Jonathan sat in the diner booth, jostling his leg nervously. The plasticky red seat squeaked with every bounce, drawing a glare from a hawk-nosed woman two booths down, her eyes peeking over the rim of her menu.

An old, boxy television buzzed from the corner, mounted just above a faux fern. On screen, a news anchor with slicked-back hair reported, “Tonight, Governor Maxum announced he will be releasing the names of the twenty-seven participants involved in the drug trial linked to the tragic events of March 23rd.”

Jonathan’s knee stilled.

“Maxum stated that this is a matter of public safety. While a manhunt is underway for participants still at large, the public is urged to remain vigilant. Do not confront these individuals. They should be considered extremely dangerous.”

A bell jingled distantly as the diner door swung open, but Jonathan’s eyes were locked on the screen. A sequence of faces and names flashed by—each one familiar. And then, his own.

His name. His face.

He couldn’t breathe.

A hand waved in front of his eyes. He turned. Gabby was standing beside the booth, her irritation melting into concern.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching for his shoulder.

It was like surfacing from underwater. Sound and light rushed back. Jonathan stood abruptly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the door.

“Jonathan—what the hell are you doing?” she protested, trying to yank free.

His eyes darted across the diner. The hawk-nosed woman already had a phone to her ear, her expression sharp with alarm.

“I’ll explain everything, Gabs,” he said, guiding her toward the exit, “but right now, I need you to trust me.”

The bell clanged too loudly behind them as they stepped into the thick night air, fog hanging like wet cotton in the glow of the streetlamps. Jonathan made for his car—then hesitated. No. Too obvious. He pivoted, tugging her toward her black Acura.

“You’re scaring me, Jon,” she said, fumbling with her key fob. Her hand shook as she tried to find the unlock button.

“Just let me drive. Please.” He was already rounding to the driver’s side.

Moments later, they were in the car, peeling out of the lot. The silence inside was dense, broken only by the hum of the tires.

Gabby finally spoke. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

Jonathan’s hands clenched the wheel, knuckles white. He drew a shaky breath.

“I’m one of them.”

“…One of who?” she asked, her voice small. Her curls clung to her cheeks in the humidity, and he had the sudden, aching urge to brush them back.

“One of the trial participants. It was supposed to help with my depression. I didn’t know—none of us knew what it would do.”

Gabby’s brow furrowed, her nose wrinkling in disbelief. “You mean… not the trial that gave that one guy laser eyes?”

The passing streetlights washed over his face in pulses—light, then shadow, then light again.

“Yes. That one.”

Gabby shrank back, pressing herself against the passenger door.

“No. No, that can’t be right. You haven’t hurt anyone. That guy—he killed people. Cut them in half at that concert.”

“Calm down, Gabs. I haven’t hurt anyone.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she snapped.

Silence fell again.

Jonathan pulled off onto a side street, guiding the car to the curb. The engine idled.

“My side effect—it was different from Vinny’s,” he said quietly. “I don’t think any of us had the same one.”

Gabby’s arms folded tightly across her chest. Her fingers twitched near the door handle. If she didn’t like what came next, she was ready to bolt.

“A few weeks after the trial started, I started having weird dreams… dreams where I was… floating.” Jonathan couldn’t look at Gabby. It was easier to stare at his hands, still clenched on the steering wheel.

“When I woke up, I felt like I was falling. But not like a falling dream. I mean really falling. I hurt my back pretty bad one time. Remember when I told you it happened surfing?”

Gabby squinted at him through the dark. “I thought you were just too embarrassed to admit you threw it out golfing.”

Her voice was trying to stay light, but there was an edge there. A quiet fear pressing in.

Jonathan gave a humorless laugh. “No. I’d have taken golfing over crashing into my kitchen table at three in the morning.”

Gabby tilted her head. “What are you trying to say, Jon?”

He let out a slow breath, then finally turned to her. His voice was low. Measured. “It’s just easier if I show you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean show me?”

Jonathan opened the driver’s side door and stepped out into the fog-drenched stillness. Streetlights buzzed overhead. The silence was thick, like the world was holding its breath. Gabby hesitated, then climbed out of the passenger side, arms wrapped around herself.

“Jon, I swear to God, if this is some kind of psychotic break—”

“It’s not,” he said gently. “Just… give me a second.”

He stepped a few feet away from the car, onto a patch of cracked asphalt lit by a streetlamp. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The air shimmered slightly around his feet—like heat rising off pavement—and then, slowly, he began to lift. Inch by inch. His sneakers left the ground, hovering a foot, then two, then three feet in the air.

Gabby staggered back a step.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “How—how are you doing that?”

Jonathan hovered in place, then slowly lowered himself back down, his shoes landing softly against the pavement.

“I don’t know how it works,” he said. “I don’t even know if there’s a limit. I’ve only ever gone about ten feet up. If I focus, I float. But if I loose focus, even a moment, I drop like a rock.”

Gabby stood frozen. Her breath came in shallow pulls. “You… you could’ve told me.”

“I wanted to. A hundred times. But after what happened with Vinny, I was afraid.” He looked up at her, eyes full of apology. “I’m still afraid.”

Silence stretched between them. Then, Gabby walked toward him. She moved slowly and deliberately until they were close enough to touch.

“Can you fly?” she asked softly.

Jonathan let out a breath, half a laugh. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

She looked up at him, her eyes still uncertain—but no longer full of fear.

“Well,” she said. “Let’s not find out tonight. You’re a terrible driver. I’m not letting you fly us into a streetlight.”

Jonathan smiled, a real one this time. The tension in his shoulders finally let go.

And then, from somewhere down the street, a siren wailed.

Both of them turned.

“They’re looking for you, aren’t they?” Gabby said.

“Yeah,” he said, already moving. “And I think they’re getting closer.”