I groan into the sheets. “It’s barely nine.”
“He was talking to aglowing brick,” she says, dead serious. “And saying stuff like, ‘Hello, fellow humans! I am also one of you!’”
That jolts me halfway upright. “Excuse me?”
Sammy plants herself at the foot of my bed, fists on her hips. She’s still in her pajamas—purple ones with stars on them—and her hair looks like she combed it with a fork. “I was playing in the backyard and I heard him. So I climbed the fence to look.”
I sit up fully, rubbing at my eyes. “Baby, we’ve talked about this. No spying on the neighbors. That’s how you get a reputation. And tetanus.”
“But he had this brick thing and it was glowingblue,Mom. Not like LED-blue, but like,spaceship-core blue.And he was waving this big metal rod around like he was fighting invisible stormtroopers or something.”
I blink. “Stormtroopers aren’t the aliens in that movie.”
“Youknowwhat I mean.”
I do. Too well.
Still, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle toward the window. The blinds are dusty—I’ve been meaning to clean them for six months—and I peel two slats apart with my fingers.
Then I see him.
Standing dead-center in the neighbor’s backyard is the most absurdly built man I have ever seen in my life. Shirtless. Towering. Broad as a billboard with muscles that look like they were chiseled out of poor decisions and protein powder. He’s got this long length of rebar in one hand and he’s twirling it,twirling it,like he’s at a damn Renaissance fair audition.
My brain hiccups.
That’s not a normal human being.
I don't mean in the alien sense—though Sammy's dramatic little heart might be onto something. I mean no one just wakes up looking like an Avenger. Or practices kung fu with construction materials in the middle of a Saturday morning.
“Okay,” I murmur, “that’s... odd.”
Sammy’s beside me now, her nose pressed against the glass. “Told you. He’s training.”
“Or high.”
“Or both.”
I should look away. Really, I should. But he moves like liquid war—graceful in a way that makes you forget the laws of mass and volume. I know dancers, boxers, athletes. They move with rhythm and control. But this guy?
This guy moves like he wasbornto break things.
“Maybe he’s ex-military,” I mumble, not believing it for a second.
Sammy shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe he crash-landed his ship in the woods and is planning to blend into human society by pretending to be an accountant.”
I choke on a laugh. “Where do yougetthis stuff?”
She holds up a finger. “I doresearch,thank you. Unlike some people, I keep an open mind.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. Outside, the man—our mystery slab of sentient beef jerky—sets the rebar down and tilts his face up to the sun. For a heartbeat, he looks... lost. Not dazed. Not confused. Just quietly, profoundly out of place.
I step away from the window, heart thumping harder than it should. “Alright, Agent Mulder. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Sammy grins. “You’re looking at him again, aren’t you?”
“Shut up and go make pancakes.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
