The summer heat was a suffocating blanket, but Jake barely noticed. His mind, a relentless engine of determination, was focused solely on Tiffany. The false rumors, the humiliation, Katy's exasperated warnings – they were all just background noise to the singular, burning need for answers about Old Man Henderson. He had to break her. He had to.
He found himself, once again, on Willow Creek Lane, the perfectly manicured lawns and imposing, classic houses mocking his increasingly desperate quest. Tiffany's dove-gray colonial loomed ahead, a fortress of suburban perfection. He knew she was home; he'd seen her expensive sports car in the circular driveway. This time, he didn't bother with subtlety. He walked straight up the stone path, his sneakers crunching loudly on the gravel, and rapped on the heavy front door. Not three polite knocks, but a rapid, insistent series of bangs that echoed through the quiet afternoon.
He heard it almost immediately – a furious thud from within, then quick, angry footsteps. The door flew open, not a hesitant crack, but a wide, aggressive swing, and Tiffany stood there, her face a mask of incandescent rage. Her hair was still in a messy bun, but strands had escaped, framing a face contorted with pure fury. Her eyes, usually calculating, were wide and wild, burning with an intensity Jake had never seen.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT, MILLER?!" she shrieked, her voice raw, strained, and on the verge of cracking. It wasn't her usual cutting sneer; it was the sound of someone pushed past their absolute limit. "ARE YOU INSANE?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?! EVERYONE AT THE POOL WAS WHISPERING! BRITTANY THINKS I'M ACTUALLY INTO YOU! MY LIFE IS A LIVING HELL BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU FREAK!"
Jake flinched, but he held his ground. This was it. Her breaking point. "Tiffany," he began, trying to keep his voice calm, despite the roaring in his ears. "I just need to ask you about your grandpa. The Halloween illusions. Were they real? How did he do them?"
Her eyes widened further, if that were possible, then narrowed into slits of pure, desperate anger. A low, guttural growl rumbled in her throat before she exploded. "REAL?! YOU WANT TO KNOW IF THEY WERE REAL?! YES! YES, THEY WERE REAL, YOU IDIOT! THE GHOSTS WERE REAL! THE MONSTERS WERE REAL! THE HOUSE WAS REAL! HE MADE THEM REAL! HE MADE EVERYTHING REAL, JUST LIKE HE SAID HE COULD!"
Her chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked as if she was about to burst, a vein throbbing visibly in her temple. "HE HAD POWERS! ILLUSION POWERS! HE COULD MAKE THINGS APPEAR! HE COULD MAKE THEM DISAPPEAR! HE COULD MAKE YOU SEE THINGS THAT WEREN'T THERE, AND HE COULD MAKE YOU NOT SEE THINGS THAT WERE! HE WAS A FREAK! A COMPLETE AND UTTER FREAK! AND HE DID IT ALL ON HALLOWEEN, JUST TO SCARE PEOPLE! HE WAS A MONSTER!"
Her voice cracked on the last word, dissolving into a choked sob of pure, frustrated rage. Tears welled in her eyes, not soft, emotional tears, but hot, angry tears that streamed down her flushed cheeks. She looked utterly undone, her carefully constructed facade shattered into a million pieces.
Jake stared, his own breath catching in his throat. He had expected anger, denial, a continued stonewall. He had not expected this raw, desperate confession. The confirmation, delivered with such furious, undeniable conviction, sent a jolt of pure exhilaration through him. It was real. Old Man Henderson had Cubix Power.
Tiffany, still sobbing, glared at him through her tears, her face a mask of hatred and despair. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, YOU STALKING WEIRDO?! YOU GOT YOUR ANSWER! NOW GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY LIFE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU AND YOUR SISTER!"
With a final, guttural scream of frustration, she swung the door shut with all her might. The heavy wood slammed against the frame with a deafening CRACK, rattling the very foundations of the expensive house. The sound was so violent, so final, that Jake instinctively flinched, stepping back from the threshold.
He stood there, alone on the pristine pathway, the sound of the slamming door echoing in the sudden, oppressive silence. He had done it. He had broken her. He had the confirmation. Old Man Henderson had the Cubix Power.
A wave of triumph, sharp and intoxicating, surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the lingering guilt and the shock of Tiffany's raw breakdown. He had been right. All his persistence, all the humiliation, all the rumors – it had been worth it. The truth. He had the truth.
And then, in a sudden, impulsive rush, driven by the sheer elation of his victory and a desperate, almost reckless need to share the impossible truth he now held, Jake spun around and yelled at the closed door, his voice ringing out across the quiet, manicured lawns.
