It wasn’t my fault. Not really. He looked at the pictures before him.

His beautiful wife, tanning on the beach.

His children building sandcastles. His son, so full of life, and with no fear. His daughter, small, timid, but with an insatiable desire to know everything. Both of them as lovely as their mother.

Other pictures, this time in his mind. The accident at work. Coming home, feeling ill. Flashes of light, bursting from his hands. His beautiful wife, her face little more than blood and ashes. His son, lying on the floor. His sister, blood streaming from her head, beside him. She tried to protect him, and died in the process.

That was over a decade ago. He had been in hiding ever since, trying to learn to control his powers. Hoping, one day, that he could face the world again. Explain what had happened. Make them see it wasn’t his fault.

A sound behind him. Barely a whisper. Cold steel against the back of his neck. His body went cold at the sound of the voice behind him.

“Hello, daddy. Miss me?”