Kade's mind was empty as he ran through the school.
Not blank with shock. Blank with focus.
Tina's sobbing echoed through his ears, thin and broken, pulling him forward through hallways and corners he barely registered. Another voice had joined hers—a male voice, low and possessive—but Kade didn't listen. He could have. His senses would have let him catch every word if he wanted.
He didn't.
The reason didn't matter. How long it had been happening didn't matter. Even who it was no longer mattered.
He had already decided.
The exits blurred past as he crossed the building faster than anyone should have been able to. His feet barely seemed to touch the floor. Students shouted in surprise as he passed, but he didn't slow. He didn't look back.
The sound led him to the rear of the campus.
An old tool shed sat near the edge of the grounds, half-forgotten and tucked away behind a line of trees. Inconspicuous. Secluded. Perfect.
Kade slowed.
His heightened senses picked up what most would never notice—disturbed grass, faint footprints pressed unevenly into the soil. Another trail ran beside them, deeper, dragged.
His expression didn't change.
Tina's sobbing was louder now. Close enough to hurt.
Kade stopped in front of the shed.
Then he kicked.
The door tore free of its hinges and slammed into the opposite wall with a thunderous crack. Wood splintered. Metal shrieked.
Kade stepped inside.
The sight revealed to him almost made him lose his composure.
For a split second, a thought surfaced unbidden—tie up loose ends.
His father's words finally understood.
He felt no anger at Trent. This was his responsibility. Always had been.
The last remnants of hesitation drained out of him.
Tina knelt on the floor.
Her clothes were dishevelled, pulled just enough to expose bruises blooming purple against her skin—carefully placed where fabric would always hide them. Her face was untouched, pristine by design, but tears streaked her cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, distant, unfocused.
She had already given up.
She didn't even react to the door being ripped apart.
Kade's chest tightened.
This was his oldest friend. His sister in everything but blood. Memories flashed through his mind—shared laughter, years of loyalty, one of the two people who had pulled him out of isolation when he was just a strange kid with green eyes.
He had expected rage.
What he felt instead was certainty.
He turned.
A tall boy stood over Tina.
Blue eyes. Handsome. Familiar.
Rex.
His clothes were rumpled, his trousers partially undone. One hand was tangled in Tina's hair, gripping possessively, forcing her head back.
The realization landed fully.
Bitterness swelled in Kade's heart; he felt burning hatred, not for Rex or Tina.
It was hatred for himself.
He had seen the signs. Noticed the changes. Felt the wrongness.
And he had hesitated.
Rex released Tina abruptly, letting her collapse to the floor like a discarded puppet. He stepped toward Kade, smiling—that smile—like this was something that could still be explained away.
"Kade, I know how this looks," Rex said quickly. "Just hear me out. She wanted this—"
Kade exhaled.
A quiet sound. Almost a sigh.
In that moment, Kade no longer knew hesitation.
Rex never finished his sentence.
Kade moved.
One moment Rex was stepping closer, hands raised, confidence bolstered by Kade's silence.
The next, pain detonated in his chest.
Rex looked down.
An arm was buried straight through him.
His breath hitched. Blood bubbled at his lips. His hands trembled uselessly as they clutched at Kade's forearm.
Kade stood still.
For a fleeting instant, he registered surprise—not at what he'd done, but at how easily it had happened. He hadn't meant to kill him like this. He had intended to knock Rex away, take him somewhere else, end it where Tina wouldn't see.
Instead, his fist had passed through a human body like it wasn't there at all.
Although this was not how he had planned things to go, he adjusted
Rex tried to speak.
Kade didn't listen.
He twisted his arm and tore it free.
Rex collapsed.
His body hit the floor hard, eyes wide and empty, a ragged hole torn clean through his chest.
Kade looked down at him.
He waited for something—revulsion, grief, horror.
Nothing came.
What he felt instead was a quiet satisfaction, like removing something rotten that had been poisoning the space around it.
That realization settled coldly.
That wasn't normal.
Something inside him vanished the moment he stepped into the shed. Whatever it was, it took a part of him with it—or amplified it beyond reason.
He would speak to his father about that later.
Movement behind him drew his attention.
Tina stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. They drifted across the floor, the blood, the shattered door.
Then they landed on Rex.
Then on Kade.
Blood soaked his arm. His clothes. His hands.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened.
Kade tensed.
She never screamed.
Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed again, unconscious before the sound could escape.
Footsteps approached the shed.
Measured. Unhurried.
A familiar voice followed.
"Quite a mess you've made here, Kade."
Kade turned.
His green eyes met another pair, identical in color.
"Dad?"
