A gentle wind rustled through the tall grass. Moonlight bathed the clearing in silver, casting long shadows as Henri, John, Sam, and the others stood still, watching the air shimmer before them.
Suddenly, with a soft hum and a pulse of refracted light, the Milano began to decloak—its sleek, angular frame shimmering into view like a ghost fading into reality. The ramp hissed as it lowered, touching the grass with a gentle thud.
Henri was still in disbelief. His eyes flicked across the familiar, yet impossibly changed, faces of the Cepans—Hilde, Dante, Conrad.
Henri quietly, in a disbelieving tone said."It's really you...?"
He stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly as he exchanged coded words, names, and old memories—verifications only a true Cepan could know. Each answer came back precise, affirming reality.
Henri softly questioned."All this time... I thought..."
Hilde placed a steady hand on his shoulder, nodding.
As John, Six, Freya and Griffin went inside Milano, the systems lit up as the group began prepping for immediate departure. Quiet urgency hummed in the air.
While John leaned in to Sam, speaking low.
"Sam... I need you to stall. I'm going to see Sarah."
Sam's eyebrows shot up."Now? Seriously?"
John answered."It might be the last time."
Sam sighed heavily, rubbing his face before glancing at his father, replied quietly."You owe me big time, man.:
Then, without missing a beat, Sam raised his voice."Dad! Wait—wait a second. You met aliens?! And you didn't tell me anything?!"
Malcolm turned, startled, half-smiling as he began to explain."Sam, I didn't think—"
Before he could finish, Alexander reappeared at the top of the ramp, scanning the group sharply."Where's Number Four?"
The air grew tense. Heads turned. John was nowhere in sight.
Alexander's eyes locked on Sam and with a firm tone questioned."Where is he?"
Sam gulped, caught but loyal."He went to see Sarah. To say goodbye.:
A beat of silence. Wind brushed through the field. Alexander exchanged a knowing look with Six, eyes narrowing with both concern and understanding.
Henri scowled and muttered."Shit."
Alexander turned his gaze toward the looming silhouette of the Milano, its hull shimmering faintly in the distance like a sleeping beast. He brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, clear whistle that cut through the forest air.
Inside the ship, two sets of eyes snapped open.
One pair, golden and feline, glowed from the shadows—Panthero, coiled in his sleek black panther form. The other, sharp and unblinking, belonged to Leon, perched in his majestic martial eagle form.
Panthero stretched once, then leapt silently from the ship's interior. Leon spread his wings wide and shot into the sky with a single powerful beat.
Alexander stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, and tapped into his connection with them—animal telepathy humming quietly through his mind."Find Number Four. Track his scent. There are Pikens in the area—be ready for a fight."
Panthero turned his head just enough to give a curt nod, then shimmered and shifted into a cheetah—sleek, fast, and deadly. Without hesitation, he shot forward, a blur racing through the undergrowth toward the strongest scent trail.
Above, Leon banked hard and soared higher, his keen eyes scanning the treetops, zeroing in on movement only a bird of prey could spot.
The hunt was on.
While John soon found Sarah's location, it was Mark's party. The music from Mark's party thumped through the air, neon lights flashing from inside the suburban house. Teenagers spilled into the backyard, red cups in hand, laughter echoing in the night.
Sarah sat alone on the slanted rooftop, legs dangling just beyond the edge, a soft breeze lifting her hair. Her eyes were distant, thoughtful, lost.
A faint shuffle behind her made her glance back—John climbed through the adjacent bedroom window, emerging quietly.
John softly."Hey."
Sarah's turning seeing John breath caught.
"John…? You—how—?"
John just smiled faintly, walking carefully across the rooftop."I just needed to see you. One last time."
They stared at each other for a long moment. The space between them filled with all the unsaid words.
Down below, Mark emerged into the backyard. His eyes scanned the crowd until they narrowed—he had seen John heading up earlier. Suspicion instantly darkened his expression.
He pulled out his phone.
Moment later, Sheriff James, Mark's father, stood beside a pinboard covered in photos and files. One circled with red: Henri Smith. Another, John Doe. Beneath, the word: Suspects.
