Before I made quick to leave the room, I heard Ray’s mother call out to me over my speedy footwork.

“Thank you,” She said, trying to make me look less of a threat to her, mainly her son.

I nodded and said, “anything for him,” she regarded me funny for a second and quickly gazed at her son. She had the same knowing look from earlier. Ray’s mother was more than she appeared to be. I made it my job to get to know her more—maybe, to get on good terms with her, score some brownie points—and shut the hinging door.

“Brother, I’ll take him,” Julio said.

I had sensed him earlier along with the guards behind the door—they stood strong, watchful—the emblem of an officer gleaming in emerald and silver spikes over their hearts—a vulnerable yet honorable position. They took in my presence and bowed slightly, returning to their station. I wonder if the inhabitants of this home would be bothered by their overwhelming presence?

“He’s comfy, let him sleep.”

Julio shook his head amused at my reluctance.

“Are you sure it’s not because you have a brother-complex?” Julio asked, smugged.

Said person shuffled his feet. This guy would burn through hell to get him back in one piece and make sure Sid remains his cheerful and plucky self.

“Speak for yourself.”

He clicked his tongue and rubbed his earlobe, waving me off—I got him there. Julio probably needed to blow off a torch more than ever; I didn’t make it to the meeting; Ray got attacked; now Sid is drained from overexerting himself. We have questionable origins, not known to mankind, thrust with power most people only made up in films and their dreams—but like Superman—we were vulnerable; less human, still human. The skin on our backs burned, broke, even loved, and worried the same way humans did. It wasn’t a question of who was stronger, more vulnerable—a question of truth—which was to this day no less subjective than Julio, me, or even Ray—it’s up to him to decide. If only there were enough time to decide before it was too late. I gazed a small moment over my shoulder and headed down the protesting steps.

“I’ll catch up with you downstairs. I need to put a ward around his room. It stinks, and not the good kind. Have you noticed?”

I stopped mid-train and huffed carefully to not wake Sid.

“Yes… it’s subtle. I wanted to speak to Mr. Rotchird and his father about it. You know how they both know more than they tend to say, Julio.”

I pondered, observing the little niblets of black fuzz, slowly skipping and tumbling down the steps. They froze mid-chirp at the increase of tension about the stairs.

“Old habits, I guess. Father started after….” I knew why he stopped—a pit, lumps clutched deeply inside—it was hard to remember let alone speak of it. Some things were left unsaid, “I’ll keep the wards up, meet you—'' We froze and heard loud yelling from downstairs—it was Mr. Rotchird and his brother.

One look and we both signaled the guards to stay alert and whisked down faster than intended. Sid groaned and moved awake.

“What’s… going… on,” he yawned between his words and rubbed his eyes, “brother?”

Sid tilted his head and his ears popped out and perked when the yelling got louder. We thought they would be in the office—they both stood yelling at each other over the tv and let go of Sid, easily landing on his feet.

“Brother you’re on tele!” Sid beamed and got closer, “You both are.”

“Look at what you did to my son. He’ll never have a normal life at this rate,” Ray’s father clenched his hand into fists, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they landed.

“You know as well as I do, Ray was never going to have a normal life. He’s different,” Mr. Rotchird tried to reason with his brother.

Ray’s father wasn’t having it and pointed his scowl at me and the tv. He slapped his brother’s hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Footage of the diner ran on repeat on the breaking news; pictures of Ray next to the headline, “Two males suspects escaped from the crime scene at Diner massacre.” The anchor’s smile curled and scrutinized with glee at every part which became of interest to her. They didn’t mind turning a young man’s life into a circus, and entertainment. Ray didn’t need his life under a lens.

“One Latino, five-foot twelve—his name Rayel Tristani was last seen running with an unidentified male. He appeared to be six foot two and wore a suit. Witnesses say the young Ray was coerced, others suspect he might be a terrorist. Authorities have not disclosed any information at this time,” I stood ramrod still, “this just in! A recent video going viral showed both suspects running together, watch….” The anchor continued, a mad smile over the juice scoops in her greedy and lust-ridden hands.

I drowned out the noise from the tv. Ray’s father sunk into the chair and paled. This had gone from bad to worse in minutes. I had to get Ray out of here and fast. There was no doubt the media already knew where Ray lived and would come looking for more.

“This is what I wanted to avoid,” Julio groaned.

He rubbed his face, cursing under his breath, and jolted when his phone started ringing.

“Ciao Calius,” he turned around, waving his hands, paid mind at my reaction, “why didn’t the council get this handled? He what! Bastard! Barias better hold onto his balls. We’ll be there. Tell the council to meet at—” He hesitated and shifted his sights between me and an annoyed Mr. Rotchird, “the Caretaker’s. Yes, you heard me. I know what this means, Calius, and I’m nervous too,” he averted my weary gaze, “the timing will never be right. The hell with it! Also, be careful, and breathe. You sound worse than Mom and Dad at last year’s gathering. Ok, ciao,” he clicked his phone and heaved a stretched sigh.