Jack stared at the ceiling of the dimly lit room, the sterile scent of NovaTech’s underground facility still lingering in the air. His muscles ached, and every movement reminded him of the toll the fight had taken. But it wasn’t the pain that gnawed at him. No, it was the restlessness—the feeling of being caged while the world outside continued to unravel. The sterile room felt like a prison, and Jack was never meant to be confined.

  He threw off the thin blanket that covered him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed with a wince. His ribs protested, the sharp sting of still-healing wounds biting into him, but he gritted his teeth. He had been through worse. Pain was nothing new. What he couldn’t stand was sitting idle, knowing the world was burning and he wasn’t out there to stop it.

  The flickering monitor on the wall blinked with his vitals—Levin had been monitoring him closely, keeping tabs on his recovery. Jack snorted under his breath. Levin meant well, but Jack wasn’t some project to be studied. He was ready to leave, even if his body wasn’t fully healed. It didn’t matter. He had to go.

  Pulling on his worn jacket, Jack stood slowly, testing his balance. The dull ache in his side pulsed with every breath, but he ignored it. The time for rest was over. NovaTech had given him a safe haven to recover, but now it felt like a prison of white walls and unanswered questions. Jack wasn’t going to wait around for another attack. He had already decided—he was going to be at the upcoming memorial parade for Crimson Nova, not as a guest but as Veil, the masked vigilante lurking in the shadows.

  There was no one to stop him as he made his way down the quiet corridors of NovaTech’s underground facility. The scientists and security personnel were too busy with their own work, or maybe they’d grown used to his presence. Either way, Jack moved through the halls like a ghost, silent and unnoticed. He reached the exit, slipping past the last of the checkpoints before emerging into the cool night air.

  Outside, the city loomed before him, its skyline glittering under the darkened sky. Jack paused, breathing in deeply. The sharp smell of asphalt and rain hit him—a reminder of the world he belonged to, not the sterile, artificial environment of NovaTech. He needed to feel the city beneath his feet again, to disappear into the shadows where he could watch, act, and fight.

  He hailed a cab, sinking into the backseat, his mind already spinning through the next steps. As they wound through the narrow streets of the city, Jack watched the world outside the window—the people walking, living their lives, unaware of the dangers that lurked just beneath the surface. The cab stopped outside his apartment, and he paid the driver with a nod before stepping out.

  The small, unassuming building was as much of a hideaway as his old safe house had been. Jack’s apartment was a far cry from the penthouses and hero complexes most registered heroes lived in. It was quiet, tucked away in a forgotten part of the city, where no one would think to look for someone like him.

  The apartment itself was sparsely furnished—a couch, a table, a bed, and, in the corner, a small TV that flickered with static as he turned it on. Jack sat on the couch, exhaling slowly as the news broadcast began. The screen flashed to life, and the sound of cheering filled the room as the first major fight between a Nova and a Guardian was about to begin.

  The bright, polished news anchor spoke with the usual detached enthusiasm. "And now, we head live to the arena, where the Nova vs. Guardian event is underway. Tonight, it's Jalen Hughes—one of the strongest Nova candidates—going up against Warden, the legendary Guardian with impenetrable force fields. The stakes are high for Jalen as he vies for a spot on the Guardians!"

  Jack leaned forward, the worn cushion creaking beneath him. The fight was more than just an exhibition. It was a statement to the world, a declaration that the heroes were still in control, even after the attack at NovaTech and Crimson Nova’s death. But Jack wasn’t interested in the spectacle; he was looking for something more, something beneath the surface.

  The screen shifted to a live feed of the arena, where thousands of spectators filled the stands, their faces a mixture of anticipation and excitement. Jalen stood in the center of the ring, his fists clenched, the faint glow of kinetic energy swirling around him. He was young—too young, Jack thought—but powerful. His ability to absorb and redirect kinetic energy had made him a rising star among the Novas.

  Opposite him stood Warden, the Guardian with years of battle experience etched into his movements. His broad frame radiated calm confidence, his force fields shimmering faintly in the air around him. There was no flash to Warden’s powers, no theatrics. He was steady, unshakable.

  The camera zoomed in on the two as the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena. "This is it, folks! Jalen Hughes is one of the top candidates to replace Crimson Nova, but he has to prove himself tonight against one of the best."

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just about strength. Jalen wasn’t here to fight Warden; he was fighting for approval, for a place among the elites. But that kind of fight never ended well. The system didn’t just take talent—it chewed you up and spit you out.

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  The bell rang, and Jalen wasted no time. He charged at Warden, his feet barely touching the ground as he launched himself forward, fists glowing with absorbed energy. He was fast—faster than Jack had expected—but Warden didn’t flinch. With a calm, almost lazy motion, Warden raised his hand, and a shimmering force field appeared between them.