***
Kade wasn't especially surprised to see his father standing in the doorway of the tool shed.
Judging from the things Trent had said to him that morning—about loose ends, about leaving soon—Kade had already surmised what he'd meant. If his father had allowed things to reach this point, then there was something he wanted to observe. And that meant he wouldn't be far from the outcome.
None of that mattered now.
Kade was no pawn in whatever game his father was playing. He had made his choice. He had seen it through.
Trent stood at the entrance of the shed—or what remained of it after Kade had demolished it—green eyes moving slowly as they assessed every inch of Kade: his posture, his breathing, the tension in his muscles. His gaze passed over Rex's body on the floor without pause. Tina's unconscious form received no more attention than the blood pooled beneath her.
Under normal circumstances, that scrutiny would have made Kade uncomfortable.
Now, it merely irritated him.
Finally, Trent spoke.
"You're lucky," he said calmly. "The Veil will handle the memories of anyone who saw you moving like a freight train across campus. That was careless. Enlightened do not display their abilities so openly to regular humans. Had you been anyone other than my son, someone would already be on their way to kill you."
The words were delivered without heat, without judgment.
Kade caught the implication at once.
Someone.
A regulatory force, then. Enlightened who enforced order. Most likely, they cleaned up what the Veil could not. And the implication that Kade would face no consequences—because he was Trent's son—told him something else just as clearly.
His father carried weight in that world.
Interesting.
"How much of it did you see?" Kade asked.
"All of it," Trent replied. "From the moment you kicked the door open like a teenager throwing a tantrum."
If that was meant to be humour, it didn't reach his face.
"You lack even the most basic control," Trent continued. "I know you didn't intend to tear the door off its hinges. And you certainly didn't intend to put your arm through that boy."
Kade said nothing.
He had plenty to say—about being thrown into this world without guidance, about being expected to figure everything out alone—but he could see his father wasn't finished.
"But," Trent went on, "I'll admit this surprised me."
He turned fully toward Kade now.
"I never expected you to kill him," he said. "A beating, perhaps. A reckless show of strength. But this?" His eyes gleamed—not with pride, but with fascination. "This is something else."
The excitement surfaced then—the same look Kade had seen before, the one that appeared whenever Trent acquired new knowledge.
"The effects of dual gaze truly are fascinating," Trent said quietly. "I don't think I've ever seen a personality facet amplified so completely in an enlightened. No hesitation. Not even on your first kill." His gaze sharpened. "Let alone your best friend."
Kade listened without interrupting.
These were the same questions he'd been asking himself.
He didn't know how to explain it. The moment he'd heard Tina's voice, something inside him had aligned with absolute clarity. When he'd seen her kneeling on that floor, Rex's fate had been sealed.
There had been no anger. No doubt.
Only resolve.
He still loved Rex—the Rex that existed in his memories, untainted and loyal. That version mattered.
The thing lying dead at his feet did not.
That realization disturbed him more than the killing itself.
He could feel the shift in his mind even now. The way his view of the world had subtly but permanently altered.
"You feel it, don't you?" Trent said, reading the silence accurately. "Something is… different now."
Kade didn't deny it.
"I didn't feel much of anything," he said. "Not during. Not after."
Trent nodded once, as if confirming a hypothesis.
"That," he said, "is one of the things that will be addressed during your training."
Kade glanced at Tina, still unconscious on the floor.
"The Veil won't fix this," he said flatly.
"No," Trent agreed. "No Ala was used in the act itself. This was… mundane violence." He adjusted his glasses. "The Veil has no jurisdiction here."
"So, it's on us."
"You don't need to worry about this. I'm the adult here. I'll take care of it. You head home—I'll be back a bit later."
Kade was a little shocked by that. He'd never thought his dad would start acting like a parent—especially not at the scene of a murder. Then again… actually, that tracked.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
Finally, Kade glanced at Rex's body, then at Tina's unconscious form, before heading for the exit.
Trent's voice stopped him just short of the exit.
"I might as well tell you—while the Veil will adjust Tina's memories of anything supernatural, she'll retain everything else."
His pause was deliberate.
"Including the fact that you killed Rex."
Kade stood at the exit of the tool shed, unmoving. He had known there would be consequences—no matter how justified his decision was. He had already lost one friend. Now it seemed the other would remember him only as a psychotic murderer.
He exhaled slowly, as if breathing out what remained of his attachments. Maybe it was better this way. When he left, she wouldn't miss him or worry about him. She'd hate him—yes—but she would move on. Live a good life. He owed her that much for letting her suffer so long because of his indecision.
Having made his peace, he said, "I know."
Then he left his father standing in the shed and walked away without looking back at Tina's unconscious form.