The boys returned to their shelter with their patched cloth loads, bruised but intact. Varik dropped his bag with a groan, already checking the thin cut on his hand.
"That went better than expected," he muttered.
"That wasn't better," Gavin said, kneeling beside Lux. "Lux, look at me."
Lux lifted his head, eyes glossy, still shaken.
"What happened out there?" Gavin asked, voice softer now.
"I said I don't know…" Lux whispered. "I felt something in my chest. Like a burn. And when he grabbed me, it just… it came out."
Varik sat down across from him, studying him in a way that was almost scientific. "You were warm. Not a fever-warm. More like… controlled heat."
Lux hugged his knees, confused and scared. "Am I sick?"
"No," Gavin said. "But something's changing."
He didn't say more. Not out loud.
But something was changing.
Lux was fragile, but not weak. And whatever had burst out of him wasn't normal.
Not here.
They rested for a bit, patching their tarp, sorting scrap, cleaning their small tools. The wind outside had layered fresh frost across the metal frames, and every so often, a distant alarm echoed from deeper in the city.
None of them knew what it signified.
They just hoped it wasn't coming their way.
Varik finished binding his hand and tossed the cloth aside. "We should lay low for a bit. After today, those idiots are gonna want payback."
"No," Gavin said. "Laying low makes us look scared. We stick to our routine."
Varik raised an eyebrow. "You saying this because it's smart or because you're stubborn?"
Gavin didn't answer the jab.
Lux fiddled with a loose thread. "Should we tell someone about… what I did?"
"No."
Gavin and Varik said it at the same time.
Lux blinked. "Why not?"
Gavin's voice hardened. "Because anything different draws attention. And attention gets people taken."
Varik nodded. "People disappear for less than what you did."
Lux didn't argue. He just lowered his head, tension tightening around him like rope.
After a while, they left the shelter again. Not far—just enough to breathe different air. Sometimes, staying in one spot made the walls press inward.
They climbed onto a half-collapsed walkway overlooking a fractured courtyard. Rusted lampposts stood like skeletons. A cracked holo-board flickered uselessly.
A group of children played near it, kicking a frozen ball that barely bounced. One boy fell, skin scraping against concrete, but he laughed and pushed himself up.
Lux watched, quiet envy in his eyes.
Gavin noticed.
"You miss being a kid," he said.
Lux didn't deny it.
"You still are," Varik said. "Just… not allowed to act like it."
"None of us are allowed," Gavin added.
A long silence settled, soft, not heavy.
Then Lux turned. "Gavin? About what happened earlier… do you think it'll happen again?"
"Yes," Gavin said. "But we'll handle it."
"Even if it hurts someone?"
Gavin looked at him directly. "Your fear hurts you more than your heat hurts them."
Lux didn't understand the meaning fully. But the steadiness in Gavin's voice was enough.
They sat there a while longer, letting time pass slowly, cautiously.