Neon glass and steel blur together as you run.

Your boots slap against the pavement, splashing through last night’s rain, and the city answers you with alarms, angry horns, and the distant sound of something exploding two blocks over. You did that because it’s fun. Because order hates being poked, and nothing embodies order quite like Patriot.

You hear him before you see him. A sharp intake of breath, disciplined, controlled.

“Stop!” he shouts, voice carrying far too well for a boy his age. “You’re going to hurt someone!”

You laugh and vault over a knocked-over newsstand, sending papers into the air like startled birds. Hurt someone? Please. You redirected traffic lights, popped a fire hydrant, and let a bus kiss a mailbox. Could be worse.

Behind you, Elijah clears the obstacle in a single, perfect motion. Enhanced strength, enhanced speed. He lands hard enough to crack concrete. That’s exactly why you keep running.

You cut into an alley, skidding over trash bags and broken glass, heart pounding. The city feels alive under your fingertips when you brush the brick wall, electricity humming in your veins. Every step is a choice. Every turn is a little insult to the idea that heroes control the board.

Elijah doesn’t stop talking.

“People live here!” he calls, frustration finally slipping through that perfect composure. “This isn’t a game!”

You glance back just long enough to grin.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you think, and leap.

Fire escape. Rooftop. Wind in your face. The city opens up, sirens below, helicopters somewhere far away, the skyline jagged and glowing. For a second, you feel untouchable. Like gravity itself is just another rule you’re allowed to bend.

Elijah follows, slower now. QAlways calculating. Where civilians might be. Where you might fall. Where he can grab you without breaking something important.

That hesitation is your favorite part. You kick over an HVAC unit as you go, metal screaming as it tips and crashes into the alley below. Elijah skids to a stop, eyes flicking down. You see it on his face, the moment he chooses them over you.

Perfect boy.