Cardboard boxes were stacked like towers in the living room, some still sealed, others half-opened with trailing tape and bubble wrap spilling out like ribbon. Sunlight spilled through the windows of the modest two-story home Noah Stroudnow shared with Imani, its golden rays brushing the floor like a blessing. The world outside felt calm, almost healed. For the first time in a long time, so did he.
Noah crouched near the entertainment console, carefully connecting speaker wires while Imani stood nearby unwrapping kitchenware, humming under her breath.
"You'd think with fifty million dollars, we'd hire movers who actually unpack the boxes," Imani said with a teasing smile.
Noah glanced over his shoulder. "I did hire movers. You fired them after twenty minutes."
"They kept dropping things," she replied, holding up a cracked coffee mug like evidence in court. "Besides, I like doing it ourselves. Makes it feel more… ours."
He nodded, offering a small smile. Her presence kept him anchored. She always had.
It had been exactly one year since the bar explosion. Since he'd exposed Victor Hales. Since the Skybolt suit became more than a weapon — it became a symbol. And now? The suit sat untouched in the basement beneath them, draped in an old tarp, its thrusters quiet.
There hadn't been a reason to power it up. Not in months.
"You ever think about it?" Imani asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Everything we've been through — and somehow, this is where we landed."
Noah paused. "Sometimes I feel like I cheated fate."
"You didn't cheat anything," she said gently. "You survived it."
He looked at her, gratitude flickering behind his tired eyes. "You helped me survive it."
Before Imani could respond, the TV in the corner buzzed to life. They both turned toward it, drawn by the urgent tone of a news bulletin.
NEWS ANCHOR:
"We interrupt your scheduled programming for breaking news. Former Aerodyne Dynamics CEO Victor Hales has been officially sentenced to life in prison without parole…"
Footage played — Victor in an orange jumpsuit, expression blank, being led through a courthouse hallway. Protesters and supporters alike shouted from behind police barriers.
"…The sentencing comes after extensive evidence tied Hales to the bar bombing, corporate espionage, and unauthorized weapons programs exposed by whistleblower and former Aerodyne engineer, Noah Stroud."
Imani reached for the remote, lowering the volume. The room fell quiet again.
Noah leaned back on his hands, staring at the screen. "Closure," he muttered.
"Justice," Imani corrected.
A knock came at the door.
Imani raised an eyebrow. "Expecting anyone?"
Noah stood, cautious but calm. He opened the front door to find Maya, dressed in jeans and a faded bomber jacket, holding two coffee cups.
"Well damn," she said, grinning. "Y'all got a porch and everything."
Noah smirked. "We also have a doorbell."
"Yeah, but knocking makes me feel like a rebel."
She stepped inside, offering one of the coffees to Imani. "Just thought I'd stop by and see how the city's favorite millionaire vigilante and his badass nurse girlfriend were settling in."
Imani rolled her eyes, accepting the drink. "You're insufferable."
"And you love me."
They laughed — the kind of laughter that carried relief, survival, and a touch of disbelief that they were still here.
Maya took a sip of her drink and looked around the living room. "Damn. This place is nice. Y'all living like two people who just won a lawsuit the size of a small country's defense budget."
Noah chuckled lightly, but Imani answered for him. "Fifty million doesn't go as far as you'd think once you factor in trauma therapy, medical bills, and moving out of a city that tried to kill you."
Maya raised an eyebrow. "You still got a balcony and recessed lighting. Don't play modest."
Noah smiled faintly. "We're not flaunting it. I just… didn't want the money to be about luxury. It was never about that."
Imani nodded. "He's been putting chunks of it into survivor funds. Victims from the Aerodyne programs. Families from the bar bombing. The rest is just enough to breathe."
"Still wild to think," Maya said, sinking into one of the unpacked couch cushions. "One year ago, you were working a nine-to-five under a monster. Now the monster's in prison, and you're on the news being called a national hero."
Noah's smile faded a bit. "Except they're not talking about me. They're talking about Skybolt."
He leaned back against the wall, his tone quiet but thoughtful. "No one knows who I am. Not the press. Not the public. Just the two of you… and Victor. That's it."
Maya blinked. "Wait—Victor knows your identity?"
Noah nodded slowly. "He figured it out during the fight. Looked me right in the eye through that damn helmet. Called me by name."
Imani leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. "But he never exposed you. Never told the world."
"That's what keeps me up some nights," Noah admitted. "He could've outed me before the trial. After. Any time. But he didn't. Why?"
The room fell into a thoughtful silence. Even Maya, normally quick with a sarcastic quip, had nothing.
Noah paused for a moment, then reached for his keys on the side table. "I need to head to Aerodyne," he said, the words casual, but the effect immediate.
Maya looked up, eyes wide. "Wait, what? Why on earth would you—"
Imani gently touched her arm, a calm smile forming. "It's just some final paperwork from the lawsuit. Part of the settlement was that he can't speak publicly about certain… company matters."
Maya exhaled, relief and lingering curiosity mingling on her face. "Oh, right. You had me thinking you were going back into the lion's den or something."
