"Realmente estúpida {really stupid}," Chloe mutters under her breath, glancing through the narrow opening of the opaque glass window at the vibrant ice cream truck. The gigantic strawberry ice cream cone on its top sends a unwanted chill down her spine.

Chloe has been crouching in her designated hiding spot - the gap between the vintage bookcase and the wall of her dad's office - for ages now. She tries to reposition her sore legs, her gaze still fixated on the opening, making sure nothing moves or creaks.

She grits her teeth when her back hits the bookcase, causing a soft thud. She stops, scanning her dark surroundings. Hoping her parents didn't hear this.

It would've been Strike 2, an extra month without her powers, if they did hear. This sudden strictness, to everyone living in Sectors 6 and 7 of Claremond Street and not just her, is all because of the damned ice cream truck. The once frolicsome neighborhood is now desolate and gloomy. Unspoken fear surges among them like a plague.

And mostly, the buried bodies discovered in the last couple of months, of those who went missing right after the truck's departure, have left the affected broken beyond repair.

But not Chloe.

The young teenager finds herself kneeling, glaring at the ice cream truck. It's been a month since its last visit to Claremond Street. She peers over this menacing truck - that killed her friends, her bubbly aunt Estella, her naive cousin Jose - spotting the house it's parked in front of.

"So... it's them who called?" she whispers, her ebony eyes wavering as they detect the barely standing roof of No. 62.

"Who them?"

Chloe flinches, her shoulder slamming against the wall beside her. Her mouth's covered by a hand protruding out of the bookcase. A hand too familiar.

A young boy of about 15 emerges out of the bookcase, as if it were permeable silk. He manages to crouch in the limited space beside Chloe, his hand still covering her mouth.

Chloe hits his hand away, exhaling sharply. "Milo," she hisses. "Por qué estás aquí? Vuelve a tu lugar ahora."

She takes in a deep breath. Her brother doesn't know Spanish, or he pretends not to with his puzzled expressions. "Why are you here, Milo? Get back to your spot now."

"You sound just like Mrs. Serrano," Milo whispers, pressing down his curly hair. "But here you are, spying on the truck you're supposed to be hiding from."

Chloe crosses her arms, muttering, "Okay. First of all, Mrs. Serrano is your mother. So call her Mom, Mama or whatever. Second, this is my spot." She points to the opening, "The window just happened to be slightly open."

"Yeah right," Milo softly scoffs. He looks through the opening, squinting his caramel eyes when he notices a girl in purple walk out of the ice cream truck. "She's new."

"Huh?" Chloe pushes his shoulder to get him out of her view. She ducks down to identify the girl, only to see her extremely long coat sweeping the driveway. She sighs, turning carefully to the bookcase behind her. She whispers, "Can you scoot, Milo?"

"I wish I can," he whispers back, his body pushed to the desk on his side. His forehead creases when he sees his sister roll her eyes. "What? You asked if I can."

"En se- Seriously?" Chloe mutters.

Milo casts a small smile. "Hang on."

He rubs his hands before lunging back, this time sinking into the dark wooden desk. He pulls his limbs back, which are unusually short for a 15-year-old, until his face's the only part visible on the surface. "Make it quick," he says.

Chloe nods, moving to the free spot. She glances at the closest shelf, stacked with Shakespearean Literature: The Twelfth Night, Macbeth, A Midsummer Night Dream, Hamlet, King Lear, Othello and Chloe's most loathed play, Romeo and Juliet. She takes out the thin leather bound, her nose crinkled in disgust.

"You wanted me to move, so that you could read Romeo and Juliet?!" Milo whispers, though it comes out louder than he'd anticipated.

"Shut it," Chloe hisses, taking something out of the space the book had been in. She places her dad's prized possession back, though shoving it deeper than usual.

Milo comes out of the desk, shrugging his shoulders. He dusts something minute off of his clean t-shirt, gaze falling on the small device his sister holds.

A mini-telescope.

Chloe uses the black device to see through the opening, adjusting its line of sight with hers. Milo leans his head sideways, trying to catch a glimpse through the telescope. "You could've told me to get it for you," he whispers, imagining his grasp on the intricate stars and moons inscribed on the telescope. He's always wanted a telescope.

"Shush," Chloe says, her forehead creased and eyes focused on her target. The girl in purple is near the open rear doors of the ice cream truck, appearing to be searching for something.

"Wait," Milo says. "You still can't see her." He leans down, leveling his sight with the opening. "Do you need glasses or someth-"

"Woah," Chloe says, extending the telescope. What she's seeing can't be possible.

Milo snatches the telescope away from his gawking sister, adjusting its length as he uses it. His eyes widen when he sees the girl in purple carrying what appears to be a 200 pound refrigerator with just one hand.

