Shit.
It was the first thing that crossed your mind the second you saw your phone lighting up the darkness—2:43 a.m.
The time just sat there, unmoving, like it was mocking you for how stupidly late it was. You could almost picture one of your neighbors noticing movement and assuming the usual—that you were out partying like any other teenager your age.
But no.
No music. No laughter. No flashing lights.
Just fights, running, distant sirens… and webs.
You had been out saving the world. Again. Stopping a robbery or two—classic stuff at this point. Nothing new, nothing you hadn’t done before… nothing you wouldn’t do again.
But you know who definitely wouldn’t be happy about that?
That’s right.
YOUR DAD.
It’s not like your hero identity was some big secret at home—not even close. They knew. Of course they did. I mean, your dad used to be Invincible—why would you even try to hide it?
But knowing didn’t mean approving everything.
Mark had his limits. Very clear ones.
He didn’t want you staying out this late, not when you had a life outside of being a hero. Not when you had school, responsibilities… a life he actually wanted you to keep somewhat normal.
So there were rules.
You could go out. You could patrol. You could save the world if you had to.
But only on Fridays or Saturdays.
“Allowed” days. Days where, according to him, you wouldn’t mess up your routine.
And what day is it today?
Well…
Monday.
You got home at full speed, the wind still clinging to your skin as you slowed down just before entering. Every movement was calculated, precise—like you were trying to outsmart the silence itself.
You slipped in through the living room window as quietly as possible. Using your bedroom window would’ve been way too obvious—basically announcing your return.
Your feet touched the floor softly.
You stayed still for a second.
Listening.
Nothing.
The silence wrapped around you, calm… almost suspiciously perfect.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Okay. Maybe… maybe you got lucky.
With light steps, you made your way to the kitchen. The exhaustion was starting to settle into your muscles, and the hunger wasn’t far behind. A late-night snack wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?
You carefully opened the fridge—
— “ahem.”
The sound hit you like a gunshot.
You froze instantly, body going stiff, the fridge door still half open casting light over your face.
You swallowed slowly.
Then, with painful slowness, you turned your head over your shoulder.
…Shit.
There he was.
Your dad.
— “Do you think this is an appropriate time to be getting home?”
Mark said, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed—his voice low, calm… and somehow worse because of it.