We're not allowed on the roof. That's what the landlord says, but if a rule isn't enforced, is it really a rule? I stand on top of the building, November wind blowing through my hair, but it doesn't bother me much. That was a perk with the powers I didn't get cold anymore. It's like my body was a chimney, and my insides a fireplace. I breathe out slowly, looking at the corner of the roof covered in a small pile of bricks. The pile was old. Some of the bricks were falling apart on their own, but it would work for now.

  I pick one up and lay it upright against the safety rails. I need to get a better handle on my strength. There was a growing pile of broken forks in my drawer, and it was starting to get annoying. Thank God the smoke never went off on its own. I used the strength on purpose when I jumped two days ago, but I didn't really feel it--I didn't really understand it. And that's something I hated. So I focused, really felt for the strength. The unnatural, constant heat in my chest flows into my leg and then my foot, reinforcing it. I lash out, my foot flying through the air, and the brick explodes, shrapnel flying. I pull my foot back, standing on the other. I feel the bottom of my foot through the shoe; nothing's broken, albeit a little sore, but I had kicked a brick, and by all measures, I was fine. The heat leaves my foot and centers itself back in my chest. I breathe out, and my breath comes out hot and black--smoke. I breathe out a steady stream of smoke for a moment, and then my breath returns to normal. I stare at it as it slowly flows up and dissipates in the wind, confused.

  "People already breathe out CO2; maybe I'm just breathing out excess after I use my strength," I think out loud.

  I set my foot down and grin. This was gonna be fun. Dashing towards the pile, I grab a brick, holding it between my hands. I gotta be able to do it fast. I throw the brick in the air. I quickly focus the heat in my arm, and when the brick comes down, I swat it out of the air with my fist. The brick explodes, and dust gets all over me. I smirk and wipe myself off. The heat centers itself in my chest slowly, and I breathe out smoke like before.

  That was one thing down. I drop myself on the floor, sitting cross-legged, holding my head with my hands. Smoke and strength that still didn’t explain how I slipped through the gate. I rack my brain for a while, trying to explain to myself how it happened until I perk up, getting an idea. I sit up straight and hold my right arm out, holding my wrist with the left. I close my eyes and focus the heat from my chest into my hand and hold it there. Slowly, I open my hand up, pulling the heat out from my bones to the muscles and then the skin. As it gets further out, it gets more intense until it feels like my hand is burning as it turns into smoke. Black waves up from my hand, but my hand keeps shaking, having a red-orange ember hue on the inside, glowing outwards. After a split second of amazement, I feel my hand burning, and I panic, shaking my hand. The smoke flies off my hand towards the bricks like a blast, and the whole pile detonates, and the heat goes back to my chest. I hold my hand, blowing on it softly, trying to soothe the pain. The whole appendage is red and raw like I had dunked my hand in boiling water. What would have happened If i didn't turn it off in time? I stuff that in the back of my mind for now and focus in the blast

  "That was new."

  I get up slowly and look over at the damage. The corner of the roof is just covered in soot. I had hit the center of the pile, and those bricks were just a charred mess. Further out from the center, the bricks had shattered. What a mess. I go back to my spot and sit. I could turn my body into smoke; that's how I got through the fence. It hurt bad, though--being like that burned my real body. But that blast was different; it was solid, or it wouldn't have broken the bricks. I close my eyes and focus the heat into my other hand. I pull the heat outwards, but not through the whole appendage, just my palm. Slowly, smoke starts to lightly billow in my hand. I focus and make the point smaller, and my hand starts to fill up with soot. I smile, finally getting the hang of the smoke, and I cut the heat, letting it settle back into my chest. I wipe the soot off my hand.

  I feel my phone go off and pull it out. It’s a text from my mom. She’d sent me an article about what happened on Halloween. I groan. I didn’t know what to expect, but this was the last thing I wanted to talk about with her. Because what’s happening to me is probably happening to Eliot. There’s no way he’d do that on purpose. There’s no way.

  I turn my eyes to the time: 1:53.

  “Mom said she'd home by 2. I should head down.”

  I pick myself up and head back down to the apartment, shower, and change. When I’m done, I hear the door open and Mom walking in.

  “Jacob, I brought food.”

