When the fire alarm sounds, nobody moves.
Because at Lunaris High, fire drills aren't about fire.
They're for lockups. For protocols. For quarantine.
And this one doesn't flash red.
It flashes violet.
A total override.
An emergency so rare it's not even in our drill manuals.
My instinctive thought is Voss is going in.
My second: It's too early.
Students are frozen in mid-sentence. Forks hover over trays. Doors whoosh closed. The hallways are illuminated in patches—guiding everyone to middle lockdown units.
I do not move.
Neither does Lio.
We look at one another across the canteen.
Then we run.
Not out of fear.
With purpose.
The stairwells are filled. I go right, dashing through a narrow gap behind the water unit. Boots pound concrete, knees burning as I dash toward the second mezzanine. Lio is taking the north entrance. We converge at the emergency hatch near the Observatory Wing—an old utility exit closed to all but a select group of students.
Not me.
Not anymore.
Lio's already short-circuiting the panel, fingers moving swiftly. His skin glows pale around the glyph ink on his wrist.
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" I say.
He nods. "Test incursion. Controlled breach."
"They're opening up to something?"
"They want to see your reaction."
A click. The hatch opens.
We slip into the crawlspace over the west dome. Pipes hiss by us. The sound of footsteps—lots, armored—resounds far away through metal.
I don't want to be bait," I complain.
"You're not bait," he answers. "You're the fuse."
We reach the access grille above the field quadrant.
Below, the air ripples.
Something is coming out of the gate system.
It doesn't arrive in glory. No lightning. No pomp. Only a ripple in space, as though the air had remembered something else—and then a thing appears.
It's not human.
Not even close.
Tall. Segmented plating coats it. Its legs too long, its head helmeted and featureless, and it is radiating the same bloody glyphs I've observed on the wraith that assaulted me.
Students shriek.
Teachers power up defense fields.
Voss doesn't show.
Lio turns to me. "You can stop it."
"No, I can't," I breathe. "Not like last time."
"You must."
My throat constricts.
I sink down before I overthink it.
The drop deprives my lungs of air.
The thing spins. Its head jerks once. Sees me.
I raise my hand.
Air stays steady.
No surge.
No power.
Just me.
And this thing that no longer fears me.
It attacks first.
Faster than I expected.
I raise my arms instinctively—
—and it hesitates in mid-blow, frozen like someone who pressed pause.
Students gasp behind me.
I feel it then.
Not a surge.
A remembering.
As if my blood remembers what to do, even when my brain does not.
The static's back—thrilling in my ribs, my wrists, and my throat. The world cuts sharp.
I don't back away.
I step into the gap between us.
The creature whips again.
This time I don't duck.
I slide through it.
Not avoiding.
Unmaking.
My palm scrapes its side, and where I touch, its shell starts to break down—layer by layer—until it thuds to its knees, sparking.
Everyone's silent.
Even the machines.
The clean-up crew arrive too soon.
They don't talk to me. They glance at the wreckage, seal it, and wheel it out. No one talks to me. No one thanks me.
I wait for Voss to call me in.
She doesn't.
But the corridors are changing.
People don't just look.
They nod.
Or drop their eyes.
Or turn and rush away.
I make my way to my locker.
There's another symbol carved inside.
This one radiates with a soft blue light.
Below it, a word: "Awakened."
The city grid flashes that night.
Half of the top towers black out for thirty-eight seconds.
It's credited to a routine systems update.
But I can feel it again—that wire under my skin.
As if I'd touched something I shouldn't have.
And I'd left the door unlocked.
I sleep on the floor.
Dream in second person:
You are not a girl.
You are not a soldier.
You are not a mistake.
You are a conduit.
And you are remembering.
The storm appears in the morning.
Not weather—a council transport.
Not one. Three.
Black towers floating, with imperial seals upon them.
School is "delayed due to inspection."
Every entrance manned.
Armed men—gold-trimmed cloaks—are prowling the halls like wolves on scent.
I see their crests.
Strata Division.
Task force created for one purpose:
Monitor unstable anomalies.
Find me.
Jin only sends me a message.
A single word: "Run."
But I don't.
Because to run would make everything real.
I walk into the plaza instead.
Sit on school stairs.
Wait.
A woman wearing a Strata cloak approaches.
Her boots are polished. Her hair braided into a crest. Her eyes are gold.
"You're Sera Vane."
Not a question.
I nod.
"You will come with us."
"No."
She doesn't blink. "We are authorized."
"Then try."
We hold eye contact.
The glyph on my hand flares—barely perceptible.
But she sees it.
And she hesitates.
Behind her, the other Strata agents don't move.
She lowers her hand.
Turns.
And walks away.
I don't feel victorious.
I feel seen.
And that's worse.
Later, I find Lio in the library vaults, hiding amongst dead code.
He hands me a new device—ancient, hand-fashioned. Not traceable.
"Time to decide," he says.
"Decide what?"
"To disappear. Or to guide."
I fold my hand around the comm.
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because they're not ready."
I pause.
"But they will be."