Henry flips the sign to CLOSED and locks the bolt with a practiced twist. He exhales through his nose and starts rearranging the chairs, wiping down tabletops with mechanical precision—faster, harsher than needed.

  Across the dimly lit room, Rick paces back and forth like a caged predator. His shoulders are stiff, hands clasped behind his back, the sound of his boots echoing down the narrow aisle. His presence brings with it a storm, simmering beneath the surface.

  “What about this Akio person?” Rick demands, not breaking his stride. “You say he’s a warlock?”

  Henry snorts, scrubbing at an already spotless table with more aggression than necessary. The rag squeals against the surface. “You can’t have Akio without Alex. It’s a packaged deal. Like salt and pepper. Or fire and trauma. One shows up, you can bet your life the other’s not far behind.”

  Rick grunts but doesn’t reply. He rounds a booth, pivots, and resumes the same maddening path, jaw tight, thoughts clearly miles away. The silence stretches before Henry breaks it with a sigh.

  Henry throws the rag on the counter, leans forward with both palms pressed to its surface. “You couldn’t ask Naetune for help? I mean, they are the reason these guys are even here. Seems fair they pick up the tab.”

  Rick halts mid-stride, facing away. “Naetune’s gone soft,” he says flatly. “They’ve been drinking the diplomacy Kool-Aid for too long. We haven’t fought a real war in twenty-seven centuries. And Velkor?” He scoffs, cold and sharp. “He’s not about to reignite bloodshed over a ‘petty squabble on Midgard.’”

  Henry watches him closely now, noticing the flicker in Rick’s posture—the quiet tension of someone dancing around a truth. “He“He does know his kid is here, right?” Henry asks, tone edged with something sharper than curiosity.

  Silence.

  Rick doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at the floor like it owes him something. Henry’s voice drops lower.

  “Right, Dad?”

  But before Rick can answer, the front door explodes.

  The glass shatters inward, raining diamond shards across the floor. The frame splinters on impact. A human shape barrels through the debris like a freight train wrapped in fury.

  A blur in military green, a giant of a man, wrapped in military green, face chiseled from concrete and soaked in malice. His boots crack tile as he crosses the threshold, and in one fluid, horrifying motion, he slams into Rick. No warning. No grace.

  Rick’s body flies backward, hitting the far wall with a boom. Drywall explodes outward. The entire diner rattles. For a beat, the world holds its breath.

  The man steps forward, arms folded behind his back like he’s inspecting a lineup.

  “Well, well,” he drawls. “What do we have here?”

  Rick is already back on his feet. Calm. Collected. Dusting plaster from his shoulders like it’s just another Wednesday. He rolls his neck, vertebrae popping.

  “Henry,” he growls, voice sharp as steel. “Leave.”

  But there’s no time. More soldiers pour in like a flood—black-clad, armored, and armed to the teeth. Guns snap up, locking onto father and son.

  A sergeant grabs Henry, wrenching his arms behind his back and jamming a rifle barrel to his temple. Rick lunges, a snarl rising in his throat—but a hand slams down on his shoulder and pins him like a nail through wood. He chokes, caught off guard. The strength is unnatural.

  “Shh,” a voice murmurs beside his ear. “Let’s not ruin the moment.”

  The soldier steps into view—tall, decent muscles, and radiating authority. His name tag reads Fraker, though the malice in his grin suggests something far darker.

  Fraker strides forward and kicks out a chair. He sits backwards in it, arms draped over the backrest like it’s all a game. He rests his boots on Rick’s shoulder, and Rick grunts under the weight.

  Fraker’s smile is all wolf. “The crystal,” he says sweetly, tapping a gloved finger against his lips. “Or the boy dies.”

  Rick’s hands tremble at his sides, skin beginning to shimmer, a faint glow pulsing beneath the surface of his eyebrows—blue gemstones surfacing from his flesh like fractured starlight. His voice turns to gravel. “I will tear you apart,” he growls, “with my bare hands if you touch him.”

  But Fraker doesn’t even flinch. He just leans in and studies Rick’s face with grotesque fascination.

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  A second sergeant pats Henry down with professional efficiency. Seconds later, his eyes light up and he pulls a glowing walnut from the teen’s jacket—an irregularly shaped crystal that pulses faintly with blue light.

  “Sir,” the sergeant beside Henry says suddenly, stepping forward.

  Fraker extends his hand like a collector receiving a prized artifact. He examines the crystal with barely disguised disappointment, as if expecting fireworks and getting a sparkler.

  “This is what everyone’s dying over?” he mutters. “Not her. Not what I wanted.”

  He tosses the crystal back like it’s worthless, the sergeant fumbling to catch it. “Send it to the General.”

