CHAPTER ONE Two Boys Who Could Fly

At sixteen years old, Aaron King had already learned there were three kinds of people in the world.

People who thought glasses made him look smarter.

People who thought the earrings made him look cooler.

And Mark Grayson, who thought neither mattered because Aaron was currently flying backward at nearly two hundred miles an hour while telling him his punching technique sucked.

“Your shoulder.”

Mark’s fist stopped inches from Aaron’s face.

Wind screamed around them.

Clouds streaked beneath their feet.

“What about my shoulder?”

Aaron hovered in front of him with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his black hoodie.

His thick black curls whipped violently in the wind. They were longer now than when he was younger, layered heavily across the top and continuing down the back of his head instead of ending in the short cut he’d worn as a kid.

His black rectangular glasses remained perfectly situated on his face.

Mark hated that.

“You dropped it again,” Aaron said.

Mark stared at him.

“I’m flying.”

“So?”

“At two hundred miles an hour.”

“Closer to one-eighty.”

“That makes this so much better.”

Aaron shrugged.

Mark looked at the glasses.

“How are those still on your face?”

Aaron touched them.

“Good glasses.”

“No.”

Mark pointed.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Mark sighed.

Then punched him.

Aaron tilted his head.

The fist passed his cheek.

Aaron caught Mark’s wrist.

Rotated.

Mark’s momentum carried him forward.

Aaron planted one hand against Mark’s back.

Then shoved.

Mark disappeared.

Aaron watched him become a tiny blue-and-yellow dot against the sky.

Three seconds passed.

Four.

Five.

Aaron looked at his watch.

Then Mark came rocketing back.

“You did that on purpose!”

Aaron moved sideways.

Mark flew past him.

“Obviously.”

Mark twisted in midair and stopped.

His hair was a mess.

His goggles were crooked.

Aaron looked exactly as he had before.

Mark pointed at him.

“I hate training with you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate training with you right now.”

“That’s more believable.”

Mark fixed his goggles.

“You know, normal friends play basketball.”

“We do.”

“They play video games.”

“We do that too.”

“They don’t throw each other through mountains.”

Aaron considered that.

“Depends on the friend.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Aaron smiled.

Mark flew closer.

They hovered several thousand feet above an abandoned quarry outside Chicago.

It had become theirs.

Not officially.

Aaron hadn’t purchased a quarry.

But nobody came here anymore, which made it perfect for two sixteen-year-old half-Viltrumites who occasionally miscalculated exactly how much force they were using.

There were craters everywhere.

Several belonged to Mark.

Most belonged to Aaron.

One enormous trench belonged to both of them, and neither had ever agreed on whose fault it was.

Aaron descended.

Mark followed.

They hit the quarry floor almost simultaneously.

Aaron landed lightly.

Mark kicked up enough dust to cover both of them.

Aaron slowly looked down at his hoodie.

Then at Mark.

Mark smiled.

“My bad.”

Aaron removed his glasses.

Blew the dust from them.

Put them back on.

“You’re cleaning my clothes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

Aaron walked toward a black backpack resting beside the quarry wall.

Mark followed.

Aaron unzipped it.

Inside was the most important thing his father had ever left him.

The book.

Black cover.

Thick binding.

No title.

A small Viltrumite symbol was carved into the spine.

Aaron pulled it out.

Mark groaned.

“No.”

Aaron opened it.

“No what?”

“No book.”

“You wanted to train.”

“I wanted to punch stuff.”

“That’s training.”

“No. That’s fun.”

Aaron turned several pages.

“Which is why you’re bad at it.”

Mark stared.

“I’m sorry?”

Aaron didn’t look up.

“You rely too much on strength.”

“I have super strength.”

“So does everyone you’ll actually need super strength to fight.”

Mark opened his mouth.

Stopped.

Opened it again.

“Okay, that sounded annoyingly smart.”

Aaron looked over the top of his glasses.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I accepted it as one.”

