Across town, a party was underway at Lukas Wilde’s place. None of Marty’s friends were invited — except Seffie. She had politely declined.

  The thumping bass bounced off stucco walls and a backyard pool lit with cycling LED strips, casting shifting shades of blue, red, and purple over the gathering crowd. Kegs were tapped, the firepit roared, and bodies crowded the deck.

  Lukas lounged back in a chair, a half-full Solo cup in hand, sunglasses still on despite the sun having long set. He wasn’t drunk — just bored.

  Across the pool, Scott was in his element, surrounded by girls, laughing with his usual ease — teeth gleaming, shirtless, effortlessly cool. One girl perched on his shoulders, another recorded it all on her phone. Lukas swirled his beer and sighed, the excitement he’d expected nowhere to be found.

  Lukas wandered to the edge of the yard, past the pool fence to a rise overlooking the hills. From here, the scattered town lights glittered below, headlights glowed far off on the highway, and the mountains loomed dark and silent.

  He removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “What am I even doing?”

  This party had been his plan — the moment he’d finally take control, the richest and coolest kid in the school. Scott may be the best athlete, but Lukas would be the center of attention. Somehow, it wasn’t working that way.

  Everything was too loud. Too staged. Too fake.

  Too much like Scott’s scene.

  He looked up.

  Green light bled across the horizon, curling skyward. Pale at first, like city glow, then brighter. Shimmering.

  He looked around. No one else had noticed. The others were still shouting, dancing, flirting. Someone jumped in the pool. Others followed. The rest were filming.

  A girl screamed, and Lukas’ attention flickered in her direction. Just a cannonball in the deep end. Laughter. He turned back to the sky.

  Music blared.

  No one looked up.

  But Lukas couldn’t stop. The colors were twisting and changing - dancing.

  Then he saw it. The same fireball Marty and his friends had seen. Bright. Wrong. Falling.

  It should have burned out.

  Instead, it cut a blazing path across the sky, vanishing into the hills west of town.

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  Something clenched in Lukas’s chest.

  He dropped his cup.

  Lukas sprinted to his car, the BMW convertible chirping awake at his key fob’s press. Headlights flashed. He jumped in, slammed into reverse, and peeled out — leaving behind the party full of the “cool” people who didn't even know he had left.

  The car roared through dark backroads, top down, wind ripping his hair.

  He didn’t know where he was going. Just chasing.

  The aurora had been extinguished, but his headlights lit the road like a dream unraveling in real time.

  Then — movement.

  A figure stumbled by the roadside.

  Lukas slammed the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt, coughing up dust and stones from the dirt road.

  Headlights illuminated a man — tall, narrow, dressed in black. Blood on his face. Torn clothes. Something shimmering faintly at his edges, like heatwaves.

  The man looked up.

  Eyes gleaming.

  Lukas opened his mouth. “Dude... are you okay?”

  The man stared.

  Then smiled crookedly.

  “Okay? We will be ‘okay’.”

  Lukas jumped out of his car and went to the stranger’s aid. He sagged. Lukas caught his weight, slinging him into the car. Blood smearing across the seat.

  Lukas looked at his hands. They were covered in blood. He tried to rub them off on his pants.

  Lukas drove hard to the hospital. The stranger — slumped low, fingers trailing along the door. Distant thunder rumbled, low and drawn-out, like something vast had groaned in pain. Lukas glanced skyward, searching for clouds, but the night was clear. The sound pressed in on his chest, too heavy, too wrong to be weather.

  The stranger—Lukas hadn’t gotten a name—smiled faintly, as if the thunder had spoken only to him.

  “You should call someone,” Lukas said, trying to sound calm. “You need medical—”

  “I need,” the stranger said softly, “to not be perceived.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’ve bled before.”

  Silence.

  Lukas tightened his grip and pushed the car harder.

  “Why help me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Pause.

  The stranger smiled wider, curious.

  “Good.”

  At the ER, Lukas pulled into the roundabout.

  “You should go in. I’ll stay—”

  He opened the door.

  “Thanks,” he said, limping toward the sliding glass.

  Distant thunder rumbled again, Lukas looked up to see if there were any clouds, but the sky was obscured by the harsh lights in the hospital parking lot. It didn’t feel like rain.

  Lukas exhaled.

  Then movement.

  The stranger didn’t go inside.

  He stood by the BMW, eyes bright with strange amusement as he too was looking heavenward.

  “You’re not done,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll walk.”

  Distant thunder sounded again. He smiled, turned, and walked away, whistling softly down the road.

  Lukas sat frozen, heart pounding.

  Then he started the car and turned toward home.

  The stranger followed in darkness.

  who found who?

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