I stepped into the front door of my house, my heart pounding in my chest. Memories of the break-in clawed their way back into my consciousness. Someone had broken into my house, and they were still out there. I had to protect myself and Mom. Find a way to track down whoever was behind this. Armed with newfound forensics knowledge, I was on a mission. This time, I'd leave no stone unturned.

The house was quiet, save for the sound of the TV blaring in the living room. As I made my way down the hallway, I could hear the news anchors in a frenzy over the latest round of vigilante activity, talking about a figure who had become notorious in Gotham.

They spoke of the masked man who operated outside the law, bringing his own brand of justice. They called him a hero, a protector of the city. His merciless ways had everyone on edge. But their reports of his brutal tactics stirred something within me. A part of me recognized the pull of such power. I felt a familiar tug in my gut, a restlessness that begged for an outlet.

As I approached the living room, the smell of stale smoke and cheap beer hit my nostrils. Jake was sprawled on the couch, a beer can glued to his hand, his eyes glazed over. He barely registered my presence as I made my way past him. My mother sat in the armchair, her fingers working deftly as she darned a hole in a sock.

"Hey, Mom," I murmured, not wanting to disturb her peaceful activity.

She shot me a quizzical look. "Hi, honey," she replied.

I silently made my way toward my room, and pushed the door shut behind me, cutting off the noise from the living room. I took a deep breath and focused my senses. I scoured every inch of the room, my eyes scanning the walls, the floors, and the ceiling for any sign of a clue.

I wracked my brain, trying to recall everything I had learned in class. I began to search for any signs of forced entry that might give me a lead. My eyes would be able to detect the faintest markings or impressions. But despite my best efforts, I couldn't find a single fingerprint, no trace of the intruder.

Turning to the closet, I discovered little more than slightly disturbed clothing. My patience was wearing thin, and the frustration was mounting with each passing moment. I moved on to the dresser, rifling through the drawers with increasing desperation. But everything seemed to be in order, as if the intruder had been meticulous in covering his tracks. All I could detect was his unbearable scent.

And then I saw it, a faint imprint in the fibers of the carpet. It was barely visible to the naked eye, but to me, it was a beacon of hope. I dropped to my knees and examined it carefully. I could see every detail. The size, the pattern, the depth—I committed it all to memory. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

I collapsed onto my bed, the mattress groaning under my weight. My head was a fucking mess, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of anxiety. Who the hell had been in my place? Why me? Were they still out there, waiting for me to let my guard down?

But as I lay there, my heart still thumping from the adrenaline of the discovery, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I wanted to face the outside world. Curiosity won, and I reached for the device. My eyes scanned the notifications, and I froze when I saw the message from Helena.

"Babs and I are hitting up this new bar tonight. The Crow's Nest. You in? ;)"

My fingers hovered over the phone screen. Part of me longed for the distraction of a night out. But the thought of being in a crowded bar made my stomach churn. The memories of the quarry and my destructive potential were still fresh in my mind. I texted back.

"Yeah, count me in."

As I typed, another message popped up, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Long time no see, we should catch up!"

I paused to catch my breath. It was from Pete. It had been months since Pete texted, and the silence had grown louder with each passing week. When Pete first left for Met-U, we'd talked almost daily. But then... nothing. The party photos, the endless stream of new friends. Pete's life had moved on. I hadn't. Guess it's easy to forget about the freak back home.

I remember feeling jealous, wishing I had the courage to leave too. But I couldn't leave my mother behind, not with Jake still in the picture.

I stared at the text. For years, Pete had been my constant, the one person who truly knew the whole "me" and still chose to stand by my side.

I fired off a response, my fingers a blur on the keyboard.

"Hey, it's been too long! Are you back in town? Want to meet up tonight? We're hitting the Crow's Nest." It was a risk, but I needed his support now more than ever.

Would he still accept me, flaws and all? Would he finally see the monster beneath the surface, or the scared kid who just wanted to fit in? I wondered if our bond remained as unbreakable as it had once been.

