The morning sunlight filtered softly through the greenhouse ceiling, painting the leaves in shades of gold and green. Hunter Zolomone sat quietly at the edge of a small pond in the sanctuary room, watching the ripples his fingers made in the water. Eli sat nearby, drawing in a sketchbook, muttering softly to himself. The twins were training with small telekinetic exercises, lifting leaves and small stones gently, practicing without knowing the danger they could unleash if they lost control.
Hunter exhaled slowly. Peace. For a brief moment, it almost felt normal.
But the calm was fleeting.
At Midtown High, the rumor mill had gone into overdrive. A hooded figure had saved the city twice in a matter of days. One who didn't seek recognition, didn't answer questions, didn't even speak to most people.
Students whispered in hallways. Teachers murmured in the lounge. Even the principal—someone Hunter had carefully avoided for weeks—had mentioned, "The city has… new heroes appearing. We need to monitor the situation."
Hunter, meanwhile, had no intention of being monitored.
MJ leaned against her locker again, arms folded, her green eyes scanning the hallway. "You're impossible," she muttered to herself as Hunter passed by silently.
Hunter paused, sensing her thoughts more than hearing her words. The system's passive perception helped him read intent, emotional states, and the subtle body language of everyone in the room. It was useful. Annoying when students tried to hide feelings.
She looked at him directly. "You're going to get yourself noticed," she said quietly, stepping in front of him again.
Hunter tilted his head under his hoodie. "I'm unnoticed enough."
"No," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're unforgettable."
Hunter blinked. That wasn't a question. He had heard it before, but this time, coming from her, it had a weight to it.
He did not respond. Silence was safer.
Later that day, while walking home with groceries, Hunter felt a faint tug in his perception. Not strong. Not urgent. But noticeable.
Mutant energy.
He looked around carefully. The alley he was walking through had a small, flickering light at the far end. A young girl crouched behind a dumpster. Her hands were glowing faintly with uncontrolled fire, sparks flying and leaving burn marks on the brick walls.
Hunter approached slowly, hood up. "Hey," he said softly. "It's okay. You're safe."
The girl flinched, and her fire flared. A small wall of flame sprang up around her, but it didn't spread. Animals in the alley froze, small birds and rats watching cautiously.
Hunter didn't move quickly. He had learned that calm presence worked better than overwhelming force. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said. His voice carried authority, but gentle.
The girl's eyes widened. Blue. Luminous. Fear melted into relief slowly. She lowered her hands. "You… you can control it?" she whispered.
"Only calm fires," he replied. "And only if they're yours."
Something in her relaxed. She crawled out from behind the dumpster. "I'm… Lila," she said quietly.
Hunter gave a small nod. "Hunter. Come with me. I'll keep you safe."
Lila hesitated, glancing back toward the street. But she stepped forward eventually.
Back at the manor, the sanctuary room seemed even larger than before. The plants, trees, and magical vines adjusted subtly as if welcoming her. The animals sniffed her, tails wagging or feathers twitching, showing immediate trust.
Hunter led her to a corner room that could accommodate her safely, isolated enough to protect her from the world but still within the warmth of the greenhouse.
"You can stay here," he said. "No one can enter without my permission."
Her eyes swept the room, wide in awe. "This… this is incredible."
"It's safe," he said simply. "You're safe."
Eli, curious, peeked from behind a bush-like vine. "Another kid?" he asked softly.
Hunter's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. Another one. Quiet. Don't bother her unless she wants to join."
The girl smiled faintly at Eli, and for the first time, Hunter allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves… it wasn't his original plan. But somehow, it felt right.
The evening brought another visitor.
Spider-Woman. She had appeared at the gates again, mask off this time, eyes scanning the sanctuary as if testing its limits.
"You're really making a habit of this," she said, voice soft but firm.
Hunter didn't look at her directly. "I can't leave them alone."
Her eyes flicked to the children, then Lila. Then to him. "…You're going to make things complicated."
"I'm aware."
"You're not even considering the people who might come next."
Hunter's golden scars shimmered faintly beneath the hoodie. "…I will handle it."
"You always say that," she muttered, stepping inside.
Hunter glanced at her briefly. "…And I always do."
Spider-Woman's gaze lingered on the room, the plants, the animals, the sleeping children. "…You're ridiculous," she said finally, a hint of a smile appearing.
"Yes," Hunter replied simply. "I've been told."
Her gaze softened, but her voice carried seriousness. "You know, the way you do this… you're going to attract more people."
He looked at her. "I am aware."
"And you won't say no?"
"No."
She exhaled, a mixture of frustration and amusement. "…Great."
Hunter allowed himself a small glance at Lila, watching her settle next to Eli, the fox curling between them. Another child safe under his care. Another responsibility—but another reason to stay.
Spider-Woman's eyes narrowed slightly. "…So you're building a little… family."
Hunter's lips pressed into a faint line. "…Something like that."
She shook her head slowly. "You're impossible, hoodie boy. Absolutely impossible."
He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "…I know."
Outside the manor, far above the city, the same golden-violet pulse from before shimmered faintly in the atmosphere. Something was observing again.
Not fully aware. Not fully threatened. But curious.
Hunter turned back to the children and Spider-Woman. He did not flinch. He did not hesitate.
The universe could watch. The universe could wait.
For now, his peace would hold.