They did not chase him.
That was the second lie.
Mara pulled him down a side street, then let go as soon as the corner hid them. Her breathing was fast. She did not look back.
"Don't come near my place," she said. "Not today."
"I wasn't—" Elyon began.
She shook her head. "I know. But knowing doesn't change what happens."
She turned and walked away.
Elyon stood alone in the narrow street. The walls leaned closer than they used to. Or maybe he did.
He started walking with no plan. Staying felt dangerous. Moving felt worse. Every step carried a question he did not want to answer.
A door slammed somewhere behind him. He flinched.
His head throbbed again. Not pain. Pressure. Like a sound just below hearing.
At the next intersection, a man argued with a machine.
"It worked yesterday," the man said, hitting the payment slot. "I used it yesterday."
The machine blinked. Nothing came out.
Elyon passed behind him.
The machine whirred.
A ticket slid free.
The man stared. Then slowly turned.
"Hey," he said. "What did you do?"
Elyon kept walking.
The pressure surged. The street tilted. He grabbed a pole until the world steadied.
People were watching now. Not all of them. Enough.
At the market, a crate collapsed under its own weight. No rot. No warning. Just failure. Someone shouted. Someone else laughed too hard.
A woman pointed. "He's here."
Another voice answered, "So?"
"So things happen," the first woman said.
Elyon felt the words stick to him like dust.
He moved faster.
The city responded by slowing down.
Crosswalks lagged. Doors took longer to unlock. A drone hovered too low, then corrected itself like it had made a mistake.
He ducked into an alley to breathe.
The alley was wrong.
The graffiti had changed. Lines bent where they used to be straight. Colors looked washed, then too bright. He blinked hard.
When he looked again, it was normal.
Almost.
A cat crept past him and froze. Its back arched. It hissed at empty air.
At him.
Elyon backed away. The cat bolted, knocking over a can that should have clanged but didn't.
He pressed his palms to his eyes.
"Stop," he whispered. "I'm not doing anything."
The sound below hearing grew louder.
A memory slid forward without warning.
Not a vision.
A feeling.
Standing in the room last night. Touching the panel. The pain. The split. The thin red line like a wound.
His breath caught.
The pressure eased when he focused on the memory.
That scared him.
He reached the old overpass by noon. People slept there when nowhere else worked. Today it was crowded. Too many bodies. Too much heat.
A man recognized him.
"Don't," the man said, holding up a hand. "Just… don't."
"I just need shade," Elyon replied.
The man hesitated, then nodded toward the far end. "Stay there."
Elyon sat on the concrete. The overpass hummed. Traffic passed overhead, steady and dull.
For a moment, nothing happened.
He let himself breathe.
A woman nearby started coughing. Deep, wet coughs. People shifted away from her, not cruel, just careful.
Elyon stood.
He took one step toward her.
The hum spiked.
Lights along the overpass flickered. The cough stopped mid-sound.
The woman gasped, confused.
Elyon froze.
He stepped back.
The lights steadied. The hum softened. The woman coughed again, slower, weaker, but alive.
People stared at Elyon like he had pulled a knife and decided not to use it.
"See?" someone whispered. "It listens."
"No," another replied. "It reacts."
A third voice said nothing. That one was worse.
Elyon left before they decided which word mattered more.
By afternoon, the city had decided something else.
It started labeling him without names.
Doors marked with chalk symbols he did not recognize. Not warnings. Directions. Arrows pointing away from where he had been.
Someone had written on a wall:
KEEP DISTANCE
Below it, smaller:
FOR STABILITY
Elyon tore the paper down. His hands shook.
The pressure slammed into him, hard enough to steal his breath.
Windows rattled. A bottle tipped and did not fall.
He dropped to his knees.
The pressure eased.
The city had noticed the pattern.
He stood slowly and did not touch anything.
At the river edge, he finally stopped. The water moved wrong. Not backward. Just uneven. Like it was skipping pieces of itself.
He stared until his eyes hurt.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Careful ones.
A man in clean clothes stopped a few steps away. No badge. No device visible.
"You're causing ripples," the man said.
"I'm not trying to," Elyon replied.
"I know," the man said. "That's why they're dangerous."
"They?" Elyon asked.
The man smiled, thin. "Everyone who measures outcomes."
He glanced at the water. "You can't stay in one place anymore. The city is learning your outline."
"I didn't choose this," Elyon said.
"No," the man agreed. "You chose not to choose."
He stepped back. "That's still a shape."
He turned to leave.
"What happens now?" Elyon asked.
The man paused. "Now the system stops asking," he said. "And people start deciding."
He walked away.
The sound below hearing rose again. Stronger this time. Not pain. Not pressure.
Alignment.
Elyon felt it settle into him, like a wrong joint finding a place to lock.
Across the river, a siren began and did not stop.
The water jumped.
Elyon staggered as the world split for half a second—street and no-street, sound and silence, presence and absence.
He screamed.
When it ended, the siren was gone.
So was the calm.
His hands were steady.
That terrified him most.
He looked down at the water and saw something reflect that was not his face.
Not a monster.
Not a power.
A distortion.
The city had learned his shape.
And now it was testing how far that shape could bend before something broke.