The Shattered Quiet (2)
Home.
Ava made grilled cheese while Ronan built towers with wooden blocks on the living room floor. Normal. Peaceful.
She let herself believe it, just for a moment.
Over dinner, she watched him pick at his sandwich. Watched the way his fingers trembled slightly. Watched the air around him shimmer when he got frustrated cutting the crust.
Not imagined. Not tricks of light.
Real.
He's getting stronger.
The thought terrified her.
"Bath time," she announced with false cheer. "Then story."
Their bedtime ritual was sacred. Warm water, dinosaur pajamas, the battered copy of Where the Wild Things Are that she'd bought at a library sale. Ronan snuggled into his twin bed, stuffed wolf clutched to his chest.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
"Mama?" His voice was drowsy. "Will you stay?"
"Always." She kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams, baby."
She left the door cracked and collapsed on her own bed. 2:47 AM on the clock. She'd gotten four hours of sleep in two days.
Her eyes had just drifted closed when Ronan screamed.
Ava bolted upright, heart hammering. Another nightmare. He'd been having them for weeks—
The scream came again, raw with terror.
She ran.
Ronan thrashed in his bed, small body rigid, eyes squeezed shut. "No! They're coming! The bad people—they're coming!"
"Ronan, wake up." Ava grabbed his shoulders. "It's just a dream, baby—"
Light exploded from his skin.
Golden-silver, blazing bright, pouring from every inch of him like liquid sunshine. It burned without heat, illuminated without blinding, and it was wrong—wrong for a four-year-old, wrong for someone who should have been human, wrong wrong wrong—
"Ronan!" She shook him. "Wake up!"
His eyes snapped open, glowing pure gold.
The power detonated.
The shockwave hit Ava like a physical blow, throwing her backward. Every window in the apartment shattered simultaneously—bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room—glass exploding outward in a crystalline wave. The building's lights flickered and died. The floorboards cracked.
Ava's ears rang in the sudden darkness.
Then Ronan collapsed, the light winking out like a candle. He curled into a ball, chest heaving, and started to cry.
"Baby." Ava crawled to him on shaking hands. Glass crunched under her palms. "It's okay. You're okay."
But he wasn't.
His small hands still glowed faintly in the darkness, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Something pounded on the door. "Ava! AVA!"
Maya.
Ava wrapped Ronan in his blanket and stumbled to the door. Her friend stood in the hallway, face pale, surrounded by neighbors in various states of undress.
"What the hell happened?" Maya grabbed her arm. "It sounded like a bomb—"
"Gas leak." Ava's voice came out steady despite her shaking. "Old building. I smelled it earlier. We're lucky it wasn't worse."
Maya's eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly. "Right. Gas leak. You both okay?"
"Fine. Just shaken up." Ava held Ronan tighter. "I should—I need to check the apartment."
She closed the door on Maya's suspicious expression and slid down to the floor, Ronan in her lap. His small body had finally relaxed, exhausted. Asleep.
But his hands still glowed.
Faint. Persistent.
Undeniable.
Ava stared at the shattered windows, the cracked walls, and felt something crack inside her too.
She couldn't run from this.
Couldn't hide it.
Couldn't pretend anymore.
Two hundred miles north, in a glass tower that scraped the belly of storm clouds, a phone rang in the dead of night, and a king who had been searching for five years finally found what he'd lost.
**
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