Scott McQueen.
A boy who didn't look older than seven, sat on the grassy hill with his legs stretched out.
Beside him, a girl of about four or five leaned back on her tiny arms, mimicking his posture as they gazed up at the soft morning sky. The golden hue of the rising sun bathed their faces, and the breeze carried the scent of dew-kissed grass.
Scottie turned her head toward her older brother.
Her big blue eyes has that innocence that only a child could possess.
"Big brother…"
She spoke softly and respectfully.
"Why don't you talk about heroes as much as you used to? You used to tell me all these cool stories about them. And… you don't talk about Daddy either."
She paused as her brows wrinkled.
"Daddy's a superst—no, a megastar hero, but you never even say his name."
Scott let out a long sigh.
He propped himself up so he could stare straight ahead at the horizon.
