Contemporary Civics was held in Room 216, also known as The Room Time Forgot. The walls were a depressing shade of off-beige, the fluorescent lights buzzed like they were trying to escape, and the class pet was a ficus that had definitely been dead since before winter break.
Kite dropped into his seat with all the grace of a brick.
Julian slid into the desk beside him, already halfway through checking stock alerts on his smartwatch. "Do I want to know why you look like you lost a fight with your own backpack?"
"Just mourning the death of my will to live," Kite said, cracking his knuckles. "Third period does that to a guy."
Julian rolled his eyes. "You're such a drama queen."
"Excuse you, I prefer 'tragedy prince.' Has a nice Shakespearean flair."
Two rows ahead, Riley Bishop was flipping through her sketchbook, pencil in hand. Her hoodie sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and her earbuds dangled around her neck like she wasn't sure if she was listening to music or just using them to avoid people.
Kite hesitated, then leaned forward and tapped her desk lightly with the eraser end of his pencil.
"Quick question—are you actually drawing notes, or are you sneakily designing the next band poster I'll pretend to understand?"
Riley turned, one eyebrow raised, but her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile.
"Both," she said. "I'm multitasking."
Kite nodded solemnly. "Respect. Some of us can barely keep our eyes open."
"I noticed," she said, giving him a once-over. "You always slouch that dramatically, or is this a performance piece?"
"This is art," he whispered, dropping lower in his chair like a defeated Victorian poet. "I call it 'Boy Succumbs to Bureaucracy.'"
That earned a quiet laugh. Riley didn't laugh often—at least not in class—but it suited her. Small, but real.
"Your stuff any good?" Kite asked after a second, nodding toward her sketchbook.
Riley flipped it shut like it was muscle memory. "You can see it if you survive Mr. Carrow's opening monologue."
Kite raised a fist. "Challenge accepted."
Right on cue, Mr. Carrow trudged to the front like a man who had long since made peace with the fact that no one was going to listen to him. He launched into a rambling intro about "the importance of civic discourse," which translated loosely to: You're all going to hate this unit.
Kite tuned him out almost immediately and scribbled something on a sticky note before sliding it toward Riley.
She glanced down.
Kite: "You think he knows we're still in the room?"
She snorted under her breath and scribbled back.
"I think he left us emotionally three years ago."
They kept that quiet exchange going through half the period—notes, tiny doodles, the occasional smirk. It wasn't much, but it was easy.
Familiar in a way that shouldn't have been yet.
——
English class always felt like a deep breath after the noise of the day. The walls were lined with dusty shelves of books nobody touched, and the windows let in slanted afternoon light that made everything feel a little softer, a little slower.
Kite slipped into his usual seat by the window, setting his notebook down with a quiet thump.
Ava was already there, flipping through her copy of Lord of the Flies. Her notes were neat and color-coded, her pen tapping lightly against the margin like she was mid-thought.
She looked up as he sat.
"Hey."
"Hey," Kite replied, offering a small smile. "You ready for another riveting journey into the psychological breakdown of British schoolboys?"
Ava smirked. "Living the dream."
Kite chuckled under his breath, then opened his book, thumbing through to the chapter they were covering. The classroom buzzed softly around them—whispers, page flips, someone's pencil tapping like a metronome.
Their teacher started a discussion about symbolism and leadership. Kite half-listened, eyes drifting to the window. Outside, wind stirred the trees lazily. He should've felt bored. Instead, he felt oddly calm.
Ava leaned over slightly, nudging his elbow with her pen.
"You're zoning out," she whispered.
Kite blinked. "Guilty."
"Piggy just got hit in the head with a rock. You missed a lot."
"Dang," he murmured. "I blink and the island turns into a true crime podcast."
She smiled at that—just a flicker—and went back to underlining a sentence.
They worked side by side like that for a while. Occasionally exchanging a quiet comment, a glance, a shared sigh when the teacher went on a tangent. Nothing dramatic. Nothing forced.
Just... easy.
When Ava dropped her pen and it rolled off the desk, Kite caught it before it hit the ground. He handed it back without a word. She didn't say thanks, but her fingers lingered on his for half a second too long.
Then it was gone, like it never happened.
Kite cleared his throat and looked back at his notes.
"You think this whole book is just one long metaphor for high school group projects?" he asked, voice low.
Ava tilted her head. "You'd be the kid trying to keep everyone from lighting stuff on fire."
