The sky above Laurel Creek was a dull shade of morning blue, the kind that barely passed for daylight and did nothing to improve anyone's mood. The Blackstone High bus let out a tired groan as it pulled up to the front of the Laurel Creek Science Museum, brakes hissing like it resented the stop as much as the passengers did.
A wave of half-asleep teenagers spilled out into the museum courtyard, dragging backpacks and yawning into the crisp morning air. Some mumbled to each other, others shuffled in silence.
Mr. Carson stood ahead like a tired lighthouse keeper guiding lost ships, clipboard in one hand and a large coffee in the other—the elixir keeping him from losing his mind on field trips like this. His gray blazer was already wrinkled, and his expression said he regretted agreeing to this trip before the first chaperone email had even been sent.
Kite descended the bus steps with a dramatic groan, his hood up, hands shoved into his pockets. "Ugh, why do we have to be up this early?" he grumbled, voice muffled and steeped in annoyance.
Right behind him, William adjusted his backpack and gave a dry sigh. "It's not even sunrise. This feels illegal."
Mr. Carson looked up from his clipboard and aimed a stare at William. "Because today is the last day of the trip, Mr. Fletcher," he said, trying to sound more energetic than he felt. "And we need to head back before the afternoon rush hits."
William muttered something that sounded like agreement, but mostly just sounded tired.
Kite gave an exaggerated shiver. "Yeah, well, I'm allergic to mornings. And educational bonding."
"Keep moving, Mr Connors," Mr. Carson said flatly, already walking toward the museum's steps. "Try not to fall asleep against the dinosaur bones."
"I still don't understand why we're coming to a museum! We're an Astrogeology class," Kite muttered under his breath.
The group began to move toward the entrance in a sluggish procession. Kite walked beside William, the two sticking to the edge of the crowd. That's when a metallic plaque caught Kite's eye—small, polished, and discreetly bolted to the limestone wall near the door.
Sponsored by Thorne Blackwood.
Kite stopped walking.
He stared at the name, his lips pressing into a thin, unimpressed line. "Oh, of course," he muttered, almost to himself. "The sleaze leaves his fingerprints on everything."
William turned. "Blackwood? That billionaire guy?"
Kite nodded. "Yeah. Corporate tycoon, walking press releases, probably sleeps on money. My dad used to talk about him like he walked on water. 'Visionary this, genius that'..."
William raised a brow. "You don't sound convinced."
Kite scoffed. "That's because he gives off mob boss energy in a tux. The guy's been accused of more shady deals than a poker table in a back alley. Only difference is, his cards are made of gold."
Before William could reply, a presence approached—sharp, clean, and deliberate. A man in his mid-to-late forties stepped up beside them, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and black gloves. His shoes were polished to a mirror sheen, and his tie sat so perfectly aligned it looked like it had been measured with a laser.
He didn't say anything right away. Just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, surveying Kite with the pleasant detachment of someone inspecting a file. His smile was courteous, but his eyes were cold.
Kite turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna ask for a selfie or just keep staring like a haunted mannequin?"
The man chuckled faintly. "I was simply admiring your enthusiasm. Most students don't pause to read sponsor plaques."
"Yeah, well, I have a thing for red flags," Kite said dryly. "Especially ones with dollar signs on them."
William elbowed him gently, but the man didn't seem fazed.
"I work with Mr. Blackwood," the man said calmly. "He likes to stay informed on how his investments are appreciated. Especially by the younger generation."
"Oh sure," Kite said, tone sharp with mock admiration. "Very philanthropic of him. Museum exhibits, tax breaks, public image rehab... Classic charity."
"Ahhh, you must be Kite Connors, Mr Blackwood always spoke of a man with a child who's mouth and attitude was too big for his own good," the man said, still smiling, but now with something more serpentine beneath it. "Your father was a good man. Loyal. Trustworthy."
Kite stiffened at that. His sarcasm faltered for half a second, but he masked it quickly.
"Yeah," he said, eyes narrowing. "He didn't work for Blackwood, if that's what you're fishing for."
"No, of course not, however he was a client…and partner at one point," the man said smoothly. "And Mr. Blackwood keeps track of the names that come up... and the ones that might matter someday."
William's hand curled into a cautious fist beside him.
Kite tilted his head. "Well, tell your boss not to waste his time. I'm not on the market."
The man dipped his head slightly, a gesture somewhere between a nod and a farewell.
"Enjoy the museum," he said, voice coated in corporate charm. "Science is a gateway to the future."
"Great," Kite said, not missing a beat. "Then maybe I'll build a robot to punch billionaires."
The man gave one last look—cool and calculating—then turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the crowd near the entrance, his shoes clicking like a countdown.
William leaned in with a low voice. "Okay, what the hell was that?"
Kite shook his head slowly. "A walking NDA with a perfect tie. And probably a taser in his pocket."
They moved with the rest of their class into the museum, but the brief encounter left a chill trailing down Kite's spine. Something about that man—and the shadow of Thorne Blackwood behind him—felt heavier than it should have.
Kite didn't like it. He didn't like him. And he definitely didn't like the way that guy had known his name without asking.
