NOVPUB
Chapter 48: You didn’t even try,
"What were you doing till now, sir?"
Harris asked, his voice calm but edged with a faint suspicion as he eyed the old man standing in the middle of the room watching them.
The old man chuckled, a low, raspy sound that barely stirred the stillness. "Nothing, lad. Was just sitting, watching the news. Old folks like me—what else is there to do?" His wrinkled face creased into a smile, his half-closed eyes glinting with a hint of amusement beneath bushy white brows.
Harris nodded, but his gaze drifted, scanning the room. He stepped away, boots creaking on the warped floorboards, and approached Rhea, who leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, yawning behind her mask, hoping it would go unnoticed. "Take a look around," he said quietly. "Spot anything abnormal?"
Rhea’s hazel eyes flashed with annoyance, barely concealed beneath her sleek black mask. "Isn’t that your job?" she snapped, her tone sharp. "I’m here to fight things, not play detective. You’re the brains—I’m the tool."
Harris turned to her, his lean frame steady, his brown eyes unwavering behind his own simple gray mask. "No," he said firmly. "Investigation’s part of being a hero too. It’s not just about strength and power—it’s about using your head the right way."
Rhea scoffed, tossing her dark ponytail over her shoulder. "Superhero means power. Strength. Fists. That’s what gets the job done."
Harris raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Oh yeah? Then how’s Kael still living? Guy’s got no powers worth a damn—weak as a kitten—but he’s survived this long on brains alone. Outsmarted a few dozen city’s rogues while you were still throwing fiery tantrums in back alleys." His voice carried a dry edge, a challenge wrapped in fact.
Rhea’s lips pursed, her mind churning. She muttered under her breath, barely audible. "If someone like Kael—with his useless weird powers—made it this far just by using his brain... maybe Harris isn’t full of it." She sighed, relenting.
"Fine. Okay." She pushed off the wall, her movements grudging but deliberate, and began to prowl the room.
At first glance, everything seemed mundane. 𝖓𝔬𝔳𝔭𝔲𝔟.𝖈𝖔𝔪
The sagging sofa, the ancient TV perched precariously on a wobbly stand, the cluttered bookshelf stuffed with yellowing tomes that reeked faintly of mold and dust.
The only sign of life was the old man, standing unnaturally still holding his cane, his milky eyes tracking their every movement.
When Rhea’s gaze met his, his smile widened—a slow, knowing curl of his lips that sent a ripple of unease down her spine.
"Everything’s fine," she said, turning toward Harris with a shrug that didn’t reach her voice. "He’s just an old man." Then, almost involuntarily, her voice dropped. "A creepy old man."
Harris didn’t move, arms crossed tightly across his chest. "You didn’t even try," he said flatly. "Check again. Properly this time."
Rhea’s jaw clenched. A flicker of annoyance sparked behind her eyes, but her mask hid the full brunt of her scowl.
She wanted to snap back, to say I know what I’m doing, but Harris’s tone left no room for argument. He wasn’t someone you pushed back against unless you were ready to dig in for a fight, she could feel his aura, that he was not any man with powers.
So instead, she turned back to the room, eyes narrowing.
The TV.The sofa.The bookshelf.
Nothing. It all screamed normal in a way that made her stomach twist.
She exhaled, closing her eyes for just a second to center herself.
Focus, Rhea. Don’t just look—sense.
Something tickled at the edge of her thoughts. A faint wrongness, like an itch under the skin.
She snapped her eyes open, her gaze darting to the TV. It looked dusty. A thick film of it covered the top edge, untouched.
She pressed her hand against the screen. Cold. Dead. No trace of warmth. It hadn’t been on in hours—maybe even days.
Her attention slid to the sofa. The cushions were stiff. No worn indentations, no depression where a body might’ve recently settled.
Clean. Unused. Untouched.
Her pulse quickened.
He was lying. And she actually used her brains. They work.
If he hadn’t been watching TV, what had he been doing when they arrived? Waiting?
Something about that smile replayed in her mind—too calm, too practiced. Her gut twisted. She turned sharply toward him, instincts crackling to life. "I know about it, old man," she said, low and cold.
His smile froze.
She crossed the room in three strides and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up with both hands.
The fabric crinkled in her fists. "Now tell me—why are you lying? What are you hiding?" she demanded, shaking him hard enough to rattle the bones in his brittle frame.
His eyes widened, the glaze of senility vanishing in a flash of something far too lucid.
"Rhea, stop!" Harris barked, smacking a hand to his forehead in frustration.
Great, he thought. He’d assumed she was piecing things together—calm, precise.
But nope. Straight to brute force.
Anticlimactic. Reckless.
He stepped forward, intending to pull her back—
But the old man moved first.
Faster than either of them expected. A faint click echoed through the room as he twisted the handle of the cane and popped open the top.
Inside: a red button.
Small. Gleaming. Terribly deliberate.
"Wait—!" Harris shouted.
But it was too late.
The old man pressed it.
A sharp beep reverberated through the room, piercing the stale air.
beep boop Beep Beep boop —
Rhea and Harris froze as the beeping multiplied—one tone splitting into a chorus, sharp and discordant, bouncing off the stale wooden walls like a siren’s wail.
The air changed. Thickened. A low hum rose beneath their feet, swelling into a mechanical growl that vibrated through the floorboards. The bookshelf trembled slightly, dust sifting down in lazy drifts. Something was building—charging.
Harris’s brown eyes widened behind his mask. Instinct kicked in, fast and ruthless.
"Run!" he barked, already moving.
He lunged away from the bookshelf, as the vibrations and the sounds began to get louder.
