The Principal's office was a cramped, wood-paneled box that smelled of ancient dust and unwashed coffee mugs. To a normal human, it was the pinnacle of institutional authority. To me, it was a low-fidelity simulation of an interrogation chamber.
Silas sat in the guest chair, his large frame making the furniture creak in protest. He looked less like a grandfather and more like a mountain that had been forced to put on a tie. Martha stood behind him, her hands resting on the back of his chair. Her heart rate was slightly elevated, but she maintained a facade of polite concern that was, frankly, a masterpiece of social camouflage.
Principal Henderson adjusted his glasses, looking at the report on his desk. Opposite us sat Wade and his father, Sheriff Brandt. Wade had a bag of ice pressed to his shoulder, and his expression was a volatile mix of embarrassment and lingering confusion.
"Mr. Vance," Henderson began, his voice weary. "Coach Miller says the boys were playing a standard game of King of the Hill. He says Wade went for a tackle, and Adam... well, he moved out of the way. Quite quickly, apparently."
"He tripped me," Wade muttered, though he wouldn't look me in the eye. "I hit the floor so hard I thought the lights were going to pop. Everything just... buzzed for a second."
I kept my gaze fixed on a small, framed diploma on the wall. I had indeed leaked a microscopic pulse of Impulse energy during the impact—a byproduct of the extreme damping I'd had to perform to keep from breaking Wade's collarbone. To the people in this room, however, it wasn't an anomaly. It was just a bad electrical grid in an old building.
"It's an old gym, Henderson," Sheriff Brandt said, though his tone was more annoyed than suspicious. He adjusted his duty belt, the leather creaking. "The wiring in this town has been a joke since the storm last winter. My boy is just frustrated he got outplayed by the new kid."
"He didn't outplay me," Wade snapped, his face reddening. "He's just... weirdly fast."
"He's a farm boy, Wade," Silas growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that finally silenced the teenager. "He spends his mornings chasing calves and his evenings hauling feed. If you can't hit a target that's standing right in front of you, that's a failure of your own coordination, not a mystery of science."
Sheriff Brandt sighed, standing up. "Look, let's just call it what it is. A scuffle in gym class. No harm, no foul. But Adam, you stay clear of my son. I don't want to be called down here again because you're showing off your 'reflexes' at someone else's expense."
"Understood, Sheriff," I said, my voice perfectly neutral.
We walked out of the school and into the crisp afternoon air. June was waiting by the parking lot, leaning against her truck. She looked at us with a mixture of relief and intense curiosity. To the adults, the "buzz" in the air was a faulty circuit. To June, who had seen us in the pasture, it was a confirmation of the "Lightning" she'd been tracking.
"You okay?" she asked, falling into step beside us as we reached the truck.
"The incident has been resolved with zero disciplinary consequences," I stated.
"He means we got away with it," Eve muttered, climbing into the back of the truck.
The drive back to the ridge was quiet, but it wasn't the suffocating silence of fear. It was the silence of a successful maneuver. As we pulled into the driveway, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the oak trees in shades of deep crimson.
Martha turned in her seat, looking at us. "The lights, Adam. You have to be more careful. Even if they think it's just old wiring, you can't keep poking at the world like that. Eventually, people stop blaming the building and start looking at the tenant."
"I am aware, Martha," I said. "The damping requires significant cognitive load when the stimulus is an unannounced physical tackle."
Silas killed the engine. "Well, you survived your first day of 'civilization.' But don't get comfortable. Just because Brandt thinks it's a bad fuse doesn't mean you're in the clear."
I stepped out onto the porch, looking up at the sky. The moon was visible, a pale, crescent sliver. I knew the Doctor was out there, thousands of miles above the atmosphere, systematically dismantling the Council's ability to watch us. He was a ghost in the machine, keeping the "High Curators" occupied with a war for their own survival, leaving us in this pocket of mundane peace.
As long as the Doctor kept the war in the stars, the flickering lights of Oakhaven would remain nothing more than a nuisance to the local electrician.
"Adam!" Eve called from the mudroom. "Martha says if we don't get inside for dinner, she's giving your portion of the pie to the barn cats."
I looked at the valley one last time. The lights of town were flickering on, one by one. It was a beautiful, inefficient, and perfectly normal world.
"Objective: Sustenance," I whispered, a small smile touching my lips.