After the photoshoot, Adrian changed back into his usual fit: tight black long-sleeve shirt, white graphic tee with the Azure dragon across the chest, tattered jeans that hung low on his hips, high-top sneakers scuffed from earlier, and the rings and chains that caught the light every time he moved. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged his jacket straight, then gave the crew a lazy wave as he walked away from the set.
"It was fun as usual, guys," he said, grin easy. "And thanks for the lollipops — it means a lot."
He popped one into his mouth, the cherry red stick clicking against his teeth, then cut across the set toward Jenna.
"Bye, Auntie. You coming by the hospital, right?" he murmured, pulling her into a quick hug.
She hugged him back, her arms firm but careful, like she was used to holding him together. Her smile was warm, but there was a thin edge of sadness in her eyes he didn't miss.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Adrian," she said softly.
He held it a second longer, then let go, nodding once before turning toward his friends.
The rest of the group was still by the staging area, talking with Stacey. Hakim had his arms crossed, grinning like he'd just heard a good joke.
"So you actually dumbed him?" Hakim said, eyes glinting. "You're a feisty girl."
"Well, guys, it was nice to meet you all," Stacey replied, smoothing a strand of blue-streaked hair behind her ear. "You're way more tolerable than your blonde friend."
"Hey, that's mean," Adrian cut in, walking up with a dramatic pout. He slung an arm out like he'd been wounded.
"You know it's true," Stacey said coolly, already stepping away. Her heels clicked against the pavement, unhurried.
"Guess you've found someone immune to your charms, huh?" Hakim said, clapping Adrian on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a step.
"It's too early to admit that," Adrian muttered, adjusting his jacket and grinning again. "Now let's go home."
He led the way out of the park, hands in his pockets, lollipop bobbing between his teeth. The boys followed, the mood light again now that the shoot was over.
Mark and Austin fell into step behind the rest, voices low as they talked about the training plan Austin had written up. Austin adjusted his glasses every few seconds, explaining something about pacing and recovery. Mark nodded along, actually listening for once.
Up ahead, Connor was holding his phone out, replaying the video of Adrian getting manhandled by his aunt. Adrian groaned, but he was laughing too, throwing his hands up every time Connor paused it on the worst frame.
"Bro, look at your face," Connor said, grin vicious. "You didn't even try to dodge that one."
"That was a sneak attack," Adrian protested, pointing a finger. "You can't count that."
Hakim just laughed, shaking his head as he walked between them.
The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across Golden Boulevard. The air smelled cleaner here than downtown — less exhaust, more cut grass and coffee from the cafés lining the street. For a few minutes, it almost felt normal. Like they were just a group of kids leaving a job site instead of a crew heading back into a war zone.
As they walked, Mark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
*Unknown Number:*
_Hey, this is Stacey. Save my number so next time I contact you, you won't have to wonder who it is._
He stopped walking for half a second before catching himself and slipping back into pace.
His heart skipped. Not in the way it did when Bruce showed up, or when a bat came swinging down. This was different. Quiet.
It wasn't a crush. At least, he didn't think so. He barely knew her. But getting a text from someone who wasn't his mom, his sister, or a group chat with the guys… it felt like a small crack in the wall he'd built around himself since Zimbabwe.
Progress.
That was the word that stuck in his head.
He saved the number, thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer than it needed to. Then he tucked the phone away and kept walking, falling back into the rhythm of their footsteps, the banter, the laughter.
For the first time in a week, the future didn't feel like it was only about surviving the next fight.
---
Hakim drove off smoothly, heading back toward Downtown Brookhaven. He turned on the radio, and "Boogie" by the Jackson 5 crackled to life.
Hakim started bopping his head instantly. One by one, the boys fell into it — even Mark. They'd done this before. It was routine now.
They took turns singing lines as the song rolled on.
"Don't blame it on the sunshine," Hakim sang.
"Don't blame it on the moonlight," Connor followed.
"Don't blame it on the good times," Austin sang.
"Blame it on the boogie," Adrian finished, grinning wide.
They kept it up through the whole drive, voices overlapping, laughing between lines. Even Mark found himself singing along by the second chorus.
By the time they reached East Brook to drop him off, it was already evening.
"Later, Marky boy!" Connor shouted out the window with a grin as Hakim pulled away.
Mark shook his head, smiling despite himself, and started walking home.
On the way, he spotted a scene he recognized from his first day: a girl being harassed by Blue High students.
_Why do they wear uniforms on weekends?_ was his first thought. He had no plans to get involved.
That changed the second he saw who one of the girls was.
His sister.
Brotherly instinct kicked in. He ignored the ache in his ribs and jogged forward, stepping between the Blue High students and the two girls. The girls stood their ground, brave despite being taller than him.
"Leave them alone," Mark said, trying to sound confident.
"Mark, what are you doing? You're no match for these guys," Mary murmured, frustration mixing with worry in her voice.
Mark ignored her. His focus was on the guys in front of him.
"Or what?" one of them sneered, stepping closer.
On instinct, Mark pulled out his taser and fired.
A few of them backed away. But one guy sitting behind the group stood up slowly, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. Brown dreads, eyes half-lidded, looking high. He carried himself differently — relaxed, dangerous.
Mark had been in Brookhaven for a week. He knew trouble when he saw it. This guy was strong. Too strong for him to handle. But maybe the taser could even the odds.
"You weren't gonna use that?" the guy said, voice lazy, almost bored.
Mark didn't hesitate. He fired again.
It didn't work. The guy barely flinched. Mark cranked the voltage up until the taser stopped discharging altogether, but it still did nothing.
"You done?" the guy asked. "Guess it's my turn."
He front-kicked Mark square in the stomach. The impact stacked on top of his existing injuries, and Mark's vision went dark.
"Why you! What have you done to my brother!" Mary shouted, charging forward.
"Mary, don't!" her friend tried to stop her, but she tore free. A Blue High student stepped in her path. She roundhouse kicked him aside and closed the distance.
She aimed a brick-breaking kick straight at the dreaded guy's stomach. He sidestepped it easily, caught her leg, and slammed her into the wall.
"That it?" he said, sounding bored.
Just then his phone buzzed. He glanced down — a message with a picture of Mark and the boys, marked as Bruce's targets.
"Oh," he said, smirking. "Looks like I have a reason to kill you."
He pulled out his gun. Mary and her friend froze.
The guy walked toward Mark slowly, safety off, gun aimed. Mary wanted to move, but fear locked her in place.
Right before he pulled the trigger, a man carrying a stack of boxes stepped into the alley. His face was hidden, but he moved slow, steady. Early 60s, maybe older.
"What are children doing playing with guns?" His voice was calm, with a distinct Japanese accent.
"Who's this old man?" one of them muttered.
"Get lost before we kill you," another said.
"Kill me, you say?" The old man's voice didn't change. "If you make promises like that, you should follow through."
He looked at them, and something in the air shifted. The guy with the gun felt it first — even with the numbers and the weapon, messing with this man felt like signing his own death sentence.
Mary felt it too. The fear was different from the gun. This was controlled. Experienced. The aura of a predator sizing up prey.
"Now leave, brats," the old man said calmly, like a grandfather scolding his grandkids. "Before I have to spank you."
They didn't hesitate. The group scattered, running in different directions.
"Another time, I guess," the dreaded boy murmured to himself before slipping away.
The old man kept walking. Mary caught a glimpse of his back: a simple white knitted sweater, long black hair with graying streaks tied in a ponytail.
Once he was gone, Mary sat down hard, still shaking, wondering who that man was.
---