Clark used to love fireworks when he was younger. In his earliest memories, he could recall how the townsfolk would put on an annual display in one of the biggest fields for the Fourth of July. He was entranced by the beautiful lights—munching on cotton candy, eyes wide, watching the sparks light up the dark summer sky.

That was before he found out he was the descendant of a long-dead civilization that had both blessed and cursed him. And now?

He hated them. Well, not hate, exactly. He just found them disruptive. Annoying. Sometimes, he secretly wished the city government would ban them altogether. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud. He tried not to let himself develop that kind of attitude.

But the sound—God, the sound. A normal person might hear a boom or a pop, depending on the firework. Clark? The man with super hearing so sharp he could catch whispers from across the globe? To him, fireworks sounded like hundreds of shotguns going off right next to his ears. Actually, times that by ten. Construction-grade earmuffs did nothing.

And the sparks, those once, dazzling, beautiful sparks—could now irritate his eyes if he wasn’t careful. His vision was a constant layering of X-ray, microscopic, and telescopic sight, and the sudden bursts of color were like blinding fireworks exploding right behind his eyelids.

He lay curled up in bed, a big man tucked into layers of blankets, one pillow between his legs, another pressed tightly over his head. All he could do was wince and wonder how much longer it would be until families finally decided enough was enough and put their kids to bed.

And then there was the emotional sting—that was the worst of it. Watching mankind celebrate their big Earth holidays, seeing them come together like that... it made him feel even more alien. More other. The ache in his chest? Worse than any kryptonite. Because it reminded him, more than anything, that he was just an outsider looking in. Always watching. Never truly part of it.