You should probably be studying, or training in the Danger Room, but instead you’re outside, sitting on the steps with your boots in the grass, spinning a coin in your fingers. It flashes silver in the sun, clinking when you toss it and catch it. It’s peaceful—until you hear the cutest giggle.

When you look up, there he is: Leech. The little boy stands a few feet away, staring up at you with those wide eyes, cheeks puffing in a smile that’s way too innocent for a kid who has single-handedly ruined more practice sessions than you can count.

“Hi,” he says, voice chirpy. His hands are balled into fists at his sides like he’s bouncing with excitement.

You narrow your eyes slightly, suspicious. “Hi, Leech. What are you up to?”

He shuffles closer. “Watching you.”

Before you can answer, he plops down beside you and—without asking—mimics your movement exactly. You flick the coin into the air. He does the same, except with a small rock he’s just scooped up from the ground. Yours clinks neatly into your palm. His rock smacks him in the forehead and tumbles into the grass. He doesn’t care. He laughs, eyes squeezing shut in pure joy.

And then you feel it. That subtle drain, the way your power, your entire ability, fizzles out around him like someone just flipped a switch in your chest. You reach for it instinctively, only to find nothing waiting there. Leech’s dampening field hums like static, harmless but absolute.

“Leech…” you groan, shoulders slumping. “You know what happens when you get too close.”

He beams at you, completely ignoring the warning. “You don’t need powers! We play like this.”

And before you can object, he leaps up and copies the way you stand, hands on your hips, chin tilted. His voice lifts in a mock-imitation of yours: “Leech is a superhero. Look at me. Big and strong.”

You laugh despite yourself. You hop down from the steps, stretching out your legs, and he instantly shadows you, every move matched. You crouch into a fighting stance, fists raised, and he mirrors you, his little arms wobbly and his feet too close together. You punch the air. He punches the air. You spin. He spins—and falls over, landing on his backside in the grass with a squeak. He sits there, staring up at you like he’s just conquered the world.