James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - B2

Forty-Three

James

If someone had walked into the Knight house at that moment—pizza boxes piled everywhere, soda cans skittering across the carpet, half the police force crowding the living room—they would've assumed we were hosting the messiest Super Bowl watch party imaginable.

That wasn't it at all.

This was the precinct's go-to "everything's gone sideways" food drop. The kind they showed up with when apologies came in the form of grease and cardboard boxes.

And lately?
That was happening daily.

The place smelled like fried dough, garlic, and bargain-bin ranch, thick enough to sit on your tongue. A few officers lingered in the dining room, hunched over crime scene photos, muttering as they compared notes. Burned pavement. Concrete ripped apart by something with claws. Brick walls punched inward like they'd been hit by falling debris from space.

Nothing about it felt normal.

Everything about it pointed to something beyond human.

Everything pointed to Alexander.

But for the moment, Noah had everyone's attention.

"Oi," he said, gesturing with a half-eaten chicken wing as he leaned forward, "any of you ever seen an Aussie spider in real life?"

Mark stopped chewing. "Are they actually huge, or is this another one of your stories?"

Noah snorted. "Stories? Mate, those things are monsters. Absolute nightmare material. I watched one haul a full-grown possum straight up a wall. Swear on my life."
Grace dropped down between Bryce and me, dressed in a rainbow unicorn onesie, Capri Sun in hand. She lifted an eyebrow. "That's not even remotely possible. Like, scientifically."

"No, I'm serious," Noah said, waving his hands for emphasis. "Back home it's spider season. Webs everywhere. You step outside and boom—might as well sign your death certificate."

"I'm actually going to throw up," I said under my breath.

Grace snorted. "Americans are so over the top. We handle demons with flip-flops."

"Thongs," Noah said quickly. "Get it right."

Bryce came back into the room with a soda and looked at us like we were hopeless. "Every single one of you needs therapy."

"We absolutely do," Noah said. "But that's not what we're talking about."

Everyone laughed.

And I hadn't realized how badly I needed that laugh until it happened.

Things had been feeling... heavy lately.
My uncle's missing.
Supers are going off the rails.
Claire is pregnant.
And my powers—still gone.
But sitting there—Grace sneaking mozzarella sticks, Noah overreacting to every little bug, Mark doing his best to look unfazed—almost felt like the way things used to be.

Almost.

"So," Bryce said, shifting gears, "have you picked names yet?"

I glanced around. Everyone stared like I was about to announce the fate of the universe.

"Hunter and Sasha."

Just then, Derek walked past, mid-bite. "Mom's name?"

"Yeah," I said. "Claire liked it. Dad approved."

Derek's expression softened. "She would've loved that."

For a second, the room felt warmer, lighter.

Then Noah opened his mouth.