The words hung in the air like smoke. David’s mind spun through possibilities, connections, enemies made and ones they’d helped bury. People who remembered and held grudges. Or this could be something else—someone new who’d heard whispers and wanted to test themselves against the legends.
The list was longer than he wanted to admit.
“My telepathy’s been louder,” Nick said abruptly. The admission clearly cost him something—Nick didn’t like talking about his ability, didn’t like to acknowledge the way it set him apart or the toll it took. Not even with them. “The past few weeks. I’ve heard things from further away, where I shouldn’t be able to. Sometimes more thoughts than usual, a higher percentage. Threads I can’t quite follow but can’t tune out either.”
David’s hand clenched on his tablet, the case creaking under the pressure. He’d been waiting to see if anyone else would say it first, hoping he wasn’t the only one experiencing the shift. “My speed is increasing. Tech that used to take me hours to breach now takes minutes. Firewalls that should slow me down, I’m blasting through like they were tissue paper. And I’m lasting longer. Hours more than I should without blowing a fuse.”
The burnout had always been the price. Push too far, stay connected too long, and his system would overload—migraines that split his skull open, nosebleeds, once a full collapse that scared the hell out of all of them. But lately, the limits had been… murky. Further out. He could now work for six, seven hours in a system that previously would have fried him in two, and walk away with nothing worse than a headache and some fatigue.
“One more thing.” Nick said, so softly it was like he wasn’t sure he wanted them to hear. “Kate seems to be developing something. Empathy, I think. What we wrote off as perceptive may be more. She’s getting flashes of other people’s emotions.And now, dreams that feel prophetic to her. So much so that she even warned Lena about one.”
Zach said nothing, but his awareness sharpened. He was cataloging. Filing away data points in that relentless tactical mind of his, building threat models and protection protocols. Zach’s ability was unique—strength, speed, durability that went beyond human—but he listened to their experiences with the focus of a man who understood that knowledge was not just power but also armor.
“I don’t know why,” David continued, and he hated the uncertainty in his own voice. He understood systems, patterns, logic. This defied all of it. “But it’s escalating. Which means?—”
“Which means we might be forced to use more than we want to,” Nick finished, his countenance troubled, shadows moving behind his eyes. “And perhaps that’s the point.”
The implication settled between them like a third rail: someone knew enough to push them toward their edges. To make them show their hands, reveal the full extent of what they could do. Every time they utilized their abilities to counter the attacks, they left traces. Patterns. Evidence for anyone who looked hard enough.
“Or the opposite,” David said, thoughts shifting before settling into a new configuration. His engineer’s mind turned the problem like a Rubik’s cube, looking for the angle that made everything align. “Perhaps we’re getting stronger because we need to be. It could be a response to the threats.”
He tipped his head down, mind racing through biological adaptation theories, stress response, evolution under pressure as his brothers remained silent, allowing him to follow the thought. “These incidents—none of them indicate any knowledge of our abilities. Only that our response time has been fast. Too fast, maybe, for normal protocols. But not impossible to explain away.”
Silence fell as they mulled that over. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows in their frames. The storm edged closer.
“So either they’re attempting to force us to expose ourselves,” Zach said slowly, working through the logic, “or we’re adapting to meet a threat we feel but haven’t fully identified yet.”
“Both could be true,” Nick said. “And both could be dangerous.”
David nodded. If their abilities were growing, what did it mean? What was the cost? If someone was trying to draw them out, how long did they have before they had to make a choice between protecting what they’d built and protecting who they were?
Zach’s voice cut through the spiral of David’s thoughts like a knife. “Lena needs protection.”
David’s spine straightened. “She has protection.”
“More.” Zach didn’t blink, didn’t soften. This was Zach in tactical mode, and there was no room for sentiment when lives were on the line. “Constant. Unobtrusive but present. If they’re targeting her to get to you—and I believe they are—then she’s a vulnerability we can’t afford.”
“She’s not a weakness,” David snapped, harsher than intended. The vehemence in it surprised even him, but the thought of Lena being used, being hurt because someone wanted to leverage her against him—it ignited something primal and protective that hadn’t existed until her.
“No,” Zach’s voice gentled slightly. “She’s family. Which is why I won’t let her be exposed.”
The word slammed into David.Family. Not girlfriend, not David’s partner—family. The designation symbolized everything in this room, their chosen bond supersedes blood and history and everything else. Zach had just consciously admitted Lena into the circle they’d spent years protecting; the weight and relief of it hit David in equal measure.
Nick studied David now with the quality of attention that meant he was hearing more than words—reading emotional frequencies, the shape of things David wasn’t saying—evaluating where David’s head was at, whether emotion was clouding judgment or sharpening it.
Finally, Nick’s expression softened, a barely there shift signaling understanding. Approval. Trust. “We protect her without making her feel trapped. She stays in her life. We just make sure that life has better parameters.”
David exhaled, some of the tension leaching out of his muscles. “Agreed. I need her safe.”
“Good,” Zach’s voice snapped into operational mode, crisp and efficient. “Then here’s how we play it. We increase security quietly. No visible presence to tip our hand or spook her. We stop reacting and start tracking. Every system they’ve touched, we wire it. Every access point, we monitor. We let them think they’re winning.”
“Draw them out,” Nick said.
“Exactly.” Zach leaned back, fingers drumming once against the table—a rare tell of energy seeking an outlet. “They’re patient. We’ll be more patient. And when they move again?—”
“We’ll be waiting,” David finished. A plan formed in his mind—surveillance protocols, redundant monitoring, ghost programs to track access without detection. He could build it. Especially now, with his ability stretching further than it ever had before.
The plan aligned with a wordless efficiency honed over years. No debate. No second guesses. Just trust, sharp as a blade and twice as deadly.