"She's carrying that right?" Chloe whispers. "Dios mio {oh my god}, they brought a Herc."

Milo nods. Though it's been a month since he's been welcomed into the Serrano family, he knew that the Covert was highly selective. Herculeans, or Herc. for short, are famous for their uncontrollable strength and numerous demolitions. The chances of recruiting a Herc. are thus slim; a tween girl at that, impossible.

This brings Milo to a sudden realization: he knows who the girl is.

And as if she could read his mind, Chloe asks, "You know who she is?"

"You don't?" Milo says, baffled. Unlike someone he knew, he isn't aware of anybody in the superhuman community.

Chloe shakes her head. "Who is she? I haven't seen her anywhere."

"Not even in Raven Academy?"

"No. And it's Maven Academy," Chloe says, taking the telescope from him. "It's named after the national capitol." She sighs when she sees Milo's blank face. "Mavis. Our country's capital is Mavis."

"Okay okay," Milo says, motioning Chloe to calm down. He glances back at the closed door before whispering, "She's Alexa Barrings. The sole heir-"

"The sole heir of the House of Barrings," Chloe intercedes. "Jesús, the Covert recruited her? I thought the House would be against this."

"Not since there are talks of dissolution of the four houses," Milo replies. He smiles awkwardly when he sees his sister flabbergasted. "What? It's true. They don't do anything for the society. They just wear royal garbs, and hog up all our money."

Chloe smirks. "I thought you didn't know anything about our community?"

"It's common news," Milo says. "And aren't I a member of this 'community' ?"

Chloe nods, turning back to face the narrow opening. Her shoulders slump. "So, she's a part of them now."

Milo glances down for a moment. "Do you want to check the truck out?"

"And get crushed by the Herc?" Chloe scoffs. "No thank you."

"Obviously, when she goes in," Milo whispers.

Chloe turns back, staring at him. "I'm not mad to go there when I'm powerless." She crinkles her brows when she sees him cast a cheesy smile.

Milo scoots a bit to his side, burying one arm into the desk, while using the other to retrieve something from his pocket.

Chloe widens her eyes when she sees her brother take out a corked vial, filled with a pinkish red serum. The serum that can nullify the effects of the Negate serum in her body. She shifts in her place. "How did you-"

"Shush," Milo whispers. "You're getting loud." He holds the vial by its ends, "Just take it as my apology for last night."

"Yeah," Chloe mutters. "It was you who sneaked out last night." She snatches the vial of freedom away from his grip. "You still haven't answered, by the way. Why did you sneak out to Num-"

"She's going inside," Milo cuts in, gaze fixated on the narrow opening. He watches the girl in purple, Alexa, glance at the locked ice cream truck before entering, more like barging into No. 62.

Chloe uncorks the vial, and gulps down the serum in one shot. Although the berry serum's sweet, its sour aftertaste makes her scrunch her face.

"You good?" Milo whispers, when he sees her shudder, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Yup," Chloe says, shaking her head when she hears an annoying buzz near her ear.

Milo gawks as he sees his sister catch a minuscule bug in a flash, and smash it. Just like the first time he saw her at the orphanage. "You're back."

Chloe smiles, getting up without making a creak. "Now come on. We need to do a few things."

...

The young and extremely exhausted owners of No. 62 Claremond Street sit with their slouched backs against the wall. They face the dining room window, which was opened by Michael an hour ago, waiting for the slightest breeze to cool down the oven-like room.

Tony holds his grandma's mirror in hand, a wide grin plastered on his clammy face. The mirror portrays a photo of a beet-red him and Michael, whose arm casually rests on his shoulder. The young fanatic rubs the same spot on his shoulder. I know Michael Olmsted, and he knows me back!

"Quit grinning, will you?" his brother says, getting up. It's been an hour since 'The Favorite' left the house, but Tom feels the same bitterness resonate within him.

Tony snaps out of his daze. "What?"

Tom grabs his handbag from the floor, and rummages for something. His face scrunches up when his empty stomach protests with a loud grumble. "Can you help me search for food?"

Tony looks up. "But didn't you say you ate the last Turkish Delight?"

"So what?"

"That's all we had."

"What?" Tom says, brows arched. He flips the handbag, and empties everything on the floor.

Tony gets up with a flinch, rushing to the Stability Serum container which rolls toward the dingy corner of the room. He grabs it, inspecting the vials inside with widened eyes. He turns back, "Are you crazy?"

"Scrambled cheeseggs!" Tom curses, running his hand through his stray black hair as he gazes on the few items sprawled on the floor. Except for the Forrester's Neutro Toffees packet, two pairs each of their clothes, Nicole's wallet, and a few tattered invoices and coupons, there's nothing. No food.

