Scene 7
By nightfall, the house no longer felt like a home.
Wires now ran along the edges of the walls—subtle motion detectors, heartbeat sensors, field suppression nodes. A humming sound drifted from one of the monitoring units plugged into Kael's room. Outside, two guards patrolled the perimeter, rifles slung low but hands always near the trigger.
Kael sat cross-legged on the floor, arms resting on his knees. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. The faint glow of a scanner passed over him for the third time, but he didn't react.
The doctor, now finished with the physical examination, was muttering quietly to Marx in the hallway. "No fever. No signs of trauma. Reflexes are intact. He reacts when spoken to, but… no emotional spikes. Not even curiosity. That's not normal."
Marx crossed his arms. "And the scans?"
"Off the charts. Especially when you try to measure his resonance levels. Whatever this kid is... he's suppressing it, or it's dormant."
Aria sat in the kitchen with her arms folded, watching everything with narrowed eyes. Her phone was in her hand, but she hadn't called anyone else. She didn't know who to trust.
She didn't even know what to feel.
Her brother was sitting in his room like a stranger, and all these people—these agents—were moving around like they were preparing for war.
She looked up when one of the newcomers entered the room.
He was dressed like the others—standard coat, utility gear, neutral expression. But his eyes... something about the way he looked at her made her grip her phone a little tighter.
"Just checking the perimeter," he said casually.
Aria didn't respond.
Back in Kael's room, the door creaked slightly open. Agent Sera leaned inside, glancing once at the boy.
"You need anything?" he asked.
Kael turned to look at him. His voice was level. "No."
Sera gave a nod, hesitated, then shut the door again. But he didn't walk away. Instead, he tapped something on the back of his glove—a silent signal.
In the shadows outside the house, two other agents shifted into motion.
---
Later that night, the air was still.
Inside the living room, the monitors blinked quietly. The medic had left, saying he'd return with new scanning tech in the morning. Marx was in a side room, reviewing the day's data. Only a skeleton crew remained inside: Aria asleep on the couch, a soft blanket pulled over her shoulders. Kael, still in his room.
And then the power blinked.
Just for a second. Lights flickered. Screens glitched.
It was subtle—but Marx noticed it.
He straightened in his chair and reached for his comm. "Ren, check perimeter sensors. That wasn't a random surge."
No response.
Marx stood.
He stepped into the hall just as a shadow moved across the far wall. Too fast. Too deliberate.
"Code red," he said calmly into his mic. "Secure the subject."
Kael, meanwhile, was already on his feet. Not alarmed—just… moving.
Something in him stirred.
He remembered something: a sentence, not a feeling.
> "When something doesn't make sense—move first."
His hand reached for the window latch, calmly.
Outside, a man was crouched low near the back door. Not one of the loyal guards.
He had already entered the override sequence.