I have been trying to solve this problem for so long. Why can't I get it right?
You are losing focus Mia. You need to focus Mia, need to focus.
My fingers clench around the pencil. I grip it too hard. My frustration building. Can't seem to find the right footing for this problem.
SNAP
The pencil breaks in my grip, wood splinters scattering across my textbook.
One more.
I mutter, staring at the broken pieces in my palm.
I reach into my pencil case and grab a fresh one. This yellow wood is fragile in my hands. It breaks even if I breathe wrong on it. I have super strength, not super breath. It has been so long since I became aware of my abilities, I should have better control by now.
I scribble my pencil on the paper, trying to work through my stress. The integration steps. The numbers swim on the page as exhaustion weighs down my eyes. It's past midnight, but I can't sleep. Still haven't found the solution to this equation.
Pencil scratches against the paper, I write, erase, write again. My grip tightens unconsciously as frustration mounts.
CRACK
Another pencil bites the dust.
Oh come on! I throw my hands up in exasperation, and my chair tips backward.
For a split second, I'm falling. Then I catch myself mid-air, floating. I gently lower myself back down, grateful seeing that my roommate Jess is at her boyfriend's place.
I reach for the pencil, the 3rd when my door bursts open.
"Mia! Mia!!" Jessica rushes in, her face pale and streaked with tears. "Oh my God. Mia!"
"Jeez Jess, overdramatic, much."
"There's been a fire!" She gasps, trying to catch her breath. "I saw it on the news."
"So, you want me to jump in and save the people like a superhero."
"At your parents house."
Time stopped, my blood turns cold.
"When did you see the news?"
"I don't remember the time, I just drove as soon as I could."
I leap to my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"My phone died."
"How do you even know if the fire is at my house?"
Jessica's eyes filled with tears. "The blue shutters, Mia. The house with the blue shutters and the rose garden."
The world tilts sideways. I am losing my balance. That's my house. Mom painted those shutters last spring. Dad planted those roses for their anniversary.
"No," I whisper. "No, that can't be right."
"I saw that on a TV in the gas station 30 mins from our dorm. And I just drove here as fast as I could."
I grab my phone from the desk, my jacket from the closet door.
"When did this happen?" My voice sounds strange, distant.
"I am not sure, I just saw your house, ran towards my car, and came straight to you."
I am already moving looking for my keys.
"Mia, wait! Where are you going?"
"Home." I pull on my sneakers. "I have to get there."
"It's a four hour drive, you won't get there in time."
"Still, that does not change the fact that they might need me."
"It's middle of the night Mia."
"I don't care." I leave the dorm running to the parking garage.
"Mia, maybe call them first—"
I could tell Jessica wanted to come with me. Her concerned face, for the people who she's only met twice. Part of me wanted to take her with me.
But another part which knows I have to face this alone. As she does not know that I have super strength.
"Be careful Mia!, drive safely." Jess shouted from the hall while I was running down the stairs to the parking garage.
"I will." I shouted back.
"And I hope they make it."
I nod, not trusting my voice getting running towards my car.
"I hope they make it, too". I whispered to myself.
---
I push my Honda Civic harder than I've ever pushed it before.
The speedometer needle hovers over hundred as I barrel down Route 95, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight. Not afraid of getting hurt. My eyes filled with rage and fear. Also afraid I might bend the wheel.
The highway stretched endlessly ahead, each mile feeling like a marathon.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
The words became a chant, repeated with every heartbeat, every breath, every revolution of my tires.
I grabbed my phone to call them but it slipped as my vehicle was moving faster than ever.
The radio playing music felt like the devil was making fun of me. Laughing at my misery, taking pleasure in my pain. My mind is becoming a chaotic mess.
I turn off the music, drive in silence. With the sound of engine strain, and my rapid heart beating like a hammer.
My phone buzzing, but I couldn't get to it. All my focus is on driving, on getting home, denying the worst case scenario. Which keeps on coming to my mind again and again like a loop.