Kite smiled faintly. "You'd be the one actually doing the work while pretending not to hate everyone."
She didn't argue with that.
When the bell rang, the class rustled awake. Backpacks zipped. Chairs scraped. Kite stayed seated for a moment longer, watching Ava gather her things.
"See you at lunch tomorrow?" he asked.
She glanced up, shouldering her bag. "Yeah. Don't be late. Julian'll steal your seat and your fries."
"I'd fight him for the fries."
Ava smiled—wider this time—and nodded before slipping out into the hall.
Kite watched her go, then finally stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
———
The rest of the day went by in a blur for Kite and before he knew it, he was outside of school ready to go home.
Kite didn't usually mind walking home. Blackstone had that lived-in, slightly-cracked charm—chipped curbs, old brick buildings, the occasional rogue skateboarder nearly taking out a mailbox. It was familiar. Comfortably chaotic.
He'd just turned the corner near Mayview and was considering whether or not to risk stopping by the corner store for a soda, when—
"Hey."
The voice was low, casual—but not unfriendly.
Kite turned and spotted Riley standing just outside the school's side gate, earbuds looped around her neck again, sketchbook tucked under one arm. Her hoodie was zipped halfway up, sleeves pushed to the elbows like always.
"Oh hey, didn't see you," he said, slowing his pace.
"Shocking," she deadpanned. "I blend in so well."
Kite tilted his head. "Nah, you're more like... limited edition grayscale. Everyone else is crayon-box chaos."
Riley raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"I mean, you didn't deny that everyone else is chaos."
She smirked, then glanced down the sidewalk. "Are you heading this way?"
"Yeah," Kite said, adjusting his backpack. "You?"
She nodded. "I live a few blocks down Elm."
Kite blinked. "Wait, for real? I'm, like, right off Willow."
"So we've probably been walking parallel lives without knowing it," she said.
"Sounds like a low-budget indie film," Kite replied. "Coming this fall: Two Teens and Zero Situational Awareness."
Riley gave a quiet laugh. Not big, but genuine.
They started walking together—neither of them said it, but it felt natural. The kind of silence that didn't ask to be filled.
"So," Riley said after a while, "you always the class clown, or is that a new thing?"
Kite shrugged with one shoulder. "Nah, I've been annoying professionally since birth. Kindergarten teacher called me 'spirited.'"
"That's a nice way of saying you talked too much."
"She also confiscated my Batman cape. Tragic day."
Riley smiled again, but this time it lingered. "You're funny. But like... not the exhausting kind."
"I'll add that to my résumé," Kite said. "'Funny but not exhausting.' Should land me at least two friends and half a social life."
They passed a fenced yard where someone's dog barked furiously at a leaf, and Kite kicked a rock down the sidewalk with absent-minded precision.
Riley looked over at him. "You seem like someone who notices stuff. You watch people, even when you act like you're not."
Kite slowed slightly, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah. I guess. Comes with the territory."
"What territory?"
Kite hesitated, then smiled wryly. "You know. The neighborhood of Overthinking Avenue, right next to Anxious Cul-de-Sac."
She snorted. "Nice save."
"Thanks. I panic professionally, too."
They reached a quiet residential street, where the houses looked like they were all built the same year and just slightly drifted apart over time.
Riley nodded toward one. "That's me."
Kite stopped at the foot of the driveway. "Cool. So you're officially two blocks from me."
She paused, then glanced back at him. "You want to see something cool?"
Kite blinked. "That's either how horror movies start or how best friendships are born."
Riley pulled her sketchbook from under her arm and flipped it open, revealing a page with a loose, in-progress drawing. It was stylized—bold ink lines, city rooftops, and a silhouetted figure leaping between them like they were born to fly.
"Whoa," Kite said, genuinely impressed. "That's... seriously good."
Riley shrugged, but the corner of her mouth lifted. "He's just an idea. Some kind of vigilante character I've been playing around with, based her off those two new superheroes—Code Red and Pulsar Knight."
Kite grinned. "Oh really? Who do you like more?"
"Team Pulsar For Life!"
Kite couldn't help but smile, "Makes sense, he is like the best superhero, even if he's only been around for a few days."
Riley nodded in agreement, "Anyway. See you tomorrow, Kite."
"Yeah," he said, stepping backward toward the sidewalk. "Later, grayscale."
She rolled her eyes, but it was a fond look. Then she turned and headed inside, leaving Kite standing there with the smallest of smiles still hanging on his face.