His phone buzzed.
MARK (text message): He's here. At the house.
Sheriff James into radio."All units—target sighted. Move in."
On the roof top of Mark's home, John took a step back, eyes glancing toward the woods in the distance."I have to go. Things are happening fast."
Sarah stood, walking toward him, confused but emotional."Why are you always leaving? What are you not telling me?"
Before he could answer—SLAM! The house door burst open. Sheriff James and two officers charged in with flashlights and weapons drawn. He came bashed open the window, Sheriff James voice booming."FREEZE! Hands where I can see them!"
The sudden noise startled Sarah. She lost her balance—
Sarah screaming."John."
She slipped—falling off the roof.
John's eyes flared with panic and instinct."NO!"
He thrust out his hand—telekinetic energy surged. Sarah stopped mid-fall, suspended in the air as if floating. The crowd below gasped.
John leapt down with impossible grace, landing softly, arms outstretched. He caught Sarah princess-style, holding her close. Her breath trembled in his arms.
She stared at him, speechless.
Sarah whispering."What… what are you?"
But John didn't answer. He grabbed her hand and ran.
They dashed past stunned teenagers, lights flashing behind them. Shouts filled the air.
As they reached the road, a second patrol car screeched around the corner to block them.
John skidded to a halt, eyes narrowing. He raised both hands—the car lifted off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air before being shoved sideways into a yard.
Gasps. Screams. Phones were up—recording everything.
Mark, standing on the porch, could only stare, mouth agape. Behind him, Sheriff James stood frozen, processing the impossible.
John and Sarah vanished into the shadows, his hand clutching hers tightly. Her mind raced, heart pounding—not just from the escape, but from what she had just seen.
While a towering Mogadorian commander, stepped through the wreckage of his fallen convoy. Vatborn soldiers fanned out behind him, their armor smeared with ash and dust.
DuRand crouched beside a scorched piece of armor plating, his elongated nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply and said in Mogadorian, growling."He found his allies..."
He turned his head slightly, his pupils narrowing. He inhaled again—Four's scent hung faintly in the air."He's close... but we'll need a guide."
His Deputy, clad in black armor with glowing insignia, nodded and pointed toward headlights approaching down the ruined road."There. A patrol vehicle."
On the rural road, Sheriff James drove cautiously through the winding path, Mark in the passenger seat, tense and shaken. Sirens off, tension high."I don't know what he is... but we have to find Sarah."
Sheriff James questioned."Do you have any idea where they'd go?"
Mark was thoughtful and sighing."Yeah... I think I know where she might go."
Before they could finish, the patrol car screeched to a stop—blocked by DuRand and half a dozen massive Vatborn warriors, weapons drawn, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
Sheriff James stepping out, hand on holster questioned."Who the hell are they?"
Mark muttering."Big-ass linebackers..."
Just as James reached for his gun, a Vatborn moved like lightning—slamming him face-first into the side of the cruiser and throwing the Sheriff to the side of the road. Mark shouted, panicking."Holy sh*t—no, no, no! Dad!"
He scrambled out, only to be grabbed by DuRand and slammed against the side of the car. The Mogadorian's face was inches from his—those slitted nostrils twitching, eyes narrow and unblinking."An alcohol-fueled young guy like you... healthy and well-fed."
He sniffed again, mockingly."I bet you watch a lot of television, don't you? Do you? Do you?"
Mark, wide-eyed and trembling, stammered."Y-yeah..."
DuRand smiled—a slow, cruel grin."Yeah... in this situation, you're probably thinking—maybe I could save the day. Maybe I could be the hero..."
A pause. Then his tone turned dark."But I say... don't do that. OK?"
Mark nodded hastily, heart racing.
DuRand spoke up."Now... tell me, where is the boy? He goes by the name John Smith."
Mark hesitated, then—eyes flicking to his unconscious father—gave in."I know where he is..."
DuRand grinned in satisfaction, motioning to a Vatborn."Smart."
The Vatborn seized Mark by the arm and dragged him toward their vehicle. DuRand watched him go, then turned his gaze back toward the smoke-filled sky.
DuRand to himself."It won't be long now."