That night, Adrian buried his father—and what he could only assume was once his mother—beneath the old cedar tree behind the house. The moonlight bathed the forest in silver as he knelt at the twin graves, his clothes still stained with blood, his hands trembling.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to feel," he whispered. "I'm angry, I'm scared… but I'm grateful. You raised me . You were kind, mom… you used to whistle when you cleaned."
He swallowed hard, then closed his eyes. A faint whistle slipped from his lips—shaky at first, then steadier. It was a tune from long ago, something simple and bright. A flash of memory hit him: tiny Adrian, sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging his feet while his mother folded laundry, humming that same tune. It echoed now between the trees, through the cold night air, as tears streamed freely down his face.
The next few days passed in a haze. The house—really a well-stocked survival cabin—had enough food for years, shelves of old movies and books, even a backup generator.
Among the survival supplies, tucked neatly on the living room table, Adrian found a notebook. It looked old, worn at the corners. When he opened it, the first page made his breath hitch.
"Adrian, if you're reading this… then we're gone."
His parents' handwriting. He almost stopped reading right there.
"We never knew how much time we'd have with you. We didn't know if you'd ever need this. But if you're still alive, then you need to understand what you are… and what you can do."
He flipped the page. There were notes, diagrams—some detailed, others hastily scribbled, like they were written during moments of panic.
One section was labeled "Abilities."
They didn't call them powers. Not gifts. Just... abilities.
The first one was the one he'd already used:"Luck Bending."
"An unusual mutation," it read. "Tied to instinct more than thought. Subtle manipulations—turning odds in your favor, with just the flick of a finger.
Adrian flexed his hands, looking at them differently now. He thought about that moment in the alley, when everything seemed to shift with a snap. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was real.
The next section talked about Telekinesis.
"This ability is more volatile. Connected to emotion—especially fear and anger. You've likely already seen it trigger in high-stress situations. Control will take time. Practice. Focus."
Adrian remembered the red energy—the lights flickering, the air warping, the man flung into the wall like a ragdoll. That raw force had come from him.
Then… a third entry. It had no examples. No scribbles in the margins. Just a name.
"Blood Control."
He stared at the words for a long time. No explanations. Just a warning written underneath:
"It may awaken when you're ready… or when you're pushed too far."
He spent his days practicing. Flicking bottle caps into the air. Hovering pencils and pebbles with shaky focus. Sometimes he trained until his nose bled. Other times, he sat by the door gripping his chest, convinced someone—or something—was watching from the woods.
The nights were worse.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother's final scream, the black spider-like thing crawling from her skull, and the explosion of blood that followed. His dreams smelled of copper and ash, his waking thoughts full of shadows and whispering doubts.
He hadn't stepped outside in over a week.
Alone, buried in grief, the only thing keeping him grounded was the notebook—and the thought that maybe his parents had prepared him for something bigger.
One morning, bleary-eyed, he sat at the table staring at the final entry:
"Trust your instincts."
"…That's it then," he muttered. "I can't just rot in here."
He picked up his old phone and searched for casinos.
A city—thirty miles away.
He recognized the name. Faint memories returned—blurry road trips, fast food stops, flashing lights through the car windows.
Grabbing the keys to his father's old truck, Adrian stood at the front door. His hand trembled as he reached for the knob, his heart thudding violently in his chest.
For a second, he froze.
Then he took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the world.