Noah smiled and walked over to Imani, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll be quick. Just finishing what we started."
He turned, giving them a reassuring nod before heading out the door. The sound of the car starting up soon followed, leaving the two friends to exchange a knowing glance.
The elevator slowed to a halt with a soft mechanical hum before opening to the 39th floor — Aerodyne's executive wing. Noah stepped out, his boots echoing on the polished marble floor. The halls looked the same: sleek, symmetrical, spotless. But it felt… quieter now. Like the building was trying to scrub the past off its skin. The same digital plaques still cycled corporate slogans:
"Precision is Peace."
"Tomorrow, Engineered."
"Integrity Through Innovation."
Noah resisted the urge to laugh.
He passed the etched glass walls of private offices and approached the largest set of doors at the end — doors he remembered all too well. A receptionist offered a tight smile and buzzed him in.
Jared Ellison stood by the windows, hands clasped behind his back. The city stretched out behind him, cast in the blue-gray haze of morning light. Victor Hales used to stand there too — only he made the skyline feel like a battlefield. Jared looked more like a junior trying on a suit two sizes too big.
Jared turned as Noah entered and smiled, cordial. "Noah. Thanks for coming in."
He stepped forward, hand outstretched.
Noah didn't take it. His arms stayed at his sides.
The pause lingered. Jared lowered his hand slowly. "Right… I get it."
Noah's eyes drifted across the room. It had been redecorated. Softer lighting. The sharp-angled chairs were replaced with more inviting ones. A plant sat in the corner that looked too healthy to be real. But no matter how much they tried to mask it, Noah still felt the blood in the floorboards.
Jared cleared his throat. "You probably never thought you'd walk in here again."
"I didn't come to reminisce," Noah said flatly.
"Fair enough." Jared gestured to the desk. "The paperwork's straightforward. Finalizes your settlement, confirms confidentiality terms, clears the last of the legal threads."
Noah stepped forward, eyes glancing over the text without real focus. "You know I read the fine print already."
"I figured." Jared sat across from him. "Still… I wanted to be here personally. Not just to close it out. But to say something I should've said a long time ago."
Noah paused with the pen in his hand.
"I'm sorry," Jared said. "For everything Victor did. For what the company let happen. I can't imagine what that night was like—what it took to survive it."
Noah didn't respond. He signed the first page.
Jared tried again. "You were right to sue. You were right to walk away. What happened to your friends, your team… it should never have been possible."
Noah signed the second page. No eye contact. Just the quiet scratch of ink on paper.
"I want to change things," Jared continued. "To make Aerodyne something that builds again. Something that protects instead of hides."
Noah finally looked at him.
His voice was calm, but laced with steel: "You want forgiveness. But you don't want the truth."
Jared blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You were in that building, Jared. The night the bomb dropped. You stayed behind while we all went out."
"I—I was asked to monitor—"
"Yeah," Noah interrupted, "you were asked. And you did it. You stayed. You watched. And you survived. That's convenient."
A long silence passed between them.
"I didn't know what was going to happen," Jared said quietly.
Noah signed the final page. "I don't believe you."
He stood up, sliding the folder back across the desk. "But you've got your clean title now. CEO. The press loves a rebrand."
"Noah—"
"We're done."
He turned to leave, the door sliding open ahead of him.
As he stepped out, Jared remained seated behind the desk that once belonged to a tyrant — alone, surrounded by windows, holding a stack of signed papers and an apology that never landed.
Rain drizzled under a flickering neon sign that read QUICKMART, barely clinging to life. Inside, the graveyard shift clerk — a scrawny man named Harris — stood frozen behind the register, hands raised. A ski-masked man paced in front of the counter, waving a pistol.
"Empty the drawer!" the robber shouted, voice cracking. "Now, man! I ain't got time to play!"
Harris stammered, trembling fingers fumbling at the cash tray. "O-okay, okay, just don't—"
The door behind them jingled.
The robber whipped around.
Standing just inside the threshold, framed in shadow and fluorescent light, was an armored figure. Not Skybolt — not exactly. Sleek. Black. Silent. Its eyes glowed red, narrow like slits. Its plating was matte obsidian, no emblems, no markings. No sound except the soft, mechanical hiss of breathing that wasn't real.
The robber stepped back, gun shaking. "H-Hey… I thought you— You retired, man. I saw it on the news. You— You ain't supposed to be here…"
The suit took a single step forward.
The gun dropped to the floor with a clatter. "I give up!" the man shouted, hands raised high. "I swear! I give up, man! I—"
The suit raised one hand.
A small charge hissed from its palm —
SHHTT.
The shot hit the robber square in the chest.
Thud. He collapsed backward, unmoving.
Harris screamed.
The armored figure tilted its head slightly, studying the terrified clerk. For a moment, it felt as if it might fire again.
But then it turned.
With a faint hum, the thrusters on its back activated. The black suit rose into the air, gliding out the door and vanishing into the misty night sky.
Harris stood shaking, tears in his eyes, staring at the body on the floor.
"That… that wasn't Skybolt."