Mark dropped onto a rock.

Aaron found the page he wanted.

“Page one hundred eighty-seven.”

“You’re actually going to make me read.”

“You’re capable.”

“Debatable.”

Aaron handed him the book.

Mark looked down.

There were diagrams of Viltrumite bodies in combat.

Movement vectors.

Impact angles.

Anatomical illustrations.

Most of the text was handwritten.

Some English.

Some Viltrumite.

Mark squinted.

“I still can’t read this.”

“Because you haven’t learned.”

“My dad never taught me Viltrumite.”

Aaron paused.

Mark noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

Aaron sat beside him.

“My dad thought language mattered.”

“Okay.”

“He wrote that knowing the language of your people means understanding how they think.”

Mark looked at the strange characters.

“Did he teach you?”

“Some.”

“You can actually read this?”

“Most of it.”

Mark handed the book back.

Aaron pointed at one passage.

“This says, ‘Never train exclusively for opponents weaker than yourself.’”

Mark listened.

“‘Weak enemies teach confidence. Equal enemies teach technique. Superior enemies teach survival.’”

Mark’s expression changed.

“Your dad wrote that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s hard.”

Aaron looked at him.

“Hard?”

“Like... cool.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Making you explain it was funny.”

Mark shoved him.

Aaron didn’t move.

Mark frowned.

Aaron smiled.

“Asshole.”

“Probably.”

Mark looked back toward the book.

His expression gradually became more serious.

“Do you think he’s stronger than my dad?”

Aaron didn’t answer immediately.

Malachi King.

His father.

A man Aaron remembered more through fragments than complete memories.

A deep voice.

Large hands.

Training lessons.

His mother’s kitchen.

Spoons.

The night he’d disappeared.

“I don’t know.”

“Did they know each other?”

Aaron looked at Mark.

“Why would they?”

“They’re both Viltrumites.”

“So?”

Mark shrugged.

“How many Viltrumites can there be?”

Aaron stared.

Mark realized.

“Oh.”

“An entire planet, genius.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Mark leaned backward.

“Still weird that both of them ended up here.”

Aaron had thought about that before.

A lot.

His father arrived.

Then Nolan.

Malachi left.

Nolan stayed.

Aaron had been too young to understand what any of that meant.

His mother didn’t know much more.

At least that’s what she claimed.

“He’ll tell me eventually.”

Mark glanced at him.

“Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“When he comes back.”

Aaron said it confidently.

He always did.

Mark knew better than to challenge it.

“You think he’s still alive?”

Aaron closed the book.

“He’s Viltrumite.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Aaron stared at the quarry wall.

“No.”

Mark waited.

“I think he’s alive because...”

Aaron stopped.

He hated saying things like this aloud.

They became more real when spoken.

“He told my mom he’d try to come back.”

Mark’s expression softened.

“That’s not exactly a promise.”

“I know.”

“Sorry.”

Aaron shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

Silence settled between them.

Then Mark said:

“When he comes back, I’m fighting him.”

Aaron turned.

“What?”

“I need revenge.”

“For what?”

Mark pointed at the book.

“This.”

Aaron laughed.

“He’s going to destroy you.”

“Then I’ll train.”

“Using his book?”

Mark froze.

Aaron raised an eyebrow.

Mark stared at the ground.

“...I hate you.”

Aaron laughed harder.

They trained for another hour.

Not strength.

Control.

Aaron’s father had dedicated nearly forty pages to something that initially seemed ridiculous.

Catching things.

Mark hated it.

Aaron loved watching Mark hate it.

They started with stones.

Aaron threw them.

Mark caught them.

One.

Two.

Four.

Eight.

Then Aaron began throwing them from different directions.

Mark missed three.

One hit him directly in the forehead.

“Ow!”

Aaron stared.

“That did not hurt.”

“It’s the principle.”

“Catch it.”

“You threw it at my face.”

“Your face has hands now?”