I brought so many things yesterday, Tom muses, biting his lip. He exhales sharply when he realizes a missing content.

The polka-dot bag that Tom stuffed with bananas, biscuits and chocolates last night. The very same bag that he took out in Berkeley's car while coming here, when he wanted to eat Tony's Turkish Delight.

"No," he whines, rubbing his face.

"What's going on?" Tony says, placing the items back in the handbag.

"We don't have anything to eat," Tom grumbles. He grabs the wallet before his brother can, and searches for any green bills.

Just then a shrill buzz resonates across the room. The Banks brothers turn to see the mirror and its occupant.

"Good Lord, what happened here?" Sue says, gawking at the grimy cracks and crevices on the ceiling.

Tony picks up the mirror from the floor. "Hi Grandma."

"Hello Anthony," Sue says, taking out a drab handkerchief from her trousers and wiping her forehead. "Why do you guys want to stay here, out of all the places?"

"Because it's cool, Grandma," Tony replies.

"Cool?" Sue replies, baffled. "Well, it is cool to live in the ICJ Housing Quarters." She looks at the room with disgust, "They provide much better facilities."

"Grandma," Tom says, approaching her. "We had discussed about this."

"Oh, is it?" Sue asks. "I don't think your brother knows of this."

"I did tell you," Tom says, when his brother nods. "Remember, Pearl Manor?"

Tony crinkles his brows, his mother's name ringing in his mind. Tom did mention this a few weeks ago. Something about opening homes here in Castor as well as all around the country? That's when realization hits him. "Oh yeah, the manors for the lost...orphans, elderly, runaways."

"Thomas," Sue calls. "I know you want to renovate this place and keep it as a place for abandoned superhumans. It's a great ambition, something the ICJ themselves have failed to accomplish." She steps forward, her face now rigid, "But neither of you should sidetrack school and training for this. It's for your good."

Tony nods, realizing that he would start at Maven Academy this fall. He bites the inside of his cheek. The excuse of not inheriting powers won't work anymore.

"So," Sue says, with a smile. "Did the Covert mention the time they would come to inspect the victim?"

"They already came," Tom answers. "They said they'll be able to remove the body in another two days."

"What?" Sue responds, her smile now cracking. She looks away to cover the surfacing grim.

"What happened, Grandma?" Tony asks, but doesn't receive an answer. He notices the edges of his grandma's mirror glow in yellow. This means she's either deep in thought or someone from the ICJ is trying to contact her.

"Grandma Sue," Tom calls.

"Huh," she says, turning back to her grandsons. She puts up a small smile, "They would usually take half a day to arrive, but this is good. Great, actually. This problem would then be solved quickly."

Tom furrows his brows, watching his grandma fiddling with her fingers.

"You look excited, Anthony," Sue says, looking away from her suspicious grandson.

"Yeah, I met-"

Sue turns over her shoulder, the edges of the mirror now glowing a dark orange. "Oh, the ICJ is calling me. They want my vote on an upcoming development." She looks back, "I'm sorry that I have to go again. But I will return soon."

In an instant, the mirror's surface transitions to a prussian blue.

Tony places his hand over his grumbling stomach. He looks at his brother, "Do we have money for today?"

Tom takes a moment to respond. "Um." He checks the wallet in his hand, "Not much."

The Banks brothers flinch, the younger one more so, when the raucous doorbell rings.

"Must be our new neighbors," Tom says, straightening his shirt.

Tony grumbles in response. Like always, he doesn't want to see anyone. Especially on an empty stomach. He is stunned when he sees his brother walk out of the room with a grin.

"Can't we just ignore them?" he asks, following him.

Tom stops, glancing over his shoulder at him. "Are you mad? They would've brought food."

"Oh," Tony says, his grumpy face softening. "You mean, chocolates and...ice cream?"

Ever since he saw the Hillbough's Ice Cream truck, he couldn't take his mind off the creamy dessert. It was unfortunate, when Michael told him the ice cream in the truck isn't edible.

"Think so," Tom replies, heading to the front door. "Though I doubt they'd bring ice cream. It would melt by the time they bring it here." He practices his best smile while unlocking the door.

Though this smile vanishes the moment he opens the door. Tom's eyes widen without his permission.

Tony reaches the half-open door, confused when he sees his brother stammering. Never before has he seen the Golden Boy nervous. Standing behind the 6-ft-tall boy, he peers at the open gap, gasping when he sees a girl holding a big basket, the sweet smells wafting from it through his nose.

His gaze shifts to the person beside her, color fading from his face when he recognizes the curly-haired boy in the green t-shirt and shorts.

Milo Rodriguez! This thought strikes all the bells of alarm in Tony's blank mind.