire filled the room, and I heard Mom's scream. When I dared to crack them open, she was frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with a terror I'd never seen before. She'd fumbled with the fire extinguisher, her hands shaking so bad she could barely pull the pin. The extinguisher sputtered, foam spitting out in uneven bursts as she tried to aim.

Jake wasn't yelling anymore. He stood there, his eyes locked on his jacket sleeve, where a blackened singe mark stopped just shy of his flesh. He looked like a man who'd just seen the devil. An inch closer, and...

A cold dread clawed its way up from my gut, tightening my throat. I'd almost… killed him. He'd been lucky. Hell, the whole damn house would have been reduced to ash if I hadn't squeezed my eyes shut just in time.

I blinked back to the present, my hands gripping the sides of my head. The memory only made the pressure worse, the tension tightening like a vice behind my eye sockets.

"No," I growled, digging my fingers into my temples. My voice cracked. "No, no, no."

A desperate grunt escaped my throat. Squeezing my eyes tighter, I pictured shoving ice cubes into my skull, tried to imagine the fire hissing out under the freezing cold. It wasn't working. This pressure… it was too much. I had to get out. Find a way to release the tension before I…

I didn't think. I couldn't. My legs moved on instinct, bolting out the door and into the cold Gotham night. The wind tore at my face, sharp and biting, as I shot through the city. My eyes stayed clamped shut, the heat still pulsing behind them, barely contained. I couldn't risk opening them, relying solely on my other enhanced senses to guide my way. Thankfully, these were some of the few abnormalities I could control. My photographic memory served as my map, the layout of the streets carved into my mind.

The rumble of an approaching bus vibrated through the soles of my feet, warning me to shift course. Each pedestrian I blurred past was a chorus of sounds - a thumping heartbeat, a rasp of breath, shoes thudding on the pavement. Buildings and cars bled their thermal signatures against my hypersensitive skin.

This wasn't safe. One wrong turn and I could flatten someone, some innocent bystander caught in the fallout of my meltdown. But I couldn't stop.

Don't look. Don't fucking look. One glance, and God knows what carnage I'd unleash.

I kept running. Faster. Harder, until I finally reached the abandoned stone quarry on the outskirts of Gotham. The chain-link fence gave way like wet paper under my fingers. Here, the only sounds were my ragged gasps and the pounding of my own heart.

I dropped to my knees, and buried my face in my hands. The pressure behind my eyes was unbearable now, like something alive clawing to get out. With no prying eyes, I could finally release the pressure. A primal scream ripped from my throat, echoing through the canyons of rock. Only then did I dare open my eyes.

And the dam broke.

The power I had been struggling to contain exploded through my eyes. A blinding crimson flash split the darkness, tearing through the quarry with a force that made the earth tremble. The air itself rippled and crackled with the force of the released energy. The rock face in front of me was vaporized, rocks and boulders in the blast zone disintegrated, exploding into a violent shower of dust and debris with a deafening crash. The blast roared in my ears, louder than anything I'd ever heard, the kind of sound you didn't just hear—you felt in your bones.

I collapsed onto my hands, panting.

When I finally dared to look, the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs. The once-solid stone wall was now a gaping maw that oozed molten slag glowing like embers in the fading light. Boulders rained down, embedding themselves in the earth with loud thuds. Where I stood, a crater gaped open, the scorched earth radiating an impossible heat, and the air was thick with the stench of burnt rock.

"Holy fucking shit," I choked out, the words barely audible over the ringing in my ears. What the hell had I done? This wasn't a glass exploding in my hand at breakfast. This… this was a whole new level of fucked.

Dread pooled in my stomach at the level of destruction I'd caused with just a flicker of my eyes. I had barely contained myself. If this had happened back in the city… if I'd opened my eyes for even a second back there… Innocent lives, incinerated. People reduced to ash by a monster. Nausea racked my body as I stumbled back in horror.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed back onto the ground, my hands shaking in front of me. Shame wrapped itself around me. I couldn't trust myself to be around others anymore. How many people was I unknowingly putting in mortal danger?

I slammed my fists into the ground, the impact sending cracks spidering through the dirt.

"Fuck," I hissed through clenched teeth.

This fucking power, it had always been there. A weapon of mass destruction living in my skull. I knew it. That's why I kept a lid on everything, a goddamn iron fist wrapped around my emotions. But today, I had let my guard down, and the monster had broken free, and look what it left in its wake. This was the real cost of a single fucking meltdown.

My journey back home was a silent and solemn one. The bus ride seemed to last an eternity. The thought of using my speed now filled me with dread. The other passengers were chatting and laughing as if nothing in the world was wrong. I could hardly bring myself to look up, the fear of another flicker turning the bus into a fireball gnawing at my insides.

Slumping through the front door, I found Mom camped out on the couch. Her red hair peppered with white, a sign of the stress I knew damn well I caused, was tied back in a loose bun. She tried for a smile, but it faltered at the edges. One look at my face – pale as a ghost and probably twice as haunted – and the smile died altogether.

She didn't ask questions. Mom never did.

Her arms engulfed me before I could even think about stopping her. Her familiar scent of lavender clashed with the tang of burnt rock clinging to me.

The sob broke out of me before I could choke it back. Mom just held me tighter, and I pressed my face into her shoulder, the tears coming fast and hot, soaking into her sweater.

"It's okay, baby," Mom whispered as she ran her hand through my hair. "It's okay."

I felt drained. Empty. But she told me that everything would be alright.

And for a moment, I believed her.