The doorbell rang again, the chime crisp and routine, a familiar intrusion into the steady hum of conversation from the living room. Susan smoothed her hands down the fabric of her blouse, exhaled, and opened the door.

  Another mother, another carefully wrapped package in pastel-colored paper, another child standing half-hidden behind her. The woman smiled, her makeup set in a way that made the expression seem permanent, and ushered her son forward. "Happy birthday, Greg!" she said, her voice bright, her enthusiasm the polished kind that came from years of PTA meetings and neighborhood barbecues.

  Greg accepted the present with a smile that mirrored hers, easy and warm, the kind of expression that made it seem like there was nothing strange about this. "Mrs. Carter," he greeted, tipping his head slightly in acknowledgment before glancing at the kid. "Hey, Matt. Thanks for coming, man."

  Matt mumbled something in return, barely lifting his eyes, before his mother gave him a small nudge toward the house. The door closed behind them.

  Another pause.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Susan opened it, and another set of guests stood on the threshold. A man in a pressed polo made a comment about how quickly time passed, how surreal it was to see the kids growing up. A girl from Greg's school lingered in the doorway a second too long before stepping inside, her gaze flickering between the foyer and the hallway beyond, as if trying to reconcile something she couldn't quite name.

  Greg smiled. He thanked each person with casual, practiced ease, accepting gifts with the same effortless charm, as if this were just another birthday, as if nothing had changed.

  The doorbell rang.

  Again.

  Susan opened it, and the boy on the other side of the threshold shifted his weight slightly before stepping forward.

  Axel Ramon—Sparky—stood there, hands in his pockets, wearing sunglasses despite the fact that the sky outside was overcast.

  "Yo," he said, sniffing once before stepping inside.

  Susan opened her mouth to greet him properly, but Sparky was already rubbing the back of his neck, looking just slightly off to the side. "Uh, so, my parents couldn't make it," he said, shifting his weight again. "They're out of town this weekend for, uh—" he made an odd, vague motion with one hand—"couples tantric yoga retreat thing." A pause. His nose scrunched slightly. "It's something weird and wooey that my mom likes, and I try not to think about it."

  Susan blinked, processing. Then, with the quiet grace of someone who had no intention of unpacking that further, she simply said, "Oh… okay, well, tell them I said hi."

  Sparky saluted lazily before stepping further inside.

  A teenage boy stood just a few feet behind the porch, hands in his pockets, posture squared but not quite tense. He met Greg's gaze evenly beneath shaggy brown hair before stepping up onto the threshold.

  "My father couldn't make it," he said plainly. "Business matters." His voice was steady, clipped, deliberate. Then, as if it were a secondary thought rather than a message of any actual emotional weight, he added, "He says happy birthday, though."

  Behind him, standing a few steps down from the porch, was a woman. She was small, shorter than Susan by a few inches, mousy brown hair neatly parted, tucked behind her ears in a way that looked more habitual than intentional.

  She carried a toddler in her arms, a little girl with fine blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends, wide blue eyes full of the unfiltered curiosity only children could manage. Her tiny hands gripped a sloppily wrapped present, the paper creased and uneven, tape sticking out at odd angles. She bounced slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in the barely-contained energy of someone too young to understand restraint.

  Susan hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before smoothing out into something warm and polite. A beat later, recognition settled, and her lips parted slightly.

  "Kayden."

  The woman—Kayden—smiled, the expression measured but pleasant. "Susan."

  There was something subtly awkward about the moment, not hostile, but weighted. The kind of thing that came from paths crossing that hadn't before, despite the thin threads of connection running between them.

  Before anyone else could speak, the toddler let out an excited sound, bright and giddy, arms stretching out eagerly.

  Greg blinked.

  The little girl reached for him.

  Susan startled as Kayden's fingers instinctively curled against the toddler's side, as if debating whether or not to pull her back. Greg, however, didn't move.

  Not at first.

  For a fraction of a second, his expression was unreadable. Then, seamlessly, his hand lifted, fingers brushing over Aster's tiny outstretched ones.

  She let out a delighted squeal, small hands grasping at the fabric of his hoodie.

  Greg's head tilted slightly, eyes flickering down at her grip before he huffed a quiet, almost amused breath. "You're a new one."

