They didn't let Daiso rest after the line.
His legs still trembled when Hale motioned them forward, directing the remaining group into a narrower corridor lined with observation glass. The lights here were dimmer, tinted faintly blue. Every step echoed too cleanly.
Malik walked beside him now, quieter than before.
"You didn't hesitate," Malik said under his breath. "You didn't even look."
Daiso shrugged slightly. "I saw."
"That's worse," Malik muttered.
The next room was empty except for markings on the floor—circles, arrows, broken grids. No equipment. No targets.
The quiet girl from earlier stood near the far wall, arms wrapped loosely around herself.
Up close, Daiso noticed the details he hadn't before. She was small, a little under average height, frame thin but not fragile. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the lights. Her hair was jet black, straight, tied low, with a few loose strands brushing her cheeks. Her eyes were light gray, unfocused until they weren't—when they sharpened, it felt like she was looking through things instead of at them.
She flinched again.
Daiso felt it too.
A sudden spike of emotion in the room—fear that wasn't his, panic without a source.
"Name," Hale said.
"Mireya," she replied softly. Her voice was steady despite her posture. "Mireya Cruz."
Hale nodded. "Ability?"
She hesitated. "I… feel things. Before they happen."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
Mireya looked at him. "That's enough."
The room pulsed.
Just for a moment.
Malik's breath hitched. The jittery boy—now returned, pale and quiet—staggered back a step, eyes wide.
Daiso's chest tightened.
Not pain this time. Recognition.
Hale lifted a hand. The pressure vanished again.
"Precognitive empathy," Hale said. "Unrefined. Unstable."
He turned to Daiso. "And you?"
"Teleportation," Daiso said.
"How far?"
"Not far."
"How often?"
"Not much."
Hale watched him for a long second. "Cost?"
Daiso didn't answer immediately.
"Breathing," he said finally. "After."
Hale nodded once, like he'd expected that.
"Exercise," Hale said. "No lines this time."
The lights dimmed further.
A low hum filled the room, vibrating faintly through the floor.
Nothing happened.
Then the weight dropped.
Not crushing. Not directional.
Everywhere at once.
The jittery boy cried out immediately, collapsing to his knees. Another kid followed, hands clawing uselessly at the air.
Malik grunted, muscles straining as he stayed upright, veins standing out along his neck.
Mireya stiffened, eyes wide, breathing shallow.
Daiso felt it settle on him like a question.
He didn't jump.
Instead, he shifted.
A short placement—barely a step—reappearing half a foot to the left.
The weight slipped.
Not gone. Just… redirected.
He did it again. Another micro-movement. Another adjustment.
The pressure thinned around him, just enough to breathe.
Mireya noticed.
Her gaze snapped to him, sharp now.
The room reacted.
The weight surged toward Daiso, angry this time.
His vision dimmed. His knees buckled. He tasted blood.
He stayed.
Malik dropped to one knee beside him, teeth clenched. "You good?"
Daiso nodded once.
The hum cut off abruptly.
Silence slammed down harder than the pressure had.
Medics rushed in.
Hale stood where he was, eyes fixed on Daiso.
"You didn't overpower it," he said. "You didn't escape it."
Daiso wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
"I moved where it wasn't," he said.
Hale's expression didn't change.
But something behind his eyes did.
"Noted," he said.
As they were escorted out, Mireya walked past Daiso, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
She stopped.
"Don't do that again," she said quietly.
"Do what?"
She met his eyes, fear and certainty tangled together. "That thing where you stay."
Daiso didn't know what to say.
Mireya looked away first.
Later that night, reports would flag the same anomaly across multiple sensors.
Not power output.
Not range.
Stability.
A child who didn't fight pressure—
and didn't flee it either.
Just shifted.
And the systems watching them began to pay closer attention.