"Limitations?" Ryan asked. "I don't understand. What do you mean by that?"
Anya didn't answer right away. She looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, as if deciding how much he was ready to hear. Then she gestured toward the open space in the room.
"Sit first," she said.
Ryan hesitated, irritation flickering across his face, but he did as she said and lowered himself onto the concrete floor. The surface was cold even through his clothes. Anya sat opposite him, unhurried, while Watson positioned himself slightly to the side, close enough to intervene but clearly choosing not to.
The room was quiet. Reinforced walls. No windows. Built to contain mistakes.
"Before we talk about limitations," Anya said, "you need to understand how abilities actually progress."
Ryan straightened despite himself. Whatever pride he still carried shifted into wary attention.
"The abilities awakened through dormant organs," she continued, "are called dormant abilities. What you're using right now is the most basic expression of your power. It's incomplete by design."
She paused, watching his reaction. Ryan didn't interrupt.
"After awakening comes control," she said. "Learning to sense your second heart. Circulating energy. Regulating output. Most people never get past crude activation."
Ryan clenched his fingers slightly, then relaxed them.
"Once control stabilizes," Anya went on, "the next stage is ascension."
"Ascension," Ryan repeated.
"Yes. That's when a dormant organ evolves into an extraordinary organ. When that happens, the ability evolves alongside it. Functions expand. Restrictions loosen. What was once fragmented becomes coherent."
Watson spoke up calmly. "Think of it as upgrading the engine, not just learning to press the accelerator harder."
Anya nodded once. "Most dormant abilities are narrow. Strength reinforcement. Sensory enhancement. Metabolic acceleration. Each evolution removes a few constraints or adds a specific capability."
Ryan frowned. "But you said my ability was different."
"It is," Anya admitted. "When we first heard its description, both of us were surprised. A dormant ability that touches an entire concept like decay is unusual."
Ryan felt a flicker of pride rise before he pushed it down.
"But," Anya continued, her tone flattening slightly, "that doesn't mean it's limitless."
The pride dimmed. A faint disappointment crept in, subtle but present.
Anya noticed it immediately. "Don't misunderstand," she said. "Every dormant ability has limitations. Extraordinary abilities do too. This isn't a flaw. It's structure."
Ryan nodded, though his expression had tightened. "You figured that out just by watching me twice?"
There was skepticism in his voice now. He didn't hide it. If something was wrong with his ability, he should have felt it first.
Anya's lips curved faintly. Not quite a smile.
"That's a trade secret," she said.
Ryan frowned. "You're serious?"
"I am," she replied. "And I'll explain it. You can test it yourself afterward."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Tell me."
Anya leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. "Your first limitation is simple," she said. "You cannot decay everything instinctively."
Ryan blinked. "What?"
"You need understanding," she continued. "Structure. Composition. The specific energy behavior of what you're trying to affect."
"That doesn't make sense," Ryan said immediately. "I decayed the water bottle and the paper using the same method. Same output."
Anya didn't argue. She let the silence stretch.
Then she said, "That's where you're wrong."
She leaned in just a little more. "The paper you decayed was made from recycled plastic. Its internal structure is fundamentally identical to the bottle's, despite the difference in appearance."
Ryan froze.
"You didn't realize it," she said evenly, "but your ability responded to familiarity. You weren't decaying paper. You were decaying processed plastic."
His gaze dropped to his hands.
"And the chicken?" Anya asked.
Ryan didn't answer.
"It's a biological matter," she said. "Completely different structure. Different internal energy behavior. Your method failed because you didn't know how to apply decay to it."
The realization settled heavily. From the moment she handed him the paper, she had already suspected this. The bottle, the paper, the meat — none of it had been random.
She had been confirming a conclusion.
Ryan picked up the piece of chicken again, jaw tightening. A stubborn edge crept into his expression.
Without saying a word, he focused on his second heart.
Energy stirred.
He guided it toward his palm, increasing output the same way he had before. The flow was smooth. Familiar. Controlled.
Nothing happened.
He adjusted the circulation and tried again.
Still nothing.
He increased output further, ignoring the faint pressure building in his chest. The current surged, then wavered.
The meat remained unchanged.
Ryan frowned and tried again. And again. Each attempt followed the same pattern. Activation. Flow. Failure.
He shifted his grip, altered the angle of contact, even slowed his breathing to steady the energy.
Nothing.
Minutes passed.
Sweat formed along his spine. His breathing grew shallow. The energy within him thinned, responding more sluggishly each time he tried to move it.
Still nothing.
Finally, his arm dropped to his side. The chicken slipped from his grasp and hit the floor softly.
Watson watched in silence. There was no judgment in his eyes. Only recognition.
Ryan exhaled slowly and looked up at Anya with an embarrassed smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It seems you're right," he said. "I don't know how to do it. I'd need to analyze it first."
Anya allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. Not wide. Not cruel. Just enough to make the point.
"That's what I said," she replied.
She leaned back slightly. "This limitation sounds restrictive, but it isn't. Given enough knowledge, you could decay anything. You'd just need to understand how it exists."
Ryan nodded, but inwardly, he dismissed the idea. There was an easier solution. Evolution would remove the need for this level of precision. He didn't say it aloud.
"What's my second limitation?" he asked instead.
Watson nudged Anya lightly, a silent reminder.
She smoothed her expression and continued, "Range."
Ryan frowned. "Range?"
"You can only affect what you touch," she said. "No matter how refined your control becomes, without evolution, I don't believe you'll be able to use your ability at a distance."
Ryan looked down at his hands.
Touch-based. Structure-dependent. Dangerous, but restrained.
For the first time, his ability didn't feel abstract or exaggerated.
It felt real.
And manageable.