Mark picked up the rock.

“I could throw this into space.”

“Do it.”

Mark pulled his arm back.

Aaron immediately pointed.

“Shoulder.”

Mark stopped.

His eye twitched.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“You’re still dropping it.”

“Maybe I like dropping it.”

“Then you’re going to like getting punched because of it.”

Mark lowered the rock.

“Fine.”

Aaron approached.

“Your body tells people what you’re doing.”

“Everyone’s does.”

“Exactly.”

Aaron positioned Mark’s arm.

“That’s why you learn to read it.”

He tapped Mark’s shoulder.

“When this moves backward, I know what’s coming.”

Mark adjusted.

“Better?”

“Again.”

Mark moved.

“Again.”

Another punch.

“Again.”

Mark accelerated.

Aaron watched.

“Again.”

Faster.

Again.

Eventually Mark’s fist stopped an inch from Aaron’s face.

Aaron smiled.

“There.”

Mark looked at his shoulder.

“What changed?”

“You stopped announcing it.”

Mark grinned.

“So I’m getting better.”

“Barely.”

“You can’t just compliment me?”

“I just did.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Aaron picked up another rock.

“Ready?”

Mark sighed.

“Yeah.”

They continued.

Two hours later, Mark was lying inside a crater.

Again.

Aaron floated above him.

Again.

Mark raised one finger.

“No.”

“Again.”

“I hate that word.”

“Again.”

“You’re doing it because I said I hate it.”

Aaron landed.

“Maybe.”

Mark sat up.

His blue-and-yellow suit was covered in dust.

Aaron had changed out of his hoodie and into a black compression shirt he’d packed specifically for training.

His glasses were inside his bag now.

The small silver earrings remained.

Mark climbed from the crater.

“My turn.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

Mark pointed at the crater.

“That.”

“You want to throw me into the ground?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not training.”

“Funny how suddenly you care.”

Aaron smiled.

“Fine.”

Mark’s grin widened.

“Really?”

“Hit me.”

Mark’s grin disappeared.

“As hard as I can?”

Aaron nodded.

“No.”

Aaron blinked.

“No?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because last time you said that, you went through a cliff.”

“And?”

“And you bled.”

“I healed.”

“That’s not the point.”

Aaron folded his arms.

“Then what’s the point?”

Mark looked genuinely annoyed.

“You treat getting hurt like it doesn’t matter.”

Aaron’s smile disappeared.

“That’s not true.”

“Kind of is.”

“I’m Viltrumite.”

“So am I.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not an argument!”

Aaron stepped closer.

“Mark.”

“No. Seriously.”

Mark pointed at him.

“Every time we train, you’re trying to find out how much punishment you can take.”

“That’s part of training.”

“Why?”

“So I know.”

“Know what?”

“My limit.”

Mark stared at him.

Aaron’s voice became quieter.

“My dad wrote that you should know your limits before someone else finds them for you.”

Mark didn’t have an immediate response.

Aaron continued.

“If I don’t know what can hurt me, I don’t know what I can survive.”

“You don’t have to almost die figuring it out.”

“I haven’t almost died.”

“That cliff looked pretty almost-dead-ish.”

Aaron smiled slightly.

Mark didn’t.

Aaron sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll be careful.”

Mark narrowed his eyes.

“That’s exactly what people say before doing something stupid.”

“Hit me.”

“Aaron.”

“Controlled escalation.”

Mark looked confused.

Aaron walked several yards away.

“Ten percent.”

Mark stared.

“How do I know what ten percent is?”

“Exactly.”

Aaron raised his hands.

“Learn.”

Mark considered it.

Then nodded.

“Fine.”

He moved.

His fist struck Aaron’s chest.

Aaron slid backward several feet.

“Again.”

Mark hit harder.

Aaron moved farther.

“Again.”

Another punch.

“Again.”

Another.

The quarry floor cracked beneath Aaron’s feet.

“Again.”

