The city noticed when I changed.
It wasn't dramatic. No sirens. No shadows rushing toward me. Just small things—people holding eye contact a second longer, conversations stopping when I passed, doors opening without explanation.
Power didn't announce itself.
It adjusted the room.
---
My first lesson came quietly.
I met the watcher again—not at the building, but at a roadside spot where old men argued politics like it was sport. He ordered food for both of us without asking.
"Observation comes before influence," he said. "Sit."
We watched people.
A woman bargaining too hard.
A man pretending not to recognize someone.
A boy counting change twice before buying bread.
"Tell me what you see," he said.
"Survival," I replied.
He shook his head. "Motivation."
"What's the difference?"
"Survival is instinct. Motivation is choice. Learn which one moves people, and you'll understand the city."
That stayed with me.
---
Kemi didn't like the change.
"You're quieter," he said later, walking beside me. "Not tired. Focused."
"I'm learning."
"From who?"
"From listening."
He scoffed. "Listening to what? Silence?"
I stopped walking. "Listening to consequences."
That made him pause.
"You're not leaving us behind, right?"
I looked at him fully. "Never."
"Then don't walk like someone already gone."
That hit harder than any warning.
---
Zara noticed everything.
"You're seeing the city differently," she said that evening as we sat under weak streetlights.
"I think I'm finally seeing people," I replied.
She smiled. "That's worse."
"Why?"
"Because once you see people, you start caring. And caring costs more than fear."
I looked at her. "And yet you still care."
"Yes," she said quietly. "Because some costs are worth paying."
The silence between us wasn't awkward.
It was honest.
---
The first ripple came the next day.
A minor dispute—two groups arguing over territory that barely mattered. Normally, Malik's name alone would have ended it.
This time, someone asked, "What does Jay think?"
That question followed me.
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I listened. I let both sides talk. I asked questions no one expected.
By the end, nothing exploded.
No one won.
But everyone walked away.
The watcher nodded from a distance.
"That," he said later, "is influence."
---
Malik didn't call.
That worried me more than when he did.
Power didn't disappear—it recalculated.
---
At home, my mother cooked quietly. After dinner, she surprised me.
"Your father used to say the city eats the loudest," she said.
"What does that mean?"
"It means people who shout their intentions rarely survive them."
She looked at me carefully. "Whatever you're becoming—be steady."
"I will."
She nodded, satisfied.
---
That night, I stood on the rooftop alone, looking out at the endless lights.
I wasn't on top of anything.
I wasn't in control.
But I wasn't lost either.
For the first time, I felt aligned.
The city didn't belong to me.
But it was starting to recognize me.
And recognition?
That was the most dangerous beginning of all.