Rico hadn't slept in seventy-two hours.
His phone—the fifteenth burner this week—buzzed with another unknown number. He didn't need to answer to know what they wanted. The messages were all variations on a theme:
*"$100 million for confirmed location. No questions asked."*
*"Your mother's medical bills must be crushing. We can help."*
*"The Luther family is patient, but not infinitely so."*
*"You have a beautiful sister. University of Miami, right? Marine biology major?"*
That last one made him grip the wrench hard enough to whiten his knuckles. They'd moved from bribes to threats to his fucking family.
The garage door—still broken from Marcus Luther Cross's shadow entrance—let in the sounds of the city. Even at 2 AM, news vans cruised the streets. Everyone hunting for the Lightning Prince.
"Where the fuck are you, Jay?" Rico muttered, deleting the messages.
His actual phone, the one only three people had the number for, chimed. Mozart.
Mozart: *Package secured. Network operational. Tell our mutual friend the store is open when he's ready.*
Rico: *Haven't heard from him.*
Mozart: *I have and told me he will come to you after the next dungeon, first thing. If he hasn't don't worry he will surface. Boys like him always do. When he does, tell him the split is 70-30 his favor. I'm not greedy. No I will tell him myself!*
Rico: *If he surfaces.*
Mozart: *When. Trust me, Vasquez. I've been tracking the underground chatter as he told me. Low-level monster parts are drying up citywide. He told me to buy and I've been buying EVERYTHING. Cores, pelts, fangs, even the shit parts nobody wants. Creating artificial scarcity.*
Rico: *So?*
Mozart: *So when our friend emerges with fresh inventory, we'll control the market. Kid's playing economics from inside a dungeon. That's not someone who stays hidden forever even from his family, that does him no good.*
Rico wanted to believe it. But three days without word...
Another text, this time with an attachment. A photo of his sister on campus, taken from distance.
He threw the phone against the wall, watching it shatter. Sixteen down.
Time to buy number seventeen.
*
Luther Cross Estate
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S NOT THERE?"
Marcus Luther Cross's roar came with shadows that filled the conference room like spilled ink. Board members flinched as darkness pressed against the windows, blocking out the morning sun.
"The secondary location was empty," the security chief reported, trying not to show fear. "But we found evidence of recent habitation. Burnt electronics. Scorch marks consistent with his power signature. He was there, but—"
"But he's GONE." Marcus's form flickered between solid and shadow. "My seventeen-year-old cripple son has outsmarted the entire Luther Cross security apparatus."
"The public relations situation is deteriorating," Victoria added, her photokinetic glow pulsing with suppressed fury. "We've had to increase the reward to one hundred million just to maintain media attention. The other Legacy families are... amused."
"Amused." Marcus tasted the word like poison. "The Sterlings sent a sympathy card. 'For the loss of your son.' As if he's dead."
"Sir," the intelligence director ventured, "we've tracked unusual activity in the underground markets. Someone is manipulating monster part supplies. The signature matches—"
"Mozart." Marcus's shadows coiled. "That money-laundering parasite. He's helping my son."
"Should we—"
"No. Mozart is protected by the Yakuza. Even I can't move against him without consequences." The admission clearly burned. "Continue surveillance. Double the pressure on the Vasquez boy. Triple it. I want every known associate questioned. No, on a second note, let him be..."
"And the penthouse?" Victoria asked.
Marcus smiled, cold as winter shadow. "Strip it. Everything. If Jayden wants to play missing, he can return to nothing. Let him see what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you."
*
Channel 9 News Studio
"Day three of what people are calling 'The Lightning Watch,'" anchor Patricia Chen announced, her practiced concern pitch-perfect. "Still no sign of Jayden Luther Cross, the seventeen-year-old late bloomer who shocked the world with his arguably Apex Grade awakening."
The screen split to show Dr. Patricia Hawthorne from the Department of Superhuman Affairs. (DSA)
"Dr. Hawthorne, should people be concerned? An untrained Apex Grade has been missing for three days."