  She sounds upset. I walk into the main room and help her with the bags. I set them on the table and sit down with her to eat. She looks deep in thought, tapping against the table. She passes me my food a simple club and fries from a deli we frequent. We eat in silence for a minute, aside from the constant drone of her tapping.

  “Did you see the article I sent you?”

  “...Yeah.”

  “Has Eliot called you or any--”

  “No, Mom.”

  “If you see him, you need to call the pol--”

  “You want me to turn my best friend in to the police?”

  “Yes, Jacob! Did you hear what he did to that boy?”

  “That guy’s been harassing Eliot for months.”

  “So he deserved it, Jacob?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “That he literally got pushed into a corner, and Eliot defended himself. There’s no way he meant to--”

  “Jacob, you don’t know that. It doesn’t matter what he meant, it’s what he did.”

  I put my head down, my fist tightening under the table heat flowing into it. I was probably the only other person that knew that I understood what he was going through, and I still couldn’t say anything to defend him.

  “...”

  “Jacob, I understand he’s your friend, but I’m just worried about your safety. If you see him, call the police, alright, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  I look down at my food my appetite completely gone. I wrap my food back up and bring in to the fridge. I walk back and sit down with her in silence for a while after a minute she gets up slowly.

  "Jacob I'm going to work in a hour, can you be a dear and iron my work shirt please"

  "Sure mom"

  ■

  I stand in front of the mirror, staring at myself. I had thrown together an outfit to try and mask my identity. I wore a black hoodie and a black face warmer that covered from my neck to my nose. I had gotten a nice pair of black hunting gloves that I immediately ruined by cutting out the palms to let out smoke. I look down at my boots; they were a nice, heavy pair of steel toes that used to belong to Dad. Now they’re mine. I check the time: 8:30. I was just gonna run around for a couple of hours, help anyone who needed it, and then ask if they’d seen Eliot.

  I open my window and crawl out, climbing up the steps to the roof. I stare at the next building over and the drop. I feel my heart race; I was gonna stay on the roofs, jumping from building to building like I was some comic book character. One mistake, one short jump, and I was done. I take a deep breath to calm myself and feel the heat snake down to my legs. I run into my jump, soaring over the gap, pushing against the rushing wind. I land on my feet, sliding against the tile on the next roof, barely stopping myself from tipping over. I breathe out through my mask even if it wasn’t smoke, I would have been able to see it. Winter came early this year, and it’s barely above freezing. I feel adrenaline start to rush through me, and so does my excitement. I sprint into the next jump, barely containing the urge to yell.

  I go like that for a couple of blocks until I jump over a man sleeping at a bus stop. I land on the side of the adjacent building and jump to a street lamp, grabbing it and sliding down like a fireman’s pole. I walk over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He recoils at the touch, surprised. He’s an older man, I’d guess in his late fifties. His face is weathered, deeply lined, and covered in a scruffy beard that had long since turned gray. He’s covered in thin, mismatched layers and still shaking.

  “You good, sir?”

  He tries to talk, but all that comes out are deep, bone-rattling coughs. It takes him a moment to collect himself.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Are you just here to bother me, kid?”

  “Nah, you got somewhere to go?”

  “Nah, is that a problem?”

  “No, free country, just real cold out, sir.”

  He laughs ruefully. “Tell me about it.”

  “Look, there’s a homeless shelter on Kingwood. This bus goes right there. I don’t want you sleeping outside, gramps.”

  “Fine, I’ll check it out, kid.”

  I turn to leave but then turn back around.

  “Do you know if anyone else around here doesn’t have a place to sleep?”

  “There’s Linda a couple blocks that way,” he points lazily to his left. “And there’s a group of people at that War Memorial Park I forgot the name,the one with the cannon.”

  “Union Grove Park?”

  “Yeah, that one!”

  I hear the bus pulling up down the street, and the man slowly gets up.

  “Wait, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  I pull out my phone and show him a picture of Eliot.

  “Have you seen my friend around? He’s been missing for the past couple of days.”

  He stares at the photo for a moment and frowns.

  “I haven’t seen him, sorry. If I do, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him... what’s your name?"

  I pause for a moment, not knowing what to tell him. I wanted to keep this as much of a secret as possible, and giving out my name wouldn’t help with that. He starts to notice and a blurt a reply

  “Just say J, he’ll get it.”