  The soldier bolts out the door with the crystal. Fraker waits, head cocked, listening as the vehicle roars to life and disappears into the night.

  Then he turns back to Rick, crouches low, face inches away. “You know,” he murmurs, tilting Rick’s chin up, “I think I’ll take those instead.”

  His fingers brush the edge of a gem beneath Rick’s skin. A glint of surgical cruelty dances in his eyes.

  Rick’s breath catches. His body goes rigid.

  Fraker stands, flips a pocket knife open with a flick.

  “Kill the boy,” he says.

  Rick blanches. “No—wait!”

  A snap breaks the air.

  Fraker’s body crumples to the floor, his head twisted at an impossible angle. Behind him, the soldiers freeze, weapons half-raised, caught in the moment between action and realization.

  Alex stands behind the fallen man, disgust carved into every angle of her face.

  “Alex?” Henry croaks.

  She doesn’t answer. Just dusts her hands and steps over Fraker’s body like it’s a puddle.

  “Am I late?” she asks, voice cold.

  “Right on time,” Henry exhales.

  The soldiers snap out of their trance. They raise their rifles, fingers on triggers—only to watch, horrified, as their bullets stop in midair. The suspended rounds hang for a breathless second, then spin mid-flight and explode backward, ripping through their wielders with sickening precision. They drop one by one, collapsing in a pool of silence.

  Rick scrambles to Henry, pulling him close, checking for injuries. Alex just surveys the carnage with a raised brow.

  “You guys need better security.”

  “He took the crystal,” Henry says breathlessly.

  “The dead guy?” Alex nods to Fraker’s corpse.

  “No, the one who ran. Got away before you arrived.”

  Alex cracks her knuckles. “Great. Time to find the bastard and destroy it.

  “You can’t destroy a Xylon crystal,” Rick says. “Not like that.”

  How the hell was she supposed to know this?

  “Fine.” Alex shrugs. “We’ll throw it into a sun or lock it in a vault somewhere.”

  “Not when it’s unstable,” Henry interrupts from his perch on the floor. “which it currently is.”

  Rick scowls as he helps his son to his feet. “I told you the stupid Professor was too incompetent to carry out the assigned task. The conduit has been shrunken, thus speeding up the detonation countdown.”

  Henry winces at his father’s complete lack of tact. “In his defense, I don’t think anyone could have anticipated any of Chris’ wild plans.”

  Alex’s gaze sharpens like a blade. They were obviously having a whole other discussion she wasn't privy to. There was no way she was going to be relegated to third wheel, not after they had practically rolled in their asses for her help.

  She snaps her fingers repeatedly to get their attention. “I’m sorry, detonation countdown? Incompetent Professor? Explain please.”

  Henry shifts, suddenly sheepish. “Your… date earlier today—”

  “It was not a da—” Alex stops. Her eyes narrow. “He was working for you?”

  “With us,” Henry corrects quickly. “Although we haven’t heard from him since.”

  “We think he’s been captured,” Rick adds.

  “You knew Cliff had the crystal,” Alex says flatly, fury dawning. “You let him give it to me.”

  “You were the only one who could keep it safe,” Henry insists. “Case in point what just happened?”

  “That’s how you knew to show up at the garage,” she accuses Akio finger wagging furiously. He flinches.

  “Alex, you have every right to be mad—”

  “Oh, I am so stupid,” she mutters, eyes burning. She closes her eyes, pressing fingers to her temples.

  She could walk away. Let them deal with their mess. But she had made Chris a promise. And a world where Henry failed was a world without Chris. Without Akio.

  When she opens her eyes again, Henry is still stammering apologies.

  “It was never our intent—”

  “Shut up,” she snaps. “We’ll deal with your duplicitousness when we're done with Plan 9 from outer space. How do we fix this?”

  Rick takes a breath, seemingly relaxing into his natural born role of bossing people about.

  “On Naetune, we’d perform an ejection. Drain the energy, repurpose it. But here? No tools. No safe chamber. Only option is to release the energy somewhere uninhabited.”

  “Still risky,” Henry warns. “Even a single mistake could wipe out the entire planet.”

  Alex exhales sharply. “So what is the plan?”

  Henry hesitates.

  “We were sort of hoping you would do it?”

  “Do what?”

  Rick folds his arms. “You’re the only one here who can absorb and redirect energy.”

  Alex freezes. Mouth agape for the second time today, shamelessly.

  To her credit, she recovers quicker this time and laughs. It’s long, sharp, bitter, and full of disbelief.

  Just when the laughing is getting a bit shy of the psychosis diagnosis, her features harden into what is to date the best glare that ever crossed her face.

  “Oh, I think the fuck not.”