Mark stopped.

Aaron looked at him.

“What?”

Mark’s breathing had changed.

“I’m trying to figure out how hard that was.”

Aaron smiled.

“Good.”

Mark looked at his fist.

“Maybe thirty?”

“Closer to twenty.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been doing this longer.”

Mark nodded.

Then punched again.

Aaron flew backward.

Hit the quarry wall.

Cracked it.

Dropped.

Mark’s eyes widened.

Aaron stood.

“Thirty.”

Mark smiled.

“Okay.”

Aaron returned.

They repeated it.

Forty.

Fifty.

Sixty.

At seventy, Aaron went through the wall.

Mark immediately flew after him.

He found Aaron pulling himself from shattered stone.

Blood ran from Aaron’s nose.

Mark landed.

“We’re done.”

Aaron wiped it away.

“Again.”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“It’ll stop.”

“That’s not—”

The blood stopped.

Mark stared.

Aaron raised both eyebrows.

Mark pointed.

“Still weird.”

Aaron smiled.

“Again.”

Mark sighed.

Then positioned himself.

Aaron watched him.

“Don’t hesitate.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Different.”

Mark lowered his fist.

Aaron approached.

“This is what my dad meant.”

“About what?”

“Control and hesitation.”

Mark listened.

Aaron gestured between them.

“You know I can survive this.”

“Probably.”

Aaron stared.

Mark shrugged.

“Sorry.”

“You know I’m durable.”

“Yes.”

“You know I’m asking you to hit me.”

“Also yes.”

“And you’re still holding back because you’re afraid of what happens if you’re wrong.”

Mark frowned.

“That sounds reasonable.”

“It is.”

Aaron nodded.

“Until you’re fighting someone who’s trying to kill people.”

Mark became quiet.

Aaron continued.

“If someone is human, you barely touch them.”

“Obviously.”

“If they’re superhuman?”

“Hit harder.”

“If they’re as durable as us?”

Mark thought.

“Harder.”

“If they’re stronger?”

Mark didn’t answer.

Aaron did.

“Then you stop thinking about whether hitting them hard is mean.”

Mark looked at him.

“You hit them hard because somebody behind you can’t survive what happens if you lose.”

The wind moved between them.

Mark stared at his hands.

“So don’t hold back.”

“No.”

Aaron shook his head.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Use exactly enough.”

Aaron tapped Mark’s chest.

“Nothing more.”

Then his forehead.

“Nothing less.”

Mark stared at him.

Aaron stepped backward.

“Control.”

Mark raised his fists.

“Not hesitation.”

Aaron smiled.

“Exactly.”

Mark moved.

This time Aaron didn’t see the shoulder drop.

He saw the fist.

Then nothing.

The impact sounded like thunder.

Aaron disappeared.

Mark froze.

A second later, something struck the opposite cliff hard enough to send stone raining downward.

Mark’s face went pale.

“Aaron?”

Nothing.

“AARON!”

He flew.

Fast.

He found Aaron embedded deep inside the cliff.

His shirt was shredded.

His body hung motionless.

Mark landed so hard the ground cracked.

“Aaron!”

He grabbed him.

“Aaron!”

Nothing.

Mark’s heart started hammering.

“No, no, no, no—”

Aaron coughed.

Mark nearly dropped him.

Aaron opened one eye.

“...Better.”

Mark stared.

Then shoved him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Aaron fell backward.

“Ow.”

“Don’t ‘ow’ me!”

Mark paced.

“I thought I killed you!”

“You didn’t.”

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT!”

Aaron sat up.

His ribs hurt.

A lot.

Probably fractured.

Already healing.

Mark turned.

“I’m done.”

“Mark—”

“No.”

He flew toward their bags.

Aaron followed more slowly.

“You finally hit correctly.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“I thought you were dead!”

Aaron stopped.

Mark did too.

Aaron’s expression changed.

“Sorry.”

Mark looked at him.

