Raj couldn't sleep.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning like a lazy propeller above him. The hum it made used to be calming. Tonight, it sounded like a threat. His phone, plugged in beside him, blinked on for the third time without being touched. No notifications. No incoming calls. Just... blinking. Flashing once, going dark, then flashing again like it was being watched through its own glassy eye.
He sat up, rubbed his temples, and muttered to himself, "Okay. That's new."
A quick scan around his room showed nothing out of place. Not physically. But something was off. His laptop had restarted on its own earlier. His wall-mounted clock had frozen at 3:14 AM for exactly a minute, then jumped to 3:16 without explanation. His desk lamp had flickered red when he turned it on. Red. Not yellow. Not white. Red.
Coincidence? Raj didn't believe in those anymore.
He pulled his diary from under the bed. The same one where he'd been tracking his progress—and his paranoia. But tonight's entry was different. Less poetic. More defensive.
Entry 37:
Something's watching me. Devices glitching, lights flickering, shadows moving at the edge of my vision. I saw a red dot on my chest in the mirror just an hour ago. It vanished when I turned around.
Either I'm cracking... or someone's cracked me.
Peter's been helpful, yeah. But am I wrong to trust him? He's smart. He has connections. He says he's on my side—but he said that after he scanned me.
I keep thinking about Monica. That warning. That smile. That way she looked at me like she already knew everything I'd become. Or everything I might destroy.
He closed the diary, locked it, and stood up.
The room felt like a trap. Even the air felt thick, like it was being filtered through someone else's lungs. He needed to get out. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
Slipping on a hoodie, Raj stepped quietly out of his apartment and into the cool night. Queens wasn't exactly silent—cars still groaned in the distance, a dog barked somewhere, a couple argued two floors below—but it was calmer than his room. The moonlight stretched like silver threads across the pavement.
He walked.
Just a few blocks.
Every street camera he passed turned with a faint mechanical twitch. Just once. Every time. He looked over his shoulder—nothing. But the second he turned back, the hair on the back of his neck prickled again.
Raj crossed the street to test a theory.
The next camera on the opposite building rotated too.
He smiled grimly. "Okay. So that's not creepy at all."
At the end of the alley, something caught his eye. A flicker. A glint of red on his chest.
He froze.
Heart thudding. Muscles tense.
A laser?
No movement around him. No sound except the wind.
He backed into the shadows of the alley wall, eyes darting. The dot disappeared.
He reached up under his hoodie and touched the spot—it was warm.
Something—or someone—had been watching.
He could feel it like a cold breath on his spine.
A voice echoed in his head: She already warned you.
Monica's words had been vague but heavy. She didn't say what was coming, only that he was important enough for people to lie to. And now? That warning felt less like advice and more like a countdown.
Three dots appeared. Then stopped. Then nothing.
A buzzing overhead caught his attention—a low, barely audible whirr like a drone flying too high to be seen but too close not to feel. He looked up. Just sky and clouds.
He turned a corner into a narrow alley behind a closed laundromat. No light. No movement.
Until the shadows moved.
Raj froze mid-step.
A silhouette detached itself from the far end of the alley. Not bulky. Not obviously threatening. But deliberate.
Whoever it was, they were waiting.
Raj didn't run.
He didn't glow.
He just stood still, letting his instincts stretch, his breath slow. His senses sharpened—not from panic, but from tension. Measured. Aware.
The figure stepped closer. A man—or maybe a woman. Cloaked. Hooded. Hands gloved.
Raj took a step back, angling himself toward the nearest wall for cover.
"Raj," the figure said, voice calm. Flat. Almost disappointed. "You've been seen."
Raj narrowed his eyes. "By who?"
The figure tilted their head. "By everyone who matters."
The sound of a car horn blared somewhere far behind them—an eerie reminder that the normal world still existed, just out of reach.
The figure raised a hand slowly, showing they weren't holding a weapon. "You're not just a boy anymore. You're becoming something that doesn't fit in Queens."
Raj's heart pounded harder, but his expression stayed still. "If this is a threat, it's a bad one."
"No," the figure said. "This is a test."
Suddenly, a flash—a blur of motion to his left.
Raj turned—
And the figure vanished like mist. No sound. No trace.
But on the alley wall behind them, carved into the brick with eerie precision, was a single sentence:
"The Sun is not your only source."
Raj stared at it. Confused. Angry. Intrigued.
And, for the first time since arriving in this world, just a little scared.