Kade felt the weight of the two words settle in his chest, heavy despite the fact that he didn't fully understand them. Judging by his father's reaction—one he'd only ever seen when Trent was grading particularly disastrous exams—they were important. Very important.
Time passed.
Trent remained still, staring somewhere past Kade, lost in thoughts that clearly had nothing to do with the room they were standing in.
Kade waited a few seconds longer than he liked before his patience finally snapped.
"Hey," he said. "You can't just act all weird, say something I have no idea about, and then go silent." His irritation bled through despite his effort to keep his voice level. "What's this dual gaze business about?"
Trent blinked, as if yanked back into reality.
He looked at Kade then—really looked at him—and his expression shifted rapidly, a storm of thoughts crossing his face too quickly for Kade to follow. Calculation. Hesitation. Something darker underneath.
Finally, Trent spoke.
"Kade," he said slowly, "you have to promise me something first."
Kade stiffened. "Promise what?"
"That you won't tell anyone," Trent said, his voice grave, "that you survived a dual gaze."
The word survived landed wrong.
Kade frowned. "What do you mean survived?" he asked. "Was I… not supposed to?"
Trent exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
"A dual gaze isn't unheard of among the Enlightened," he said. "It's rare—but not unknown. The problem is that every recorded instance of it has ended the same way."
He met Kade's eyes.
"Death. Painful. Without exception."
The colour drained from Kade's face.
He hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected to learn that, in the span of a few seconds the night before, he'd been closer to dying than he ever had in his life—not once, but twice.
Trent continued, his tone measured but tense.
"Over time, it came to be regarded as nothing less than a death sentence."
Kade swallowed.
"So, you understand now," Trent said. "A survivor of a dual gaze is unprecedented. Completely uncharted territory."
He paused.
"You are an anomaly."
The word should have scared him more than it did.
What unsettled Kade instead was the flicker in his father's eyes—the same one he'd seen earlier. Not fear. Not awe.
Excitement.
It was gone almost instantly, but Kade caught it just like last time. He filed it away without comment.
"So, what does this mean for me?" Kade asked.
The question surprised him with how calm it sounded.
He could've been angry. Could've demanded answers. Could've railed against the unfairness of it all. But ever since he'd woken up on the floor that morning, something had changed. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—one he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
He only knew he felt… more himself.
Trent hesitated. Then he shook his head.
"In all honesty? I don't know," he said. "It could be nothing or it could be everything."
He turned toward the door as he spoke, already halfway out of the conversation.
"I'll need to do some research. Reach out to a few contacts. We may be going somewhere soon."
He paused with his hand on the door.
"For now," Trent added, "focus on school. Try to be as normal as you can."
Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "One more thing. Enlightenment tends to take whatever part of your personality resonates more with the being that performed the gaze—and amplifies it." His gaze lingered on Kade. "With you undergoing a dual gaze, it's unclear what the implications are, you should be mindful of anytime you feel yourself acting out of character."
On that ominous note, he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Kade remained seated on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing, the room suddenly too quiet as the word anomaly echoed in his mind.
***
Kade sat on his bed in silence for a long while, listening to the world outside his room.
Birds chirped somewhere beyond the window. A car passed on the street below. From downstairs came the faint, familiar sounds of movement—cups clinking, a pan sliding across a stovetop. Breakfast. His mother, Theresa Moren, already up and moving.
The thought of her made his chest tighten.
Warm. Tireless. Always busy, yet somehow always present. She was the CEO of a makeup company that had done far better than anyone had expected—including her—but no matter how packed her schedule became, she never failed to make time to be a mother and a wife.
And now, apparently, she was the only normal human in the house.
The realization left a sour knot in his stomach.
He couldn't tell her any of this—even if he wanted to. According to his father, the Veil would simply alter her memories, smoothing over the truth as if it had never existed. Worse, trying to explain might even put her in danger.
Maybe ignorance really was safer.
His thoughts drifted to his father next.
A professor at a prestigious university. A historian—or so Kade had believed for his entire life. That assumption had shattered completely this morning. If his dad could live beside him for years while hiding something like that, and Kade—observant as he prided himself on being—had never once caught a hint of it…
Then who couldn't be hiding something?
The world suddenly felt less solid. Less honest.
Kade had grown up an only child in what could only be described as the textbook definition of a suburban neighbourhood—white picket fences, smoking chimneys in the winter, neighbours so friendly it sometimes bordered on verbal assault. The Moren's had always kept to themselves. As an African American family—and the only one for several blocks—they tended to stand out. The green eyes he and his father shared didn't help either, often leading to awkward conversations that inevitably ended with some variation of, they're really cool though.
He'd grown used to it.
At least until Rex and Tina.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought of them.
They'd met in preschool. The only kids who'd called his eyes cool with genuine smiles instead of whispering behind his back. Best friends since before he could remember life without them. The whirlwind of last night and this morning had barely left him time to think about anything else—but he was sure they'd tried to reach him.
He'd see them at school today.
Finally, Kade stood.
He crossed into the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at him looked the same at first glance—same face, same dark skin, same unruly hair.
But his eyes—
Green. Almost incandescent now.
They held his gaze, sharper and more vivid than he remembered, as if something behind them had woken up. He stared for a long moment, letting everything he'd learned settle into place.
When he finally looked away, there was steel where uncertainty had been.
Without another word, he turned on the shower.
***
After a criminally cold shower meant to knock his head out of the clouds, Kade finally felt something resembling a human being again—if he even was one anymore—
He cut that thought off immediately.
"Breakfast first. Then school," he muttered to himself. "Focus on the normal. Like Dad said."
Standing in front of his dresser, he grabbed the first clean clothes his hand landed on and pulled them on without much thought. He made a half-hearted attempt to tame the tumbleweed that passed for his hair, failed miserably, and gave up. Curly and unruly it was.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and threw it a self-satisfied smirk before turning toward the door.