Aaron meant it.

“I didn’t think it’d hit that hard.”

Mark laughed without humor.

“That’s literally why we’re training.”

Aaron smiled faintly.

“Yeah.”

Mark shook his head.

“You’re insane.”

“Little bit.”

“A lot.”

“Debatable.”

Mark picked up Aaron’s black hoodie and threw it at him.

Aaron caught it.

Mark looked at him.

“You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”

Aaron became still.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Aaron looked toward the black book.

Mark followed his eyes.

Aaron spoke quietly.

“I don’t want him to come back and find out I wasted everything he left me.”

Mark stared at him.

Then:

“That’s stupid.”

Aaron frowned.

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously.”

Mark walked closer.

“Your dad gave you that book because he wanted you to learn, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not because he wanted you killing yourself.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You know what I mean.”

Aaron didn’t respond.

Mark picked up his bag.

“You’ve got time.”

Aaron looked at him.

“You don’t know that.”

Mark paused.

Neither said anything.

Then Mark nodded.

“Okay.”

Aaron put his hoodie on.

The oversized black fabric concealed most of the damage underneath.

He retrieved his glasses.

Put them on.

Mark looked him over.

“You know, you look way too normal for someone I just punched through a mountain.”

“Cliff.”

“Whatever.”

Aaron picked up his backpack.

“Race home?”

“No.”

“Scared?”

“You’re injured.”

“Already healing.”

“No.”

Aaron floated upward.

Mark stared.

“Don’t.”

Aaron smiled.

“Three.”

“Aaron.”

“Two.”

“I swear to God.”

“One.”

Aaron vanished.

Mark stared at the empty space.

“You son of a—”

He launched after him.

Mark won.

Aaron disputed this.

“You started early.”

“You counted down!”

“I said one.”

“That’s how countdowns work!”

“You moved before zero.”

“You never said zero!”

They walked into the Grayson house arguing.

Debbie Grayson looked up from the laundry.

Mark was wearing his superhero suit beneath regular clothes badly enough that yellow fabric was visible near his collar.

Aaron looked considerably more normal.

Black hoodie.

Black pants.

Backpack.

Glasses.

Silver earrings.

Thick curls hanging over his forehead.

Except there was dried blood beneath his nose.

Debbie immediately noticed.

“What happened?”

Aaron pointed at Mark.

“He hit me.”

Mark stared at him.

“You told me to!”

Debbie looked at her son.

“You hit Aaron?”

“He literally stood there and said ‘hit me.’”

Debbie looked back at Aaron.

“Why?”

“Training.”

“That’s not training.”

Mark pointed.

“Thank you!”

Aaron looked betrayed.

“You participated.”

“Under protest!”

From the kitchen table, Nolan Grayson lowered his newspaper.

“How hard?”

Mark looked at him.

“What?”

Nolan stood.

“How hard did you hit him?”

Mark glanced at Aaron.

“Pretty hard.”

“How hard?”

Aaron answered.

“Maybe eighty.”

Nolan frowned.

“Eighty percent?”

“Approximately.”

Debbie stared at Mark.

“You hit your friend with eighty percent of your strength?”

“He asked!”

Aaron nodded.

“I did.”

Debbie rubbed her forehead.

“I need normal children.”

Mark opened the refrigerator.

“Too late.”

Aaron smiled.

Nolan didn’t.

He was studying Aaron.

“Why eighty?”

“Controlled escalation.”

Nolan became very still.

Aaron noticed.

Mark didn’t.

Mark was halfway inside the refrigerator.

Nolan’s eyes narrowed.

“Who taught you that?”

Aaron shrugged.

“My dad.”

Nolan said nothing.

Aaron continued.

“It’s in his book.”

Nolan’s gaze shifted toward the backpack.

“What book?”

Mark emerged holding juice.

“His dad left him this giant Viltrumite training manual.”

Nolan looked at Aaron.

“May I see it?”