But as I hit send, a spark of hope kindled. Maybe he had returned to Gotham looking to reconnect with old friends. Maybe he hadn't forgotten about me, despite our long silence. Maybe he could help me figure out what the hell was going on.

I knew I had to take the chance, to face my fears and see if we could pick up where we left off.

The Crow's Eye pulsed with a life of its own, the loud music of the club throbbing in my skull. Behind the bar was a massive mural of a crow with a bloodshot eye, staring down at the chaos below. I scanned the sweaty, writhing mass of a crowd, searching for Helena. I caught sight of a guy in the corner slipping pink pills into eager palms like they were candy. His eyes flicked around like a scared rat, probably looking for the nearest exit in case shit went sideways.

My eyes cut through the sea of bodies, landing on a familiar flash of fiery red hair. Barbara. She was sitting at a table with Helena not far from the bar, a half-finished vodka cranberry clutched in her hand.

As I drew closer, my pulse quickened, my senses sharpening to a painful degree. Every sound was amplified, every movement heightened. I knew I had to tread lightly. Even the slightest touch could mean too much. The bar was packed with potential victims, and I had to weave my way through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders. It had been so long since I had hurt anyone, but the quarry incident had made it painfully clear how little control I actually had. Just one slip, and this bar would turn into a bloodbath.

I reached their table, forcing a casual smile onto my face and hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt.

Helena looked up, her eyebrows raised. "Finally," she drawled.

"Yeah sorry," I mumbled. "Traffic was a bitch." The lie rolled off my tongue with ease, but the truth was a different beast. I almost ran here at full speed, only to chicken out when I realized what a disaster that could turn into. Instead, I'd played it safe, opting for the slow, suffocating crawl of public transit. And naturally, I'd miscalculated the bus schedule. Idiot.

I slid into the seat beside Helena, catching a whiff of cedarwood and jasmine, her scent wrapping around me, grounding me for a moment. I noticed the faint freckles dusting her cheeks, my gaze lingering a moment too long before I forced myself to look away.

"Traffic?" Helena chuckled with a teasing smile. "At this hour? Gotham's a lot of things, but gridlocked at midnight isn't one of them."

"Yeah well," I retorted, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. "You wouldn't believe the clusterfuck on Westside. Some dipshit in a minivan almost rear-ended a cop car."

Helena's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, shit. Please tell me that wasn't your dad, Babs."

Barbara shook her head. "Nah, he's fine. He was already home when I left."

"Your dad's a cop?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

"Yeah," Barbara nodded. "He's the commissioner, actually."

I kept my face neutral, but inside I was screaming. The last thing I needed was the commissioner's daughter watching me too closely. One more reason to keep my shit together. My grip on the table tightened, and I had to consciously unclench my fingers.

Helena leaned in. "Don't let it scare you off, Clark. She's not just a cop's daughter, she's also a sweet little library science major."

Barbara shot her a playful glare. "Hey, finding the right information is an art. You of all people should appreciate that!" She smacked Helena's arm lightly. "Speaking of which," She glanced at me. "Helena's been saying you're the go-to guy for all the campus gossip. That true?"

Busted. I raised an eyebrow, putting on my best wide-eyed innocent look. "Me? Gossip? Never," I said. My enhanced hearing had its perks.

Helena laughed. "Oh, please. You're like a human newsfeed. You knew Sarah Miller was pregnant before she even peed on a stick."

I forced a chuckle. "I'm just observant. Comes with the territory when you're studying Criminology." I replied, praying she bought it. Couldn't exactly tell them my X-ray vision had picked up the fetus weeks before Sarah even realized she was late.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, giving me a much-needed out. Pete's name flashed on the screen. "That's Pete," I announced, rising from my seat. "I'll go grab him, be right back."

Pete was waiting by the entrance, a wide grin spreading across his face as he spotted me. "Clark!" he shouted, pulling me into a bear hug. "Been way too long, man."

I laughed, carefully returning the hug. "No kidding! What brings you back to Gotham?"

"Met-U finally kicked my ass out," he grinned. "Figured I'd come back to my roots."

With Pete in tow, I returned to the table, catching the tail end of Barbara's hushed comment. "...Clark's late, but at least he brought eye candy."

