The night after the alley was colder. Not by much — Rustvale didn't really have seasons so much as different flavors of the same damp chill — but Caz felt it in his bones anyway. Maybe it wasn't the weather.
The blood was gone from his hands, but it wasn't gone from his memory. Every time he blinked, he saw it again — the way the first Rat Knife's eyes went dull, the way the second one had frozen mid-swing like a statue before collapsing under his blade.
It shouldn't have been that easy.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the slow creak of pipes in the walls. Tessa was in her room, the low scratch of her pen marking the rhythm of her study notes. Normal life. The kind of life he was supposed to be protecting.
But somewhere in the corner of his mind, the system's interface still glowed faintly — a quiet reminder.
[Level: 2]
[Basilisk Gaze – Lv.1 Potency: +5%]
The numbers looked clean. Clinical. But in his head, he could still hear the wet sound of steel tearing through flesh.
The morning came without him really sleeping. Rustvale's light was always thin, filtered through grime-streaked glass and smoke. He dragged himself out of bed and moved through his routine on autopilot.
Tessa watched him while sipping from a chipped mug of tea.
"You look like hell," she said.
"Didn't sleep much."
"You're out late more often now," she said, her tone neutral but her eyes searching.
"Work," he replied. The same answer as always. The less she knew, the better.
She let it go, but only outwardly. He knew her — she filed that answer away, ready to revisit it when the timing was right.
By midday, he was back in the streets, moving tools and parts between repair jobs. The Rat Knives wouldn't find those bodies for a while — Rustvale was full of places no one went unless they had to. Still, the thought of being hunted again itched at the back of his mind.
That itch became something sharper when he spotted Dex leaning against the entrance to Cinder Alley, waiting for him.
"Where the hell were you last night?" Dex asked as soon as Caz was within earshot.
"Busy," Caz said.
Dex raised a brow. "Busy enough you didn't answer your comm? I saw Rat Knife colors sniffing around your block yesterday. You didn't see them?"
Caz kept walking, forcing Dex to fall into step beside him. "I saw them."
Dex's eyes narrowed, scanning Caz's face like he could read the truth there. "Something happened. You're different."
It wasn't an accusation, not exactly. More like a statement of fact.
"I'm fine."
"Fine?" Dex smirked. "You look like you've been chewing on glass all night. And you're moving… I don't know… sharper."
Caz didn't answer. He could feel the Basilisk Gaze in him now, like a coiled muscle he could flex without thinking. He didn't dare look Dex directly in the eyes for too long — not until he understood exactly how much control he had over it.
The rest of the afternoon passed in fragments. Caz kept his head down, finishing repair jobs, avoiding the areas where the Rat Knives had turf. Every now and then, his gaze drifted — scanning rooftops, alley mouths, shadowed corners. The paranoia wasn't entirely paranoia. Rustvale didn't forgive, and gangs didn't forget.
That night, he took the long way home. The streets were quieter than usual, but in the distance, he heard shouting — the kind of sharp, panicked sound that made people close their doors and pretend they hadn't heard anything.
He didn't get close enough to see.
When he finally reached the apartment, Tessa was already asleep, a blanket pulled up to her chin. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall.
You don't get to drag her into this, he told himself.
He shut the door and locked it.
Later, lying in bed, the system spoke again.
"Warning: concealment is advised. Disclosure of abilities to untrusted parties will trigger adaptive countermeasures."
Caz's eyes snapped open. "Countermeasures?" he muttered under his breath.
The system didn't elaborate.
He stared into the dark, the weight of the words settling heavy on him. Whatever this thing was, it didn't just give power — it controlled the way he used it. And it wanted secrecy.
Which meant Dex couldn't know. Tessa couldn't know.
No one could.
By morning, his decision was cemented. He put on the same face he always wore — half-smirk, shoulders loose, like the world didn't bother him. But beneath it, the Basilisk Strain coiled tighter, ready for the next time someone pushed too hard.
In Rustvale, secrets didn't stay buried forever. But for now, his would.
And if anyone tried to dig it up?
He'd bury them instead.