Kyle felt the stare before the voice.
"You're early."
He turned.
The boy from the line stood beside them now, close enough that Kyle could see the fine crease between his eyebrows—like he frowned often, or had learned to.
Liz straightened. "Do we know you?"
The boy shook his head. "Not officially."
Kyle exchanged a look with Liz. "Then how do you know us?"
The boy glanced past them to the woman with the clipboard, who was busy arranging students into neat rows. Satisfied, he lowered his voice.
"Because you're off," he said. "By one."
Kyle's stomach dropped.
Liz didn't blink. "That's a weird thing to say to strangers."
"Only if they are," the boy replied.
He studied Kyle's face, then Liz's, like he was matching them to something he'd memorized. "Kyle Mercer. Elizabeth Hale. Liz."
Kyle's pulse spiked. "How do you—"
"Names persist longer than places," the boy said. "You should know that by now."
Liz's fingers curled into a fist. "We've never met."
"No," he agreed. "But I've seen you."
The clearing seemed to tilt, just slightly. Kyle had the unsettling feeling that the sky had moved a fraction to the left.
"Seen us where?" Kyle asked.
The boy hesitated. For the first time, something like uncertainty crossed his face.
"Between steps," he said finally. "During corrections."
Liz exhaled slowly. "That's not a place."
"It is if you're not supposed to be there."
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
"All eyes front!" the woman called. "Activity One is about to begin."
The boy leaned in, quick. "You don't belong to this destination," he whispered. "Neither do I."
Kyle stared at him. "Then why are you here?"
The boy's mouth twitched, like a smile that never finished loading.
"Because the system miscounted," he said. "And now it's trying to fix us."
He stepped away just as the woman turned back toward the group.
"Line up by height," she instructed cheerfully.
Students shuffled into place.
The boy took a spot two places ahead of Kyle.
Liz leaned close, her voice barely audible. "Kyle."
"Yeah."
"He knew our names before we spoke."
Kyle watched the boy's shoulders—too still, too ready. "And he knew the title."
The woman's clipboard snapped shut.
"Let's begin," she said.
As the first group was guided forward, the boy shifted his weight—once, deliberately—then let his hand fall from his pocket.
Kyle caught the movement.
A thin black mark circled the boy's wrist. Not a bracelet. Not ink. Too precise for either.
The boy glanced back.
Just long enough to make sure Kyle had seen it.
Liz leaned closer. "Did he just—"
"Yeah," Kyle murmured. "Show us."
The boy faced forward again, posture perfect, like he'd returned to a default setting. But as the line crept ahead, he took one step out of rhythm. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for Kyle to feel it.
The woman paused mid-instruction. Her pen hovered. She frowned—just briefly—then continued as if nothing had happened.
Kyle's heart thudded.
Liz's voice was barely a breath. "He can interfere."
"Or delay," Kyle said. "By a second. Maybe less."
The boy lifted his heel, set it down again.
Click.
Something unseen corrected.
Kyle understood then—not clearly, not completely—but enough to be afraid in a new way.
The boy wasn't just noticing the system.
He was testing how far it could bend.
Somewhere behind the trees, something clicked into position.
And for the first time since leaving Greywick, Kyle had the clear, unsettling sense that they weren't chasing the mystery anymore.
The mystery had turned around.