Aaron hesitated.

It wasn’t because he distrusted Nolan.

Nolan had been part of his life for as long as he could remember.

Mark’s dad.

Debbie’s husband.

Omni-Man.

The strongest hero on Earth.

But the book belonged to Malachi.

Aaron didn’t let many people touch it.

Mark only got away with it because he was Mark.

Still...

Aaron removed it.

He handed it over.

Nolan took the book.

And froze.

Barely.

A fraction of a second.

Aaron saw it.

Nolan’s thumb moved across the symbol carved into the spine.

His expression didn’t change.

But his breathing did.

Once.

Aaron watched.

“You know that symbol.”

Nolan looked up.

“What?”

“The symbol.”

Mark stopped drinking.

Nolan looked back at the book.

“I’ve seen similar markings.”

“Where?”

“Viltrum.”

Aaron stepped closer.

“Whose is it?”

Nolan handed the book back.

“Your father’s, presumably.”

Aaron didn’t take it immediately.

“You knew that already.”

Nolan looked at him.

“What?”

“You recognized it.”

Silence.

Aaron took the book.

Mark looked between them.

Debbie stopped folding clothes.

Aaron’s voice remained calm.

“Did you know my father?”

Nolan stared at him.

Aaron stared back.

“I knew of him.”

Aaron’s fingers tightened around the book.

“That’s different.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Nolan walked toward the counter.

“Viltrumites travel extensively.”

“So?”

“Reputations travel farther.”

Aaron followed.

“What reputation?”

Nolan poured water.

“Your father was accomplished.”

“Accomplished how?”

Nolan drank.

Aaron waited.

“Surviving.”

Aaron frowned.

“That’s it?”

“Among Viltrumites, survival can be an accomplishment.”

“Then what did he survive?”

Nolan’s eyes met Aaron’s.

For the first time, Aaron saw something he couldn’t identify.

Not fear.

Not quite.

Memory.

“Ask him.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened.

“When?”

Nolan didn’t answer.

“When he comes back?”

“Aaron—”

“No.”

Aaron slipped the book into his backpack.

“You knew of him.”

“Yes.”

“Did he know you?”

Nolan’s expression hardened.

“Yes.”

There.

Aaron stared.

That was more than he’d ever known.

“Did you fight?”

Mark’s eyes widened.

“Aaron.”

Nolan said:

“That’s enough.”

Aaron looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because I’m telling you it is.”

That irritated him.

Not because Nolan was stronger.

Aaron had never cared about that.

Because Nolan was withholding something about his father.

Aaron put his backpack over one shoulder.

“I should go.”

Mark frowned.

“You just got here.”

“Mom’s expecting me.”

“We were gonna play.”

“Tomorrow.”

Mark looked at him.

Aaron gave him a small nod.

Mark understood.

“Okay.”

Debbie touched Aaron’s arm as he passed.

“Tell Danielle I said hi.”

“I will.”

Aaron opened the door.

Then stopped.

He looked back at Nolan.

“One more question.”

Nolan waited.

“Was he a good person?”

That caught everyone off guard.

Nolan stared at Aaron.

Aaron didn’t move.

Finally Nolan said:

“I don’t know.”

Aaron absorbed that.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

He left.

The door closed.

Mark immediately looked at his father.

“What was that?”

Nolan picked up his newspaper.

“Nothing.”

“Dad.”

“I answered his questions.”

“Not really.”

“Mark.”

Mark recognized the tone.

He hated it.

But he also knew pushing Nolan rarely worked.

Mark headed upstairs.

Debbie waited.

The moment Mark disappeared, she turned toward her husband.

“You lied.”

Nolan lowered the newspaper.

“I didn’t.”

“You do something with your face.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re doing it now.”

Nolan frowned.

“Debbie.”

“Who was Aaron’s father?”

Nolan looked toward the window.

“A Viltrumite.”

She folded her arms.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Nolan almost smiled.