"Concerned is a strong word," Hawthorne replied carefully. "Young Mr. Luther Cross is likely struggling to control his newfound abilities. We encourage him to reach out to proper authorities who can help—"
"But isn't it true that electrical anomalies have been detected throughout LA? Power grids fluctuating, electronics failing?"
"Minor disturbances that could have many causes—"
"What about the rumors he's gone villain? Joined one of the crime syndicates?"
Hawthorne's expression tightened. "There's no evidence to suggest—"
The screen cut to amateur footage: a figure wrapped in blue lightning, barely visible for a fraction of a second near the industrial district. The twentieth such "sighting" today.
"Where is the Lightning Prince?" Patricia asked the camera. "Hero in training? Villain in making? Or simply a scared teenager hiding from a world that wants to own him? More after these messages."
*
Mozart's Office
Mozart—born Kevin Kim but nobody called him that anymore—studied his screens with satisfaction. Six monitors showed cryptocurrency exchanges, commodity prices, and his new favorite: the underground monster parts market.
"Beautiful," he murmured, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.
In three days, he'd quietly cornered the low-level materials market. Thunder Wolf cores that sold for $500 last week now fetched $1,200. Basic pelts had tripled in price. Even garbage-tier materials were moving.
All because supply had mysteriously dried up.
His phone buzzed. One of his suppliers.
"Mozart, what the fuck? Every processor in the city is out of Level 5-15 materials. New awakened are desperate. You holding?"
"Supply chain disruptions," Mozart lied smoothly. "You know how it is. Gates are unpredictable."
"This is artificial as fuck and you know it."
"Prove it."
The caller hung up. Mozart smiled, pulling up another screen. Forty-seven storage units across LA, each one climate-controlled and warded, each one packed with "mysteriously acquired" monster parts.
When Jayden emerged—and he would emerge—they'd flood the market with fresh inventory at peak prices. Conservative estimate? Fifty million in profit. And that was just the beginning.
His secure phone chimed. The one only his most valuable contacts had.
JCL: *70-30 split. Acceptable. Have infrastructure ready for large volume. Very large.*
Mozart's smile widened. The kid was alive. More than alive—he was hunting.
Mozart: *How large are we talking?*
JCL: *Shipping container. Maybe two. High quality, preserved properly.*
Mozart: *Timeline?*
JCL: *Soon. Keep the market hungry.*
The message deleted itself. Mozart leaned back, fingers steepled.
Jayden Luther Cross wasn't just training in that dungeon. He was building inventory.
"Brilliant little bastard," Mozart said to his empty office. "Absolutely brilliant."
Jayden Luther Cross Penthouse
The moving trucks worked with efficiency, stripping seventeen years of life from the penthouse. Victoria Luther Cross supervised personally, her light casting harsh shadows on bare walls.
"The car collection?" the foreman asked.
"Everything. Storage unit in Riverside. Climate-controlled." She touched a scorched wall where Jayden had clearly lost control once. "Make sure to document all damage. Insurance purposes."
Adrian materialized in a burst of flame, his expression unreadable. "You're really doing this?"
"Your father's orders." Victoria didn't meet her elder son's eyes. "Jayden chose to abandon his family. Consequences follow choices."
"He didn't abandon us. We abandoned him. For seventeen fucking years."
"Watch your language."
"Why? Afraid I'll embarrass the family?" Adrian laughed bitterly. "News flash, Mom. We already did that. Every time everyone called him cripple. Every time y'all made him eat in the kitchen. Every time—"
"Enough." Victoria's light flared. "What's done is done. When Jayden returns, he'll understand that Luther Cross resources come with Luther Cross loyalty."
"If he returns."
"He'll return. He has nowhere else to go."
Adrian watched them pack his brother's life into boxes. The gaming setup Jayden had built himself. The photos from before—when they'd still pretended to be a family. The trading awards he'd won, proof that he'd been exceptional even without powers.
"You're wrong," Adrian said quietly. "He's got everywhere else to go. That's what you don't understand. We were his nowhere. Everything else? That's his somewhere."
He vanished in flames before Victoria could respond.
She stood in the empty penthouse, light dimming. Three days. Three days of silence from her youngest son.
It felt like seventeen years.