Wrong person 38

Chapter 38: Asher 

“You remember how to start the generator? Dad asks, frowning out the rain–streaked window like he might will the power back on Lumbergh sheer dad energy. 

“Not really,” Mom says, biting her lip. I mean, I know we have one. Somewhere.” 

They both look at me. 

I sigh, pushing up from the kitchen counter where I was drying plates in the dark. 

T 

figure it out.” 

Bad claps me on the back. “Knew we kept you around for a reason. 

I grab my phone, flicking the flashlight on, and head for the basement door. 

The house groans as another gust of wind slams against it, but the stairs hold steady under my weight as I move down, phone light bousring against the walls. 

It smells like old wood, damp stone, and forgotten Christmas decorations. 

I navigate by instinct more than sight, stepping over old boxes and discarded furniture without hesitation. 

Darkness never bothered me 

– 

Penny had asked me yesterday half–joking, half–curious if I was scared of the dark. 

I’d shrugged, told her no. 

It’s true. 

When you’re trained right, you don’t need your eyes to survive. 

You listen for shifts in the air. 

Feel vibrations under your feet. 

Trust your gut when it tells you something’s wrong. 

Darkness isn’t the enemy. 

Complacency is. 

1 find the generator shoved against the far wall behind some rusted gardening tools. 

Big, ugly, old–school 

But workable 

I flip the necessary valves, prime the fuel, and yank the starter cord. 

coughs once, twice, then roms to life. 

не 

A few seconds later, the overhead lights buzz back on, humming with steady, stubborn life. 

$75 

Chapter 38: Asher 

1 kill the flashlight and climb back upstairs, wiping my hands on my pants. 

The kitchen glows warm again. 

Mom exhales like she’s been holding her breath. 

Dad grins. “Our hero,” 

I sent under my breath and start heading toward the stairs–planning to shower again, maybe sleep for a week 

Sharp. Immediate. 

1 turn fast, instinct kicking in before logic. 

She’s clutching Dad’s arm, eyes wide.. 

“Penny,” she says. “Oh my God, what about Penny?” 

Dad’s face hardens instantly. 

He glances outside at the houses swallowed in darkness, the flicker of weak emergency lights a few blocks away. 

The whole street’s dead. 

Dad turns to me without hesitation. 

Can you check on her?” 

I’m already putting my shoes on. 

Yeah, 

The storm is worse when I step outside. 

Rain pelts down hard enough to sting. 

Wind slices sideways, soaking me in seconds. 

I shove my head down, bracing against it, moving fast. 

Her house isn’t far. 

1 move by memory 

ory now vision useless in the sheets of rain. 

Her porch light is dead. 

The windows are black. 

No movement inside. 

I climb the steps and knock once- hard enough to be heard over 

Nothing. 

1 knock again, sharper this time. 

the storm. 

when Mom gaaps. 

Chapter 38: Asher 

Still nothing. 

I lean closer to the door. 

“Penny,” I call, voice cutting through the rain. “It’s Asher.” 

There’s a plusT 

Then the door creaks open a few inches. 

A flash of candlelight glows behind her small, flickering, weak. 

She peers out, hair loose, hoodie zipped up halfway- 

Her eyes are wide but sharp. 

“Why didn’t you open the first two times?” I ask, scanning her face. 

She shrugs, a quick, defensive move. 

“You could’ve been a serial killer,” she says, like it’s obvious. 

Good. She’s cautious, for once. 

“Fair, 1 mutter 

She opens the door a little wider. 

“Why are you here?” 

“My parents were worried,” I say. “They 

y saw the nutage and wanted me to check if you have a generator.” 

“I… I don’t know,” she admits, stepping back. 

I wipe my boots on the mat and step inside, the door clicking shut behind me. 

The house is colder than I expected. 

No heat. 

No power. 

Only two tiny candles trying to fight the storm pressing against the walls. 

“Can I check?” I ask 

She nods, pulling the hoodie tighter around her, 

The basement door sticks a little, but I yank i open. 

1 head down with the flashlight on again, scanning the space. 

No generator. 

No hackup. 

3/5 

STOPIEI 30. Asner 

Nothing 

When I come back up, thunder cracks 

Cheuse physically shudders. 

Penny jampi – full–body flinch 

her hands clutching the edge of the counter 

Ecross the room quickly, voice Jew 

got any more candles? Hashlights? 

“Yeah,” she says, voice small. “Somewhere? 

She rummages through a drawer and comes back with two tiny tea light candles and a half dead flashlight the size of a Twis bar 

I stare at the pathetic collection. 

“That’s not enough,” I say flatly. 

She huffs. T’ll be fine. I have blankets, I’ll just stay in bed.” 

“No,” I say immediately. 

She frowns. “It’s not a big deal, Asher.” 

“It is,” I snap. 

She crosses her, atms. “Why?” 

“Because without power, the heater doesn’t work. And without heat, this place is going to turn into an icebox in about twenty minutes.” 

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. 

“You’ll get cold, Penny, Fast. You’ll think it’s manageable until it’s not.” 

“I’ll pile on blankets—” 

“And if the windows blow out?” 

She blinks, caught off guard. 

“If the storm rips a branch through your living room?” I continue, voice low but cutting. “What then?” 

She swallows, looking away. 

“I’ll be fine,” she mumbles, weaker now. 

1 step closer, lowering my voice even more. 

“You don’t stay alone in a blackout during a storm. Not when you don’t have backup. Not when you don’t have heat. Not when you don’t have light. 

hands curl tighter 

r around the sleeves of her hoodie 

I soften- just a littl 

“Come with me,” I say. 

4/5 

Chapter 38: Asher 

She hesitates. 

Thunder cracks again, louder, angrier 

The lights flicker from the ashlights harely holding un 

she looks at the candles, the shaking windows, the enilles dark outside. 

Then she looks at me. 

a hand not touching her, just offering 

Come 

For a second, I think she might dig in stubborn again. 

But then she sighs a defeated, breathless sound and nods. 

Okay. Let me grab my shoes. 

She moves quickly, shoving her feet into sneakers, yanking on a thicker hoodie. 

I open the door for her, bracing my shoulder against the wind trying to slam it shut again. 

Tup over her head and steps outside, clutching the zipper closed with both hands. 

She pulls her 

or hood up over 

I follow her into the storm. 

The door shuts behind us, the lock clicking faintly under the roar of the rain. 

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