Zephyr's fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles white with the effort of maintaining control. The air in the cramped office seemed to thicken, pressing down on her with an almost physical weight. She could feel it—the power thrumming just beneath her skin, begging for release.

"I said, where are those reports, Olivia?" Her supervisor's voice cut through the air, sharp and impatient.

Zephyr—no, Olivia now, she reminded herself—took a deep breath. "They'll be on your desk in five minutes, Mr. Grayson," she managed, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

As Grayson stomped away, muttering about incompetence, Zephyr closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing, on the techniques she'd learned to suppress her abilities. In, out. In, out. Slowly, the urge to unleash a gale force wind through the office subsided.

Two years. Two years since she'd officially used her powers. Two years of hiding, of pretending to be nothing more than Olivia Reeves, unremarkable data entry clerk. Two years of a life so far removed from her past as a hero that it sometimes felt like a dream.

As her fingers flew over the keyboard, finishing the mundane reports that now constituted her life's work, Zephyr's mind drifted. She remembered soaring over Metro City, the wind her ally, her friend. She remembered the rush of adrenaline as she faced down villains, the satisfaction of knowing she was making a difference.

A news alert on her computer screen snapped her back to reality. The headline screamed in bold letters: "SUPER-TERRORIST ATTACK FOILED IN CHRONOPOLIS."

Zephyr's heart raced as she clicked on the link, her report forgotten. The video showed a group of temporal manipulators being led away in specialized restraints, their powers nullified. The reporter's voice droned on about the brave actions of the Superhuman Containment Unit, but Zephyr's attention was caught by the background.

Chronopolis. She'd heard whispers of it—a futuristic city-state built around a massive time dilation field. The buildings in the footage seemed to shimmer and shift, as if they weren't quite in sync with the rest of the world. It was beautiful, alien, and terrifying all at once.

"In related news," the reporter continued, "protests have erupted in Chronopolis following the government's decision to restrict all temporal manipulation activities. High Chancellor Voss released a statement assuring citizens that these measures are necessary for global security..."

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Zephyr quickly closed the browser as Grayson's heavy footsteps approached. She handed over the completed reports without meeting his eyes, afraid he might somehow see the turmoil within her.

As she left the office that evening, Zephyr couldn't shake the images from the news report. The world had changed so much in two years, and not just in Metro City. Voss's influence seemed to stretch everywhere, affecting even far-flung places like Chronopolis.

The streets were quieter than they used to be. Fewer people out after dark, and those who were hurried along with their heads down. SCU patrols were a common sight now, their sleek armor and advanced weapons a constant reminder of the new world order.

Zephyr's hand instinctively went to the chip implanted in her neck—her registration marker. It itched sometimes, a phantom sensation that she could never quite shake. Every time she passed an SCU officer, she felt a prickle of fear. What if the chip malfunctioned? What if they decided to do a random check?

As she rounded the corner to her apartment building, a commotion caught her attention. A small crowd had gathered, whispering and pointing. Through the gaps between people, Zephyr saw a man on his knees, surrounded by SCU officers.

"Please," the man was saying, his voice cracking with fear. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to—"

"Unauthorized use of superhuman abilities is a Class A felony," one of the officers cut him off. "You know the law."

Zephyr watched, frozen, as they clamped power-dampening cuffs on the man and led him away. The crowd quickly dispersed, no one wanting to draw attention to themselves. But Zephyr couldn't move, her mind racing with the realization that it could have been her. One slipup, one moment of lost control, and everything would come crashing down.

Inside her tiny apartment, Zephyr leaned against the closed door, her heart pounding. The walls seemed to close in around her, a physical manifestation of the ever-tightening restrictions on her life.

She made her way to the window, looking out over the city she once protected. In the distance, she could see the gleaming spire of the Superhuman Containment Unit headquarters, a monument to Voss's vision of a world controlled and ordered.

As she stared at the nighttime skyline, a sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane. For a moment, just a moment, Zephyr allowed herself to feel it—the connection to her power, the part of herself she'd been forced to bury.

Tears stung her eyes as she quickly suppressed the ability. This was her life now. Safe. Controlled. Powerless.

But as she turned away from the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye. There, on the balcony of the building opposite, a figure stood watching her. Before Zephyr could react, the figure vanished in a blur of superhuman speed.

Zephyr's breath caught in her throat. Had she been seen? Had her momentary lapse been noticed?

As she collapsed onto her bed, mind racing with possibilities, Zephyr couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change. Again.