I was twelve. Hector was fourteen. And the compound’s forge glowed like a second sun in the middle of the night.

  I wasn’t supposed to be out of bed, but sleep wasn’t coming. It rarely did with my mind always racing—strategies, tactics, patterns, possibilities. So I followed the sound of metal striking metal until it led me to Hector.

  He stood over the anvil, broad shoulders hunched, hammer rising and falling in a rhythm only he understood. Sparks flared with every strike. Even at fourteen, he looked like he’d been forged in that fire, not just standing beside it.

  “You’re still working?” I asked from the doorway, keeping my voice low.

  Hector didn’t look up. “It’s not done yet.”

  I stepped closer, heat wrapping around me like a blanket. On the worktable beside him was a half-finished weapon—short, balanced, a blade meant for speed, not strength.

  “What is it?”

  “Yours,” he said simply. “You always win in sparring, but you do it with your brain, not your reach. That old practice blade can’t keep up with how you move. Figured it was time you had a real weapon—something balanced, fast, made for a tactician, not a brute.”

  That stopped me.

  “You made me a sword?”

  He nodded. “Built for precision. Light enough for fast movement, strong enough to hold its edge.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d always studied every angle, predicted every outcome—but I hadn’t seen this coming.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “You’re my friend,” he said. “And we’re gonna need each other one day.”

  I watched him shape the blade, the way his hands knew the metal like it was alive. The forge light flickered in his eyes, and I realized then that Hector wasn’t just strong—he was steady. Unshakable.

  “I always win,” I said, stepping beside him. “But you’re the reason we all survive.”

  He smiled faintly, handing me the handle to feel the weight. “Then we make a good team.”

  Boston was too quiet.

  The kind of quiet that made your shoulders tighten and your instincts scream. Peter and I had been in enough fights recently to know when monsters were nearby. And now, every step down these cracked sidewalks felt like a countdown.

  We’d started in Florida, driving for hours before the first ambush hit us hard in South Carolina. After that, it had been nothing but buses, trains, and our own two feet. Every time we got close to rest, another group of monsters would find us. Somehow, we kept going. We had to. Hector and Damian were in Boston. And we were finally here.

  “Not a single car horn or siren,” Peter muttered beside me, eyes sharp behind the thin scratch across his cheek. A few pedestrians hurried past us, their eyes down, their steps too quick, like they knew something was wrong. “That’s not right.”

  The orange edge of the setting sun spilled long shadows between buildings. We were almost out of time. Sunset always made me feel on edge—it was the moment right before I became what I was meant to be. I wasn’t powerless during the day; I still had command over the wind, still had speed and instinct. But my true strength—what made me different—only came alive under the stars. I’d always preferred the night, sleeping through the day whenever I could. But that wasn’t how the world worked, and right now, the world wasn’t waiting for me to be at full power.

  We kept walking toward the city center, watching the skyline shift above us. The streets grew narrower, alleys darker. Every window felt like it held a thousand unseen eyes.

  The ambush came fast.

  Snarling, misshapen forms lunged from the rooftops and sewers. Monsters—at least a dozen. Ugly. Fast. And smart.

  “Civilians!” Peter shouted, pointing to the scattering crowd of late commuters and night-shift workers.

  Peter grabbed my arm, yanking me toward the alleyway. “Draw them away from the civilians,” he said urgently. Without hesitating, I spun, flinging a sharp burst of wind behind us. It slammed into two of the creatures, sending them crashing into a streetlamp and forming a barrier between the monsters and the crowd. The remaining ones followed us into the alley, just like Peter planned.

  Peter and I darted sideways, herding the crowd toward a narrow break between two buildings. It wasn’t ideal, but at least we could control the space. The alley was dark, cluttered with trash bins and broken crates, but it would slow the monsters down.

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  Peter planted himself at the front, sword in hand, already slashing. I followed, summoning blades of wind and hurling them at anything that got too close. We moved together, covering each other like we’d trained to do since we were kids.

  But this fight was different. We were getting overpowered.

  They kept coming. And my strength wasn’t enough. Not yet. The sky was still streaked with fading gold, no stars in sight. I could feel my magic humming beneath the surface, but it wouldn’t fully ignite until night.

  Peter grunted, a slash catching his arm. He staggered back, blood trailing along his sleeve.

  “Peter!” I threw out another burst of wind, pushing the monsters back, and dropped beside him. “You okay?”

  “I’ve had worse,” he hissed, wiping blood from his brow. “But this isn’t going to hold.”

  I turned, back to the wall, sword in hand, bracing myself.

  And waited for the dark.

  A blur of motion shot into the alley from the street—twin short swords gleaming, a cocky, wild grin lighting up his face.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you two this part of town’s dangerous?” Damian shouted, slicing through a monster with a spinning leap.

  Then a crash—Hector barreled straight through the back wall, stone and brick crumbling around his shoulders, his hammer already swinging.

  “Miss us?” he said, his voice low and solid as the earth.