  Kayden's shoulders eased, like some invisible tension had been released. Susan glanced between them, her own posture shifting slightly, something cautious but open in her expression.

  "She's been excited all day," Kayden said, the warmth in her voice a little more genuine this time.

  Greg's gaze flicked back down to the toddler, watching her fingers twist and tug at the fabric near his collar. "Yeah?" His voice was low, thoughtful, absentmindedly engaged. "Well, that makes one of us."

  Aster giggled.

  A soft cough sounded from the side.

  Greg looked up.

  The teenage boy—who had been watching silently, eyes unreadable—finally spoke as he met Greg's eyes.

  "Aster, my little sister," he said, tone careful but even. "And Kayden, my stepmother."

  Then, slowly, the corner of Greg's mouth ticked up.

  His weight shifted slightly, half-turning toward the house, toward the open door behind him.

  "Well," he said, tone light, like all of this had been expected. "Are you guys coming in, or what?"

  For a second, no one moved.

  Then Kayden smiled, Susan stepped back, and they walked inside.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  The house was alive with movement.

  Colorful streamers curled from the ceiling. Balloons drifted lazily, their strings twisting together like nervous hands. A Sweet 16 banner stretched across the far wall, its bold letters slightly uneven as a large cake sat proudly on the table, its decorations almost obnoxious—big, bright, covered in something ridiculous that only Greg would find funny. Maybe a stupid childhood inside joke. Something deliberately dumb, just enough to get a laugh.

  It was perfect.

  And wrong.

  Greg moved through the crowd easily, fluid, natural, like he was built for this. He laughed, made small talk, all that. He helped pass out plates, accepted gifts, thanked people with a grin that never broke.

  It was like last night never happened.

  Sparky swallowed hard.

  People were having fun. The room was filled with voices, casual, bright, warm. Parents chatted in the background, catching up over polite laughter. Kids from school milled around, leaning against counters, sipping soda, joking about something that didn't matter. Music played low from the speakers, a steady hum beneath it all, a heartbeat of normalcy.

  And Greg was the center of it.

  He wasn't faking it.

  That's what made it worse.

  Sparky stood near the edge of the room, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, fingers twitching. He forced himself to move, forced a lazy smirk when someone passed by, acted like he belonged in the moment. But every few seconds, his eyes flicked back to Greg.

  And every time, he felt something crawl down his spine.

  Nothing.

  No tension. No exhaustion. No lingering pain.

  No sign that, twenty hours ago, Greg had been lying in a pool of his own blood with a massive hole in his skull.

  Or standing in front of them, much less bloody, but with a massive hole in his skull still there.

  Now, with neither blood nor skull hole, he seemed a lot less… murdery.

  And somehow, that made him all the more scary.

  Sparky exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting his weight.

  He should say something. But every time he opened his mouth, he felt something clamp around his ribs, squeezing tight, tight, tight, and the words never came.

  Across the room, Theo stood still.

  He hadn't moved in the last five minutes, his arms folded neatly across his chest, gaze unreadable. He wasn't reacting, wasn't doing anything, but his presence felt heavy. A quiet weight pressing down.

  He was watching.

  Taking everything in.

  Sparky knew that look.

  Theo saw everything.

  And he wasn't saying a damn thing either.

  The disconnect was suffocating.

  Sparky forced himself to move, walking past the food table, reaching for a can of soda just to do something. His fingers barely curled around it when he heard her.

  "Gweg!"

  His head snapped up.

  A tiny blur of blonde launched herself forward, arms stretched wide, barely giving Greg enough time to react before colliding with him.

  Greg caught her with a laugh.

  Sparky felt his stomach drop.

  The little girl clung to him, tiny hands fisted in his shirt, face lit up with pure, unfiltered joy.

  Greg didn't even hesitate.

  He lifted her easily, spun her once, effortless, then settled her on his hip like they'd done this a hundred times before.

  They hadn't.

  Sparky knew they hadn't.

  This was the first time Greg had ever met her.

  But Greg smiled at her like he'd known her his whole life, like this was something expected, and normal, and his fingers weren't still stained faintly red from last night.

  Sparky's grip on the soda can tightened.

  The little girl babbled at him, nonstop, her voice bright, words tumbling over each other in a rush. She adored him.

  And Greg—

  Greg humored her.

