Totally Not My Problem | Chase Davenport

Prologue

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Totally Not My Problem| Prologue | "Legacy Isn't  Destiny"

 
The cemetery lay still and silent under the pale light of dawn, a realm seemingly removed from the waking world. Tendrils of mist wove between weathered headstones, their chipped edges softened by the ethereal fog that blanketed the hallowed ground. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of dew-drenched grass and the faint, sweet aroma of wilting lilies left by grieving hands.

Amidst this tapestry of muted grays and faded epitaphs stood Blaire, a lone figure dwarfed by the weight of her sorrow. Her boots, scuffed from countless missions, pressed into the sodden earth as she stared down at the marble marker that bore her father's name. Frank Thompson. The letters etched into the stone seemed to blur before her eyes, the finality of their meaning still too raw, too incomprehensible to grasp.

She remembered the day they laid him to rest, the skies above mimicking the leaden grief that settled in her chest. The heroes had come out in force, their brightly colored uniforms a jarring contrast against the somber black of the mourners' garb. They spoke of his bravery, his selflessness, the countless lives he'd saved. But their words had rung hollow in Blaire's ears, a cold comfort against the ache of her loss.

Now, a year later, she stood alone, the weight of her father's legacy an almost tangible presence in the crisp morning air. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out, fingertips grazing the unyielding stone. "I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered, her words misting in the chill. "I tried to be like you, to carry on what you started. But I'm not strong enough. I can't do this anymore."

The admission tasted bitter on her tongue, tinged with equal measures of guilt and relief. She thought back to the day she'd announced her decision to the Super Society, the day she'd stood before her fellow heroes and renounced her role as one of their own.

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Orion's voice had been sharp with disbelief, his brows furrowed beneath the golden mask that concealed his features. "You can't just walk away from this, Blaire. It's who you are."

But that was the problem, wasn't it? For so long, her identity had been wrapped up in her father's mantle, in the expectations placed upon her by a world that demanded its heroes be unwavering, unbreakable. Each mission, each battle had chipped away at her, the cracks in her façade growing wider until she felt like she might shatter under the strain.

"I need to find my own path," she'd said, straightening her shoulders against the weight of their stares. "I need to figure out who I am without the mask."

And now, here she was, standing at the precipice of a new life, one untethered from the burdens of her past. Yet, even as a flicker of hope kindled in her chest, trepidation coiled like a snake in her stomach.

The crunch of footsteps behind her pulled her from her reverie. She hastily swiped at her cheeks, erasing the tracks of her tears as she turned to face the approaching figure. Carlton regarded her with a mixture of concern and understanding, the lines around his eyes deepening as he took in her red-rimmed gaze.

"Car's here," he said, his gruff voice softened by the early hour. "You ready to go?"

Blaire cast one last glance at her father's grave, the marble now glinting in the growing light of sunrise. "Yeah," she murmured, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'm ready."