  I hear the tires of the bus squeak as the door opens. The man waves goodbye and gets on, and I watch the bus drive off. Next was Linda, and then the Grove. I step out from under the stop and start running in the direction he pointed.

  And I go like this for a couple hours ping ponging form person to person

  ■

  I started heading home at 11. Mom was usually home by 2, but I wanted to be back by 1. The wind hadn't died down, and I thanked God for the thousandth time for how my powers worked. I looked down at the streets to get my bearings. I wasn’t very far from home a few more blocks and I'd be there. Then I heard a yell at street level and stopped on the roof above, looking over. The screaming was coming from a restaurant. I took a closer look and realized it was the same place I hid in a couple of days ago. I jumped down, using a street lamp to slow my fall, and the scene became clear. I walked across the empty street, listening to the confrontation.

  "This isn't enough money, Yusuf," and then a crash.

  "That's all I've got this we--" I heard a yelp and more things breaking.

  I made it across and slowly opened the door. Bells chimed, signaling my entrance to the group. I scanned the restaurant five people. Three were sitting, watching their friend kick who I assumed was Yusuf’s stuff around. The man standing turned around, looked at me, then at his friends, and laughed.

  "The fuck are you supposed to be?"

  "Get off him and get the fuck out."

  "I don't like your tone."

  "That's not really my problem."

  He got up off Yusuf and looked at his friends, signaling towards me. They laughed again, and one got up slowly and walked towards me. He was tall, an inch or two more than me, and well-built, with a crown tattooed right under his right eye.

  "Come on, kid," he said, reaching out for my shoulder with his right hand, laughing. "Go play dress-up somewhe--"

  I slammed my fist against his chin, and his legs turned to putty, crumpling immediately. I felt the heat flow into my leg, and as he was going down, I side-kicked him, sending him flying back into a table, collapsing it. His friends barely got up in time for his body to miss them. They looked back at me, and I tried my best not to smile under the mask.

  "So who's next?"

  One of them picked up a chair and hurled it at me. I caught it before it slammed into the windows behind me and then slammed it down onto the guy rushing me, shattering it. The chair hurler pulled a knife and rushed at me, slashing diagonally. I sidestepped, letting the blade slide right by me, and gut-checked the man. He stumbled but stayed up, thrusting his knife at me again. I grabbed his wrist, stopping it short as heat flowed into my palm, forcing his arm back. He screamed, and I held my hand there for a moment before slamming my fist into his face, dropping him, and leaving a palm-shaped burn on his wrist.

  I heard a click, and my whole body rushed with heat. On instinct, I turned fast to the last goon, my hand turning to smoke. I saw the gun in his hand, but I was faster, swiping my hand at him and a blast flying at him, sending him flying over the counter. I rushed over, jumped the counter, and kicked the weapon out of his hand.

  I looked over the man I hit; his whole body was covered in a layer of ash. I had hit center mass, and the chest of his shirt had burned off, clearly showing his chest covered in burns rising and falling. I whice looking down at him didn't mean to hit him that hard, but he did point a gun at me. I pull off my glove to look at the damage on my hand. It had started to turn red and the skin on my plan starting to peel off.My next few breaths were completely black as I walked back towards the store owner. He was lying on the floor, watching the fight in shock. He stared at me for a moment, shaking.

  "I kinda made a mess."

  "You think? My store's practically an ashtray."

  I breathed out a plume of smoke in front of him, and he got livid.

  "And stop doing that! It's a miracle you haven't set off an alarm yet."

  "I can't help it, sorry. I'll help clean up, OK?"

  "You better."

  I offered him a hand up, and he took it, though apprehensively. He walked away into a back room, bringing back brooms, and we got to cleaning. After a few minutes, we had taken care of most of the mess, and I had moved the men to a booth.

  "So, these guys bother you a lot?"

  "Yeah, they make a lot of shops pay protection fees," his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "They're Kings?"

  "How'd you know?"

  "One has a crown under his eye."

  "Yeah, you're right. Does it really matter?"

  "No, not really. One other question. You know any other stores these guys are bothering?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  I pointed at the knocked-out men. "What do you think?"