add to library!
The digital clock on the wall blinked 00:00 as Avery finally completed the full Esper diagnostics.
The PSB officer tossed her a stack of crisp federation bills and a fresh tracksuit—no "welcome to superhuman club" pamphlet, apparently—before locking her in the temporary lodging unit. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving her alone with the hum of fluorescent lights and the weight of her new reality.
Steam curled off her skin as she stepped out of the shower, towel-drying her hair.
The mirror fogged at the edges, but her reflection stared back—the kind of face that could launch a thousand lawsuits.
High cheekbones, full lips, eyes too big to be innocent. God damn, I hit the genetic lottery.
She swept damp bangs aside, examining herself. Her skin was flawless, almost unreal. Lean, yes—but beneath that deceptive softness, firm muscle moved with predatory precision.
Not just cute. The dangerous kind of pretty that made people underestimate her right up until the knife went in.
Somewhere, through different eyes, that body would've inspired a different kind of appreciation. A touch that lingered half a second longer than needed.
A gaze that mapped curves not for combat but for conquest.
She flexed her fingers. At a thought, her right hand shifted.
Snikt.
Five shimmering blades of hardened light arced from her fingertips—each humming a different lethal pitch.
[Elemental-class ability detected.]
LUSTRA's voice cut in, tighter than usual.
Avery flicked her wrist, and the blades dissolved into golden mist. "What's wrong?"
[Warning: Bureau records classify you as Augment-class with 98.7% confidence.]
"Wow, a whole 1.3% margin for error." She rolled her eyes. "How scientific."
The girl in the mirror looked impossibly young. Pointed chin. Big, wide eyes. A faint dimple flickered near her lip when she smirked.
Avery tilted her head. "Note to self: never get bangs again." She looked like some anime schoolgirl. At least the claws balanced it out.
She raised a hand—blades flicked out—snip. Her bangs fell in a perfectly blunt cut.
[Query: Intentional aesthetic adjustment?]
"Call it a rebrand," Avery muttered.
She turned sideways, admiring the silhouette. Like a sports car disguised as a compact. Cute exterior, terrifying engine.
"Clearly, I'm Heaven's favorite." She winked at her reflection, then immediately scowled. Fuck, even her scowls were adorable.
The universe clearly had a sick sense of humor—giving a corporate shark this doll-like packaging.
Perfect for luring prey.
Outside the window, a distant explosion pulsed—some other Esper testing their limits, or maybe just the universe laughing.
By the time the sun rose over the skyline of Emberfield, Avery Blake had officially completed her Esper registration.
DNA logged. Biometrics mapped. Body scanned, tagged, and ready for government-grade scrutiny.
She sat cross-legged in the intake lounge, flipping through the personnel files handed to her by the PSB officer. Two names stood out in bold:
Nick Barnes — Height: 6'1". Hair: Red spikes. Affiliation: distant cousin of Bianca White.
Rick Dalton — Height: 5'8". Stocky build. Known criminal record. Also related to Bianca.
"Familiar faces," Avery muttered, lips twisting.
Before she could process further, the steel door slammed open.
A man strode in, all harsh angles and sharper ego. His dark suit was immaculately tailored, his hair gelled within an inch of its life, and his wire-rimmed glasses gleamed like judgment.
"I'm Frank Parker. Legal representative for the families of the deceased."
He dropped a briefcase on the table and clicked it open with theatrical disgust.
"Miss Blake, I suggest you lawyer up. The families are pressing for double homicide—and they want blood."
Avery didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Frank frowned at her composure. Then, clearly not liking the silence, shoved his comms device in her face. "Your father wishes to speak with you."
She took the device with a calm hand. Tapped speaker. Enabled recording. A tiny flicker of action that made Frank's eye twitch.
[LUSTRA: Incoming—High-tier Esper signature. Identity: Soren Wolfe. Distance: 42 meters and closing.]
The doors hissed open.
Soren Wolfe walked in like a loaded gun. Each step landed with precision, coat swinging behind him, silver hair gleaming under the sterile PSB lights. His uniform was dark and unforgiving, epaulets gleaming with quiet menace.
The entire intake floor held its breath.
Avery didn't turn. Her voice was clipped and cold.
"Talk."
A sob cut through the speaker.
"Avery... why are you being so mean to me?"
Chloe Blake, sugary-sweet and trembling, continued,
"You shoved me, Avery. Daddy and Ethan only tried to talk some sense into you and you threw a tantrum and ran off.
Nick and Rick were just being protective—because they care about me—and you... you slaughtered them like some kind of monster!"
Avery's jaw tightened. The tears. The wobbly pitch. An Oscar in the making—if sociopathy was a genre.
Then the phone was snatched.
"You disgrace!"
Richard Blake's voice roared through the comms, dripping with fury and shame.
"You think you can act like some rabid animal and hide behind our name?
You killed her family—people who trusted you! Admit it now, Avery!
The Blake family will not cover for a murderer. If you still have a shred of decency left, you'll confess.
Because we have no place for a criminal in this family. Not you. Not anymore."