Since Vic and Hudson have cloistered themselves in the library with their mysterious project, I decide to take the girls outside for a bit of sun and play. The backyard is lush and sprawling, a perfect canvas for little imaginations and unbound energy. As we step onto the soft grass, I can’t help but admire how quickly Ari adapts to her surroundings. Despite her prosthetic leg, her natural talent for playing soccer is unmatched.

She carefully positions herself and adjusts her body with a grace that belies the mechanical nature of her limb. With a confident smirk, she lines up for a shot. Her movements are calculated, and her eyes are fixed on the makeshift goal we’ve set up. Then, with a powerful strike, the ball sails through the air and lands squarely in the back of the net. Syd and I erupt in cheers, celebrating her impressive skill.

While Ari perfects her skill, Syd, with phone in hand, attempts to capture her dance routine on video. But her movements are tentative; she struggles to fully extend her arm, and her frustration begins to wear on her face.

“I suck at this,” She mutters to herself. “Why can’t I just be normal?”

I notice her self-deprecation and the embarrassment that seems to keep her from asking for help.

“You know I have an APE certification, right?” I gently state, stepping closer to her.

Syd looks up, puzzled. “A what?”

I chuckle, kneeling beside her. “Adapted Physical Education. I’ve worked with many superhero kids just like you before.” I explain, helping her adjust her dance steps to accommodate her arm’s reach.

As she follows my guidance, her face lights up, and her movements encourage her to become more fluid and confident.

“You’re doing amazing, Syd! Way better than me.” I praise, my heart swelling with pride.

Afterward, I massage her muscles, and she proudly practices her new dance routine over and over in unbridled excitement.

A wave of admiration washes over me as I watch the Grimes girls. I’m so blessed to be able to work with such resilient, determined kids. Observing their unyielding spirit, I find myself wondering where I’d be if I possessed even half their strength.

While playing with the girls, I catch a movement from the corner of my eye. Standing in the shadow of the back door frame is Vic, clad in a tight white tee, broad shoulders stretching the fabric to accentuate his sculpted muscles, which I hadn’t noticed before, with a hammer dangling from his hand. His intense gaze is directed firmly at us, more specifically, at me. He’s such a prick, but he also looks so good, so damn good. His expression is unreadable; I can’t decipher if he’s watching me in disdain or desire, but either way, it’s an intense scrutiny that I’m ashamed to admit makes me crave his physical touch.