Fire department. They would have gotten them out.
I press the gas pedal harder, watching the needle climb past 120.
"Come on," I whisper to myself. "Faster."
---
I smell smoke before I turn onto Maple street.
The acrid stench of burned wood and melted plastic seeps through my car's ventilation system, making my stomach churn. When I finally turn the corner onto my street, the sight that greets me stops my heart.
Fire trucks line the road like sleeping giants, their red and blue lights painting everything in hellish colors. Police cars create barriers to keep back the crowd of neighbours and reporters. Ambulances wait with their back doors open.
And where my house should be, there's nothing but a blackened skeleton of charred beams and smoking debris.
I park three blocks away and run.
My sneakers slap against the asphalt as I sprint toward the scene. The smell of smoke grows stronger with every step.
"Miss! Miss, you are not supposed to be here. You can't go past this line!"
A police officer steps in front of me as I duck under the yellow crime scene tape. He's older, with kind eyes and silver hair.
"That's my house!" I gasp, pointing at the ruins. "Those are my parents! Marcus and Emma Santos!"
The officer's expression shifts from stern to sympathetic.
"Oh. I'm officer Grey. Let me find someone to talk to you."
"Are they okay?" The words tumble out in a rush. "Please tell me they got out. They are in a hospital."
The officer looked at his feet for a moment. When his gaze met my eyes again, I could see the answer written across his face.
"I wish that was that case. I'm so sorry, Miss Santos. Your parents… they didn't make it out of the house. They were already dead when we got here."
The world stops spinning.
"NO! No! No! No! Noooo…..!" My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. A person still not accepting, denying everything that is true and right across their face.
"No, that's wrong. They're careful people. Dad checks the smoke detectors every month. Mom never leaves candles burning."
"I really wish I had different news," the officer says gently. "The fire department responded as quickly as they could, but the flames spread awfully faster. They were not able to control them."
I stare at what used to be my home. Stem still rises from the wreckage where firefighters poured water on the flames. The swing Dad built for me when I was eight now twisted metal. Mom's prize-winning roses are gone.
"How did this happen?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Officer Grey glances around. Leans closer. "The fire pattern suggests it was set purposely. There were no signs of fire hazard."
My blood turns to ice. "Someone did this on purpose, you're saying my parents were targeted."
"We're still investigating, but all the evidence points to arson."
Only one thought came to my mind, Scorcher. "Was it Scorcher? The super human criminal who robs and burns their victim."
Officer Grey wanted to say yes, I could see that on his face, but he couldn't. "What makes you think that?"
"I grew up seeing him on the news. Bank robberies, murders, using fire as a toy for his entertainment. How many people are like that out there? Not many."
"Miss Santos, I can't discuss the details of our ongoing investigation—"
"So it was him, wasn't it?" I press. "It has to be. How else do you explain the overwhelming flames that firefighters could not control. The fact that this is arson, the deliberate targeting…"
"I can assure you, the detectives are exploring every possibility. Taking potential super humans into consideration as well." The officer says carefully. "But right now, I need you to understand that this is an active crime scene."
"At least tell me that he is at the top of your suspect list."
Officer hesitates. "Miss Santos, who do we have on our suspect list, I can't share that with you. It could compromise the investigation."
"Almost sounds like you are confirming that."
"I did no such thing."
"You didn't deny that fact either."
Officer Grey sighs. "I completely understand you wanting answers, asking questions to make sense of what just happened. But right now, the best thing you can do is let us do our job. Whoever is responsible will be brought to justice."
"Alrigh." I nod numbly, not trusting my voice.
"Is there a place you can stay for the night?" Officer asks. "Friends, relatives or a boyfriend—girlfriend."
"No family. Just them." I gesture toward the ashes. "I have a dorm room at MIT."
"That's four hours away. You shouldn't be on the road the way you are right now."
"I'll be fine."
