The morning light hit the second floor of the new building in sharp, dusty angles.
Takeout boxes were still everywhere—a monument to their first night. Mira stood in the kitchenette, clutching a butter knife with a level of confidence that didn't match the situation. "I am fully capable of making breakfast for everyone."
"You absolutely are not," Garrick called out from across the room.
"That was one mistake, Garrick!"
"There was smoke, Mira," Seris added, not looking up from her notes. "Thick, black smoke."
Lucien was leaning against a concrete pillar, holding two steaming mugs. He passed one to Nox without a word, his eyes scanning his friend's face. "Did you actually sleep?"
"Yes."
"No, you didn't."
"I did."
Lucien didn't push it. Orion walked in then, moving silently across the polished floor with a tablet in hand. "There's a massive amount of media activity this morning."
Kaida reached for the remote on the crates they were using as a coffee table. "Put it on."
The screen flickered to life, the red banner at the bottom of the news feed screaming in all caps: UNSTABLE AWAKENED DETAINED AFTER ELEMENTAL INCIDENT.
The room went dead silent.
Cell phone footage played—raw, shaky, and terrifying. It showed a crowded street corner, normal people going about their day. Then, a flare of fire erupted from the center of the crowd. It was too bright, too sudden. The camera jolted as the person filming scrambled back. You could hear the screams over the distorted roar of the heat. The clip cut out before it finished.
The screen split into a four-way debate: a government spokesperson, a civil liberties lawyer, a disaster response analyst, and a professor of mythology.
The anchor's voice was clinical. "The other day's elemental discharge has reignited the firestorm over how the newly awakened should be handled."
The spokesperson was already talking. "Public safety is the priority. This isn't jail—it's evaluation. We have to prevent harm before it happens."
The lawyer cut him off. "He's twenty-one. He woke up two weeks ago. You're detaining him without a trial or a warrant. That's not evaluation; it's a cage."
The analyst nodded. "Volatility is part of the process. Panic makes the output spike. If you give them structure, you reduce the risk."
The professor adjusted her glasses, looking grim. "In every myth, isolation leads to escalation. These people need guides, not guards."
"This isn't a storybook," the spokesperson snapped. "This is a city."
The footage looped again. The fire looked even more violent on the second pass. Mira swallowed hard. "He didn't mean to do that."
"No," Kaida said, her voice dropping. "He definitely didn't."
Seris looked over at Nox. He hadn't moved an inch, but his knuckles were white where he gripped his mug. Lucien saw it too. "You're back there again, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"They moved faster than the last time," Garrick noted.
"They did," Nox replied.
Lucien reached out and muted the TV. The silence that followed felt heavy. "They're setting a precedent," Kaida said.
"Yes," Nox agreed.
"For what?" Mira asked, looking between them.
"For control," Nox said.
__
An hour later, Mira stopped mid-sentence and slapped her forehead. "My charger. I left it in the dorm."
Garrick groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I can't live without it, Garrick! My phone is at twelve percent."
Seris stood up, stretching. "I left some research notes in my desk, too."
Lucien set his mug down on the counter. "I'll go. It's better if a few of us show face back on campus anyway."
Kaida grabbed her jacket. "I'm in."
Orion checked his tablet. "Perimeter's clear. No flags on the building."
Nox looked at Lucien as they headed for the door. "Be careful."
Lucien held his gaze for a second, a silent understanding passing between them. "Always."
__
Campus felt like a different world. Groups of students were huddled together, whispering over their phones. Two officials in charcoal suits stood by the entrance to the dorms—immobile, watching everyone who went in.
Lucien slowed his pace. Kaida noticed instantly. "They're waiting for us."
One of the officials stepped forward as they approached. "Lucien Ardent." It wasn't a question.
Lucien didn't flinch. "That's me."
"You saw what happened the other day. The containment."
"Hard to miss," Lucien said.
The second official held up a tablet. "Your group has a lot of eyes on it right now. Your 'neutrality' carries a lot of weight with the public."
Kaida crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Our position on what, exactly?"
"On whether these 'unstable' individuals belong in evaluation centers for the public good."
Mira's stomach did a slow flip. Lucien kept his voice perfectly level. "And why would we give you a quote?"
"Because you've made it clear you aren't part of the system yet. If you support the safety measures, the public stays calm."
Kaida let out a dry, sharp laugh. "And if we don't?"
The man didn't blink. "Then we'll just assume you're neutral. For now. You have twenty-four hours to decide where you stand."
It wasn't a threat, and it wasn't an arrest. It was worse. It was a demand for their story. The officials stepped aside, letting them through, but the air felt colder as they walked past.
__
Back at the new headquarters, Nox stood alone on the third floor. He was watching the muted news loop again. Fire. Panic. The cage.
He turned the volume up just as the lawyer was speaking. "Containment without representation is just incarceration by another name."
The screen cut to a new shot—shaky footage of a black transport vehicle. The rear doors were swinging shut, but for a split second, the camera caught a glimpse of the person inside.
A young man. Head down. Hands in heavy, dampening restraints. He had messy ash-brown hair and a scorch mark running down the sleeve of his hoodie.
The doors slammed shut.
Nox's jaw tightened. He didn't know the kid's name. Not in this life, and not in the one before. But he knew that look. He knew the feeling of the world turning into a wall.
This time, Nox thought, you aren't going to be alone.
__
Miles away, in a room that smelled of ozone and bleach, the same news report was playing on a wall-mounted monitor. The young man from the van sat on a cold metal bench, his hands clamped between his knees.
The fluorescent light overhead flickered. For a heartbeat, a faint, orange heat shimmered around his fingers. He squeezed his hands harder, his whole body shaking as he tried to force the power back down.
On the TV, the professor was saying something about isolation making things worse. Kairos Arvane didn't look up. A small, weak spark of fire licked at his thumb before dying out in the cold air.