There's something about psychic snow that really sticks in your bones.
Maybe it's the fact that it shimmers faintly like glitter under the moonlight, or that it crunches with a high-pitched squeal instead of a regular crunch. Or maybe it's the fact that I couldn't feel my feet anymore but also couldn't stop smiling as I trudged through it behind Julian and Alvin.
We had only been at Snow Valley for five minutes when the weirdness kicked in. The place looked like the North Pole got kissed by a magic storm—icicle-covered trees humming with energy, blue-white mist curling in the air like smoke, and cabins that looked straight out of a mystical ski lodge catalog.
"I can't feel my toes," I mumbled, tucking my gloved hands under my armpits. "Is hypothermia a psychic thing too?"
"Only if you're bad at layering," Alvin said dryly.
Julian chuckled softly, glancing back at me. "You'll warm up. The Snow Valley's just… intense at first. It grows on you."
I was about to respond with a very eloquent "Hmph" when a sudden sharp gasp burst from my lips.
Standing not ten feet ahead, near the frosted arch that marked the entrance to the inner sanctum of Snow Valley—were my parents.
My actual, real-life parents.
Dad's eyes widened behind his glasses, and Mom looked like someone had just dropped an entire psychic prophecy on her dinner table.
"Julia?" Mom said, her voice that weird blend of stern and stunned. "What are you doing here?"
My mouth opened and closed like a broken vacuum.
What was I doing here? Excuse me—what were they doing here?
"I—uh—I mean, Julian had a meeting," I stammered. "So I tagged along. For the…view."
Julian, beside me, stayed perfectly calm. Typical. Meanwhile, I was having a full-on heart attack in the middle of a psychic snow forest.
Dad stepped forward. "You shouldn't be here."
"That's rich," I snapped, my voice finally coming back to me. "Why are you here? I thought you two were boring office drones at the Gossamer Network—no offense."
Mom and Dad exchanged a look. The kind of look that said, "Well, we were hoping to do this later but here we are."
"I think it's time we told her," Mom sighed.
"Told me what?" I blinked, looking between them. "Wait… oh my God, are you getting a divorce? Is this a magical divorce cave?"
Alvin choked on a laugh. Julian actually cracked a grin.
"No," Dad said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're not getting a divorce. We're part of the Psychic Elders."
"…I'm sorry, what now?"
Mom nodded, her expression softening. "We've been part of the Snow Valley council for years. On the surface, we're regular employees at the Gossamer Network—paperwork, systems, filing psychic taxes."
"There are psychic taxes?!"
"But underneath that," Dad continued, "we're also consultants, strategists, and sometimes even field operatives for the Elders. We're… experts."
I stared at them.
Like stared, stared.
It was like finding out your parents were secret agents, but instead of fighting bad guys with guns, they were fighting psychic monsters with brainwaves.
"You guys lied to me," I said finally.
"We didn't lie," Mom said gently. "We just… didn't tell you yet. You're still developing. We didn't want to overwhelm you."
"Overwhelm me? I have glowing eyes now!"
Julian cleared his throat delicately. "Mr. and Mrs. Summers, if I may, Julia's been progressing rapidly. She's actually been training quite seriously."
"Training?" Dad said sharply. "With whom?"
"With me," I admitted, bracing myself. "I've been sneaking out. For weeks. At night."
Both of their eyebrows shot up so fast I thought they might levitate.
"WEEKS?" Mom gasped. "You've been—!"
"It's not like I was out partying or summoning demons in the basement!" I cried. "Julian's been training me. Properly. And recently I started working out of the Gossamer Network headquarters."
Dad's face went from red to purple. "Without telling us?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't loop you in between your top-secret psychic spy meetings and your job as literal Elder Agents!"
Mom pressed her fingers to her temples and muttered something in Latin. I think. Maybe it was just Mom-speak for I need tea immediately.
Julian, as calm as ever, stepped forward. "If I may—I have a meeting to attend with the council. I promise I'll explain everything. But for now, it might help if Alvin showed Julia around. Let her understand what the Snow Valley really is."
Dad and Mom both looked at him—then at me. There was a long, cold pause. And then, finally, Mom exhaled.
"Fine. But we're talking about this when you get home."
"Oh, great," I muttered. "A psychic grounding. That's what my week needed."
Julian gave me a brief glance—a silent "I'll be back soon" sort of look—before he disappeared into one of the crystalline buildings.
Alvin clapped his gloved hands together. "Alright, Ms. Drama Queen. Tour time. Let's go look at some psychic glaciers before your mom hexes you."
⸻
Alvin's version of a tour was a mix between dragging me through sparkly snow paths and explaining high-level psychic infrastructure like I was a toddler with an attention span of a fruit fly.
"This cabin?" he said, pointing. "Psychic meditation chamber. Only Elder-level psychics can unlock the door. It hums when they walk by."