  Listened. Responded with perfect baby talk. Let her pull at his sleeves, touch his face, laugh like there was nothing else in the world but this stupid little moment.

  It was natural.

  Too natural.

  Sparky's head felt light.

  He looked at Theo.

  Theo looked at Greg.

  Greg looked at no one but Aster.

  An entire silent conversation passed between the two of them and the second they got a chance, they moved in unison.

  The kitchen was too bright.

  Greg stood by the counter, stacking plates with slow, methodical ease. His shoulders were loose, his head tilted slightly, like he was thinking about nothing at all. Just another moment, another normal party task.

  Sparky wasn't buying it.

  He didn't hesitate, didn't try to play it off, didn't even care if Greg saw him coming. He strode straight over, planted his hands against the counter with a sharp thunk, and got right to it.

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  "Okay, dude. Cut the act. What the hell happened last night?"

  Greg stilled—just for a second. A fraction of hesitation, barely enough to catch.

  Then, he turned.

  And smiled. "Dunno what you mean."

  Sparky felt his eye twitch.

  "Oh, you don't?" His tone flattened. "So I guess that wasn't you last night tearing open a car door like it was fucking tinfoil?"

  Greg didn't react immediately. He just looked at him. No surprise. No irritation. Just a quiet, unreadable nothing.

  The air felt tighter.

  Then, finally, like he'd decided the conversation wasn't worth the effort… "I'm fine."

  Theo, standing just a step behind, folded his arms, voice measured. "You weren't last night."

  "That was then." Greg met his gaze, blue eyes calm. "This is now."

  Sparky inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay grounded. "You killed people."

  Greg didn't blink. "That's not a question."

  "But you did."

  Greg tilted his head slightly. "Well, they tried to kill me first."

  Sparky let out a sharp, incredulous breath. "In public, though."

  Greg gave him a look. "Would you be happier if I did it in private?"

  "Yes." Sparky's answer was quick and honest, almost hissed as he spat out the single syllable.

  Greg's smile stretched, just slightly, blue eyes glinting with a promise.

  Sparky scowled, already regretting the honesty. "Don't."

  Greg shrugged. "No take backs."

  Theo's gaze flicked between them, expression unmoving, unreadable in the way that always made Sparky way more uncomfortable than it should.

  Then, casually, Greg spoke again. "I didn't kill him."

  There was silence again, at least between the three of them for a second.

  Theo narrowed his eyes slightly. "Who?"

  Greg turned back to the counter, grabbing another plate. "The last guy. The black guy."

  Sparky's stomach turned, just a little. Okay… how does that… His fingers pressed against the counter's surface. "But everybody else?"

  Greg hesitated. Then, in a light voice, almost too light, as if he was unsure of himself… "Is brain damage an excuse?"

  Sparky inhaled sharply. "No."

  Silence stretched for a half-second as Theo exhaled, more considering as the paler, chubbier blond tilted his head, "Well…"

  Sparky shot him a glare. "No."

  Greg let out a quiet, almost amused breath, placing the last plate onto the stack with a small clink. "Then yeah, I did."

  The words settled, like dust, like something too heavy to move past. Greg turned back toward them, expression as smooth as ever, movements easy, natural.

  Theo's fingers tightened slightly around his bicep.

  Sparky swallowed, rolling his shoulders back.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  Greg slid a cupcake across the table. Aster squealed, tiny hands grasping at it immediately, fingers getting sticky with frosting.

  "Cake," she declared, like she had just discovered fire.

  Greg sat with her, his arm light around her back, watching her in a way that should have been distant. But he wasn't. He was there.

  Fully, presently, effortlessly there.

  Aster giggled into his sleeve, clinging to his arm like a monkey, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. She was warm.

  Small. Trusting.

  She smelled like sugar, like frosting and baby shampoo, and she was saying something, something long and complicated and half-intelligible, words tumbling out in a tiny, breathless rush.

  Greg nodded along, making the appropriate sounds when she expected them. He tickled her side once, gently, and she shrieked with delighted laughter, squirming against him, making him wish his dad was still around so he could still hope for a little sister.

  Sparky was saying something.

  Greg ignored him.

  He was aware of Theo, too, his godbrother's eyes never leaving him and Aster. His gaze wasn't untrustworthy, funny enough, just careful.

  Greg was aware of a lot of things, ever since his brain had been excavated.