Kite adjusted the strap of his backpack as he turned onto Willow Street, the neighborhood wrapped in a late afternoon hush. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees, and the sun cast long, golden shadows across the sidewalks. But something tugged at him—soft at first, like a hand brushing against the edge of his thoughts.
Warm.
Not like temperature, exactly. More like… pressure. Like a low hum just beneath his skin, in his chest, in his fingertips. Familiar in a way he couldn't place. It made the hairs on his arms prickle.
"AI?" Kite thought silently, instinctively reaching out to the strange voice that had once filled his mind. His link to it had grown quieter lately—like a signal muffled through static—but he still felt it sometimes, like now.
No answer.
The warmth intensified. It wasn't threatening—just there. A steady pull, like a magnet buried under his feet, like something calling home.
He paused at the corner by his block, eyes flicking across the familiar row of houses. But then, a few doors down, he saw something new.
A moving truck.
Its ramp jutted into the driveway of a house that had sat empty for nearly a year. Two adults were unloading boxes while a girl around his age sat on the porch, sketchbook open across her lap.
"New neighbors," Kite muttered.
He was about to keep walking when the woman closest to the truck straightened up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and waving at him.
"Hey there!" she called, a bright, genuine tone in her voice. "Would you mind giving us a hand? We're racing the sunset here."
Kite blinked. The warmth pulsed again—insistent.
He hesitated for half a second, then shrugged and jogged over. "Sure, I've got time."
The woman smiled. "You're a lifesaver. I'm Dana, by the way. This is my husband, Marcus."
Marcus was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the kind of posture that said he was used to people listening when he spoke. He was wrestling a heavy-looking box from the truck and looked up just long enough to offer a nod and a warm, "Hey, thanks for helping. I'm Marcus Rayner."
"Cool to meet you. I'm Kite." He hoisted a box labeled Kitchen Stuff and started walking it up the steps.
As they worked, they chatted.
"Been living around here long?" Dana asked.
"Pretty much my whole life. Quiet neighborhood. Except for the occasional middle school band practice next door."
She laughed. "We'll take quiet. Marcus just transferred from Westbridge. He's a captain with the Blackstone Police Department."
Kite nearly tripped on the step.
"A… captain?"
Marcus chuckled, noticing the look. "I promise, I don't ticket teenagers for jaywalking."
"Noted," Kite said, adjusting the box. "I'll put my villain arc on hold, then."
Dana laughed again. "You're funny. Our daughter could probably use a laugh today. New town, new school soon—it's a lot."
Kite glanced back toward the porch. The girl hadn't looked up once. She was hunched over her sketchbook, focused. Her hoodie was oversized, sleeves pulled over her hands. She looked quiet—like Riley-quiet—but not shy. Just… distant.
Then he saw it.
Around her neck, hanging from a black cord like a choker, was a stone.
Black, shot through with veins of deep, glowing purple.
Kite's heart skipped.
The warmth inside him surged like a flame stoked higher.
He froze halfway up the steps, nearly dropping the box. The world dimmed around the edges as the stone seemed to pull everything into its orbit.
Dana noticed his stare. "Pretty, right? She found that old thing on a trip a while ago. Won't go anywhere without it."
"What's it made of?" Kite asked before he could stop himself.
"Not sure," Dana said, frowning thoughtfully. "Some kind of crystal. Doesn't match anything I've seen before."
The girl finally looked up.
Her eyes met Kite's. Dark brown, but not ordinary. There was something watchful in them, something that saw more than most people did.
She gave a small nod. Not unfriendly. Not welcoming either. Just… aware.
Kite nodded back, heart still racing.
The stone felt like it was vibrating now, though no one else seemed to notice.
He finally moved again, carrying the box the rest of the way and setting it by the door.
As he turned to go, Marcus clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks again, Kite. You're welcome to swing by anytime."
"Yeah," Kite said distantly. "Sure. No problem."
He walked away slowly, that warmth curling tighter in his chest now—no longer gentle, no longer calm.
Something was happening.
And that stone—whatever it was—was part of it.
AI?
He thought again, more urgently this time.
Are you feeling this?
Still no response.
Kite glanced over his shoulder one last time.
The girl had gone back to her sketchbook.
But the stone still shimmered faintly against her throat, pulsing with a rhythm that didn't match this world.
Something had just changed.
And Kite wasn't sure he was ready for it. But ready or not—it was here.