The helicopter lands at dawn, military precision in every movement. Devon hasn't slept—none of us have—monitoring the crowd at our gates that's grown to thousands overnight.
"Air Force One is waiting," the aide informs us, professional but clearly nervous around Devon, whose glow hasn't dimmed since the Charter's release.
"Give us a moment," Vlad says, and it's not a request.
We gather the evolved children in the great hall. They need to know we're not abandoning them, even temporarily.
"Marcus and Leo will maintain security," Vlad tells them. "Julia and Adrian have tactical command. Genesis and Richard coordinate with parents."
"What if you don't come back?" Marcus—the emotional projector—asks bluntly.
"We always come back," I say with more confidence than I feel.
Hope floats into my arms. "Mama go?"
"Just for a day, sweetheart."
She looks at me with too-wise eyes. "Careful."
Even my accelerated-development toddler knows the danger we're walking into.
The crowd parts as we leave—evolved supporters glowing in solidarity, Pure Architecture protesters shouting about abominations. Media helicopters circle overhead like mechanical vultures. The whole world watches as we board the military transport.
"It's going to be fine," Devon says, but I hear uncertainty in his voice for the first time.
The flight to Washington is silent except for the throb of engines. Devon meditates, connected to the network, monitoring evolved children globally. Vlad reviews legal documents Adrian prepared. I think about my father, murdered for discovering what would eventually create our son.
Air Force One is exactly what you'd expect—power made tangible in leather and wood and bulletproof glass. The President waits in her office, and she's not what I expected.
President Sarah Hamilton is younger than her photos suggest, mid-forties with premature gray she doesn't hide. Her handshake is firm, her gaze direct.
"Mrs. Johnson-Dickenson. Mr. Dickenson. And you must be Devon."
"Madam President," Devon says formally, and she actually smiles.
"So you're the bridge between worlds I've been reading about."
"I'm just a boy who glows sometimes."
"No," she says, sitting and gesturing for us to do the same. "You're much more than that. Which is why we're here."
She activates a hologram—the global response to the Charter. Cities in chaos, others in celebration. Evolved children healing, helping, transforming society's understanding of possible.
"In forty-eight hours, you've changed everything," she continues. "The question is: what happens next?"
"That depends on you," Vlad says coolly. "Will you recognize evolved rights, or try to control them?"
"I want to recognize them. Congress wants control. The military wants assessment. The people want safety." She leans forward. "I need something to give them. A compromise."
"We don't compromise on human rights," I state firmly.
"Enhanced human rights," she corrects. "That's what they're calling it now. And enhancement requires different considerations."
"Different how?" Devon asks.
The President pulls up another display—evolved individuals performing impossible feats. Healing cancer. Lifting cars. Walking through walls.
"A normal human who can do this would be considered armed. Should evolved individuals be held to different standards?"
"Should tall people be registered because they can reach higher shelves?" Devon counters.
She laughs, surprising us. "I used that exact argument with the Joint Chiefs. They didn't find it amusing."
"What do you want from us?" Vlad asks directly.
"Partnership. Blackwood Academy becomes officially recognized, government-funded, but maintains autonomy. Evolved individuals register voluntarily—not for control, but for support services. Medical care, education, protection."
"And if they choose not to register?"
"Then they don't receive services, but they're not criminalized."
It's more reasonable than expected. Which makes me suspicious.
"What's the catch?"
She sighs. "There are elements within government who see evolved individuals as weapons. They want mandatory service—military, medical, infrastructure. I'm trying to prevent that, but I need cooperation."
"You need us to police ourselves," Devon understands.
"I need you to prove self-governance works before someone imposes external governance."
"The Charter—" I begin.
"Is beautiful philosophy. I need practical application. Show the world that evolved individuals can integrate without threat."
"We're already doing that."
"You're doing it at Blackwood. One school. I need it nationwide. Worldwide."
She stands, moving to the window where Washington sprawls below.
"There are camps being built in twelve countries. Not for safety—for containment. If evolved individuals are seen as ungovernable, those camps fill within months."
The weight of it crushes—not just our children but evolved individuals everywhere depending on what we decide in this room.
"What do you need?" Vlad asks.
"An council. Evolved and traditional humans working together. Based at Blackwood but with nationwide reach. Creating integration programs, managing conflicts, proving coexistence possible."
"Led by?"
"You. Both of you. And Devon as the evolved representative."
"He's seven years old!"
"Physically. But we both know evolution has accelerated more than just his body."
Devon nods slowly. "I'll need the other evolved children involved. Not just me—all of us who choose to participate."
"Agreed."
"And no forced registration. Ever."
"I can promise to fight it. I can't promise Congress won't override."
It's honest, at least.
"We need to discuss this privately," I say.
She grants us a room, and the moment we're alone, the weight of decision crashes down.
"It's a trap," Vlad says immediately.
"It's an opportunity," Devon counters.
"It's both," I say, echoing our earlier conversation. "But if we don't take it, someone else makes these decisions for us."
"For all evolved individuals," Devon adds. "The network is watching through me. They're scared. They want guidance."
"What do you think we should do?" I ask our impossible son.
"Accept, but on our terms. Advisory council, not governing. Recommendations, not mandates. And Blackwood remains independent."
"She won't agree to that."
"She will if the alternative is evolved individuals going underground."
Vlad pulls me close. "This changes everything. We're not just running a school anymore."
"We were never just running a school. We were building a future."
When we return, President Hamilton studies our faces. "Decision?"
"Advisory council. Voluntary participation. Blackwood maintains complete autonomy. And no evolved individual is ever forced into service."
She considers. "If I agree, you become the face of evolved integration. Every success, every failure—it's on you."
"We know," I say.
"Then we have an agreement." She extends her hand, and when I shake it, I feel the weight of every evolved individual's future in that grip.