Lower Crest smelled the same.
Oil. Dust. Old rain trapped in concrete.
Aarav moved through the stairwell slowly, forcing his steps to sound normal. No blurs. No silent glides. Each footfall echoed too loudly in his ears.
This was heavier than fighting Hunters.
This was pretending nothing had changed.
He exited the building and merged into the street crowd. Vendors argued over prices. A child laughed. Somewhere, a screen blared government news about "increased security measures following unidentified aerial anomalies."
Aarav kept his head down.
Every sense screamed at him to rise. To get above it all. To look down and see patterns again.
He didn't.
Instead, he felt something else.
Limits.
His lungs burned faster. His legs tired. His heartbeat thudded unevenly. Gravity pressed on him like a reminder.
This is what you chose, he told himself.
A black vehicle rolled past slowly.
Too slow.
Tinted windows. No plates.
Aarav didn't look—but he felt it.
Eyes.
He turned a corner, entered a narrow alley, and stopped.
Three seconds passed.
The vehicle did not follow.
Five seconds.
Nothing.
He exhaled shakily.
"Paranoia," he whispered.
But his instincts—sharpened by the sky—didn't agree.
He reached the small shop at the edge of the district. Closed. Lights off. The metal shutter dented and rusted.
Mrs. Kaur's place.
His mother used to buy tea here every morning.
Aarav knocked twice. Paused. Knocked once more.
The shutter rattled.
A narrow slit opened.
Mrs. Kaur's eyes widened.
"Aarav…?" she breathed. "You're alive."
His chest tightened. "You knew?"
She opened the door just enough to pull him inside.
The shop smelled of spices and dust. She locked the door quickly.
"They came," she said urgently. "Men with badges that weren't real. They asked about you. About your mother."
Aarav swallowed. "What did you tell them?"
"The truth," she said. "That you're a good boy. That you run deliveries. That you help her with bills."
Her voice broke. "That she's sick with worry."
Aarav closed his eyes.
"Did they hurt her?"
Mrs. Kaur shook her head. "No. They took her quietly. Promised she'd be safe if you cooperated."
Cooperated.
The word felt like a blade.
"They left this," she continued, reaching beneath the counter.
A small card.
Black. Unmarked.
Except for a symbol pressed into it—three interlocking lines forming a broken circle.
Aarav felt the air tighten.
Not cosmic.
Human.
But informed.
"They know what I am," he whispered.
Mrs. Kaur gripped his arm. "Whatever you are, listen to me. Don't fight them openly. They don't fear power."
Aarav looked at the card again.
"They fear disruption," he said quietly.
He slipped it into his pocket.
Outside, sirens wailed closer now.
Mrs. Kaur touched his cheek, the way his mother used to when he was younger.
"Be careful, beta."
Aarav nodded.
"I will."
He stepped back into the street.
Above him, the sky was dull and low—no invitation, no vastness.
Just cloud.
Just weight.
And somewhere, very close—
People were watching.
Not from above.
From the ground.
And Aarav realized something chilling as he walked away:
Cosmic forces judged civilizations.
But human systems hunted individuals.
And this hunt—
Had already begun.