  My heart soared. Ten years—ten years since I’d seen Hector and Damian, and yet in this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. Relief crashed over me like a wave, loosening a knot in my chest I hadn’t even known was there. We were fighting side by side again. We were whole again.

  The tide turned immediately.

  The four of us moved like we’d never been apart. Swords slashed, hammer crushed, and the wind roared at my command. Peter fell back into rhythm like it was instinct, and Damian laughed like the chaos was just another training match. Hector stood firm at our backs, a shield none of them could pass.

  Old rhythms returned. And the monsters didn’t stand a chance.

  The sky darkened. Twilight gave way to stars.

  I raised my head.

  Above the narrow buildings, the stars flickered into view—silver points against deep indigo.

  The wind stirred around me, sharp and cold and clear. My magic responded, surging. The shift was immediate.

  I let go of the restraint I’d been holding.

  My eyes caught the first flickers of starlight, and silver bled into my vision—reflections of the night sky mirrored in my irises. Faint lines of light traced across my arms like constellations awakening beneath my skin. The wind shifted with me, colder and more precise, twining through my limbs like an extension of thought. I moved with it, the stars above lending me clarity I’d craved all day.

  Time seemed to slow.

  My sword gleamed as I moved through the alley like a blade of the night itself—each step a whisper, each strike a burst of wind and light.

  The monsters turned, sensing the shift too late.

  I was no longer fighting them—I was dismantling them, one by one.

  A blade of wind sliced through a charging beast, scattering it to dust. Another fell with a spin of my heel and a burst of light-infused force.

  The alley lit up in pulses of silver and wind, and every movement felt effortless—like I was moving with the sky itself.

  They tried to flee, but the wind closed in. My stars guided me.

  And under their gaze, the monsters fell.

  Every last one.

  When the silence returned, broken only by our heavy breathing, I turned back toward my friends.

  We were bloodied. Bruised. But alive.

  And together again.

  Finally.

  Damian let out a long whistle as he stepped through the fading starlight. “You just love showing off, don’t you? With your ridiculous glowing and dramatic wind blades?”

  I let out a breathless laugh, still riding the rush of power. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

  He grinned and walked up, sheathing his swords before pulling me into a fierce hug. “I missed you, man.”

  I held on for a beat longer than I expected. “Missed you too.”

  Peter and Hector joined us, the four of us standing amidst the quiet aftermath of battle. For a second, it felt like everything was okay.

  Hector clapped a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding. “Come on. We’ve got a safe house nearby. Not far, and it’s secure. We can rest. Regroup. Catch up.”

  We didn’t hesitate. Together, we moved into the night—four of the twelve, reunited again.

  We walked through the quieter streets of Boston, the sky now fully claimed by night. Streetlamps buzzed faintly, casting uneven pools of yellow light across the pavement. The rush of battle still thrummed in my veins, but now it was layered with a calm I hadn’t felt in weeks. Peter walked beside me, shoulders stiff but steady, while Hector and Damian led the way, laughing low between them.

  Damian hadn’t stopped grinning since the alley. “You should’ve seen your faces,” he said, nudging Peter with an elbow. “Backed into a corner, totally outnumbered. Admit it—you missed us.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

  “I missed that too,” Damian shot back.

  Hector’s place wasn’t far, tucked between two red-brick buildings with ivy climbing up one side and reinforced steel bolted over the windows. It looked like an old firehouse that had been reforged into something newer, tougher. When Hector pushed open the heavy metal door, the scent of oil and scorched metal greeted us.

  And then I saw it.

  The whole lower level had been transformed into a workshop—racks of handmade weapons, stacks of armor, leather straps, enchanted steel plates, bits of runes and wiring and glowing energy cores. It was part forge, part armory, and all Hector.

  “Been keeping busy?” I asked, stepping toward a rack of sleek silver throwing knives.

  Hector shrugged. “Had to do something while waiting for you lot to show up. Figured we’d need to be ready when the time came.”

  There was pride in his voice, quiet and steady, just like him.

  We sat around a battered wooden table, plates of reheated food passed between us while we caught up. Peter laid out what we knew—Zoe, Helena, headed to Oregon to find Bay and Nix, then to Texas to find the twins, our plan was simple: get to the twins, regroup, and figure out our next move.

  But as Peter talked, my thoughts drifted.

  To her.

  Zoe.

  I hadn’t heard from her for more than a day, and part of me itched with worry. Were they okay? Had they made it out of the last fight safely? Was she thinking about me the way I kept thinking about her?

  She was always the one soaring ahead—quiet strength wrapped in golden light. And I could still feel the echo of her presence in my mind, the brush of her thoughts when she slipped into my head like starlight breaking through clouds.

  I turned toward the window, watching the stars glint beyond the city skyline.

  Wherever she was, I hoped she was looking up too.

  And I hoped we’d see each other again soon.

  Because the storm was coming.

  And we’d need all twelve of us to face it.