Now inside the museum's dim, high-ceilinged lobby, the boys found themselves unintentionally separated from the rest of the group. Students filtered off into cliques, their voices echoing faintly through the open space like the museum had swallowed their presence into its stone bones.
Kite huffed, casting a glance down one of the exhibit halls. "Just great," he muttered, voice low but sharp. "Now because of that dumb guy we lost—"
He didn't get to finish. A solid wall of denim and muscle collided into him like a linebacker.
"Hey! Watch where you're walking, Kite!"
Kite stumbled back a step, catching himself before he could fall. He blinked, looked up, and instantly groaned. "Oh. Mason."
Mason rolled his eyes, already bristling with annoyance. The guy looked bigger than usual, like he lived in the gym.
Kite crossed his arms. "Maybe if you laid off the burgers, you wouldn't take up the entire hallway. Kinda hard to not bump into someone when you're blocking the whole airspace."
Mason scowled, his hands clenching slightly at his sides as he stepped in closer. "It's called a bulk, genius. Of course someone as scrawny as you wouldn't understand!"
Kite smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward with mischief. "Don't forget, I have superpowers. I could easily kick your butt if I wanted to. Even bulked."
Mason's eyes narrowed. "And don't forget—I could leak that little secret in a second."
The threat hit the air like a slap. Kite's grin twitched but didn't fade entirely. His eyes hardened.
Before the tension could boil over, William quickly wedged himself between the two like a walking firewall, arms raised to keep them apart.
"Okay, okay! Let's not turn the museum into a wrestling ring," he said, voice calm but firm. "Nobody needs to do anything brash, alright?"
Mason exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring over William's shoulder. "Kite started it."
"I don't care who started it," William said, tired. "Just calm down, both of you. Please."
Mason gave one last glare at Kite, muttered something under his breath that was probably a creatively censored insult, and walked off down a nearby corridor.
Kite watched him go, unimpressed. "What's up with him?"
William turned to him, expression blank. "Can you really blame the dude? He did get kidnapped two days ago."
Kite rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but he seemed fine the day after!."
William ran a hand over his face and groaned. "Are you always this dense or is it just the Blackwood encounter frying your brain? People don't always process stuff immediately. The shock probably just wore off."
Kite sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let's just get on with the museum stuff before Mr. Carson realizes we're missing and lectures us about emotional maturity or whatever."
The boys wandered deeper into the museum, passing towering skeletons of long-extinct creatures and cases filled with fossilized bones. They paused every now and then, pointing out their favorite dinosaurs, debating whether the velociraptors were cooler than the T. rex, and occasionally making terrible puns about extinction.
Eventually, they crossed into a different wing of the museum—a sleek, well-lit space filled with scientific relics, prototypes, and pieces of long-forgotten tech. Holograms displayed grainy footage of rocket launches and spinning models of the solar system. One exhibit featured replicas of the Voyager Golden Records, the gold-plated copper disks sent into space to carry humanity's message to the stars.
They passed under a suspended model of the Saturn V Rocket, its massive size dwarfing them as they wandered past into the next chamber.
That's when they found it.
Near the center of the room, set atop a raised metal platform embedded into the floor, sat a strange machine. Wires ran like vines from a large silver control box into the edges of the plate, and colored lights encircled it like some sort of runway.
Kite squinted at the plaque beside it. "BioLumina?"
William leaned over his shoulder. "What does it do?"
Kite scanned the text, frowning. "Apparently it reads bioelectric energy—like the natural electricity in living things. The stronger your bioelectric field, the brighter it lights up."
William whistled. "Cool. Alright, let's see what I'm working with." He stepped forward and climbed onto the platform with mock ceremony.
As the sensors calibrated, a dull hum buzzed from the machine. The lights flickered to life—but only faintly. A soft glow, like a dying flashlight.
"Not bad," William said, stepping off. "Okay, your turn, Thunderboy."
Kite hesitated, eyeing the machine suspiciously. "What if it, like, steals the neurons in my brain or fries my DNA?"
William chuckled, nudging him forward. "Relax. You barely have any neurons, so you're safe."
Kite made a face but finally stepped onto the platform. The moment his foot touched the metal, the system clicked and began to calibrate again.
Then it lit up—not faint, not weak. The lights burst into brightness, flooding the surrounding area with blinding intensity. It was like someone had turned on a miniature sun.
"Whoa!" William threw an arm over his eyes. "What the heck?!"
Kite jumped off the plate as fast as he could. The lights immediately died, vanishing in an instant. The room fell back into its normal lighting.
"That was... um... intense," he muttered, staring at the machine like it might explode.
William lowered his arm and looked at him, wide-eyed. "Dude. What was that?"
A figure passed in the background—quiet, quick, and deliberate. The man from earlier. The one who worked for Blackwood.
He moved with the same unreadable expression, carrying a slim black briefcase in one hand. His gaze flicked toward Kite from across the room—just for a second. Then he walked away, disappearing behind a side exit, never breaking stride.
"I have no idea. I wonder why it went so... y'know. Nuclear."
And then, a familiar voice echoed softly inside his head. Calm, and only meant for him.
"It probably detected the Tachyon energy. I'm surprised it can do that," Ai said.
"Tachyon energy…of course it's Tachyon energy…"