Morning light leaked through the blinds.
Arin woke to the city humming—buses, a horn, rain fading to mist. No bruises. No ache. The memory of the alley paced his chest like a caged animal.
His phone buzzed.
Nova: Alive?
Arin: Very. You?
Nova: Coffee. Ten minutes? Same café.
He was out the door in three.
---
The bell over the café door chimed. Warm air. Espresso, sugar, wet clothes drying. Nova sat by the window, hoodie under a denim jacket, hair in a high ponytail. She looked up and the room got brighter.
"You look… okay," she said, like she was relieved and annoyed at the same time.
"Because of you," he said.
Color touched her cheeks. "Don't make it weird."
He tried not to smile and failed. He slid into the seat. Their knees almost touched under the small table. Almost. The space between them buzzed like a wire.
They didn't talk at first. They drank. He watched steam climb from her cup and disappear. She watched him watching.
"What happened last night wasn't normal," she said finally.
"No."
"When I kissed you—" She stopped, then pushed through. "—my whole body felt… awake. Like every nerve lit up."
He nodded. His chest answered with a warm thud. "Same. Inside me."
She held out her hand across the table. "Science experiment?"
He swallowed. Touched her fingers.
The red pulse leapt.
Heat slid from his palm to his shoulder and straight into his chest. Nova's breath hitched. Her lips parted. Her shoulders dropped as if someone had unhooked a weight. She leaned a centimeter closer without meaning to.
They froze there, fingertips touching, pretending they weren't trembling.
He let go first. The room returned. Distant music. Cups clinking. A laugh from the counter.
Nova covered her mouth, then laughed too, quiet and helpless. "That is not normal."
"No," he said. "But it's real."
Her phone buzzed. She glanced, grimaced. "Clinic. I'm late."
"I'll walk you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
---
The city steamed after the rain. Crosswalks reflected signs and sky. Nova kept her hands in her jacket, like she didn't trust them. Arin kept his in his own pockets for the same reason.
"Do you always pick fights with alleys?" she asked.
"Usually they start it."
She snorted. "Bad habit."
They turned onto Seventh. Delivery bikes sliced too close along the curb. A scooter fishtailed on a puddle and skidded straight for them.
Arin moved before thought.
He caught Nova's shoulder, spun her in tight, and stepped through the scooter's line. His hand slapped the handlebar, redirecting it by inches. The rider jolted past with a curse and a spray of water, upright by luck.
They ended up chest to chest, her fist bunched in his shirt. Time thinned. Her breath ghosted his throat. His heart pounded, but it wasn't fear. It was the drum again—steady, heavy, hot.
"Sorry," he murmured.
"Don't you dare be," she whispered back, not moving.
A car horn snapped the moment. They stepped apart. The world flowed again.
"You saw that coming," she said as they walked. "Like… you knew."
"I felt it," he said. "The air shifted."
"Okay, superhero," she said, trying for a tease and almost making it. "Let's not test it with buses."
They reached the clinic—glass doors, a line of tired faces, a woman arguing with insurance on her phone. Nova paused at the steps.
"Come in," she said. "Reception couch. I'll grab you a bandage for that ego."
"I'm fine."
"I can see that," she said, eyes flicking down his chest and back up before she caught herself. "Sit anyway."
Inside smelled like antiseptic and pencil shavings. Nova ducked behind the triage desk, traded hello nods with a nurse, then waved him toward the last chair against the wall.
He sat. The hum inside him settled to a low purr. People came and went. He watched them: a boy with a sprained wrist; a woman with a cough; a man with a headache and too many secrets in his eyes. The city's soft, ordinary pain.
A shadow fell over him.
"Arin?" A guy in a varsity jacket. Square jaw. Too much cologne. He eyed Nova at the desk, then looked back at Arin like measuring a box. "You from around here?"
"Sometimes," Arin said.
"I'm Mason," the guy said. "Nova's friend."
Nova glanced up at the sound of her name. Mason gave her a wave that said I'm handling it.
"What are you handling?" Arin asked.
Mason leaned in. "You look like trouble."
"Only on calls," Arin said.
Mason smiled without his eyes. "Let's keep you out of hers."
He offered a hand. Arin took it.
A spark jumped. Not the red pulse—smaller, meaner. Mason flinched before he hid it. Arin blinked. His grip had felt… heavy. He let go.
"We're done," Mason said, stepping back. "Right?"
Nova appeared with a roll of gauze. "You two playing nice?"
"Always," Mason said. He pointed at Arin's shirt. "He looks like he lost a fight with a laundry machine."
Arin smiled. "Machine won."
Nova rolled her eyes. "Both of you, stop. Mason, your mom's in room three. Go be useful."
Mason left, last look lingering too long on Arin.
"Sorry," Nova said. "He's protective. Not my boyfriend."
"That sounded like a disclaimer," Arin said.
"Don't get excited." But she was smiling as she said it. She unrolled the gauze and handed it to him. "For style. Wrap it around your hand so you look less… dangerous."
"I look dangerous?"
"A little," she admitted. "In a nice way."
A mother with a crying toddler rushed in. Nova's attention snapped to work. "Sit tight. Five minutes."
He watched her move—fast, sure, kind. She calmed the toddler in two words and a sticker. She found a file the nurse couldn't find. She threaded through the noise like she knew its map.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown: Liked the scooter trick. Cameras on 7th caught it.
Arin's eyes slid to the ceiling corners. Tiny domes. Red dots.
Arin: Who are you?
Unknown: Who are YOU, Arin?
He locked the screen. The hum under his ribs tightened, not pleasant now. He looked at Nova. She was laughing at something the old triage nurse said. Easy. Normal.
He stood.
Nova glanced over, read his face in a blink, and excused herself from the desk. She met him by the water cooler.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he lied lightly. "Just remembered I have class."
She tipped her head. Saw through him. Didn't press. "Text me when you get there."
"Okay."
She hesitated. "Arin?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever last night was… be careful with it."
"I'm trying."
Her fingers found his wrist. Just a second. Another spark—sweet this time. Her pupils widened. She let go, cheeks warm. "Go," she said, soft.
He did.
---
Outside, the air had shifted again. Not weather. Attention.
Across the street, a figure in a gray coat pretended to study an art poster while holding a phone too steady. Down the block, a bike mirror caught his reflection twice in one minute. A white van idled with the engine off.
Arin walked. Not fast. Not slow. The hum rose in his chest like a promise. He turned at the corner and cut through a bookstore, out the back, down a narrow service lane where rain still dripped from a sagging gutter.
He stopped under it. Let the water cool his face. He closed his eyes and listened to his heart.
Not normal. Not calm.
A drum in a red room.
He opened his eyes and smiled at no one.
"Okay," he said to the city. "Let's see what I can do."
He texted Nova: Made it. Alive.
Three dots. Then a sticker of a cat flexing. Then:
Nova: Good. Don't test buses without me.
He pocketed his phone and stepped back into the street, feeling watched, feeling ready, feeling a little drunk on a power he didn't understand.
He wasn't going to tell anyone.
Not yet.
They didn't know what he had.
They'd find out.
Soon.