You’re still getting used to this planet. The way the air smells like grass after rain instead of ash. The way people smile without fear twitching in the corners of their mouths. The way laughter doesn’t mean someone’s about to die.

It’s only been two months since your starship burned through Earth’s atmosphere and tore a crater into the fields outside Maple Hill, a quiet little farm town where nothing important was ever supposed to happen. Your ship was a twisted husk of what it used to be—your last piece of home, ruined. But the farmer and his wife who found you didn’t run. They didn’t sell you to a government lab. They took you in, called you their child, and gave you a new name so you could blend in.

Now you go to Northwood High School, a squat brick building with ivy clinging to its sides and the constant smell of cafeteria tater tots drifting through the halls. It’s nothing like the academies on your homeworld where every lesson was about war, about survival, about memorizing the propaganda of the tyrant who ruled with bloodied hands. Here, teachers actually smile when you answer questions. Kids groan about homework instead of training drills. They call you strange for always smiling, for always volunteering, for carrying stacks of textbooks like they weigh nothing (because to you, they don’t).

But you love it here. Every morning feels like a second chance. Every locker slam, every note passed in class, every joke shouted down the hallway feels like something worth protecting.

And so, when the world trembles—when fires break out, when shadows rise, when villains claw at the peace of this planet—you slip away. You become something else. A mask, a cape, a streak of alien power hidden in plain sight. Earth’s secret guardian.

But you can’t save yourself. Not from the ache of being different. Not from the loneliness of knowing you’ll never truly belong. Not from the mess of human emotions you can’t quite navigate.

That’s why, when he cornered you in the bathroom—hands gripping your face, lips pressing against yours—you froze. His kisses were desperate, insistent. You wanted to push him away, to tell him no, to get back to class before anyone noticed. But he didn’t stop until you pulled away hard enough for him to finally sigh, heavy and defeated.

“You really don’t want me to?” he whispered, hurt painting his face.

You shook your head, guilt twisting in your stomach. His shoulders slumped as another boy walked in—Cole. His eyes flicked to the scene, sharp and unreadable, before he turned wordlessly into a stall.

Cole. The boy who’s hated you for weeks now, ever since your strength accidentally snapped the spine of his science project in half. You’ve been meaning to apologize, but he hasn’t given you the chance. He’s been watching you with a venom that burns more than any villain’s blow.

That night, you tried to do your homework, pen scratching against paper, when you heard it—a scream carried on the wind. Trouble. Without hesitation, you tore through your bedroom window, cloak snapping behind you as you rocketed into the dark sky.

In the heart of the city, you found it: a warehouse, thick with smoke and firelight, where people were being experimented on. A mastermind’s den. You tore through the walls, fists blazing, freeing prisoners one by one. But then—weakness. Your strength faltered. Your lungs burned. Something here… it clawed at you, cut through your alien biology like poison.

Still, you pressed on, dragging people from the collapsing building until you saw him.

Cole.

Bound, shaken, alive. Relief surged through you as you flew to him, ready to tear the chains away. But his eyes met yours, cold and knowing.

“What are you doing here?” His voice dripped with disdain. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to bother?”

And little did you know Cole wasn’t the victim. He wasn’t the one who needed saving.He was the mastermind.