Bubble Boy

The moon was dipping low when their training ended.

Zoe dropped to one knee in the sand of the Argentum cliffs, breath fogging the cool air. Her fists were raw, her hoodie torn at the shoulder, but her eyes were alive, burning with purpose.

Starman extended a hand.

She took it.

"You're getting stronger," he said with a hint of pride. "Sharper. Faster."

"Still not faster than you," she grinned, brushing her hair back.

"Not yet," he said. "But soon."

She stepped forward and hugged him, tight. The kind of hug that lingered.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded, arms wrapping around her protectively. "Go home, kid. Get some sleep."

She gave him a mock salute, then launched skyward with a shimmer of Cyan light, disappearing over the horizon.

Starman watched her go, the night wind tugging at his cape. He turned toward the Argentum gate, ready to leave this shimmering nowhere-space behind and finally head home.

But someone was waiting.

She stood arms crossed, boots planted on the silver path. Annie's younger sister, Sam. Sixteen, smart, sharper than a shard of glass. And mad.

"You're really not allowed to leave without someone stopping you, huh?" he said, hands raised in mock surrender.

Sam didn't laugh.

"You need to stop," she said.

He blinked. "Stop what?"

"Zoe," she said. "Stop training her. Stop filling her head with this... power fantasy. She's not like you."

"You think I'm filling her head with something?" he asked, slowly lowering his arms. "She's the one who came to me. I just showed her what she already had."

"She's changing," Sam said. "Skipping school, isolating, sneaking out like she's in some secret war. My niece's losing sleep trying to become you. And you..."

"I'm not turning her into me," Starman interrupted, eyes soft but firm. "She's turning into who she wants to be."

Sam stepped forward, her voice low and heated. "She's turning into someone who might not make it back."

Starman's jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like the old him, the man who carried too many ghosts.

"I'm not taking her anywhere she doesn't want to go," he said quietly. "But I get it. You're scared for her. So am I."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the stars swirling overhead.

Then he walked past her, fading into the light of the portal behind him.

Later that night, Starman sat on a sleek white couch in Jace's mansion, a half-finished beer in one hand and another on the table in front of him. The lights were dim, the fireplace flickering orange against the glass walls that overlooked the sleeping city.

Jace lounged opposite, long legs stretched out, his own drink in hand. "You look like someone who just got hit with a cosmic guilt bomb."

Starman exhaled through his nose. "Zoe's aunt thinks I'm corrupting her."

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"I don't know." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I don't want to be a shadow she's chasing. I don't want her making my mistakes. But she's... alive when she's out there. And she's good. She's so good."

Jace took a sip, then set his bottle down.

"She's got fire, sure. But she's also got you. You're not corrupting her, man. You're giving her dreams. You're giving her permission to dream bigger than the sky. And she's not chasing your shadow. She's building her own."

Starman didn't answer at first. He just looked down at the label on his bottle, then let a small, tired smile creep in.

"You think so?"

Jace nodded. "I know so. You're not some warlord anymore. You're just a good grandpa."

That made Starman laugh, quiet, but real.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe I am."

They clinked bottles.

And for the first time in a long while, Starman let the moment just be...

The hours slipped by, the sky outside Jace's mansion slowly shifting from black to a dull navy. Somewhere below, the city dreamed, but Starman couldn't sleep.

He rose from the couch, set down his bottle.

"Duty calls?" Jace asked from behind his glass.

Starman gave him a half-smile. "Something like that. Got some... urgent business."

Without another word, he vanished in a quiet ripple of starlight.

The shadows in Hell's Alley were thick, the kind that crawled along brick walls and whispered through trash-strewn gutters. Neon lights flickered in broken windows, and the stench of oil and smoke clung to the air.

This was the kind of place heroes forgot.

But not him.

Starman landed softly in the dark, his boots touching cracked concrete with the weight of memory. He walked past graffiti-tagged doors, past an abandoned corner store with boarded-up windows, until he heard it, laughter and cards shuffling behind a rusted chain-link fence.

He turned the corner.

There they were.

The Orphan sat on a milk crate, his hoodie tattered, face lit by the faint orange glow of a trash fire. Scars ran like lightning bolts down his jaw and arms, relics of his brutal battle with Brakar. Around him, three low-level gangsters, nobodies with guns and empty futures, played poker with cheap bills and cheaper beer.

The moment they saw Starman, they bolted.

One dropped his cards, another stumbled over a trash bin. They scattered like rats at dawn.

The Orphan didn't move. He just stared at his hand, flicked one card away, and muttered, "And what brings the greatest hero alive to a dump like this?"

Starman didn't smile. "You."

The Orphan glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

"I've got a mission," Starman said. "Off-world. Xypho. Could be dangerous. Could be worse than that."

The Orphan leaned back, arms folded. "Sounds like a suicide run."

"You're the only one who's fought a Xyphorite and won," Starman said. "We need that kind of grit. That kind of rage."

There was a pause.

The Orphan stared into the flames. "You want me to be your attack dog?"

"No," Starman said. "I want you to fight for something bigger than bank vaults and alley scraps."

Another long silence.

Then, quietly: "No."

Starman's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move. "Don't you want to be more than this?"

The Orphan hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to crack through the concrete in his voice. But then...

"No," he said again, sharper now. "This is who I am. I don't pretend otherwise."

Starman watched him a moment longer, then gave a slow nod.

"Okay."

And with a soft shimmer of starlight, he rose into the sky and was gone.

The Orphan sat alone by the fire, staring at the card he'd been holding. It was the Queen of Diamonds.

He dropped it into the flames.