The room was white.
Not clean white—empty white. No windows. No corners that felt real. The light came from nowhere and everywhere at once, soft enough not to hurt the eyes, bright enough to erase shadows.
Aren sat at the center.
No cuffs.
No chains.
Just a metal chair bolted to the floor.
That scared him more than restraints would have.
"Comfortable?" a voice asked.
A door he hadn't noticed slid open without a sound. A woman entered—mid-thirties, dark coat, hair pulled back tight. She carried no weapon. No badge.
Only a thin tablet tucked under her arm.
She sat across from him, legs crossed, posture relaxed.
"You can call me Director Hale," she said. "And before you ask—yes, your mother is alive."
Aren didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Hale watched him carefully. "You should be relieved."
"You should start talking," Aren replied, voice flat. "Now."
She smiled faintly. "Straight to the point. I respect that."
She tapped her tablet. The wall behind her shimmered—and became a screen.
Footage played.
Aren. Running. Flying. Slowing down midair. Bleeding from his nose.
Every moment he thought no one had seen.
"You're burning yourself out," Hale said. "You don't regulate. You react."
"Not your concern."
"It is when you start collapsing cities."
The footage paused on the falling tower.
Aren's jaw tightened.
"I saved people."
"You did," she agreed. "And you scared millions."
Silence stretched.
Hale leaned forward slightly. "Do you know why we didn't chain you?"
Aren didn't answer.
"Because we don't need to," she continued. "You're already learning your limits."
She changed the display.
Medical scans. Heart irregularities. Micro-fractures in muscle fibers. Neural overstimulation.
"Every time you exceed a certain threshold," Hale said, "your body pays the price. Speed. Flight. Shockwaves."
She looked him in the eye.
"You're not invincible, Aren Vale. You're temporary."
Aren swallowed.
"Then kill me," he said. "Get it over with."
Hale shook her head. "That would be a waste."
She stood and walked behind him, voice calm, almost kind.
"We didn't take your mother as punishment," she said. "We took her as protection. There are people who would carve her apart just to understand you."
Aren's hands trembled.
"You're lying."
"We're containing a problem," Hale corrected. "You."
She stopped beside him.
"But problems can be… repurposed."
Aren finally looked at her.
"What do you want?"
Hale smiled—this time without warmth.
"To help you learn stillness," she said. "Before your speed kills you."
She turned toward the door.
"Oh—and Aren?"
She paused.
"You're not the first one we've brought in like this."
The door slid shut.
The lights dimmed slightly.
Aren sat alone, heart pounding—not from fear.
But from a new, terrifying realization.
If he wasn't the first—
Then the sky had already claimed others.
And they hadn't escaped.