Do You Want Me to Make a Move?

Ian finished the last mouthful of tomato and egg soup, then gently set the bowl on the table. A little egg drop still clung to the bottom, and the little Xenomorph leaned in, stretched out its tongue, and licked it clean. Little Dragon lay sprawled on the table, belly round, purring in satisfaction. The old woman came out from the back kitchen, collected the dishes and chopsticks, and glanced at him, hesitating as if she wanted to speak.

"That person outside," she finally said, keeping her voice very low, "is he here for you?"

Ian wiped his mouth. "Probably."

"Won't you hide?"

"Hide from what?" Ian stood up and put the little Xenomorph and Little Dragon back on his shoulders. "It's not like I did anything wrong."

The old woman opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end she only sighed. She turned and went back into the kitchen, her footsteps very light, as though afraid of disturbing something. Ian straightened his shirt and walked toward the door. Sunlight streamed in through the glass door, casting a bright patch across the dim restaurant. He pushed the door open and stepped outside.

There were hardly any people left on the street. The pedestrians who had been strolling a moment ago, the old men walking their dogs, the young people on bikes—they had all ducked into the shops along the road. Some watched from behind glass windows, fear in their eyes, curiosity too, and a faint, indescribable sense of anticipation.

They recognized the man standing on the rooftop—Brandon's older brother, Walter Jupiter's eldest son, one of the strongest warriors in the entire Alien Family.

His name was Layton. Not Superman, not some knight-errant, and not any superhero who needed to hide his identity. He was Layton, Layton of the