EVE POV
The silence of the highway was deafening. After eight months of nothing but the rhythmic thrum of the containment tube, the world felt like it was trying to scream in my ears. I sat in the back of the sedan, watching the trees blur into a green smear, my fingers flying across the screen of the phone the Old Man had given me.
Inside the car, the air was heavy. Adam was driving with that terrifying, statue-like precision of his. His hands were locked at ten and two, and he barely blinked. He was watching the other cars—the minivans, the rusted trucks, the people just living their boring little lives—like they were insects he was tempted to squash.
"They look so fragile," Adam murmured. His voice was low, vibrating through the leather of my seat. He was staring at a woman in a convertible. "If I were to twitch the wheel just an inch..."
"Adam," the Old Man warned from the passenger seat.
"I'm just observing, Father," Adam replied. I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror; that devious, "holy" glint was back. "The physics of it. It's fascinating how much faith they put in a few millimeters of steel and the competence of strangers."
I rolled my eyes and leaned forward, shoving my phone between their seats. "Hey, look at this. People actually pay for this? This guy in Jorgen City is just moving three cups around. I can see the ball in his sleeve from the thumbnail alone. Humans are so slow it's embarrassing."
"It's called entertainment, Eve," the Old Man sighed, rubbing his temples like I was giving him a migraine. "The world doesn't function on high-level impulse energy and logic. It functions on wonder. Don't ruin it for them."
I scoffed and sank back into the seat, tossing my hair over my shoulder. The denim of my old jeans was digging into my skin, a constant reminder of how much I'd grown while floating in the dark. "I'm just saying, if we're going to a city full of people this dim, I'm going to get bored very quickly."
As the skyline of Jorgen City rose up—all glass, gold, and arrogance—the Old Man pulled a matte-black briefcase from the glove box. He started talking about offshore accounts and titanium cards.
"Don't worry about being bored," he said, catching my eye in the mirror. "Today, you're going to learn about a different kind of power. One that doesn't require channeling."
"And what's that?" Adam asked as he pulled into the valet lane of the Aurelian Grand Mall.
"Capitalism," the Old Man replied.
The Aurelian Grand Mall
The place was a cathedral of excess. Six stories of marble, waterfalls, and a chandelier that looked like it was made of frozen starlight. When we stepped inside, the sensory input hit me like a physical blow. The smell of roasting coffee, the screech of thousands of voices, the messy, chaotic heat of so many human bodies.
Adam froze beside me. I could feel his divine energy humming under his skin, reacting to the "noise" of the crowd.
"Keep it under control," the Old Man whispered, his hand on Adam's shoulder.
We walked into the "Diamond Tier" wing, where the air smelled like money and the floors were covered in silk. We stopped at a boutique that looked more like a museum. The clerk—a guy who looked like he'd been starched to death—started to give us the "you don't belong here" look, probably because of my frayed hoodie and the Old Man's dusty boots.
Then, the Old Man slid a black card across the counter.
The clerk's soul basically left his body. He bowed so low I thought he'd hit his head on the glass. "Welcome, Doctor. The entire floor is at your disposal. Would the young lady care for a private fitting suite?"
"Everything," the Old Man said, waving a hand at the racks of silk and leather.
For the next two hours, I owned that store. I didn't want the soft, flowery crap the "young lady" was supposed to wear. I went for the shadows. I found a pair of leather trousers that felt like a second skin and a tailored slate-gray coat that made me look like a blade. When I put on the high-heeled boots, the click they made on the marble sounded like a countdown.
I looked in the mirror and didn't see a test subject or a "brat." I saw a queen of the rift.
Adam stayed with his boring whites and golds, looking like a statue of a god come to life. Even the fabric seemed to glow when he touched it.
"I think I like being rich, Father," I said, walking out of the fitting room and checking my reflection one last time. "It's much more comfortable than a glass tube."
"Don't get used to the comfort," the Old Man warned.
We were leaving the store, followed by three guys carrying our bags, when Adam stopped at the railing overlooking the atrium. His voice dropped into that low, tectonic register that always meant trouble.
"There is someone following us," Adam said. "Not a shopper. Their energy... it isn't 'messy' like the others. It's sharp. Like a knife."
I felt my blood turn cold—then hot with anticipation. I scanned the sea of faces below, but my hand was already in my new coat pocket, my fingers twitching. I could feel the impulse energy swirling in my palm, a tiny, concentrated sphere of dark matter waiting to be let loose.
"Is it a threat?" I asked, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face. "Because in this outfit? I'd hate to get blood on the silk."