  Jalen’s fist connected with the field, and the energy rippled outward, dispersing harmlessly. The crowd roared as Jalen recoiled, eyes wide in surprise. He hadn’t expected Warden’s defense to be so effortless.

  "Come on!" Jalen shouted, his voice barely audible over the crowd. "Fight me!"

  Warden didn’t respond. He stood his ground, his expression unreadable behind the shimmering veil of his force field. For him, this wasn’t a fight—it was just another day.

  Jalen grit his teeth and moved again, this time circling Warden, looking for an opening. He threw out a series of rapid punches, each one glowing with kinetic energy, but each one met the same fate—absorbed by the impenetrable force field.

  "Is that all you’ve got?" Warden’s voice finally cut through the tension, calm and steady. "You’re fast, kid, but speed isn’t everything."

  Jack leaned back on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen. Jalen was getting desperate. The kid had raw power, but Warden wasn’t giving him anything to work with. He was playing the long game, wearing Jalen down.

  Jalen, frustrated, clenched his fists, his entire body glowing with absorbed energy. "Fine! You want power? Here it is!"

  With a roar, he slammed his fists into the ground, sending a shockwave of kinetic energy through the arena. The ground cracked and trembled beneath Warden, but the Guardian didn’t move. His force field expanded, absorbing the shockwave with barely a flicker. The audience gasped as dust and debris flew through the air, but when it settled, Warden was still standing, completely untouched.

  Jack could see the panic starting to set in. Jalen was throwing everything he had, and none of it was landing. Warden wasn’t just stronger—he was untouchable.

  "Don’t try to win on power alone," Warden said, his voice carrying a weight that made the arena go quiet. "Power without control is dangerous. And you—" He pointed at Jalen, his eyes narrowing. "—don’t know how to control it."

  Jalen’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he glared at Warden. "You don’t understand!" he shouted, desperation lacing his words. "I have to win this. I have to!"

  Warden’s expression softened, just for a moment. "Winning isn’t everything, kid."

  But Jalen wasn’t listening. He charged again, this time with a furious burst of energy, throwing everything he had into a single, massive punch aimed at Warden’s chest. The crowd leaned forward, holding their breath.

  Warden’s force field shimmered, but this time, instead of absorbing the blow, he stepped to the side, letting Jalen’s momentum carry him forward. The punch sailed through the air, and Jalen stumbled, crashing to the ground.

  It was over.

  The crowd erupted in applause as Warden turned, his force field flickering off like a light switch. He didn’t gloat, didn’t celebrate. He simply looked down at Jalen, who was still on the ground, panting and defeated.

  "You’ve got potential," Warden said, his voice low, just loud enough for Jalen to hear. "But you’re not ready. Not yet."

  Jalen didn’t respond. He stayed where he was, his body trembling with the weight of his failure.

  The camera panned to the announcer, who was already launching into his commentary about the match, but Jack had stopped listening. He turned the TV off, the room plunging into silence.

  He knew what was going through Jalen’s mind right now—the crushing weight of expectations, the fear of not being good enough. He had seen it in the eyes of countless others, heroes who thought they were invincible until reality shattered their illusions. And now, Jalen had learned that lesson too.

  Jack exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He had no interest in the politics of the Nova vs. Guardian event. It was just another way for the system to keep people in line, to remind them who was in charge. But the parade—that was different. It wasn’t just about paying tribute to Crimson Nova. It was a way to keep the public focused on hope, on the idea that the heroes still had everything under control. But Jack knew the truth. The cracks were already there, and the parade was just a bandage over a gaping wound.

  He stood, wincing as his ribs protested the movement, and walked over to the closet. Inside, his black suit and mask hung in the shadows, waiting for him. He stared at it for a moment, the weight of his decision settling over him.

  He couldn’t attend the parade as Jack Donovan, the man with scars and regrets. No, he needed to be there as Veil, watching from the shadows, waiting for the moment when everything went wrong. Because it would. Jack could feel it—the tension in the air, the sense of something building just beneath the surface.

  As he reached for the mask, his fingers brushed against the cool, familiar material. Veil wasn’t a hero in the traditional sense, but he was the only one who could move in the spaces the others couldn’t see. And when the chaos erupted, he would be there—silent, unseen, but ready.

  Jack placed the mask over his face, the weight of it settling into place. In the mirror, Veil stared back at him—a reminder of the man he had become. Not a hero, not a villain, but something in between. Someone who operated outside the lines, in the shadows where the real battles were fought.

  The parade was coming, and with it, the chaos that always followed. Jack could feel it in his bones, the storm on the horizon. And when it hit, Veil would be there, watching, waiting, ready to act.

  Because someone had to.