James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - B2

Two

"What's wrong, Dad?" I asked softly. Sweat shone on his forehead, and it caught my attention right away. We'd stopped a few steps from our house, the street around us quiet and empty. I wasn't sure how he'd managed to walk this far, but once the truth started coming out, it made sense.

"Nothing," he said, though his voice gave him away. He slipped off his headphones before speaking again.

"Uncle Matt," Noah cut in, eyes wide, "did you and Derek put in a transfer to the police force?"

Dad's expression hardened. "No. Derek isn't doing anything until he can control his powers safely. Honestly, I don't even know if I want to go back myself."

No one spoke for a moment. Then Noah broke the silence. "I mean... it'd be nice if James, my dad, and I could apply to the academy someday." He let out a long sigh and sat down on the pavement beside us.

"You're not even sixteen, Noah. And James is barely seventeen," Dad said, frowning. "And if you can't control your powers, I'm not sure I'll come back at all."

"Dad, we're officers. We're sworn in, no matter what's going on," Derek argued. Dad looked like he might snap.

"Don't push me, Derek," he said sharply. "I'm not letting you put people at risk because you don't understand your new abilities yet. And Uncle Henry and your cousins don't need to know about this. He's still the police chief. If you go back without learning restraint, he'll find out. We've had enough problems already. So has your uncle."

Derek didn't argue again. He knew better. The four of us continued walking together in silence.

Dad wasn't wrong. Derek needed to learn control before making any big moves. Having powers wasn't just some gift. It came with responsibility. I remembered how hard it had been for me at first, constantly trying to keep myself in check, especially when things got messy. It was exhausting. We still didn't know what Derek was capable of, but I knew he'd learned a lot just from watching what I went through.

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DEREK

Samual had a lean, muscular frame, all narrow lines and quiet strength. His hair was cropped short, as dark as the snug T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. His bright golden eyes matched his newly dyed hair, his warm and tan skin, and there was something worn about the way he carried himself. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, the shirt partly unbuttoned and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His Converse were scuffed, like they'd seen a lot of pavement. The book in his hands was thick and dusty, the kind that looked like it had been pulled from the back of a forgotten shelf. He had the look of someone who'd been through more than he cared to talk about.

Grace looked different too. She was slim with soft curves, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were brown, her skin pale and smooth, untouched by makeup. Her clothes were torn and worn—her shirt tied into a makeshift crop top, her jeans sagging loosely at the waist. Black-and-white trainers covered her feet, the soles scraped and marked. Compared to the last time I'd seen her, she seemed calmer, almost at ease.

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open. "Hey, boys?" she said, her voice lifting at the end like she wasn't sure she should keep going.

James didn't answer. He moved fast, taking her down to the kitchen floor in one swift motion. Noah and I jumped in, helping pin her there with our combined weight.

"Get off me!" Grace thrashed beneath us, struggling hard, but we held her tight. "You're hurting me," she cried, her resistance faltering as tears spilled into her eyes.

I tightened my grip around her arms, locking them in place, and met her gaze head-on. Her eyes were wide and almond-shaped, fixed on mine. After a few tense seconds, her body went still. She stopped fighting but didn't look away. James glanced at me, and I nodded. We eased up and let her go.