Chapter 11: No Warm Goodbyes

They didn't speak for a while. Lucian stayed seated with his hands resting on the table, fingers tapping lightly against the surface.

Diego leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes moving from his son's face to the scuffed floor.

Lucian stood first. He pushed his chair back, straightened his hoodie, and looked down at his father.

"Thanks for the help," he said. "It was… good seeing you."

Diego gave a slow nod. "Likewise." He didn't stand. His eyes followed Lucian, and after a few seconds, he said, "Be careful. And remember, family comes first. Always."

Lucian looked at him without responding, then turned and walked toward the exit. At the door, he paused for a moment, glanced back. Diego was still seated, elbows on the table, watching him.

Lucian left without saying anything else. The door clicked shut behind him.

In the hallway, he found Scarlett and Jamie waiting on the bench. Scarlett stood up as soon as she saw him. Jamie was kicking his legs and stopped when Lucian got closer.

Scarlett gave him a look. "You okay?"

Lucian nodded once. "Yeah. Let's go."

Scarlett looked at him for another second before turning to Jamie. "Come on."

The three of them headed for the exit. No one said anything more.

They got home without any problems. The ride back was quiet, and no one brought up the visit. As soon as they stepped inside, Scarlett kicked off her shoes and turned to Jamie.

"Homework. Now."

Jamie groaned, dragging his feet toward the small dining table. "You sound just like Mom," he muttered.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Scarlett said, already tying her hair up as she headed to the kitchen.

Lucian was about to slip off to his room when Scarlett called out, "Lucian."

He stopped just outside the hallway. Scarlett stepped closer, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked at him carefully, then asked, "How do you feel?"

He nodded. "I'm good. Don't worry about me." He hesitated. "Also... I've been thinking of getting a job."

Scarlett frowned. "No." She shook her head. "You're starting college soon. That's what you need to focus on. Don't mess that up."

Before he could argue, she turned away. "I need to make something to eat."

Lucian stayed where he was, hands in his pockets. He didn't say anything else. After a moment, he walked to his room, closed the door behind him, and sat at his desk.

He pulled out a scrap of paper and carefully wrote down the address his father gave him. Each number and letter felt heavier than it should have.

"Crystal," he muttered. He had no idea what kind of help this person would be. His father made her sound useful, maybe dangerous. But he didn't say how she could help. Or why she would.

Lucian checked the time. It was already late. Too late for a casual visit, but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to wait until morning.

He'd sneak out later tonight, once everyone was asleep. No one needed to know. He'd go to the address his father gave him and find out what this Crystal woman could do for him.

He looked down at his body and sighed. His stomach stuck out more than he liked. It wasn't terrible, but enough to annoy him. He was tired of feeling sluggish and out of shape.

He left his room and headed to the backyard. The evening air was cooler, and the quiet helped him think.

In one corner of the yard were a few homemade weights rusted bars with concrete-filled tins on each end. They weren't his, and he definitely hadn't made them, but they'd do.

He glanced toward the side gate. A proper gym would've been better, but there was no point pretending.

He didn't have money for subscriptions or gear. Until he had real income, he had to make use of what he had.

Lucian walked over to the weights, rolled his shoulders, and took a breath. He didn't expect miracles, he just wanted to start. He gripped the bar and prepared himself for the first lift.

The moment Lucian lifted the bar, he had braced himself for the strain. He expected resistance, maybe a trembling in his arms or a pull in his back.

But there was nothing.

The weight came up like a broomstick. He stared at it, confused. Then, with a slow frown, he let go with one hand. Still nothing. He held it like a shopping bag.

"Is this thing that rusted?" he muttered.

He turned it in his hand, then dropped it to the ground. It hit with a dull thud.

Lucian stared at it for a second. That wasn't normal. That weight used to make his arms shake when he tried lifting it with both hands. Now it felt like lifting a shoe.

He stepped back, unsure of what to do next. He couldn't work out if everything felt like foam. And he wasn't about to start lifting cars, he didn't even know if he could.

That left him stuck.

Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, looking around the yard for anything heavier.

A wheelbarrow maybe, or something big. But even as he thought it, he realized it wouldn't help.

Damon returned home feeling more assured. Every new change he noticed boosted his confidence.

If those abilities were real, and they seemed to be, then he was no longer just some broke kid. He could survive a bullet. He could knock a man out with one punch. That mattered.

But the mirror still bothered him. The weight clinging to his frame didn't match the image he had in his head. He wanted to be strong, not just powerful. He wanted to look it too.

He lay back on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

His thoughts drifted to the address his father gave him. Crystal. If she couldn't help him, then what? He didn't have a backup plan.

He couldn't just jump into car theft, he had no idea how to hotwire anything, no place to hide a vehicle, and definitely no one to sell it to.

Drugs? He wouldn't even know where to begin. It wasn't like there was a YouTube tutorial for starting a cartel. He wasn't a fighter, a hacker, or even a scammer.

The truth started sinking in. Power alone wasn't enough. He needed a plan.

He needed skills. Otherwise, all this power would be wasted. Or worse, it would get him killed before he figured out how to use it.