Astral Knight

Dylan stood in front of his closet, staring at the meager options like they held the secrets of the universe. Jeans, hoodies, graphic tees with fading prints uniforms of a life he could barely recognize now. He grabbed a gray hoodie, the fabric thin from too many washes, and yanked it over his head. *Normal*, he told himself. *Just act normal*. But his hands shook as he zipped up his backpack, the events of last night clinging to him like static.

Aunt Marla's voice boomed from downstairs. "Dylan! Your eggs'll fossilize if you don't get down here!"

He trudged to the kitchen, each step heavier than the last. The smell of burnt toast and coffee hit him, familiar and suffocating. Marla stood at the stove, her hair a chaotic nest, spatula in hand. She glanced at him, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You look like roadkill. Sleep at all?"

"Some," he lied, sliding into a chair.

She dumped a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, the edges charred. "Eat. And don't give me that 'I'm not hungry' crap. You're skin and bones as it is."

Dylan poked at the eggs, his stomach churning. The memory of crawling through NovaGen's vents, the metallic taste of fear, the *clang* of the vent cover hitting the floor it all blurred with the smell of sulfurous eggs. He forced a bite down, the food ash in his mouth.

Marla leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "First day of sophomore year. Big stuff. You ready?"

*No. I'm pretty sure I died in a vent last night and this is hell*. "Sure," he said.

She snorted. "Save the enthusiasm, kid. Just remember grades matter, but not as much as not getting arrested. Got it?"

Dylan choked on his coffee. "*What?*"

"Teenagers do dumb stuff," she said, waving the spatula like a baton. "You're no exception. But if I get a call from the principal or worse, the cops you'll wish you'd stayed in that vent."

He froze, the coffee mug slipping in his grip. "How did you?"

"You talk in your sleep. Also, you left mud on my good towels." She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Be smart today. And *breathe*."

The walk to school felt like a death march. Dylan's backpack weighed a ton, every textbook a brick of guilt. The morning air was crisp, the kind of autumn chill that made you believe in fresh starts, but Dylan's lungs burned with every inhale. He replayed Marla's words*you talk in your sleep* and wondered what else he'd muttered. Marcus's name? NovaGen? *Project Phoenix?*

He needed to find Marcus. Needed to piece together what they'd seen, what they'd *stolen*, before it ate him alive. Marcus would have a plan. Marcus always had a plan, even if it was a catastrophically bad one.

The streets of Claireborne were quiet, the town still half-asleep. Dylan passed the diner where Jessa worked, its neon sign flickering like a distress signal. A Novagen van idled at the curb, its logo—a sleek helix over the words *Healing Tomorrow, Today*—glinting in the dawn light. Dylan quickened his pace, his pulse thrumming.

By the time he reached the school gates, his shirt clung to his back with sweat. Claireborne High loomed ahead, a concrete monolith with windows like dead eyes. Students milled around, laughter and shouts bouncing off the walls. Normalcy. Chaos. Life.

But Dylan couldn't but agree the school had changed drastically he could feel it from afar. Like someone who had the millions... billions. Thr transformation should be dope.

Outside was crowded with teenagers of his age. Dylan couldn't stand the smell of the freshers looming around, talking like they owned the school, ot they had come there to "live the life". *Someone should tell them they had come to the wrong place.* Dylan smirked, grinning from ear to ear. He knew a long list of teachers that would make life a living hell for them . He had been in that situation before thinking he could enter the school football team. *Pftttt...They would wish they would have gone to boarding school instead.* He was sure about this than surviving this 'Sophomore' year.

Dylan hesitated at the edge of the crowd, his hand drifting to his inhaler. *Just another day*, he told himself. *Get your schedule. Find Marcus. Pretend you didn't almost die*.

He took a step forward.

and froze

Dylan's steps faltered as he crossed the school courtyard, his backpack slipping off one shoulder. The air felt heavier here, the usual chatter of students replaced by a tense, almost electric silence. His eyes darted across the crowd, searching for Marcus, but instead, they landed on *her*.

The woman from Novagen's lab.

She stood near the principal's office, her posture as sharp and unyielding as it had been last night. Her lab coat was gone, replaced by a tailored blazer, but the glasses were the same cold, clinical, and unnervingly precise. She was speaking to Principal Heyes, her voice low but carrying an edge that made Dylan's skin crawl.

Their eyes met.

It was brief just a flicker, a fraction of a second but it was enough. Her gaze cut through the distance like a scalpel, slicing through the noise and chaos of the schoolyard to pin him in place. Dylan felt exposed, as if she could see every secret he'd tried to bury, every lie he'd told, every mistake he'd made.

He looked away first, his heart pounding in his chest. But the weight of that stare lingered, a phantom pressure against his skin.

*She knows.*

The thought was irrational, but it stuck, burrowing into his mind like a splinter. He forced himself to keep walking, his legs moving on autopilot. He didn't look back, but he could feel her eyes on him, tracking his every step.

Principal Heyes said something, her voice a low whisper, and the woman nodded, her expression unreadable. But her gaze flicked to Dylan one last time, and he swore he saw something in her eyes a flicker of recognition, a hint of something darker.

Then she turned away, and the moment was over.

Dylan exhaled shakily, his hands trembling as he adjusted his backpack. He didn't know what she was doing here, what she wanted, or why she was talking to Principal Heyes. But one thing was clear: this wasn't over.

Not even close.