Dev ended up walking over a few stations that night instead of taking the subway directly. He wanted to refamiliarize himself with the forgotten scenery—it was also a plus that he got to enjoy the fresh, cold night air for the first time in what felt like forever.

  He finally made it back home around two in the morning and passed out the moment he hit the bed. After the day he had, sleep came easy.

  The next morning, he was jolted awake by aggressive knocking on his bedroom door—like someone was trying to punch a hole straight through it.

  Groggy and half-asleep, he shuffled over and opened the door, hair a complete mess and sleep still clinging to his face.

  Babak stood there, eyebrows raised, mouth twisted into a half-snarl.

  “We need to talk,” Babak said, his voice serious.

  “Babs, it’s 10 a.m. on a Saturday. Why are you banging on my door so early?” Dev muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  Babak looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “DUDE. You screened my calls last night. And my texts. Did you even read through any of them?”

  “I was pretty tired,” Dev said with a yawn. “I was focused on something else. Didn’t really have time to go through them all.”

  “You know how worried I was after the visit I got? What the hell were you doing out until 2 a.m. with a cast? There’s no way you were hobbling through crowded bars with your goddamn crutc—”

  Babak stopped mid-rant, his eyes dropping to Dev’s legs. He froze.

  The cast was gone. No wraps. No limp. Both legs looked perfectly fine, like one of them hadn’t been fully encased in plaster just yesterday.

  “What. The hell.” Babak’s voice dropped an octave. “What happened to your cast? You were literally in wheelchair yesterday.”

  Dev shrugged. “It’s… gone?”

  Babak demanded. “How are you walking? I might not be a med student, but even I know that thing should’ve taken weeks to heal.”

  There was a beat.

  Babek blinked, lips twitching into a tired frown. “Be straight with me, man—what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “Visit? What are yo—” Dev scoffed, waving it off. “Look, Babs, relax. Let’s go get some food and I’ll tell you as much as I can, alright?

  Dev took a breathe and continued “it’s obvious we both have some important things to share.”

  Babak stared at him for a long moment, jaw clenched, eyes slightly narrowed. He looked his friend up and down like he was trying to solve an equation that didn’t add up. Finally, he let out a long breath.

  “Fine. Fair enough. This is definitely long overdue anyway.”

  “Good. Let me get ready and we can head out. I’m thinking Jenny’s—I haven’t had pancakes in ages.”

  Dev shut the door before Babak could reply. Left in the hallway, Babak stared at the closed door with a bewildered expression.

  “This motherfucker had pancakes last week,” he muttered under his breath.

  ……

  The walk to Jenny’s was only five minutes. It was a little diner tucked into the corner of their block—small, family-owned, and named after its owner, who also happened to be the cook.

  Before everything went to shit, they used to come here nearly every morning to grab a breakfast sandwich to-go, they were regulars. The place also claimed to have the best pancakes in the city. Dev had never really cared to find out whether that was true or not.

  But right now—sitting at their usual booth, staring at a massive stack of blueberry pancakes drenched in maple syrup—he knew in his soul that it didn’t matter.

  He picked up his fork and immediately began slicing through the stack like it was birthday cake, shoveling a giant bite into his mouth.

  A low moan escaped him.

  The pancakes were fluffy, just the right balance of airy and dense, the kind that melted on the tongue without turning soggy. The blueberries were plump and bursting, tangy-sweet in a way that cut through the rich maple glaze. The butter had soaked into the top layer, adding just enough salt to balance everything out.

  It was perfect.

  Babak, meanwhile, sat across from him, halfheartedly poking at his omelet. He glanced at Dev’s absurdly full tray—pancakes, French toast, a mountain of hashbrowns, a stack of bacon, and a second omelet with extra cheese.

  Babak looked visibly concerned.

  “Why are you eating like you’ve been starving for months?” he said, slightly disgusted. “The food’s not going anywhere, bruh.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Dev glanced up mid-bite, cheeks full, maple syrup clinging to the corner of his mouth. He grinned.

  And honestly? Babak wasn’t wrong.

  he had spent nearly a decade surviving on MREs and field rations—food that tasted like cardboard and regret. He had forgotten what a freshly cooked meal even tasted like.

  And by god… it tasted good.

  He took a sip of his coffee, washing down the mouthful with a satisfied sigh. “You know me, man—actions speak louder than words. And this food? It needs more than all the good words in the world.”

  “I know that’s right,” came a voice from behind the counter.

  Jenny, the owner herself, leaned on her elbows as she shot them a grin. “You could learn a lil’ somethin’ from your friend here,” she said, nodding toward Dev. “Especially on how to eat. Put some meat on your bones, boy.”

  Dev jabbed a fork in Babak’s direction, grinning. “Yeah, Babs, listen to Jenny. Eat up so you can get big and strong.”

  “That’s Miss Jenny to you, boy,” she called back with mock sternness.

  Dev raised both hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

  He turned back to Babak with a smirk. “Yea Babs—listen to Miss Jenny.”

  Babak rolled his eyes and shoved a big bite of omelet into his mouth. With a smirk, he muttered, “Man, shut your big back ass up.”

  Dev just smiled wider, chewing contentedly, his mouth full of blueberry-soaked bliss.

  Babak leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Alright—you first. What the hell happened to you last night?”

  Dev gave him the basic rundown. He left out the parts about Rowan—that wasn’t his secret to tell—but told him about how he’d awakened. How the process had somehow healed his foot completely. And how he’d spent the rest of the day testing his abilities.

