The outer district could turn cruel in a second.
One minute, the street buzzed with carts, shouting, and clinking tin cups. The next, it fell into the uneasy silence that meant only one thing:
Trouble.
Leia felt it before she heard it.
She was helping Selene stack broken crates behind the laundry shack when the silence crept in like fog. Then came the voices — low, bitter, and fast.
Around the corner, two boys from the boneyard gangs were picking on a child. Not uncommon. The smaller ones got tested first — to see if they'd break.
Leia edged closer, careful not to be seen.
The child was maybe ten. Dirty cheeks, ragged tunic. He clutched a small pouch — probably all he had — as the taller thug tried to snatch it.
"C'mon, you don't even have an ability yet," the older boy sneered. "What you gonna do, spit on me?"
Leia stepped forward before she thought it through.
"Leave him."
The words came sharper than expected. Her heart pounded.
Both thugs turned.
One scoffed. "You again? The Crow ghost."
Leia's jaw tightened.
"Go home, seamstress," the other added mockingly. "Sew a curtain."
They laughed, and the taller one shoved the kid to the ground.
Leia's fist clenched — but not in anger.
In focus.
Her hand brushed the thread in her pocket.
The symbol on her wrist flared.
She raised her hand without thinking — and the thread shot forward.
Thin. Nearly invisible. It lashed across the taller boy's wrist and pulled.
He yelped, stumbling backward. The other turned just in time to see the thread coil like a red ribbon between Leia's fingers, then vanish back into her coat.
"What the—?"
Leia didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
The thread had moved. Not just floated — it snapped. Controlled. Intentional.
The boys stared at her — not with fear exactly, but with caution. She was no longer the invisible girl behind crates.
They muttered curses and retreated, bumping into crates as they fled down the alley.
Leia exhaled.
Her knees wobbled slightly, but she stayed standing.
The boy she'd helped looked up at her.
"You're not normal," he said.
Leia knelt beside him and offered a hand.
"Neither are you," she said with a small smile.
---
Later that night, she sat in silence, staring at her palm.
She had acted.
She didn't know if it was brave or foolish — but something inside her had moved with the thread.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Instinct.
Her mother noticed the bruises on her wrist.
"Leia?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly.
But her tone was steadier than before. Calmer. Focused.
She didn't explain the encounter. Not yet.
Instead, she stitched the torn hem of her sleeve with practiced ease — no needle needed.
Just will.
---
As the lamp dimmed and the shelter quieted, Leia whispered to the dark:
"I'm not strong."
A pause.
"But I'm learning."
The thread curled on her lap like a cat at rest.