Almost.

Debbie didn’t.

“Who was he?”

Nolan became quiet.

Memories returned.

A planet far from Earth.

A battlefield.

White stone stained red.

Bodies.

Viltrumite bodies.

And Malachi King standing among them.

Bleeding.

Broken.

Still standing.

Nolan remembered what he’d told him.

You can’t fight Viltrum forever.

Malachi had looked at him.

I don’t have to.

Nolan remembered asking:

Then what are you doing?

And Malachi’s answer.

Making sure my son never has to.

Nolan looked toward the door Aaron had just walked through.

Debbie waited.

“Someone who’s gone,” Nolan said.

Aaron didn’t go home.

Not immediately.

He stopped thousands of feet above Chicago.

The city stretched beneath him.

Lights.

Traffic.

Thousands upon thousands of people who had no idea a sixteen-year-old half-alien was hovering above them while having an existential crisis.

Aaron reached into his backpack.

Pulled out the book.

He studied the spine.

The symbol.

His father’s.

Nolan recognized it.

Aaron opened the book.

Page after page.

Strength conditioning.

Flight.

Acceleration.

Recovery.

Combat.

Environmental survival.

Language.

History.

Then Aaron stopped.

Page 318.

He turned it.

Page 320.

He frowned.

Back.

318.

Forward.

320.

Aaron had noticed it years ago.

He’d always assumed his father numbered something incorrectly.

But now he studied the binding.

There wasn’t a torn page.

No damaged seam.

No remnants.

Page 319 hadn’t been ripped out.

It had been removed before the book was bound.

Aaron’s heartbeat changed.

He ran his finger along the seam.

Why number a page that wasn’t there?

Unless...

It had been there when the book was written.

Aaron closed it.

His phone buzzed.

He looked.

MARK: u good?

Aaron stared.

Typed.

AARON: yeah

Three dots appeared immediately.

MARK: liar

Aaron smiled.

AARON: im fine

MARK: that’s different from good

Aaron stared at the message.

Annoyingly perceptive.

AARON: you wanna get punched?

MARK: considering what happened earlier i think YOU should be asking yourself that

Aaron laughed.

Alone in the sky.

MARK: wanna talk?

Aaron looked at the book.

AARON: tomorrow

MARK: bet

A few seconds passed.

Another message arrived.

MARK: btw i won the race

Aaron’s smile disappeared.

AARON: you cheated

MARK: YOU STARTED THE COUNTDOWN

AARON: moved before zero

MARK: YOU NEVER SAID ZERO

Aaron was typing when he heard something.

Not his phone.

Not traffic.

Something distant.

A sound ordinary human ears never would’ve noticed.

An explosion.

Aaron’s head snapped toward downtown.

A second explosion followed.

Larger.

Smoke rose between buildings.

Sirens began.

His phone buzzed.

MARK: please tell me you heard that

Aaron slipped the book into his backpack.

He typed one word.

AARON: race

Mark responded immediately.

MARK: oh come on

Aaron removed his glasses.

Folded them.

Put them safely into the backpack.

He pulled his hoodie off.

Then stopped.

He looked down at himself.

Black compression shirt.

Black pants.

No mask.

No costume.

No identity.

“Yeah.”

He sighed.

“This is gonna be a problem.”

Across the city, Mark Grayson was presumably having exactly the same realization.

Aaron zipped his backpack.

He hid it on the roof of a building.

Then launched.

They met above downtown.

Mark wore his early yellow-and-blue suit.

Aaron looked him over.

Mark looked Aaron over.

“Where’s your costume?”

“Don’t have one.”

Mark stared.

“You’re going like that?”

Aaron looked down.

Black shirt.

Black pants.

Training gloves.

“Apparently.”

“What about your face?”

Aaron stared at him.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Your entire mouth is visible.”

Mark touched his goggles.

“Yeah, but—”

“People at school have eyes.”

Mark became quiet.

“...We may not be good at this.”