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, the smell hit him.
Pancakes.
His favourite.
Kade rubbed his hands together with a grin and headed downstairs.
The Moren house looked exactly like you'd expect a large house with only three occupants to look—full, yet strangely spacious. Photos lined the walls: the three of them together, individual portraits frozen at different stages of life. Vases and paintings occupied corners. Sculptures filled empty spaces. And books—everywhere. Shelves, tables, stacks in corners. All courtesy of his father, the resident historian.
Despite the clutter, there was a quiet order to it all. Kade had learned early on that his father's books and artifacts were sacred.
He reached the bottom of the stairs just as his mother's humming drifted out from the kitchen.
Theresa Moren moved like she always did—effortless, efficient, everywhere at once. She flipped pancakes, scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and still found the time to keep his father's coffee mug filled as he sat at the kitchen island.
Kade paused, taking it in.
His mother was already dressed for work in a sharp pantsuit, her black hair tied back into a neat bun. Her dark skin looked vibrant, her hazel eyes crinkling with familiar smile lines.
Then his gaze slid to his father.
Trent sat calmly at the island, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper, the picture of nonchalance. He didn't even look up when Kade entered.
Looking at his dad's effortless normality, like they hadn't just had a conversation a few minutes ago about things that, if anybody overheard, would land them both in a psych ward. Kade understood how his father had managed to keep this other life of his secret for so long.
Kade schooled his expression when his mother noticed him.
He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and took the seat she ushered him toward as she piled his plate high.
"Morning," Kade said, glancing at his father.
Trent gave him a curt nod without lifting his eyes from the paper.
"Figures," Kade muttered, digging into his food as comfortable silence settled over the kitchen once more.
***
After finishing the cooking, cleaning up the dishes, and making sure everyone had a full plate, Theresa finally sat down at the table. She'd eaten her own breakfast earlier, long before anyone else was awake.
Her eyes flicked between Kade and Trent as she settled in.
"You two were talking for quite a while this morning," she said lightly. "Door closed and everything. Anything interesting?"
Kade swallowed a mouthful of pancake and nearly choked.
His mind scrambled for a plausible answer—anything that wouldn't sound suspicious—when Trent's voice cut in from behind the newspaper he was reading.
"Just helping Kade with some schoolwork," he said casually.
It was, annoyingly, the perfect lie.
Kade blinked, momentarily thrown by how smoothly it came out. A chill ran up his spine as he glanced at his father. Trent's face was still hidden behind the paper, but Kade could almost feel those green eyes fixed on him, expectant.
He cleared his throat.
"Yeah," he said quickly. "I was having trouble with some history notes."
Theresa studied them both for a moment. Something unreadable flickered across her face—but before she could press further, Trent folded the newspaper and stood.
"Come on, Theresa," he said, grabbing his coat. "You'll be late. I'll drive."
She glanced at the wall clock, cursed softly under her breath, and sprang into motion. Gathering her things, she leaned down to press a quick kiss to Kade's forehead.
"Say hi to Rex and Tina for me," she said warmly.
Then she was gone, following Trent out the door.
The house fell quiet.
Kade remained seated at the table, alone now.
***
Noticing the time, Kade hurriedly stuffed the remainder of his food into his mouth, washed it down with a glass of juice, and cleared his plate. He rinsed the dishes, wiped down the counter out of habit, and grabbed his bag before heading out the door.
The neighbourhood greeted him with familiar calm.
Kade attended Peakton High School—a solid, well-funded public school that served most of the surrounding area. It wasn't elite, but it was close enough that nearly everyone in the neighbourhood ended up there sooner or later. In a place like this, it wasn't much of a stretch to say that everyone knew everyone else, at least by face if not by name.
He fast walked toward the bus stop, quietly praying it was still there.
It wasn't.
The bus disappeared around the corner just as he reached the curb.
"Damn it," he muttered.
With a resigned sigh, he broke into a jog, aiming to make it to school before the first bell. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been late—and it certainly wouldn't be the last—but today felt different. For reasons he couldn't quite put into words, he wanted to arrive on time.
As he jogged down the sidewalk, something strange caught his attention.
Everything felt sharper.
Colours looked richer, as if someone had turned up the saturation when he wasn't looking. The scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air longer than it should have. He could hear snippets of conversation from yards away, footsteps echoing off pavement with crisp clarity.
It felt like he'd spent his whole life squinting at the world—only to be handed a pair of glasses overnight.
Kade slowed slightly, glancing around in quiet awe.
What he didn't notice was the distance he was covering.
At what felt like a relaxed pace, he'd already cleared three blocks without breaking a sweat. His breathing remained steady. His legs felt light, almost eager. A few people along the sidewalk stared openly as he passed, startled by how fast he was moving without so much as a huff.
After a moment of collective confusion, they all arrived at the same comfortable conclusion.
Must be a sprinter.
Life went on.
Peakton High School came into view sooner than he expected, the familiar sign looming larger with each step. Kade slowed as he reached the front gates, relief washing over him when he saw students still milling around the entrance.
He made it.
Only then did he check the time on his phone.
His steps faltered.
"That's… not right," he murmured.
He remembered when he'd left the house. Remembered the pace he'd kept. Yet only a few minutes had passed—and he felt like he could easily go another mile.
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Man, I guess I don't have to worry about gym class anymore."
The humour faded almost as quickly as it came.
This wasn't a game. He hadn't nearly died—twice—just to enjoy a few physical perks. Whatever he'd become came with expectations. With consequences. And if the morning had taught him anything, it was that things were only going to get more complicated from here.
He straightened, squared his shoulders, and headed toward the main building.
The first bell rang just as he stepped inside.