The feeling of waking up in his own bed was one that Alec was quickly becoming familiar with once more. He had thought it would feel strange, if only briefly, after spending several months away at the Academy. But he was wrong. He awoke feeling content, free of the drill-like snores that usually filled the room when Jonah, Javon, and Zachariah were around him.

He looked across at the alarm clock settled on the table beside his bed, which was carved in the image of the Villain Shocktopus, its many tendrils extending outwards like a cat's bristling tail, and read the time — 5:42.

As tired as he had been he still woke early, feeling completely rested. Alec pulled back the covers, slid his feet into his slippers, and moved silently downstairs. As he walked, a faint coughing noise erupted from behind his parents' door. Hartley's, however, was completely silent. The funny thing was, Alec knew he could be awake and busy at this very moment.

When he reached the kitchen, he began to boil some water for tea. Tea, as simple as it was, was one of the only things the Academy didn't regularly serve at mealtimes. Not among the plump, golden-brown chicken, nor the cream-covered pastries, nor even among the fruits.

After a wait of a few minutes, he added a tea bag, sweetened it with sugar and a dash of milk, and had just brought the mug to his lips when his eyes caught a family portrait hung along the living room wall, its wooden edges reflecting the soft early-morning sunlight.

Sipping occasionally from the steaming mug, he moved closer and observed it. On the left stood his father, dark-haired and bright-eyed, smile wide and genuine. Beside him stood his wife, younger but just as beautiful, her hair in frizzy curls. Positioned in front of them was a ten-year younger Alec, grinning while he was swathed in a caped suit modeled after the Hero Electrum. And finally, on the right, was his grandfather Harold.

Even in his old age he had retained vestiges of past good looks, his hair painted storm-grey yet still thick and full. Looking at him, one could assume that he had many stories to tell, but not stories that involved leaping into battles against superpowered beings, or rescuing people from burning buildings.

Alec had thought they were close, but apparently not, if Harold couldn't even bring himself to tell him the truth, knowing his passion for the world of Heroics.

And yet, even as he tried to imagine the reasons why Grandpa Harold would not have told him, nothing came up. His parents had said they'd kept the knowledge that he could possibly be superhuman from him because it didn't necessarily have to be true. Did they bar Harold from telling him so that Alec wouldn't suspect that he could be like him?

Alec couldn't know for sure, and now he couldn't ask Harold himself. Would his parents tell him? Or did they not even know themselves?

Right then and there, Alec made up his mind. Tomorrow he would ask them, and unlike the situation with his own powers, he would not hear their excuses. Today, however, he would not pursue the subject. Today was a special day.

When he had finished his tea, he set the mug down and hurried back upstairs to shower. As the cool water coursed over his skin, his mind wandered to his friends, and he wondered what they were doing at this moment. Were they still doing research, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with the rest, or making small, similarly uncomfortable small talk to pass the time? Or perhaps they were playing around outside, causing some sort of trouble: Ethan and Anthony certainly were mischievous enough.

While he reflected darkly on the horrors Ethan and Anthony could currently be getting up to if they suddenly decided to strike up an alliance, a knock sounded on his bedroom door. It was quick and sharp with urgency, instantly revealing who it was. But why Hartley would be at his door before seven in the morning he couldn't tell.

"Just a minute," he called back. He toweled off, pulled on a new set of vestments, and opened the door. The moment he did Hartley said, "Morning," and strode swiftly inside before giving Alec time to respond.

"Need to talk to you," he said.

"About what?"

"I need you to run me over what you found out about the Black Covenant one more time."

It was an odd request, especially given the hour of the morning, but Alec closed the door anyway and turned to face him, frowning as he tried to remember. "Okay. While we were in the Temple, we came across an old weaving. It showed a group of six people around two orbs. Both were glowing, but they were different colours. The first was a solid, pale blue. Arctic blue, if I had to be specific. The other was multicoloured.

"We didn't think much of any of this until Katrina started replaying what had happened when they woke Atropos up. They referenced something in a different language. Maddison found a translation online — 'Zero and Infinity,' she said. Apparently they're referring to two solid masses of celestial energy."

Hartley nodded. "Right. The Cores that can alter reality. And there was something else too, a way to find them, right?"

"So the article said. Some kind of compass for each of them, but they both need three different keys to be activated. Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Because . . . I think one of those keys may have been found," Hartley said grimly.

Alec stared at him, eyes widened and mouth agape. "You — what?"

Hartley reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black device identical to the one which Alec had retrieved from Wildfire's pocket all those months ago, on the night all of this had started. As he held it up, Alec saw that his hands were shaking. "I heard it on this. It's like a police scanner, it can pick up different broadcasts so long as you know what to look for. Somebody called out for help not too long ago. Shortly after we finished flying, it seems. He was attacked, by two Villains, one of which was identified as Iron Titan. Reinforcements didn't make it in time. . . . He was killed." Hartley's composure was slipping away before Alec's very eyes. He was trembling slightly, and there was a faint quiver in his voice. It was obvious he and this person were familiar.

"Anyway. An investigation was done after the League members finally did arrive. The strange part was, the place wasn't ransacked. Apart from what happened to him, his house was in perfect order. They didn't even touch his money."

"So . . . they only stopped by to attack him?" Alec asked, confused. Unless this person was an integral part of the League, Alec couldn't see why the Black Covenant would go to all this trouble simply to eliminate him. And even if he was, it would be quite foolish to ambush him in his own home. So what was the aim?

