I feel it the next morning.
Not pressure.Not pain.
Approval.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
I'm brushing my teeth when the sensation settles in—like the air is watching me breathe, counting. Measuring.
"You didn't act," a voice whispers in my head.
Not a real voice.
A conclusion.
I spit, grip the sink, and stare at my reflection.
"You don't get to be proud of me," I mutter.
The reflection doesn't argue.
—
Luna shows up earlier than usual.
She doesn't knock. She never does.
"They know," she says the moment she steps inside.
I close the notebook I was writing in. "Because I didn't rewind."
"Because you chose not to," she corrects. "That matters to them."
I lean back against the table. "So what—do I get a gold star?"
Her mouth tightens. "They smiled."
That lands harder than any threat.
"When?" I ask.
"Last night," she says. "When the report came in."
I swallow. "You saw it."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And they marked you as viable."
The word makes my stomach twist.
"Meaning?" I ask, though I already know.
"You're no longer just a problem," she says. "You're a candidate."
Silence stretches.
I think of the man in the alley.Of the way guilt shook me after.
"I felt it," I say. "The guilt. That's what you wanted, right?"
"Yes," Luna replies.
"But they wanted the opposite."
She nods. "They wanted to see if you could let someone die without collapsing."
I laugh bitterly. "Congratulations to them."
She doesn't laugh back.
"They think you're stabilizing," she says. "That you're learning restraint."
"And that makes me useful."
"Yes."
I run a hand through my hair. "So what's the next test?"
Luna hesitates.
That's never good.
"They'll put you in a situation where restraint looks like cruelty," she says. "Multiple lives. Limited time."
I close my eyes.
"A trolley problem," I mutter. "Classic."
"They'll escalate," she continues. "If you rewind, you lose yourself faster. If you don't, people die."
I open my eyes and meet her gaze.
"And you?"
Her voice is steady. "I'll be watching."
"To stop me?"
"To stop them," she says. "If I can."
I step closer. "And if you can't?"
Her eyes flicker.
"Then I'll do what I was made to do."
I nod slowly. "Fair."
She studies me, then reaches into her coat and pulls out a thin, dark object. A band. Metal threaded with something that looks like frozen light.
"What's that?" I ask.
"A limiter," she says. "It won't stop your power. It will delay activation."
My eyebrows rise. "You're putting brakes on a time bomb?"
"Exactly."
She steps closer and fastens it around my wrist. It's cold. Heavy.
"When you try to rewind," she explains, "you'll have a three-second window to abort."
"That's… new."
"And necessary," she says. "It forces choice."
I flex my hand. The band hums softly, like it's listening.
"Why help me?" I ask quietly. "You could let them have me."
Her jaw tightens.
"Because," she says, "they don't just use people."
She meets my eyes.
"They hollow them out."
I nod. "Already ahead of you there."
A faint, sad smile touches her lips. "You're fighting it better than most."
"Because I'm scared," I say. "And angry. And guilty."
"Good," she replies. "Those are expensive emotions."
She turns to leave, then pauses.
"One more thing," she says.
I wait.
"They smiled," she repeats. "Because they think you're becoming predictable."
I raise an eyebrow. "Am I?"
She looks back at me.
"No," she says softly. "That's why I'm still here."
She disappears down the stairs.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the band on my wrist.
A limiter.A leash.A test.
I open the notebook and write one more line.
5. If they think they understand me—prove them wrong.
Outside, the city moves on.
Somewhere beyond it, the stewards adjust their models.
And for the first time—
They're wrong.