When Light Goes Missing

Avery Hale and Silas Ward grew up on the same street long before the city ever whispered about heroes or villains. Before the masks. Before the powers. Before the world decided who they were allowed to be.

Back then, they were just two kids who lived three houses apart — the girl with the bright laugh and scraped knees, and the boy who sat on the curb with a book too old for him. Avery ran everywhere like she was racing the sun. Silas walked like he was trying not to disturb the dust on the sidewalk.

They weren’t friends at first.

But kids don’t stay strangers for long.

Avery was the one who closed the distance.

“You’re new,” she said, dropping onto the curb beside him without hesitation. Her backpack thudded against the pavement. “I’m Avery.”

Silas didn’t look up. “I know.”

She grinned. “Wanna play?”

He didn’t.

But he said yes anyway.

And that was how it started — not with fireworks or fate, but with a quiet boy agreeing to something he didn’t understand yet.

The neighborhood they grew up in wasn’t special. The houses were small, the lawns were patchy, and the sidewalks cracked in places where tree roots pushed up from underneath. But to Avery and Silas, it was a whole world — one with secret hiding spots, unexplored corners, and endless possibilities.

The empty lot behind their houses was their kingdom. The grass grew too tall, the fence leaned sideways, and the air smelled like warm dirt and childhood. Avery darted through the weeds with her arms outstretched, trying to catch fireflies in her palms. Silas followed behind her, slower, careful, always watching where he stepped.

“You’re gonna crush one,” he warned.

“No, I’m not,” she said, even though she absolutely might.

She caught one anyway — cupping her hands around it like she was holding a secret. Silas leaned in, eyes wide, and Avery opened her palms just enough for him to see the tiny flicker of light.

“It’s like a star,” he whispered.

Avery smiled. “Then we’re holding the sky.”

Silas didn’t say anything, but he looked at her like she’d said something important.

Sometimes they stayed out until the fireflies disappeared and the sky turned the color of blueberry dusk. Avery would lie on her back in the grass, pointing out shapes in the clouds. Silas would sit beside her, knees pulled up, pretending he wasn’t listening as she rambled about everything she wanted to be when she grew up.

“I’m gonna be famous,” she declared once. “Or a scientist. Or a superhero.”

Silas didn’t laugh. “You could.”

Avery turned her head toward him. “You think so?”

He shrugged, but his cheeks turned pink. “You’re… brave.”

She blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice, a faint blush warming her cheeks.

He didn’t know that was the first time anyone had ever said that to her.

Avery talked about her dreams like they were already waiting for her. She wanted to travel the world, climb mountains, swim in oceans, and discover hidden places no one else had ever seen. Silas listened quietly, absorbing every word like they were pieces of a story he didn’t want to forget.

Sometimes she’d ask him what he wanted to be.

He never had an answer.

But he liked listening to hers.

Sometimes he wondered if she'd drag him along into whatever future she imagined. He didn't say that out loud — but the thought stayed with him.

They built forts out of cardboard boxes behind the Ward house. The boxes came from Silas’s mom, who worked at a store that always had extras. Avery dragged them across the yard, leaving trails in the grass, while Silas arranged them into neat stacks.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said as she tried to tape two crooked pieces together.

“No, you’re doing it boring,” she countered.

He sighed — the kind of sigh he’d keep doing for years — and helped her anyway.

Their forts always collapsed.

They always rebuilt them.

They never cared how long it took.

Avery would crawl inside first, pretending she was an explorer discovering a new world. Silas would sit outside with his book, pretending he wasn’t waiting for her to call him in.

She always did.

Inside the fort, the world felt small and safe. Avery would whisper stories about dragons and treasure maps. Silas would correct her when she got details wrong, but he never stopped listening.

“You should write books,” he told her once.

Avery blinked. “Why?”

“Because you make things sound real.”

She looked down at her hands, a small smile tugging at her lips. Compliments weren’t something she heard often.

Sometimes she’d read her stories aloud to him — messy, imaginative tales about heroes and quests and magical creatures. Silas would sit cross‑legged, listening like her words were lanterns lighting up the dark corners of his mind.

He never told her, but those stories made him feel less alone.

Sometimes he'd imagine himself inside her stories — not as the hero, but as the quiet companion who followed behind, making sure she didn't get hurt.

They dared each other to climb the tallest tree in the neighborhood — the old oak near the end of the street. Avery scrambled up the trunk like she was part squirrel. Silas followed more slowly, muttering under his breath every time the bark crumbled under his fingers.

“You’re gonna fall,” he warned.

“You’re gonna worry yourself into wrinkles,” she shot back.

She reached the highest branch she could safely sit on and swung her legs, looking out over the rooftops. Silas climbed up beside her, breathing hard, gripping the branch like it might betray him.

“See?” Avery said. “Worth it.”

Silas didn’t look at the view.

He looked at her.

Sometimes they stayed up there until the streetlights flickered on. Avery would talk about the future like it was a place she could already see. Silas would listen, quiet and steady, like he was anchoring her to the branch.

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re old?” she asked once.

Silas didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Avery smiled, believing him completely.

Neither of them knew how hard the world would try to prove them wrong.

Sometimes, when the wind rustled the leaves around them, Silas wondered if this was his moment — sitting beside her in a tree — would be something he remembered forever. He didn't know why the thought scared him.

They grew up like that — side by side, different in every way, but always orbiting each other.

Kids who walked to school together every morning, Avery skipping ahead and Silas trailing behind with his backpack straps pulled tight.

Kids who shared snacks even when Avery forgot hers and Silas pretended he didn’t mind.

Kids who pretended not to miss each other when the other stayed home sick, even though both of them did.

Kids who didn’t realize they were becoming each other’s favorite person.

They didn’t know the world was watching them grow.

They didn’t know the city would one day choose sides.

They didn’t know their childhood was the safest place they’d ever be.

They didn’t know they were living the part of their story they’d spend the rest of their lives missing.

Sometimes Avery would run ahead on the sidewalk, turning back to shout, "Come on Silas."

And he'd follow — always — even if he didn't know where she was going.

Sometimes Silas would sit quietly beside her, and she'd lean her shoulder without thinking.

And he'd stay — always — even if he didn't know why it mattered so much.

Avery didn’t know Silas would grow into the boy the city blamed for everything.

Silas didn’t know Avery would grow into the girl the city looked up to.

They didn’t know the world would tear them apart.

They didn’t know they’d meet again behind masks.

They didn’t know they’d fall for each other in all the wrong ways at all the wrong times.

They didn’t know that the small moments — the ones they barely noticed — were the ones destiny was paying attention to.

Destiny watched Avery reach for Silas’s hand when she was scared.

Destiny watched Silas step in front of her when he thought she might get hurt.

Destiny watched them trust each other without ever talking about it.

Destiny watched them not realize trust could be broken.

Destiny watched Avery’s laugh make Silas look up from his book.

Destiny watched Silas’s silence make Avery sit beside him without asking questions.

Destiny watched them fit together without trying.

Destiny watched them not know how to say goodbye.

They didn’t know they were living the safest chapter of their lives.

They didn’t know the world would soon demand versions of them they didn’t recognize.

They didn't know the world would soon demand versions of them they didn't recognize.

They didn’t know that childhood was the last place where they belonged to each other without consequence.

Because every story — even one made of light and shadow — begins long before the world notices it.

And theirs began here.

On a quiet street.

With a girl who ran toward everything, and a boy who tried not to be seen, and a childhood that would one day become the thing they both wished they could go back to.