The fluctuation underground didn't fade.
It lingered—raw, unstable, like a wound that refused to close.
I stayed on the rooftop long after the windows below dimmed, long after most of the building settled into its late-night rhythm. The logistics office above ground was just a mask. Clean. Boring. Purposefully forgettable. But beneath it, something pulsed.
A heartbeat that didn't belong to the city.
Someone was screaming down there.
Not out loud.
In energy.
I closed my eyes and focused.
The whisper inside me didn't shout this time. It listened. It leaned forward, attentive, almost respectful.
New. Weak. Afraid.
I felt it too. The signature was chaotic—surging, collapsing, surging again. Whoever they were, their awakening hadn't stabilized. That meant pain. Fear. And the very real possibility of death if the handlers decided the subject wasn't worth the effort.
Director Kade's organization didn't save people.
They curated them.
I exhaled slowly and began mapping.
The underground structure was layered. I could feel it in the way the energy diffused—concrete, reinforced steel, barriers designed not just to hold people but to suppress abilities. Smart. Expensive. Not something you built unless awakened were common enough to justify the cost.
Which meant this wasn't new.
The city had been hiding monsters for a long time.
I moved.
Night Step carried me down the side of the building and into the alley's deeper shadows. I didn't head for the main entrance or the parking structure. Instead, I followed the faintest pull—like gravity tugging at my instincts.
Three blocks east, the city dipped slightly.
An old subway access point, sealed off years ago. Rusted gates. Warning signs no one read anymore.
The shadows thickened as I approached.
Yes.
This was it.
I slipped through a gap in the fence and descended the concrete steps, boots echoing softly despite my efforts. The deeper I went, the colder the air became—not natural cold, but something sharper. Sterile. Artificial.
Power-suppressing field.
I felt it press against me like water against skin.
My shadows recoiled slightly, clinging closer to my body, their reach shortened. Night Step dulled, its range compressing.
Interesting.
So this was one of their defenses.
I smiled faintly.
Every defense was an admission of fear.
At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a maintenance corridor lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Cables ran along the ceiling, humming faintly with energy. Cameras dotted the corners, newer than the ones above ground.
I counted six.
Two guards stood at the far end, rifles slung casually, conversation light.
Normal humans.
Confident ones.
I pressed myself into the darkness and waited.
Their shadows were thin. Fragile. Easy to manipulate.
When one laughed and turned his head slightly, I stepped.
The world folded just enough.
I reappeared behind them, shadows snapping forward like living restraints. One man dropped instantly, consciousness severed as the darkness wrapped around his head.
The other barely had time to gasp before I struck his temple with the butt of his own rifle.
Both slumped to the floor.
Silent.
Efficient.
I dragged them into a recessed alcove and studied the corridor again.
No alarms.
Good.
I moved deeper.
The suppressive field intensified the farther I went. My chest felt tight, my power compressed, like it was being squeezed through a narrowing channel. Uncomfortable—but not debilitating.
Yet.
The organization knew what they were doing.
This wasn't built for someone like me.
Not yet.
I reached a reinforced door with a keycard panel and biometric scanner. Beside it, a small screen displayed vitals—heart rate, neural activity, energy output.
One reading spiked erratically.
That was them.
The new awakened.
I placed my palm against the door.
The shadows hesitated.
I pushed.
They seeped into the seams, thinner now, strained, but still obedient. Metal creaked softly as internal mechanisms jammed.
The door slid open.
The room beyond was white.
Too white.
Harsh lights reflected off polished steel walls. At the center stood a containment chair—thick restraints around the arms, legs, neck. Cables ran from it into the floor and ceiling.
Someone was strapped into it.
A boy.
Maybe eighteen. Maybe younger. Sweat drenched his clothes, hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes were wide and unfocused, pupils blown as energy surged erratically around him in visible distortions.
A scientist stood near a console, back turned.
"Energy spike stabilizing—wait, no—" she muttered, fingers flying over controls.
I stepped inside.
The door sealed shut behind me with a soft hiss.
The scientist turned.
Her eyes widened.
"Who are you—?!"
The shadows moved before she could finish.
They wrapped around her wrists and throat, slamming her against the wall and lifting her off the ground. Her feet kicked uselessly as panic flooded her expression.
I approached calmly.
"Turn off the suppression field in this room," I said.
She shook her head frantically, choking.
I tightened my grip just enough.
"Now."
Her hand trembled as she reached for the console, tapping in a code with shaking fingers. The hum in the air shifted.
The pressure on my chest eased instantly.
My shadows surged outward in relief, darker, thicker, more alive.
The boy screamed.
Energy erupted from him in a violent wave, cracking the floor, shattering lights. The restraints strained, metal warping under the sudden force.
I reacted instantly.
The shadows wrapped around him—not to restrain, but to anchor. To absorb the excess, to ground the chaos tearing through his body.
"Breathe," I said firmly. "Focus on my voice."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"Help me," he sobbed. "Please—make it stop."
"I will," I said.
And I meant it.
I turned back to the scientist, whose face had gone pale with realization.
"You were testing him," I said. "Pushing his limits."
"It's protocol," she gasped. "We have to see if they're viable—"
I slammed her into the wall harder.
Cracks spiderwebbed outward.
"He's a person," I said quietly. "Not a resource."
Her eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness.
I let her drop.
Then I focused fully on the boy.
His energy was wild, but beneath it I sensed something familiar.
Shadow-adjacent.
Not like mine—but compatible.
Interesting.
I poured my power outward carefully, letting the shadows weave around his aura, reinforcing weak points, dampening spikes. It wasn't assimilation.
It was guidance.
The process burned.
Sweat ran down my spine as I held the balance, my own power straining under the effort. This was harder than killing. Harder than absorbing.
This required restraint.
Minutes passed.
Slowly, the boy's breathing steadied. The energy spikes softened, smoothing into a consistent, trembling glow.
The restraints cracked fully and fell away.
He slumped forward, unconscious but alive.
I caught him before he hit the floor.
Alarms began to wail.
Red lights flashed.
Too late.
I lifted the boy onto my shoulder and turned toward the door.
Footsteps thundered in the corridor beyond. Shouted orders. Awakened signatures flared to life, converging on this location.
Director Kade would feel this.
I smiled.
"First thread," I murmured.
Then I stepped into the shadows.
The world folded violently as Night Step pushed past its limits, carrying us upward, outward, through layers of concrete and darkness—
And back into the waiting night.
The city swallowed us whole.
Behind us, the hidden world panicked.
And somewhere far below, Director Kade would be realizing the truth:
He hadn't found an anomaly.
He had created an enemy.
And this time
I wasn't alone.