CHAPTER LXIV: Haunting Memories
Aeon tapped his fingers against his desk in rhythmic frustration as he listened to the chatter coming from the precinct radio. The incident had spread like wildfire, carried by panicked eyewitnesses and curious onlookers who had scrambled to share their accounts with authorities. Words like “superpowers,” “Marvel-like,” and “the sketch” filtered through the buzz of voices, tugging at his attention like a persistent itch. He stood abruptly, grabbing his coat as he strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed through the precinct, cutting through the background noise. The details of the reported clash gnawed at him. Cross. The name lingered in his mind, heavy and charged. If eyewitnesses were to be believed, the infamous vigilante had surfaced—and in dramatic fashion. When Aeon arrived at
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