The Edge of the Ordinary
POV: Silas
Location: Belmont, Detroit – Family Home
Time: The Day After Returning Home
The sun leaked through the blinds like it was trying to apologize for waking me. I blinked at the ceiling and listened to the soft sounds of home—Mom moving around in the kitchen, a pan scraping, something boiling. The smell of cinnamon again.
It should have felt safe. It didn't.
I hadn't slept much. Maybe two hours, if I was being generous. My dreams were either hollow or too sharp to hold onto. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was still in that alley. Still being kicked. Still bleeding. Still... changing.
The belt sat on my nightstand.
Not moving.
But not quiet either.
It pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat that didn't belong to me. I looked at it. It looked back.
Downstairs, things were normal. Or at least pretending to be. Dad sat at the dining table with a thick book open in front of him, reading glasses halfway down his nose. He didn't say anything when I walked in.
Mom slid a plate across the table. Fried plantains, eggs, some bread with butter melting into it. I mumbled a "thanks" and sat down.
For a few minutes, we just ate.
Until Dad cleared his throat.
"You planning to stay here long?"
The question didn't have bite. But it wasn't soft either.
I wiped my mouth, bought a second. "Just a few days. I told the school it was medical."
He nodded. "Still doesn't answer the question."
I stared at my plate.
"You have a plan?"
"I'm figuring things out."
"What does that mean, Silas? You disappear from school, come back looking like you walked through a fight, and your mother says you barely touched your food last night."
"I said I'm figuring it out."
The fork in my hand scraped too hard against the plate. My knuckles were white. I could feel the pulse from upstairs—even now, the belt was reacting. It didn't like this.
Neither did I.
Dad sighed. "You can't just come back and expect things to pause for you. You either move forward or fall apart. There's no middle."
I stood.
"Thanks for the meal."
Mom didn't say anything as I left the table.
Back upstairs, I closed the door and leaned against it. The belt was brighter now. Not glowing, but definitely more alive. Like it had soaked in the tension and decided to stretch.
I sat on the bed and stared at it.
"After all that food," I muttered, "you'd think the damn thing would be calm."
But it wasn't.
It pulsed harder. Like it was syncing to something. Or warning me.
I grabbed my phone. Something stupid to fill the silence.
Scroll. Meme. Politics. More memes.
Then a thumbnail caught my eye.
[Midtown Deli Robbery Foiled by Masked Teen – 'Hero or Menace?']
By J. Jonah Jameson
I tapped.
The video was short, maybe twenty seconds. Three guys rushed out of a deli. One had a shotgun. Then something hit him mid-chest—fast, red, low to the ground. The camera shook. Another robber got yanked upward by what looked like... a cable? A line?
The figure that landed was lean. Young. Hooded. No face visible. He stood for half a second. Then zipped upward and vanished.
No cape. No crowd. No words.
Just gone.
I played it twice more.
Slower.
Midtown.
That was hours from here. But something about it twisted in my gut. The kind of twist that said: pay attention.
"What the hell is going on lately?"
I looked at the belt.
It pulsed again. Harder.
Like it agreed.