"The idea of Dad suddenly dying... it’s like imagining the ground disappearing beneath me. He’s always been my constant, the one person who has kept me tethered amidst all the chaos. If I lost him, I would feel like a part of me was gone, too.

But knowing Dad—his suspicions, the way he always seemed to be bracing for something—his death wouldn’t feel like an accident. I would start questioning everything. Who would want him gone? Why now, just as I’m on the brink of something bigger with my powers and my heritage? The timing wouldn’t feel coincidental. I would dive into his research, his notes—anything that could give me a clue about what he was working on or who might have seen him as a threat.

I think grief would take a backseat to determination. It’s not that I wouldn’t feel the loss—oh, I would feel it, deep down—but I wouldn’t have the luxury to dwell on it. Not with the gods in the picture and the dangers Dad always tried to shield me from. I would have to step up, even if I didn’t feel ready, because that’s what Dad would have wanted. He always taught me to keep moving forward, to figure things out step by step.

And as much as I would be fueled by the need for answers, I would also have to protect the people I care about. Kwame, Amara—they would be in the crosshairs too, whether they realized it or not. If Dad was taken out as part of some bigger game, then I would have to make sure no one else gets caught in the fallout.

But here’s the thing—beneath the anger, the determination, and the need to keep going, I know I would miss him. Every day. His voice, his steady presence, his terrible dad jokes. Losing him would leave a hole that no amount of answers could ever fill.

I’m not going to lie—walking into Scovia’s den feels like walking into a lion’s cage, knowing full well the lion is hungry. After the Mayor practically begged me not to go, it’s clear that this is risky—maybe even reckless. But if she knows something about Dad’s death, I don’t have the luxury of staying safe.

I would approach this carefully—no sudden moves, no showing my hand too early. Scovia thrives on control, on intimidation, and I can’t let her see even a flicker of hesitation in me. Before the meeting, I would gather every bit of leverage I can, every scrap of information that might give me a foothold. She respects power, and the only way to get through to her is to stand on equal footing—or at least act like I do.

Walking into her space, I would be calm, composed, and observant. Every detail matters—her body language, her tone, even the way her goons hover at the edges of the room. I would keep the conversation direct but measured, making it clear that I’m not there to play games. ‘You wanted to meet. I want answers. Let’s skip the theatrics and talk.’

The challenge would be keeping my emotions in check. As much as I want to demand the truth about Dad, I can’t let my anger take over. Scovia would exploit that in a heartbeat. Instead, I would turn the focus back on her—why she wanted this meeting, what she’s after. People like Scovia reveal more when they think they’re the ones steering the conversation.

And if she has nothing to do with Dad’s death? Then I’ll leave with whatever information I can and hope I haven’t made an enemy out of one of the most dangerous people in Ethos. But if she is involved... well, I would make it clear she’s underestimated me. She may have the power now, but I won’t stop until I find the truth—and make her pay for what she’s done.

Walking into that room with Scovia, Johnny ‘Doublechin,’ and knowing Scarlet’s lurking somewhere unseen, the air is practically crackling with tension. My first step? Stay calm, composed, and utterly unshakable. Scovia thrives on fear, and the moment I show any, it’s game over. This isn’t a fight of strength—it’s a battle of wits and control.

I would lock eyes with Scovia, ignoring Johnny’s looming presence. Intimidation tactics won’t work if I don’t acknowledge them. ‘Let’s skip the power plays,’ I would say, my voice steady. ‘I’m here for one thing: the truth. Did you have anything to do with my father’s death?’

Scovia’s the type to toy with people, to dance around the truth with riddles and half-answers. So my focus would be on steering the conversation. I would have done my homework beforehand—every lead, every whisper about her involvement—so I can call her out if she tries to dodge. Showing her that I’m not just another naive kid walking into her lair would shift the dynamic, even if it’s subtle.

The wildcard is Scarlet. Knowing she’s out there, watching, I would keep my movements deliberate—calculated. Any sudden action could give her the opening she’s waiting for. And Johnny? He’s muscle, not brains. If things escalate, I would aim to outthink him rather than overpower him.

But here’s the key—I would plant seeds of doubt in Scovia’s mind. If she’s not responsible for Dad’s death, I would make her believe that someone’s trying to frame her, using her reputation as a smokescreen. That might push her to reveal more than she intends, if only to protect her own interests.

And if she is involved? I would be ready. My abilities—phasing, my graphite-like skin—are my trump card. If things turn lethal, I would use my black sand transformation to disorient them, vanishing into the room’s corners to regroup. Fifty feet is my range, but in a room like this, it’s more than enough to gain the upper hand. I would leave a message as I disappear—something sharp, something that reminds Scovia that I’m not a victim, but a threat: ‘You’ll see me again, and next time, I won’t be asking nicely.’

Coming out on top here isn’t just about survival—it’s about leaving Scovia knowing I’m a force to be reckoned with. That I won’t stop until I uncover the truth about my father.”