Orion couldn't move.
His knees hit the grass hard, but he didn't feel it.
He just stared at her.
Her eyes were half open. Glazed. Not looking at anything.
Blood matted her hair. Glass glittered like frost across her skin.
He reached out, hand trembling.
Touched her cheek.
Cold.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
> "Mom…?"
The word came out smaller this time. Not a call—just a whisper. Like he was afraid of breaking something already shattered.
He waited for her to blink. To breathe. To move.
But nothing happened.
The night was too quiet.
He shook her shoulder.
> "Wake up…"
No response.
His chest started to heave, tiny at first. Then faster. Louder. Breaths turned into gasps. Gasps into sobs.
> "Please—wake up, wake up—Mom, wake up…"
His voice cracked on the last word.
And then he saw something worse.
Through the front door—into the house—his dad's body.
Still. Bleeding. His face turned toward the ceiling.
Orion stumbled to his feet and ran.
Ran past the broken window.
Past the blood-slick floor.
Fell to his knees beside Theo.
> "Dad?! Dad! Please—say something! Please just…"
He pressed his hands against his dad's chest.
No rise. No fall.
> "No. No no no no—" He screamed.
A raw, soul-deep cry.
And then—he just stopped.
Collapsed.
His hands dropped to his sides. His eyes lost focus.
And he sat there.
Just sat.
A hero in armor finally entered the kitchen, calling out behind him. Backup was arriving.
He saw the boy.
Saw the bodies.
And said nothing.
Just knelt beside Orion, gently, slowly.
> "I'm here," he said softly. "You're safe now."
Orion didn't respond.
He didn't cry anymore. Not because the grief was gone, but because it had nowhere left to go.
Didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He just stared at nothing, surrounded by blood, in the middle of his ruined home.
Later that night, at Hero League HQ, Orion sits in a medical bay—wrapped in a silver thermal blanket, dried blood still on his skin.
A therapist tries to ask questions.
He doesn't answer.
A League officer gently says: "Orion… I'm so sorry. You don't have to say anything. Just know—you're not alone now."
He doesn't nod. Doesn't speak.
Just stares forward.
Then the officer says:
> "We'll find him. Sineye. We'll bring him in."
And then, for the first time, Orion blinks.
Very slowly.
Eyes still empty—but something flickers there.
Anger.
Or purpose.
Or maybe both.
---
The phone rang at 3:27 a.m.
Celia didn't recognize the number. She nearly let it go to voicemail.
But something in her chest made her pick up.
> "Hello…?"
A pause.
Then a voice. Calm. Gentle. Heavy.
> "Is this Celia Reyes? Sister of Marie Ashford?"
Her breath caught.
> "Yes. Who is this?"
> "My name is Agent Harrow with the Hero League. I'm calling… I'm sorry to inform you—there's been an incident. In which your sister and her husband… they didn't make it."
Time stopped.
Celia's world shrank to that single sentence.
> "What… what are you saying?"
> "There was an attack. Your nephew, Orion, is alive. He's safe. But we… we need someone to come for him."
A long silence.
Then her voice broke.
> "Where is he?"
---
Jared drove. Fast, silent. The sky was still black, and the roads were empty.
Celia sat in the passenger seat, wringing her hands.
> "She called me last week," Celia whispered. "Wanted to come visit this summer. Said Orion was learning piano…"
Her voice cracked again.
Jared reached over and squeezed her hand. He didn't speak. There wasn't anything to say.
When they pulled up to the League facility, the air was cold and sterile. A tired-looking guard led them down white-lit halls to a waiting room with one metal door.
They didn't have to ask. They knew Orion was behind it.
The guard nodded once, solemnly.
> "He hasn't spoken since. But he's unharmed. Physically."
Celia took a breath and pushed the door open.
---
Inside, Orion sat on a bench, knees pulled to his chest. The silver blanket still wrapped around him. His eyes didn't move when they entered.
Celia dropped to her knees in front of him.
> "Orion…"
No response.
His eyes were swollen. Empty. Dried blood streaked down his cheek.
> "Sweetheart…"
She reached forward slowly, gently, and placed her hand on his.
It was ice cold.
He didn't look at her.
> "We're here now. You're coming home with us, okay?"
Still nothing.
But she didn't pull away.
She just sat beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and held on.
---
Later, they walked him out. Slowly. Jared carried his duffel bag. Orion didn't ask for it.
As they reached the car, Celia helped him into the backseat. Buckled his belt like he was five again.
He didn't protest.
Didn't speak.
---
The sun was rising when they pulled into their driveway.
Birdsong echoed in the stillness.
Inside, the air felt wrong. Too normal. Too warm.
Like the house hadn't caught up to the loss inside it.
Orion sat on the couch, still wrapped in the League's blanket. He stared at the television, which was off.
Celia brought him a cup of warm milk. Set it on the table. He didn't touch it.
Jared stood in the kitchen, hands resting on the counter, eyes red.
> "How do you help a kid through that?" he whispered.
Celia didn't answer.
She watched Orion from the doorway. Eyes sunken. Body too still.
> "We don't," she finally said. "We just love him through it."
She stepped into the living room.
Knelt again.
And said softly:
> "You don't have to talk, Orion. But when you want to… we'll be here. Always."
No response.
But she saw it.
A tear. Small. Quiet. Falling down his cheek.
And that was enough.