I waited until the last forkful of mashed potatoes disappeared from Dad's plate. That was my signal. Dinner was over, the kitchen was a mess (as usual), and my parents were too distracted arguing over whether the dishwasher was "blinking weirdly" or "just doing its job" to pay attention to me slipping upstairs.
I tiptoed into my room and shut the door with a soft click, heart thudding like I was smuggling top-secret alien documents instead of, you know, just sneaking out to train with the potentially world-bending guy who dropped the "time-space-mind controller" bomb on me two days ago.
I glanced at my window. "Alright, James Bond moment. Let's do this," I whispered, grabbing the hoodie I'd strategically flung over the windowsill earlier. I wriggled out quietly, landed in the flowerbed (again, sorry mom), and jogged out of the yard, heart pounding with adrenaline and low-key dread.
Julian was waiting for me in the same old observatory. Same posture. Same unreadable expression. Same celestial jerk energy.
"Took you long enough," he said, eyes flicking up from his phone.
"Sorry, I was busy not alerting the entire household that I'm sneaking out for psychic boot camp," I replied, tugging my hoodie on tighter against the chill.
He raised a brow but didn't argue. "Let's start."
I braced myself. After last night's session—which ended in my brain feeling like it had been microwaved—part of me wanted to just lie on the ground and play dead.
But of course, Julian had other plans.
"Let's try something more advanced," he said like he wasn't about to mentally suplex me.
"Yay," I deadpanned. "What are we doing tonight? Floating boulders? Summoning meteors? Turning squirrels into secret agents?"
"Close. Thought projection." He smirked. "Try projecting an image into my head. Anything."
My eyebrows flew up. "Anything?"
"Anything."
Oh, he had no idea what he just unlocked.
I closed my eyes and focused hard on an image—very specific. A vision of Julian dressed in a sparkly pink unicorn onesie, riding a cloud made of whipped cream, screaming, "Magic is fabulous!"
Julian blinked.
Then blinked again.
"You're immature."
I grinned. "But it worked."
He cracked an actual smile. "Fine. It did. Now try something more serious."
"Fine," I huffed. "Party pooper."
We trained until stars scattered fully across the sky. This time, it wasn't just thought projection—we worked on detecting presences around us, controlling emotions (I failed spectacularly and accidentally made a squirrel weep), and deflecting energy pulses. Julian was patient but tough. And yes, still condescending.
I felt it again—this weird, static pull between us when we locked eyes too long. I didn't know if it was psychic tension or just… actual tension-tension. Romantic tension. Or hormonal. Or maybe it was just my head short-circuiting because his cheekbones were practically weapons.
By the time he dismissed me, my brain felt like a bowling ball.
"Go. Sleep," he said, turning away. "Tomorrow's session will be tougher."
"Tougher than this? What am I, training to become an Avenger?"
Julian didn't answer. But I caught the ghost of a smile as he walked away into the trees.
⸻
Sneaking back into the house at 10pm. felt like a victory.
I flopped on my bed. My hoodie smelled like damp leaves and psychic energy—whatever that smelled like—and my brain was still buzzing from the training.
Within minutes, I passed out.
⸻
The dream started out weird, like usual. I was floating—literally—above a cityscape that looked both familiar and strange. The sky was deep violet, stars pulsing in and out like fireflies.
Then it got… creepier.
Buildings started crumbling like sandcastles. People were screaming—but silently. No sound, just mouths stretched in terror. Their eyes glowed. Not in a cool way. In a possessed-by-dark-energy kind of way.
And standing right in the middle of it all was a figure in a long black coat.
I couldn't see his face, but I knew it wasn't Julian.
He turned to me. Reached out.
"Julia Summers," his voice echoed inside my mind. "You're next."
I jolted awake.
Panting. Sweaty. Shaking.
I looked around my room, heart pounding. Everything was normal. Posters on the wall. Fairy lights still dimly glowing. My half-dead plant looking judgmental from the windowsill.
What wasn't normal? The faint glow around my fingertips.
I stared at my hands.
Nope. Definitely not normal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't sleep a wink after that dream.
Okay, maybe I dozed off for twenty minutes, but I kept jolting awake convinced that the shadowy figure from my vision was hovering over my bed whispering my name like a bad horror movie demon.
When my alarm blared at 6:45 a.m., I slapped it off and sat up, staring at my fingers like they'd betray me again. Nothing glowed this time.
Not even a sparkle.
Cool. Now my brain was playing tricks on me too.
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I avoided Harley and Charley like the plague, and ignored Justin's loud "WHERE'S THE CEREAL??" shriek from downstairs. I wasn't in the mood for any psychic sibling nonsense. I'd almost been stalked by a psychic death cloud last night, thanks.
At school, Kim and Jake were already waiting at our usual spot by the cracked vending machine. Kim was sipping from a travel mug like she hadn't just power-walked through seven blocks. Jake was dramatically fanning himself with his Algebra homework.
"Your eyes are doing the thing again," Kim said as I approached.
"What thing?" I muttered, plopping down on the bench like I hadn't just trained for three hours and battled a nightmare man in my sleep.
"The lowkey glowing thing," she said casually. "Like your pupils are running a neon sign behind your irises."
"Oh," I said blankly. "Awesome. Just what I need."
Jake leaned in like he was about to perform an exorcism. "So… second night of training. Spill. Did he make you float again? Was it more hot or horrifying?"
I looked around to make sure no one was listening. "It was intense. He's making me stretch my energy without using my thoughts—like instinctively reacting. Like, if he flings a psychic bolt, I have to know how to shield without stopping to think."
"So like dodgeball," Jake said, "but with mental explosions."
"Pretty much."
"Sounds horrifying," Kim added. "Also, very on-brand for Julian."
"Oh, and I had this dream."
Jake froze mid-sip of his iced tea. "Dream? Psychic dream?"
Kim looked at me sharply. "What kind of dream?"
I glanced between them, unsure how to describe the chill crawling up my spine.
"There was this guy," I began slowly. "Not Julian. Different energy. He was standing in a city that looked… off. The sky was violet, people were frozen or screaming with glowing eyes, and everything was collapsing. And then he looked right at me and said, 'You're next.'"
Jake dropped his drink.
Kim's mug slipped a little.
"You're what?" Jake shrieked, grabbing my arm. "Like next to win a psychic lottery? Or next in the sacrificial burning order?"
"I don't know!" I snapped. "But I woke up and my fingers were glowing."
Now they both stared at me like I'd grown wings.
"Glowing fingers?" Kim whispered. "Julia, that's a sign."
Jake clutched his chest. "Of what? Her inner Sailor Moon finally awakening?"
Kim swatted his shoulder. "No. A vision. A real psychic vision."
"Okay," I said slowly. "I've had, like, tiny flashes before. But nothing this vivid. This… apocalyptic."
Jake leaned back. "Sounds like the universe finally upgraded your software."
Kim shook her head. "No, it's more than that. You've been training. Your power's growing fast. Julian unlocking your full potential might be speeding things up in a way your subconscious can't handle yet."
"Well, I'd like it to slow down," I muttered. "Or come with a manual. I'd even take a badly translated one."
Just then, the bell rang. We groaned in sync, grabbed our bags, and shuffled off to class. But I couldn't shake the weight of the dream—or the image of that stranger saying my name.
You're next.
What did that even mean?
And why did it feel like I'd just been marked?