The air was still over the city. No wind dared disturb the clouds that hung like bruises in the sky, and the streets below echoed with distant life. But to you, none of that mattered. Your apartment was too quiet. Again.
You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in your lap, staring at the latest message:
“You didn’t respond again. Are you safe? I'm worried about you :( you know you can tell me anything, right? -M”
The sixth message that week.
You hadn’t replied to the last five.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Just tell him to stop, you thought. Tell him you’re not interested. That it’s over, if it ever even started. But you didn’t type anything. Not yet.
Because it wasn’t just Mark Grayson texting you.
You’d known Mark before the world did—before the blood, the headlines, the gods-fighting-in-the-sky kind of violence. You met at Upstate U. Sophomore year. You weren’t even in his orbit, not really. You had one class together—Comparative Literature. He sat near the window. Always late. Always charming.
You remembered the first time he asked if you wanted to grab coffee.
You hadn’t known he could fly back then.
Now, it felt like he was always watching.
You stood and crossed the room to shut the blinds, heart beating just a little faster. You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but it didn’t matter if the blinds were open or closed. If he wanted to see you—he would.
Your roommate, Kay, used to laugh off your worries. “Girl, if Invincible had a crush on me, I’d be out there flexing on rooftops. Just tell him to chill.”
That was before Kay vanished.
No calls. No texts. No goodbye. Just…gone.
And the same day Kay disappeared, Mark showed up.
It had been late. Past midnight. You’d been in the kitchen pouring tea when the knock came.
Not the door. The window.
You turned, and there he was—hovering outside your fourth-floor apartment. Hands behind his back. That blue and yellow suit glowing faintly in the city lights. His face unreadable behind the blood-streaked goggles.
You remembered how your hand trembled, spilling tea on the counter.
“Sorry for the surprise visit,” he said, as if it were normal. As if gravity meant nothing and boundaries were suggestions. “I just… I wanted to see if you were okay. You’ve been quiet lately.”
He drifted closer to the glass, eyes searching yours.
“I know it’s hard to trust people. But you can trust me. I’m not like the others.”
You lied then. Nodded. Said you were tired. Promised to call tomorrow.
Now, standing in the half-dark of your bedroom, you knew you had to do something. Anything. You opened your drawer and pulled out a burner phone. One you hadn’t touched in weeks.
“We need to meet. Somewhere public. Tomorrow. Noon.”
You didn’t send it to Mark.
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