I smirked. "Ladies, this is my old buddy Pete, the guy who's kept me out of trouble—or dragged me into it—for years. Pete, meet Helena and Barbara."

Pete flashed a killer smile, taking a seat next to me. "Always a pleasure. So, who's been keeping Clark in line while I was gone?"

Helena laughed. "He's been a model student, actually. We're starting to wonder if he has a life outside of textbooks and lectures."

Barbara gave Pete an appreciative once-over. "Or so he wants us to think."

Pete's eyes twinkled, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Well, if you want the real dirt, I've got plenty from our Gotham High days."

The banter flowed as easily as the drinks, and before long, the tension in my shoulders eased. I knew I could trust Pete to keep my secrets safe, and I didn't have to keep my guard up around him. It was good to be surrounded by friends, old and new. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

We ordered some drinks and settled in for the night. The music shifted, and I found myself nodding my head along to the beat. Helena and Barbara, already a few cocktails in, decided it was time for shots, clinking glasses with laughter. I watched them toss back the shots, wincing in sympathy as their faces contorted at the fiery burn.

The longing coiled in my gut. I wished I could join in on the fun. But as I downed my own shot, the sting of alcohol barely registering, I knew it was pointless. Alcohol had never affected me, and I knew that I would never experience that sense of reckless abandon. Even if it did work, I knew better than risking it. Not with my powers growing stronger and more unpredictable by the day.

As the night wore on, the tequila did its work. Helena and Barbara were more animated, laughing and joking as the music pulsed around us. Pete and I talked for a while, catching up on old times and filling in the gaps of the months we'd spent apart. It was good to see that some things hadn't changed. Pete was still the same old Pete I remembered, and being with him again made me feel like I was back in high school.

As we chatted, the girls excused themselves and made their way to the dancefloor. I watched as they swayed to the music, their bodies moving in perfect sync with the beat. Pete nudged me, a grin spreading across his face.

"Looks like Barbara's got an admirer," he commented, nodding towards a guy who was practically drooling over the redhead. The guy was tall, with dark hair and a confident swagger. He was clearly smitten.

I followed his gaze, noting the longing in Pete's eyes. "Yeah, it seems you've got some competition."

Just then, a drunk guy stumbled past, bumping into my shoulder. My muscles tensed for a split second bracing for the impact. He let out a colorful curse, clutching his shoulder like I'd dislocated it. Shit. I winced inwardly. I should have rolled with the movement.

"Watch it, asshole!" he slurred, glaring at me.

Pete chuckled. "Relax. It was just a bump," he said, clapping me on the back. "Let loose a little."

I shook my head, unease settling in my gut. "I can't, Pete. You know that."

He sighed, looking at me with concern in his eyes. "I get it, but that doesn't mean you have to shut yourself off from everything. You can still have fun."

I nodded, but my attention was already drawn back to the dance floor. Helena and Barbara were trapped in a swirling mass of drunken dudes, their movements less like dancing and more like a territorial pissing contest.

From across the room, I could see the girls trying to back away, their smiles strained, eyes flashing with annoyance. I knew they could handle themselves, but my muscles tensed involuntarily.

The music and laughter in the club became muffled as I focused on the scene. Slurred words, crude remarks, and testosterone-charged threats filled the soundtrack.

"Aww, what's wrong, little miss tough girl? Need a real man to take care of you?" The comment came from a hulking brute with a crooked grin, directed at Helena. His eyes roamed over her figure. My anger simmered. One of these charmers grabbed Barbara by the waist, and I saw her use a wrestling move to wriggle out of his hold.

But then I heard it—the sharp intake of Helena's breath as a hand groped her. The scene played out like a slow-motion nightmare. My senses picked up every detail, from the way the bastard's hand lingered on her body to the way Helena's hair whipped around her face as she twisted out of his grasp.

Something in me snapped, sending a surge of blinding rage through my veins. I signaled to Pete, and we made our way over to them.

Helena's eyes narrowed as she glared at the dirtbag who had grabbed her. "Hands off, creep," she snarled.