I walked past it. Nothing happened.
"Rude," I muttered.
He snorted. "This frozen pond? It records your emotions. Like a mood ring. Touch it."
I crouched and laid a finger on the ice. It shimmered briefly—then turned a warm, pulsing pink.
Alvin raised an eyebrow. "Love? Interesting."
"Shut up."
He cackled.
After about an hour of frozen limbs, sparkly lakes, and seeing a hawk made entirely of mist, we made our way back to the central lodge. Julian was just stepping out, his meeting apparently done.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
"Better than expected. Your parents aren't wrong to be worried. But they were also impressed."
I blinked. "Impressed? With me?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "They didn't know how powerful you've become."
"Oh," I said, my cheeks heating despite the cold.
He reached out and brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You're getting stronger every day."
And just like that, the world tilted.
Not in a dramatic, earth-shattering way, but in a small, soft kind of way. Like something quiet and golden settled in the space between us.
For once, I didn't crack a joke. Didn't babble or freak out.
I just looked at him—and let myself feel it.
The spark.
————
Later that evening, the three of us returned to the Gossamer Network's main headquarters.
The moment we stepped into the training atrium, the familiar warmth of the polished white floors and the softly glowing walls felt like a breath of relief after the icy hush of Snow Valley. Everything here buzzed with quiet energy—psychic fields humming faintly in the air, light reacting to movement like it was alive.
Julian led the way, his posture relaxed but focused, the edge of the day's meeting still lingering in the tension around his shoulders.
"Let's keep it light tonight," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "You've had enough surprises for one day."
"Agreed," I muttered. "Between finding out my parents are psychic powerhouses and not mild-mannered desk warriors, and being mildly frostbitten—light sounds great."
We settled into one of the smaller glass-domed training rooms, where the ceiling flickered with simulated stars. I stood across from Julian while Alvin flopped dramatically on the nearest floating meditation cushion and pulled out a protein bar like he was watching TV.
Julian raised a hand, palm up. "Let's start with telekinetic centering. Lift the spheres."
I took a breath and focused on the three silver spheres floating in the center of the room. They shimmered slightly in my peripheral vision, each reacting to my focus like a pulse.
With a flex of thought—more instinct now than effort—I lifted them. Not a wobble. Not even a flicker.
Julian tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on me. "Controlled. Smooth. Your focus has tightened."
I let the spheres spin slowly in a perfect orbit above my head, like moons around a psychic planet. "I've had a pretty intense teacher," I said, risking a small smile.
He stepped closer, his gaze softening. "You're making this easy."
I swallowed. My heart did that dumb fluttery thing it always did when he was too close. But I held my ground, keeping the orbit steady.
"Good," he said quietly. "Now catch."
With a flick of his fingers, he launched a fourth sphere at me—no warning, fast and sharp.
My instinct kicked in.
The fourth sphere froze in the air just inches from my face, vibrating slightly as I clutched it in my mind.
Julian's smile widened just enough to make my brain short-circuit.
"You didn't even blink," he said.
"Don't act like you weren't trying to smack me in the forehead," I muttered, lowering the spheres.
He stepped even closer then, hands in his pockets, his voice dipping lower. "I needed to be sure. That you could respond under pressure. That you're ready."
"I am," I said, more firmly than I expected.
And then there was a beat of silence.
Not awkward. Not tense.
Just quiet.
Still.
Like the air had slowed down to listen.
He looked at me—not like a teacher or a guide—but like someone who was seeing me, not just my power. His eyes searched mine, as though he was holding back a hundred things he wasn't ready to say.
The spheres floated around us, forgotten.
"I didn't plan for this," he said finally.
"For what?"
He hesitated—then took one small step closer.
"This. You."
And just like that, my heart forgot how to beat in a normal pattern.
We were inches apart now, close enough that I could smell that same strange calm scent he always carried—like cold metal and something evergreen. His presence was steady, grounding, like stepping into gravity and never wanting to leave.
"You don't have to say anything," he said, voice quiet. "I just wanted you to know."
But I did want to say something. I just didn't know how to fit it into words.
So I reached for the sphere still hovering between us, slowly, until both our hands were cradling it mid-air—his fingers brushing mine, the tiniest jolt shooting up my arm like a flicker of electric light.
"I don't know what this is," I whispered. "But I don't want it to stop."
He smiled. Not the small, guarded one. The real one—the kind I'd only seen once or twice when he thought no one was looking.
"It doesn't have to."
Behind us, Alvin let out a very loud, very dramatic sigh. "Ugh. The tension. Can you two just kiss and levitate already?"
We both broke into laughter, the moment softened—but not lost.
As the spheres lowered around us and the training lights dimmed, I realized something simple, terrifying, and brilliant.
Whatever this was—we'd just crossed into something new.
And I wasn't turning back.