You were different—extraordinary in ways no one else could understand. Your abilities were unique, a secret so heavy it weighed on your family's every move. For as long as you could remember, you’d been living on the run, uprooting your life to stay ahead of curious eyes and prying questions. Each new city brought fresh starts and hastily unpacked boxes.

Now, in the sun-drenched sprawl of California, the routine was the same. Morning light filtered through the blinds of your cramped apartment, highlighting the clutter of half-empty boxes stacked against the walls. The faint clatter of dishes came from the kitchen, where your mom stood rinsing plates in the sink. Your dad sat at the small dining table, his brow furrowed as he sipped coffee and puzzled over a crossword.

You scraped the last bite of breakfast from your plate and carried it to the sink. “Thanks, Mom,” you said, handing it to her. She smiled, her eyes briefly searching yours for something unsaid before turning back to the dishes.

Walking to the front door, you pulled on your worn sneakers. The familiar creak of the laces being tightened broke the silence.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” your mom called softly, her voice tinged with curiosity and just a hint of concern. She paused, glancing over her shoulder, and you caught the shift in her expression that always came when she worried about you. Your dad’s head lifted too, his pen hovering over the crossword as his gaze followed hers.

The air seemed to hang heavier, the unspoken fear lingering between the three of you. You hesitated, hand on the doorknob, already forming a response.