Kai was drowning in the rhythm of GRARC life. The precinct didn't care if you were Resonant, cop, or clerk—work swallowed you whole. Phones rang without mercy, printers spat out forms that no one had time to read, and the halls smelled like antiseptic splashed over old coffee. His badge said Resonant Aid Officer, which was just their clean way of saying mercenary. The job was simple: go where they pointed, stand between uniforms and whatever sharpened its teeth at them, and make sure people came home breathing. He didn't bring Flicker to work anymore—too much distraction, too many eyes. He left the little wraith at home and learned to move like a shadow through fluorescent light.
He fit in by doing the unheroic things. He hauled barricades and bio-kits up stairwells when the rookies ran out of breath. He learned the names of the night-shift medics and the grumpy clerk who could conjure missing case files. He patched a bleeding officer in the back of a patrol van with a belt and a prayer, then stood there until the medic arrived, holding the man's shaking hand so he didn't bite through his tongue. He walked witness escorts, carried boxes, fetched batteries for radios that somehow died only during emergencies. He memorized the precinct's shortcuts, who to dodge when the captain was in a mood, which vending machine ate coins, which one always jammed on soup. He was quiet, quick, and where he was needed before someone had to ask. It wasn't glory; it was gravity—unseen, constant, holding the room together.
That morning, a new body lay in an alley, throat carved, eyes glassed over. Officers hovered at the tape, muttering. Kai held the perimeter while Avren stepped into the wet light like he'd done this a thousand times. The white-haired analyst knelt, unpacked neat instruments, and clicked on a small metal wand that hummed in his hand.
"This is a resonance lamp," Avren said, not looking up. The device spilled violet over the concrete. "Think of it like a blacklight for the soul. Resonance is the energy a life leaves when it moves, fights, dies. It stains what it touches."
Under the glow, shadows bloomed—dark arcs ghosting the blood spatter, curving across the wall and ground.
"You see how the resonance splatter shadows the blood?" Avren's tone was calm, almost classroom-clean. "Blood tells you where the body bled. Resonance tells you where the fear ran. First strike from this direction." He traced a clean angle through the air. "Victim staggers, turns, runs down this line into the alley. Falls here. Second strike lands while he's on the ground—see the low arc? The killer was practiced. Fast. He kept his own resonance narrow. That takes training."
The officers shifted, trying not to look impressed. Kai watched the map appear where he saw only chaos. Avren flicked the lamp off, packed the tools like a surgeon closing a chest, and stood.
"Whoever did this has killed before," he said simply. "He isn't done."
Avren would vanish later, Kai knew—hours at a time, no excuses offered. Kai noticed, then filed the noticing away. In this building, privacy was a currency; he wasn't in the habit of spending other people's.
By evening the meeting room was a stale box humming with grief and caffeine. A holo-map floated above the scarred table, red flares stabbing Zone Alpha. Detectives argued in tired circles.
"They vanish," one said, jabbing at a cluster of murders. "Every time we ID a face, every time, they're gone within days."
"Not vanish," another snapped. "They cross. Rifts. Zones. They feel the heat and slip sideways. Alpha one week, Delta the next, then the Free City eats them. Jurisdiction turns into a joke."
"Serials are supposed to leave patterns," a third muttered. "These ones leave bait. Enough to hook us, then they jump the board. We're chasing smoke."
The room's anger felt heavier than fear. Demons broke bones; people broke your ability to make sense. Kai kept his head down. He wasn't there to solve it. He was there to keep the living from joining the dead. Across the table, Avren leaned against the wall, hands loose, expression unreadable. He didn't speak. Somehow the silence said more than the map.
Flicker, left at home, didn't waste the quiet. Neo had taken to him instantly, not like a weapon that learned to talk but like a friend who happened to be made of edges and light. Over the week, Flicker changed. He levitated now, drifting lazy laps near the ceiling. He discovered he could throw thoughts into other minds like pebbles—telepathy, but generous, not just to Kai. And he'd gotten cocky with shape: a sleek pistol, a coil-spring baton, once a ridiculously ornate teacup because Neo dared him.
"Focus," Neo said that night, seated on the floor with his back to the couch. He tapped two fingers and felt a whisper slide into his skull—Flicker's voice, intimate as breath.
[Like this?] Flicker's thought chimed inside his head. [Clear? Crisp? Delicious?]
Neo grimaced. "Don't call thoughts 'delicious.'" He glanced up as Flicker melted into a compact gun in midair, hovering, barrel steady. The safety ticked on by itself. Neo couldn't help the hint of admiration. "Not bad."
Flicker unspooled, hovering again. "Master would say 'satisfactory' and then secretly be proud. He does that."
Neo hesitated. "What's Malakai like? Really. He's…quiet. Isolated. I don't think I've ever seen him laugh." A beat. "I'm just curious."
Flicker brightened, a spark dancing under his voice. "Master is careful with his words and reckless with his heart. He listens like prayer. He looks at a room and notices where it hurts. He hides for good reasons—because if he didn't, everyone would try to live inside him and he would let them, and it would kill him. He pretends he doesn't want closeness. He does. He just doesn't know what to do with it when it arrives."
Neo looked away. "That tracks."
"And he is funny," Flicker insisted. "Not loud. Sharp. He laughs in the eyes before he risks the mouth." The wraith paused midair, vibrating with sudden glee. "Oh. Oh! You like him."
Neo's face didn't move, but his ears betrayed him. "No."
"You do!" Flicker squealed, spinning so fast the ceiling fan chimed. "You like my master! This is exquisite data!"
"Keep your voice down," Neo hissed, glancing at the door.
Flicker zipped close, conspiratorial. "I will not tell him. Unless it is necessary for his survival. Or yours. Or my amusement." A beat. "Mostly survival."
"That order worries me."
"Good. Worry makes humans honest." Flicker floated lower, softer. "He likes you too, you know. In the way he allows himself. Which is not enough yet, but it is true."
Neo's throat worked. "He's…busy."
"He is alive," Flicker corrected gently. "That is busier."
Keys scraped the lock. The door swung. Kai stepped in, shoulders bowed with the weight of a day that wouldn't end. He let the bag slide off, missed the hook, didn't care. Boots still on, he collapsed onto the couch face-first, a man surrendering to gravity.
"Rough?" Neo asked, voice light, like the room had always been this quiet.
"Mmm." The sound was mostly relaxed as he slumped on the couch.
Flicker dimmed himself until he was just a small, warm pulse on the coffee table. Neo sat there on the floor, back to the cushions, close enough to feel the steady drag of Kai's breathing ease.
Outside, sirens sprinted somewhere else. Inside, for a long, lucky minute, nothing hunted them. The precinct's noise slipped off Kai's shoulders. He sleept as he just stopped fighting the day.
Neo reached up and tugged the blanket from the couch arm over Kai without looking back. Flicker watched, bright as a secret, and didn't say a word.