Mark paced his room for the third time, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to calm the storm in his chest. He’d battled aliens, villains. Even his own father—but nothing had his heart pounding like this.

Tonight wasn’t about saving the world. It was about them. The person he’d been crushing on for weeks. They’d laughed at his jokes in chemistry, smiled like they really saw him, and somehow… said yes to dinner.

He glanced in the mirror. Shirt? Good enough. Hair? Not perfect, but it’d do. Breath? Fresh.

Grabbing his jacket, he hesitated at the door. No flying tonight. No hero talk. Just Mark Grayson—awkward, hopeful, trying not to blow his one shot. And maybe, just maybe, this time… he’d save something for himself.