  One of those was that his hands felt too clean.

  His sleeves weren't damp with blood, his fingers weren't stiff from drying gore. He could feel the texture of the table under his palms, the minute imperfections in the varnish, the warmth of Aster's weight as she leaned against him.

  He was here. In his house.

  At his birthday party. Sweet sixteen.

  Not on the highway, standing in the wreckage of a convoy. Not with his hands full of burning, carbonized flesh. Not staring at a charred corpse and thinking, I didn't even do that.

  He didn't mean to kill him.

  He kept coming back to that.

  The last guy, at least.

  Calvert. Coil. Thomas. Whatever.

  Even with his brain scrambled, even with blood pouring from his ears, even running on pure animal instinct—He wasn't going to kill him. He'd been planning to turn the crime boss into the PRT, gift-wrapped and humiliated. Especially after pulling an instinctive Analyze on him.

  Greg had read it in a half-second. Seen the details, the numbers. The guy was a PRT officer, had a whole second life as a vice-director. Would've made a great present for the PRT and some blackmail to keep them off his back. So he hadn't planned to kill him.

  And then the car exploded.

  Just—boom.

  Like a joke. Like the fucking punchline to some cosmic bit.

  It wasn't even wrecked enough for that.

  Greg hadn't smelled fuel. Hadn't seen any signs of combustion. No heat spread, no warning. Just a car that wasn't damaged enough to explode, except it did.

  And Greg had stood there, a burning corpse in his grip, and he hadn't even meant to do it.

  It was irritating. That was all.

  Irritating that it looked bad. That it made things messier. That it was one more thing to deal with.

  Now, he was at his party, smiling, nodding, laughing at the right times. He made jokes. Opened presents. Spun Aster in his arms while she shrieked with laughter, clinging to him like a monkey.

  Everything was fine.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  The party was still going.

  Kids laughing, music playing, someone's uncle telling a story too loud.

  Sparky was still talking, but Greg wasn't listening. Not really.

  Something about a movie? Or cake? It didn't matter.

  Then—

  The noise stopped.

  Not immediately. Not all at once. But in waves.

  The music cut out first.

  Then the voices.

  Then the laughter.

  Aster's giggle wavered, turning into a small, confused noise as the air changed.

  A single, high-pitched wail cut through the air.

  Greg's stomach dropped.

  It happened fast. The parents reacted first.

  Their reactions came in slow-motion—laughter curdling into silence, movements freezing, smiles slipping from faces one by one as recognition sank in.

  Someone dropped a plastic cup.

  It bounced once against the hardwood.

  The kids didn't get it right away—some kept playing, confused.

  Then someone yelled.

  The party ceased to exist.

  Phones came out, eyes flicking to screens, fingers shaking as they typed too fast to be accurate, voices overlapping in a rising panic. Someone turned on the TV. The news was already running emergency broadcasts. Aster didn't understand—Kayden grabbed her immediately, pulling her close.

  Theo stiffened.

  Greg stood up.

  His chair scraped back too hard, the sound sharp. Sparky stared at him.

  Outside, the sky was still clear.

  But that siren didn't stop.

  The air felt wrong.

  Greg's vision swam and then, for a moment, flickered.

  Something flashed in his peripheral.

  Something only he could see.

  Greg exhaled, slow.

  Figures.

  He didn't react immediately. Didn't move.

  He let the weight settle in his bones, let the knowledge fold itself into him like an inevitability, because of course.

  Of course it was today.

  Of course it was now.

  He looked back down at Theo and Sparky, his heartbeat steady.

  Theo was staring at him, sharp and unblinking.

  Sparky's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his face pinched in a way Greg didn't like.

  "I should go," Greg said, his voice calm.

  Theo's eyes narrowed. "Go where?"

  Greg didn't answer.

  Aster whimpered into her mother's shoulder.

  The party was gone.

  The house was still full, but it was empty.

  Chaos buzzed around them, but Greg was still.

  The Endbringer siren screamed.

  "Greg!" He heard his mother calling for him.

  He looked at his friends and nodded once. "Make sure my mom gets to a shelter safe."

  Sparky whispered, "Greg…"

  Theo nodded.

  Greg looked firmly at them again.

  And he smiled.

  Not forced. Not fake.

  A real smile.

  Then, calmly, almost like a joke—

  "It's my birthday."