"I don't think so," Hartley said after a few seconds. "This man. He was a collector. He had an entire vault of rare and priceless artifacts he'd saved from his past adventures —"

"Souvenirs," said Alec.

"Exactly. The thing is, some of those items were likely supernatural in nature."

"Okay, so what did they take?"

"We don't know yet," Hartley said. "Luckily, he'd cataloged everything he had, so his assistants are with the League right now trying to find out, but I'm willing to bet that they didn't go through all that trouble for an old painting."

"No, doesn't seem likely," said Alec. "But I don't think there's that much we can do until we know what exactly's missing. When we do, Maddison can do more research, find out more about it."

Hartley nodded and stood up. "I just hope we can get all of this cleared up soon."

Alec put his hand on his shoulder. "In time. Until then, cheer up. Lots of cake and ice-cream to eat today."

For the most part, the day went well. Alec's father had never really seen the appeal of a big party, always saying that it was too much, but that didn't stop his family. They had really gone the extra mile: they had hung banners, clumps of balloons, arranged custom centerpieces in Mr. Michaels' favourite design, photoprops, and much more. Mrs. Michaels invited many of his work and neighbourhood friends over, who in turn brought their own children.

After being forced to speak to his father's peers for over a half hour, many of whom repeated the same questions of why he had so abruptly and mysteriously left and what he had been doing for the past three months, Alec was growing weary of the celebrations. His friends weren't as demanding of the information about his recent activities as their parents, but they did ask. He quelled their questions with the simple statement that he had gone off to spend some time with family out of town, and that he had temporarily enrolled at a new school while he was there, but that he would be home for the holidays.

After nearly an hour of half-hearted mingling, Alec's mother found herself at the front of the room, tapping her glass gently while she called for silence. Behind her, another family friend, Spencer Morgan, was pushing his father to the front as well, wrestling with him to stop him from removing his party hat, smiling maniacally.

"Time to cut the cake!" Mrs. Michaels called, beaming. Hartley appeared, carrying the cake, a huge, sumptuous-looking block of chocolate cake, slathered in a thick white coating and topped with rubber candles in the shape of the numbers 48. He laid it gently across the front table as if it were made of glass, then stepped back. Alec's mother held the knife out to her husband, who was looking distinctly disgruntled.

"Oh, Marsha, this is so —"

Mrs. Michaels tilted her head slightly, widening her eyes pointedly without breaking her wide smile, then pushed the knife forward again. Looking rather scared now, Mr. Michaels took it from her grasp and began to cut the cake. Cheers and claps rent the air while he divided the large, square pastry, then Alec joined his family at the front to help them hand out slices. Many of his friends cast him roguish winks as they approached, conveying the clear message that they were looking forward to more generous portions.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, which was growing stronger every passing minute, Alec continued to distribute shares of the cake along with cups of ice-cream. When the line at his side grew too large, he looked around for help, and it was at this point that he noticed that Hartley had disappeared.

"I think he went upstairs," said his mother, when she realized whom he was looking for. "He hasn't got any yet. Here, bring this to him. I'll finish up here."

So, grateful that he was finally able to part from this crowd, Alec steered through the mass of people that filled his living room, swaying in time to the music and plastering their faces with frosting, and made his way upstairs to bring Hartley his share. This section of the house was completely silent, devoid of all life. It was the perfect place for Hartley to escape from the crowd downstairs. Alec couldn't blame him. Already he had had three rather aggressive would-be suitors try to slip him their phone numbers or pull him into less-populated corners of the house.

He walked along the gleaming tiled floor until he reached Hartley's room. Predictably, the door was locked. Alec knocked, but there was no response.

"Hartley, you in there?" he called. Still, silence. With his free hand, Alec seized the door handle and swung it open. The room was empty. So where was he?

Alec checked the other rooms along the floor, and when he had decided that Hartley simply wasn't there, he decided, with great reluctance, to go back downstairs. The festivities lasted only a short while longer, because his father's exasperation with the whole thing was growing to a point where even the guests picked up on it. By eleven o'clock, the doors opened once more and the people were ushered out. The dark front yard was lit with the blazing light of a dozen different headlights as cars started and wheeled out of sight, then the last car pulled out of the driveway, and at last, it was over.

Silence had fallen for the first time in hours, and they were alone once more.

"Finally," Alec breathed, slumping onto the sofa with an involuntary huff.

"Well, that went well, didn't it?" Mrs. Michaels said happily.

Alec was about to tell her just how "well" it went, but caught his father's eye and he shook his head wearily, a simple gesture that told him plainly that it was easier to let her be. The living room and kitchen were littered with crumpled-up cups, saucers, smattered with crumbs, and, much to his father's annoyance, the confetti that he had been doused with, but his mother didn't seem to be upset by it at all.

She hummed serenely as she carried the remainder of the drinks, cake, and ice-cream back into the fridge, still beaming. Hartley still hadn't returned. The only thing that seemed even remotely organized was the enormous pile of gifts that had been stacked in the corner, but even that his father wasn't particularly enthusiastic about.

"I think those will have to wait till tomorrow," he said. "I'm stumped."

Soon after they bid goodnight and Alec returned to his room. All in all, as exhausting as the party was, it had been a good, normal day. Alec flung himself into bed without changing his clothes and, tired as he was, immediately drifted off.