You look down at the two bracelets that have circled your wrists since you were twelve. One a dark, gunmetal grey and the other an almost blinding silver, representing the fine line any Gifted Ones walk when they choose to develop their abilities.
Quin never had trouble with them. He told you that he could feel them take effect any time he strayed too far from that narrow path, dragging him back from the edge. You had never felt such a pull, and over time as you trained, you'd failed to manifest a specific ability. You've got the speed, the strength, the regenerative abilities, sure - but every Gifted One has a power they wield that's almost unique to them, their Gift; and yours just seemingly never manifested.
"Here, let's get them off," Quin says, reaching over and grabbing your wrist. He snaps the solder keeping the bracelet closed around your wrist, and the silver piece of metal drops to the ground. Another dextrous twist, and the darker one joins it.
And yet... You feel nothing.
"Can't believe old Williams still believes in that Dark-Light bullshit," Kayla remarks, twirling the steaming contents of her coffee mug around her fingers. "He's gotta be the last Master alive who still believes in ultimate evil and ultimate good."
"We all know how outdated the idea is," Quin rolls his eyes as he sits back down, looking at you across the table. "Feel any different? Any surge of power?"
You shake your head; nope. "Just cold wrists," you tell him, scooping up the bands. Restrictive though they might be, you feel strangely... Naked without them. You guess this is what people mean when they complain about not wearing their smart watch.
"Old men shouldn't be telling us how to live our lives," Kayla rolls her eyes as the liquid falls back into her mug and she picks it up, taking a sip. "Those bands did something to you. I wouldn't be surprised if they've stopped you having a Gift at all."
"That's not how Gifts work, Kay," Quin rolls his eyes as he grabs his milkshake, but even he doesn't sound entirely convinced. It must be your imagination but... Kayla's hair looks darker than before. Huh. Maybe she just got the colour re-done and you didn't notice before.
You're in a small underground-style place but it's a staple for most nightwalkers and Gifteds who run the night shifts. The Sentinel Cafe was set up by Jaymie and Callahan, a pair of vigilantes from back in the days when vigilantes were the thin line between order and lawlessness. Since the Shattering, Gifted Ones have taken their place; individuals infected with the energy that was unleashed in the event. Magicians, some call them. Wielders. "Superheroes" seems to be the most popular nickname, but "Gifted" is considered the politically-correct term - and the one that doesn't conjure up ideas and misconceptions of those with the abilities.
Jaymie and Callahan have kept this place running as a sort of twenty-four-hour meeting place for Gifteds, and they're trusted with all your secrets. You've had Jayme patch you up after minor scrapes and injuries more than once, and Callahan has counselled you through creative uses of your limited abilities. Quin wasn't entirely comfortable about letting them in on your secret originally, carrying old prejudices against vigilantes, but he's started to warm up to the pair.
"The whole dichotomy is stupid," Kayla sounds like she's working herself up into another rant and you and Quin both roll your eyes at each other. She's a good friend, fun to have around, but her insistence on playing fast and loose with the rules has never sat well with you. Of course, Quin's blind obedience to those same rules is a little annoying, too. There's a balance to all things, and you often wonder if those lessons were ever absorbed by either of your friends.
"No, just listen," Kayla turns to Quin, waving a hand. "We're always told to be careful, don't stray, and some masters still enforce those stupid restrictor bands - but what if that's just because they're afraid of us? They fear what we could do if we tapped into the unharnessed energy either side of the path. Why is there even a path in the first place? What if I don't like where my path leads?"
"The path is a metaphor, not literal," you sigh heavily as you twirl your own drink around in your hands. "Your master should have taught you that much, surely?"
"My master was hardly a master at all," Kayla rolls her eyes, slumping back in her seat with arms folded. "I'm just saying, this whole Good and Evil thing is dumb. Nothing is ever pure evil or pure good. It's all shades of grey."
You blink as you stare at her, then check the ceiling. One of the lights must be dead - something about her seems... darker than before, and you're going to assume it's just the lighting. Maybe they dim the lights now when it hits midnight, or... or something.
You glance around again. Quin looks how he always does to you, an almost-shining paragon of justice and virtue with a skincare routine that makes him almost glow, though... Now that you're paying attention, you notice his hair looks a bit lighter than usual, his black shirt a little more grey. Others around the cafe though...
What the hell is going on with the lights? You look up again, but Call and Jay keep this place in good shape - there's no blown bulbs and everything looks fairly uniform. And yet, scanning the handful of other patrons, some look like they're sitting under direct downlights, others like they've taken up the most shadowy patch they can find. Nobody is exactly the same though - like they're all on a spectrum, occupying different points.
You look back down at the restrictor bands, broken as they are. You don't have many good memories of your childhood, things only started to get better after you were taken in by Master Williams, but you have vague recollections of screaming about bad people, telling your parents they were both evil. You trusted Williams the moment you met him, and you've always had a good sense for trusting people - but you could never figure out why.
But with the bands gone, you're starting to remember.
People have always existed in light and shadow for you. Nobody has ever been perfectly neutral. Deeper shadows, darkened clothing, colouring - or a glowing complexion, lightened colouring. You've always seen people differently; you just forgot about it.
But the bands that restricted you, blinded you to those two sides - they're gone now. You can see.
A figure moves as Quin and Kayla's conversation continues, dipping out of your focus. Pure black, like the shadow of a person but not cast by any singular body you can see. It descends the steps, crossing the room, and leans on the cafe counter to talk to Jaymie. She laughs, the shadows around her face warring with the tiny flecks of light that glimmer across her complexion like stars. You're not surprised by her darkness; she was the first person to console you after you accidentally killed someone, because she knew how it felt to take a life. Now, she moves between the coffee machine and pastry cabinet, arranging an order on a tray that she places in the pickup area and rings a small bell, grinning at the stranger as she returns to the register and taps in an order.
Your gaze remains on that shadow; the person whose darkness is so intense, so all-consuming that it swallows even their features. They look like someone superimposed a silhouette on the world, and the void of their presence makes something twist in your gut. Human; male judging by the shape and the tone of voice he spoke to Jaymie with. He turns, making a gesture that could be rubbing his face or running a hand through his hair, before he stops.
You can't see the eyes, but you can feel them as they land on you. The head tilts, and you wrench your gaze away from him, turning back to your friends.
You know it doesn't stop him, though. Despite trying to dedicate all of your attention to their debate, you hear the creak of leather boots, the soft tread of soles on the tiled floor. A weight touches down on the back of the empty chair beside you as the figure looms over your table.
"You guys need anything else?"
Ice spears your chest as your hands tighten around your cup, breath catching on a stutter. You've heard that voice in training sessions, identifying your weaknesses, helping you build strengths, reassuring you when you doubt your capabilities, giving advice, consoling you as you lay out every fear, anxiety, and vulnerability. You were raised as much by vigilantes as you were by Master Williams, and you even convinced your friends to trust them.
And here he is, so consumed by darkness that his existence proves all of Kayla's theories wrong.
"We're all good, thanks Cal,"
Quin shoots the shadow an easy grin, and Callahan nods, straightening up and returning to the counter area.