  Which, technically, wasn’t a lie.

  Babak’s eyes widened. “Wait—so you’re like those guys on TV? The ones who can fly and shoot fire out their hands?”

  “Yeah… basically,” Dev said, nodding as he sipped his coffee.

  Babak leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Show me.”

  Dev raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Here?”

  “Nothing flashy, obviously,” Babak said, glancing around the diner. “Just a lil’ something, you know?”

  Dev sighed, setting his utensils down. “Alright. Just a little something.”

  He raised his hands and held them out in front of him, palms facing each other. Then, with a quick internal nudge, he activated [Yaksha’s Spark].

  A flicker of blue current zipped to life between his fingers, arcs of electricity crackling and dancing in the small space like living lightning.

  Babak’s mouth dropped open. “Woahhh”

  And just as suddenly as it appeared, the spark vanished. Dev lowered his hands like nothing had happened and picked his fork back up.

  “Cool enough for you?”

  Babak cleared his throat “Neat party trick”

  Dev raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I said my piece. Your turn—what’s this about a visit?”

  Babak set his fork down and leaned in, voice dropping a notch. “Some guy showed up at our door last night. Said he was with Pantheon.”

  Dev’s eyes narrowed. “Name?”

  “Detective Jiménez. Hispanic dude. Sharp features, green eyes—like, unnaturally green. Shorter than me, maybe 5'8" tops.”

  Dev’s grip on his coffee mug tightened slightly. “Go on.”

  “I caught him lurking in front of the apartment and asked what he was doing. He acted all casual, like he’d just been knocking and figured nobody was home. Then he asked if I was you.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him I was your roommate. He flashed a badge—Pantheon-issued, looked real. Said he was from the Awakened Incident Investigation Division. Claimed he needed to ask you some follow-up questions about the Gate incident.”

  Dev frowned. “Bullshit. I already gave a statement. Twice.”

  “Exactly what I said. But he kept pressing. Said it was ‘urgent.’ Told me not to get defensive. But man…” Babak shook his head. “Something felt wrong. The way he looked at me—it wasn’t normal.”

  Dev leaned in slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” Babak hesitated, searching for the right words. “His eyes, man. When I pushed back? They changed. Just for a second. Pupils went vertical—like a kind of feline, almost like a cat’s or a jaguar’s. Like he was thinking about lunging.”

  Dev stilled, his fork hovering in the air.

  “But then the old lady from across the hall came out with her laundry basket,” Babak continued. “And just like that, his whole vibe changed. Smile back on. Like flipping a switch.”

  Dev’s voice was flat. “He left?”

  “Yeah. Gave me a card. Walked away. But before he did, he turned back and said...” Babak's voice dropped even lower, mimicking the tone. “‘Tell your friend to call me. Otherwise... I might come back with something worse than a warrant.’”

  Babak exhaled slowly and pushed the card across the table.

  It was plain—white cardstock, crisp edges, matte finish. It had a contact number and a name printed in clean serif lettering: Adrian Jiménez. a title of detective. Just that, and a faint watermark he recognized—from Pantheon

  He stared at it, not touching it.

  eyeing the card and the number written on it. He had a feeling about this Jiménez—if that was even his real name. It was something Rowan had mentioned before: the eyes, the way they turned to slits. It was definitely a transformation-type innate ability.

  If this was who he thought it might be, based on the rest of the description, then calling the number might not be the worst-case scenario.

  Either way, he needed to know for sure who this person was—and why he was trying to interrogate him. Especially if he had the ability to back up his threats.

  Because the truth was—whatever Jiménez was...

  He wasn’t with Pantheon.

  And he had the sinking feeling he’d just been noticed by someone, for better or worse he did not know.

  “Did you call the number on the card?” Dev asked quietly.

  “Hell no,” Babak said. “Respectfully, dude—this is your bullshit. That guy gave me bad vibes. I just got home from work—I was not about to fall down that rabbit hole.”

  “Good,” Dev muttered. “Because based on what you told me, that guy was definitely a Hunter. Whether he’s actually with Pantheon or not? That’s still up for debate.”

  “You want me to do some digging?” Babak asked, already shifting into work mode. “I could hit up that cyber guy again—the one from last time.”

  Dev shook his head. “No. Like you said, this is my bullshit. I’ll figure something out. Besides—if Jiménez has enough juice to pull something like this off, he’s probably covering his tracks. And I’m not gonna sit around waiting while you try to dig through encrypted mud.”

  “Alright,” Babak said, nodding. “Fair enough.”

  He took another bite of his omelet, then added around a mouthful, “Oh—and one more thing. I might need your help with some of the ManaTech Solutions stuff.”

  Dev raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll need some help drafting a proposal. I already made the trade, but now my boss wants me to get in touch with the VC branch. And since you’re the one who gave me the tip about it, I figured you could help me not sound like a complete idiot.”

  Babak nodded to himself, then leaned in slightly. “Also—someone’s been filing patents through shell companies. Real subtle stuff. Staggered dates, slightly tweaked names—classic obfuscation play. A buddy of mine flagged it. Says it’s all pointing back to ManaTech one way or another.”

  Dev leaned back, his expression shifting—eyes narrowing as he tapped his fingers against the mug.

  “Alright,” he said slowly. “We’ll talk about ManaTech.”

  He looked down at the business card one more time.

  “After I figure out if I need to be worried about some fake cop with snake eyes watching our front door.”