"There is a motel nearby, just 15 mins from here. Why don't you stay there for the night."
"I said I'll be fine!" The words came out sharper than I intended, and Officer Grey takes a step back.
I realize my hands are clenched into fists so tight that my nails have drawn blood from my palms. The secret I've kept hidden for 14 years is struggling to stay hidden.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to snap at you."
"Understandable, you're in shock. It's normal."
"Can I ask you something, officer?"
"By all means."
"My parents… were they… did they suffer?"
Officer Grey's expression softens. "The detective told me they were found in the living room holding each other. As per the coroner's assessment, it would have been quick."
The tears I've been fighting finally spill over. Even at the end, even facing a killer, they found each other. They protected each other the way they'd protected me my entire life.
And I wasn't here to protect them.
---
I sit in my car for at least an hour. My mind racing thinking why, why my parents.
Why would the Scorcher target my parents? What could they have done, were they hiding something that I didn't know. What could be his motivation? Or was he contracted by someone to kill my parents.
Out of all the theories, Scorcher being contracted by someone to kill my parents makes the most sense right now.
I grabbed my phone from the floor under the dashboard of my car. DND mode still on. I turn off the DND mode.
What, no! This means I was the reason my parents are dead right now. Why did I put my phone on DND, why, why, why, why...….
I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
Five missed calls. I had five missed calls from my parents. When I was fretting over my equations to solve my parents were trying to reach out to me. And I was unresponsive.
All timestamped between 11:47 PM and 12:15 PM.
Why was my phone on DND.
All while I was trying to solve a stupid equation.
All while they were dying.
All these calls have gone to voicemail.
With shaking fingers, I started playing the voicemails.
I tapped on Mom's first.
"What are you doing here?"
"Have you forgotten me already? How can that be, we were colleagues, we have accomplished so many milestones together."
From the conversation it felt like mom knew Scorcher somehow. I played the recording further.
"And that is the exact reason why we left. How did you even find us? We made sure that no one can get to us ever."
"Are you doubting the ability of the syndicate I am part of?"
Syndicate, has scorcher joined a syndicate now. He was no longer just a lone criminal now he is a part of a syndicate who kills people. That explains why Scorcher killed my parents.
"I am here to give you my sincere greetings and congratulate you on your new life, with some warmth."
The message cuts off abruptly. In the background, I can hear Dad shouting something I can't make out.
The second call is from dad. Shorter, more frantic. "Mia, listen to me very carefully. You may not see us again. I want you to know that we love you no matter what. And you are nothing like those super humans who hurt people. Remember your purpose is to use that power responsibly. And —"
Static. Then only silence.
The third call is mostly background noise-crackling sounds that must be flames, the sound of splintering wood, sirens wailing in the distance. "We love you Mia, we are very thankful that you came into our lives and we are proud of you."
Listening to that made my heart melt. I was not present there in their final moments. The feeling of guilt was taking over me.
I play them again. And again. Memorizing every word, every inflection, every terrifying sound that tells the story of their final moments.
We love you Mia.
We are very thankful that you came into our lives.
We are proud of you Mia.
They called me. In their final moments, trapped in a burning house with a killer. And those were their last words for me.
By the 7th replay, I'm sobbing so hard I can barely breathe. The guilt feels like it's crushing my chest, making it impossible to think about anything except how badly I failed them.
---
The drive back to MIT passed in a blur of tears and rage.
I park in the campus lot and sit in my car until sunrise, watching students head to early classes like it's just another normal day. For them, I guess it is. They haven't lost everything. They haven't failed two people who mattered most.
In my dorm room, I open my laptop and stare at the equation I was fretting over. Jessica burst through the door. The numbers, symbols and notations look like hieroglyphs now. Meaningless scratch marks compared to the smoking ruins of my life.
I open a new window in a web browser.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a long moment before I type: "Prometheus Academy."
Jessica saw it from behind.
"Mia what are you doing?"