"HE WASN'T A FREAK, TIFFANY! HE WAS A CUBIX CONTROLLER! JUST LIKE ME! I HAVE CUBIX POWERS TOO!"
The words hung in the air, loud and stark, utterly out of place in the serene suburban afternoon. He stood there, panting, his chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through him. What had he done? He had just blurted out the biggest secret of his life to his worst enemy.
He waited, half-expecting the door to remain shut, for her to dismiss him as completely insane. But then, after a tense, agonizing silence, he heard it. The click of the deadbolt. The door slowly, hesitantly, creaked open a sliver.
Tiffany's eye, red-rimmed and swollen from crying, peered out through the crack. Her face was still blotchy, her expression a mixture of disbelief, raw anger, and a flicker of something else – a desperate, almost terrified curiosity.
"What did you just say?" she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible. The fury was still there, but it was laced with a chilling uncertainty.
Jake took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. No backing out now. He had committed. "I said," he repeated, his voice firmer this time, "your grandpa had Cubix Powers. He was a Cubix Controller. And so am I. I can make things appear. I can make things disappear. I can create worlds."
Tiffany's eye widened, her gaze fixed on him with an unnerving intensity. She didn't laugh. She didn't sneer. She just stared. "You're lying," she breathed, but there was no conviction in her voice. It was a question, a desperate hope for normalcy.
"I'm not," Jake insisted, stepping closer to the door, lowering his voice. "Everything you said about your grandpa? The illusions? The making things real? It's all true. It's Cubix Power. I can do it too."
She pulled the door open a little wider, enough for him to see her full face. Her eyes, still tear-streaked, searched his, desperate for any sign of a lie, any flicker of a joke. "Prove it," she demanded, her voice a harsh whisper. "Prove it right now, Miller. Make something appear. Make something disappear. Do it."
Jake felt a cold dread wash over him. He couldn't. Not here. Not in the real world. His powers, Aethelred's powers, were confined to his room, to the realm. He was just Jake.
"I… I can't," he stammered, his confidence evaporating. "Not here. It only works… it only works in my room. That's where the locus is. That's where the portal is. That's where I can access the power."
Tiffany's face hardened, a flicker of her old contempt returning. "Oh, so it only works in your room, huh? Convenient. You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe you're some kind of… magic dork, but only when you're in your bedroom?" Her voice rose, tinged with a fresh wave of mockery. "Nice try, Miller. You just want to get me into your creepy room, don't you? Is this some kind of sick prank? Is this your sister's idea of revenge?"
"No! It's not a prank! I swear!" Jake pleaded, desperate for her to believe him, to understand. "It's real, Tiffany! Just like your grandpa's powers were real! They were confined too! That's why Michael said it only happened once, on Halloween! Because that's when he was in his house, where his locus was! Please, you have to believe me!"
He could see the warring emotions in her eyes: skepticism, anger, but beneath it all, a raw, undeniable curiosity. The idea that her despised grandpa, the "freak," had possessed real, impossible powers was a terrifying, yet strangely compelling, thought. And the idea that this dork, this annoying, persistent Jake Miller, claimed to have them too… it was too wild to dismiss outright, especially after her own furious confession.
She bit her lip, her gaze darting from his desperate face to the quiet street, then back to him. Her pride, her carefully constructed image, was already in tatters thanks to him. What more did she have to lose? If he was lying, she'd expose him. If he wasn't…
"Fine," Tiffany said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet laced with a chilling resolve. "Fine, Miller. You want to prove it? You want me to believe your insane story? Then I'll follow you. Right now. To your house. To your precious room. And if you're lying, if this is some kind of trick, you will regret it more than you have ever regretted anything in your pathetic life. Got it?"
Jake stared at her, stunned. He had expected her to refuse, to call him crazy, to slam the door again. He had not expected this. This was a massive, terrifying leap of faith, a gamble with stakes higher than he could have imagined. But it was also his only chance.
"Got it," Jake whispered, his voice barely a breath. A cold shiver ran down his spine, despite the summer heat. He had the information he wanted. But now, he was bringing the viper directly into his sanctuary. This was either the biggest breakthrough of his life, or the most catastrophic mistake.
Tiffany stepped out onto her porch, her eyes fixed on him, sharp and unwavering. "Lead the way, Miller. And don't even think about trying anything funny."
Jake turned, his legs feeling strangely heavy, and began to walk. He could feel her presence behind him, a silent, menacing shadow. The summer holiday had just taken a very, very unexpected turn.