Barbara stepped forward, her fists clenched. "You heard her. Back the fuck off, or you'll regret it."

"Aw, look at this," one of the thugs sneered, his accent thick and twangy. "We got us a couple of feral kitties here. Think we oughta tame 'em?" His buddies erupted in a chorus of drunken laughter.

We were close now, close enough for them to notice us. Their laughter died in their throats when they saw Pete and me bearing down on them. I wasn't exactly a small guy and Pete had the frame of a linebacker.

Pete went to stand by the girls, and I stepped right up to the ringleader, putting myself between him and Helena. He was a big bastard, built like a goddamn barn, but I didn't flinch. Their initial hesitation evaporated as they sized us up. Four against two. The odds were in their favor. Or so they thought.

I stared down the ringleader, every nerve in my body urging restraint. The guy leered at me, his breath hot and sour on my face. "What's your problem, man? We were just havin' a little fun."

"Fun?" I shot back. "Is that what you call it? Harassing girls who clearly want nothing to do with you?"

His eyes narrowed, and I saw the shift—fingers twitching, nostrils flaring, the telltale signs of a man about to do something stupid. I braced myself, every muscle tense, ready to react, but Pete beat me to it.

"Listen fellas," he said, stepping forward with one hand out. "I reckon it's time you called it a night. You've had too much to drink. Go home, sleep it off."

One of the thugs, a brick wall of a guy with a deep scowl, barked out a laugh. "Who do you clowns think you are, giving us orders? We ain't scared of you, buddy."

Pete's expression hardened, his jaw muscles working as he spoke. "Maybe you should be. We're not looking for trouble, but we won't stand by while you harass these girls. So either you walk out of here on your own, or we can help you find the exit."

Classic Pete. Always ready to dive headfirst into trouble with me as his invincible safety net.

The brick wall sneered, his eyes flashing with drunken anger. "I'd like to see you try, tough guy."

I sighed internally, some things never changed.

Before I could stop him, he shoved Pete back a step, then cocked his fist, aiming right for Pete's face. Instinct kicked in, and my hand shot out, intercepting the punch inches from Pete's jaw. My palm met the brute's knuckles with a meaty thud. I could feel the force behind the strike, and I knew it could have caused some serious damage. To me, it was like catching a softball.

I fought the urge to crush his hand into a pulp, anger surging through me like a goddamn electric current.

"Back off," I growled, locking eyes with him. But my warning was lost on him. Rage and booze had fried whatever sense he had left.

He tried to yank his fist back, but I held on tight. He was no match for me. His face flushed, veins pulsing in his neck, oblivious to the fact that I was barely exerting any effort. I played along, putting on a show of struggling, just enough to make it look believable. I had the strength to send him flying across the dancefloor, but I had to dial it back. It was imperative. I sure as hell didn't want my fist slicing through him like a hot knife through butter.

His buddy, a wiry little shit with a mean look in his eye, saw his chance and lunged at me, aiming to sucker-punch me while I was 'distracted.' I let go of the ringleader's fist, sidestepping just in time for his friend to stumble past me, his momentum carrying him straight into a table.

The ringleader came at me again, slower this time, but still swinging like a madman. I ducked under his wild punch, making it look like he'd almost clipped me. I threw a quick jab to his gut, just enough to knock the wind out of him without turning his insides to mush. He folded, gasping for air, his eyes bulging in shock.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Helena and Barbara, their eyes wide, mouths slightly open as they watched the scene unfold.

Meanwhile, Pete was holding his own, just like old times. He wasn't the biggest guy around, but he fought smart, landing a solid right hook on one of the thugs, sending the guy staggering back into the bar. Bottles toppled and shattered, and the crowd finally started to take notice. People were backing away, giving us a wide berth, but the music was so loud, half the club hadn't even noticed the brawl.

Another thug came at me, throwing a sloppy haymaker. I let it graze my chin, rolling with the punch and even letting out a grunt, just to sell it. I couldn't let anyone see how easy this was for me. I had to make it look like I was just another guy in a bar fight, not someone who could end it with a fucking backhand.