“Probably not.”

Another explosion shook the city.

Both looked toward it.

Mark’s expression changed.

Aaron’s did too.

Joking stopped.

“Ready?” Mark asked.

Aaron nodded.

They flew.

The scene below was chaos.

Cars abandoned.

People running.

Storefronts shattered.

A massive armored vehicle had crashed through an intersection.

Several heavily armed men in advanced combat equipment were spreading through the street.

But they weren’t alone.

Someone was already fighting them.

A pink streak moved through the battlefield.

Aaron slowed.

“Who the hell is that?”

Mark stared.

A red-haired girl floated above the street surrounded by glowing pink energy.

With a movement of her hands, debris changed shape around her.

A collapsing piece of concrete transformed before crushing civilians.

Mark’s eyes widened.

“Whoa.”

Aaron looked at him.

Then at her.

Then back at Mark.

“Focus.”

“I am focused.”

“You said ‘whoa.’”

“At her powers!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your tone said something.”

Aaron smiled faintly.

Then an explosion detonated beneath them.

Both boys separated instinctively.

A projectile flew between them.

Mark dove.

Aaron accelerated.

And suddenly Aaron realized there weren’t just three people fighting below.

There were several identical girls.

One.

Three.

Five.

All moving independently.

Aaron blinked.

“What—”

One of them flipped over an attacker.

Another swept his legs.

A third punched him.

A fourth appeared behind them.

Aaron stared for half a second.

Mark flew beside him.

“You good?”

Aaron looked at him.

“Yeah.”

Mark followed Aaron’s eyes toward the duplicates.

Then looked back at Aaron.

Aaron narrowed his eyes.

Mark’s mouth twitched.

Aaron pointed at the battlefield.

“Don’t.”

Mark raised both hands.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Keep it that way.”

Mark smiled.

Then something huge came flying toward them.

Aaron shoved Mark down.

The object missed.

They both looked toward the street.

A teenage boy wearing explosives around his costume pointed upward.

“HEY! Either help or get out of the way!”

Aaron looked at Mark.

Mark looked at Aaron.

Then a robotic voice came through the chaos.

“Unknown enhanced individuals. If you intend to assist, concentrate on civilian evacuation.”

Aaron turned.

A strange mechanical figure stood amid the battle.

Robot.

Aaron didn’t know that yet.

Mark smiled.

“I think we just got recruited.”

Aaron cracked his knuckles.

“No.”

He looked toward the attackers.

“We got instructions.”

Mark’s grin widened.

“Even better.”

They dropped.

Mark hit first.

The pavement exploded beneath him.

Aaron landed beside him.

One attacker charged.

Aaron stepped six inches sideways.

Caught the man’s wrist.

Rotated.

Used his momentum.

Threw him into another attacker.

Mark punched someone through a car.

Aaron looked over.

“Control!”

Mark winced.

“Right!”

The red-haired girl noticed.

The duplicates noticed.

The robot noticed.

Everybody noticed.

Because two completely unknown teenagers had just fallen out of the sky.

And both were strong enough to turn the entire battle.

Aaron didn’t know their names.

He didn’t know Atom Eve.

He didn’t know Dupli-Kate.

Rex Splode.

Robot.

Teen Team.

He didn’t know that the redheaded girl floating above him attended his school.

He didn’t know that one of the identical girls currently kicking an attacker in the jaw would eventually become one of the most important people in his life.

He didn’t know that his father’s missing page was connected to something far larger than Earth.

And he certainly didn’t know what would eventually happen to him.

That one day somebody would hit Aaron King hard enough to stop his heart.

That Mark would hold his body.

That doctors would declare him dead.

That hours later...

Aaron would open his eyes.

But those things belonged to the future.

Tonight, Aaron King was sixteen.

He didn’t have a hero name.

He didn’t even have a costume.

And as another attacker charged him, Aaron lowered his center of gravity exactly the way his father had taught him.