On my left, one of the thugs wound up for a sucker punch aimed at Pete's unsuspecting face. Time to play guardian angel. I subtly shifted my stance, giving that punch a little nudge with my elbow. He missed Pete completely, stumbling forward with the force of his own punch and crashing face-first into the floor.

That's when the club's security swarmed in, bouncers who could give a rhinoceros a run for its money. They waded into the brawl, grabbing flailing limbs and hairy knuckles, and we became part of their human parade toward the exit. I didn't resist, letting them think they were manhandling me. We were ejected onto the sidewalk, the door slamming behind us.

The pack of drunk gorillas must've suddenly remembered they had important business elsewhere. They scattered in different directions, leaving behind a trail of muttered curses and bruised egos.

For a split second, pride swelled in my chest—I'd managed to protect my friends without snapping any bones or spilling blood. But that pride was quickly swallowed by a wave of nausea. It was too close, too damn close. The curse coursing through me wasn't just dangerous; it was lethal. If I'd lost control, even for a second, those guys wouldn't have walked away. They'd be in body bags.

Pete, still catching his breath, clapped me on the back. "Thanks, man," he wheezed, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "You saved my ass back there."

I forced a grin, shrugging like it was nothing. "Eh, no sweat," I replied, though the words rang hollow even in my own ears. It was a massive deal, and I knew it. I'd almost crossed a line tonight, one I couldn't afford to cross. I wasn't supposed to let my emotions run the show, not in public. I wasn't supposed to be the guy who snapped.

I glanced at Helena, hoping my little display hadn't scared her off. But she just smiled, that teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "You've been holding out on us, Clark. Didn't think you had those moves in you."

I tried to play it cool, waving off her comment like it was nothing. "Just a reflex," I muttered. "When you grow up in the Narrows, you learn how to handle yourself."

Pete chuckled. "Especially when your best friend's a dumbass who likes picking fights he can't finish."

"True," I added, trying to keep the mood light. "Growing up with Pete here, you learn to handle a few assholes too."

"Yeah, no kidding. What the hell was that all about?" Barbara piped up, her emerald gaze boring into me.

I felt my stomach twist, but before I could think of a reply, Pete deflected. "Just some punks looking for trouble, that's all. Clark handled it, like always. No biggie."

Barbara's eyes lingered on me, clearly not buying the easy explanation, but eventually, she let it go, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Well, whatever you've been doing, I'm just glad you're on our side," she said.

As we walked down the street, every step felt heavy, like I was dragging the weight of what could've happened. The fear of Helena seeing through my bullshit gnawed at me, worse than before.

Finally, we reached our destination: a rundown dive bar clinging to the edge of town. The neon sign flickered like it was on its last legs, spelling out "The Lucky Break" in garish green letters. The place was a dump, with peeling paint and floors that seemed to glue themselves to your shoes, but usually, there was a gritty charm to it. Not tonight, though. Tonight, everything felt off.

As soon as we stepped inside, the warm, smoky air enveloped us, and the smell of beer, fried food hit our nostrils. The jukebox blared out classic rock tunes, and the murmur of conversation filled the air.

We made our way to a secluded booth in the back, away from the rowdy crowd, and ordered a round of drinks.

I slumped back into my seat, trying to shake off the adrenaline rush that was still coursing through my veins. My body seemed wired, muscles coiled and primed for action. Every punch, every block, every move, I analyzed it over and over, searching for any sign that I'd let too much slip, that I'd shown too much of what I really was. One small mistake, one slip, and things could've gone horribly wrong.

I kneaded my temples, trying to ease the tension that throbbed there. Maybe I should've kept my cool, tried to talk them down like Pete had. Maybe I shouldn't have let anger steer the ship. But then again, when had I ever been good at that?

Helena and Barbara were talking quietly across the table, their voices just low enough that I couldn't make out what they were saying over the noise in my head.

I sighed, I should be happy they were okay, that no one got seriously hurt. I tried to push the dark thoughts to the back of my mind and enjoy the company of my friends. After all, that's what I had risked everything for.