The moment Aiden stepped out of the transport, the storm hit him like a wall.
Rain crashed against his face, cold and heavy. The street was a mirror of water and light: red and white from traffic, neon signs in blue and pink, blurry shapes moving under umbrellas. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, blending with the constant roar of the rain.
"Unit Alpha, move!" Captain Mara's voice cut through the noise. "We're within a two‑block radius of the anomaly. Scanners up."
Agents spread out in a practiced line. Small handheld scanners glowed in their hands. The armored transports stayed behind them, engines rumbling like caged animals.
Aiden fell in beside Mara. The South Sector felt tighter than Central Ward buildings leaning close, balconies almost touching, tangled wires hanging low over the street. Faces appeared at windows and doorways, then disappeared as soon as people saw the Department uniforms.
Order wasn't welcome here.
But it was present anyway.
"Lioren, stay with me," Mara said, her eyes on the scanner. A soft blue ring pulsed on the screen. "Residual charge. Fresh. Less than five minutes old. Our Deviant is close."
The electric echo Aiden had felt in the convoy still hummed in his chest. It matched the scanner's rhythm, like a second heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
"Sector grid confirms," Varrick's voice said through the earpieces. "Power disruption radiating from your position. Move east."
Mara raised one hand, and the unit shifted direction without a word.
They passed a row of old shops. Holo‑ads flickered over their shutters: a woman smiling with a drink, a giant shoe, a State‑approved mood stabilizer. The images glitched and stretched, blinking on and off too quickly.
Too much interference. Too much charge in the air.
"Someone's nervous," one agent muttered.
"Or angry," another replied.
"Stay focused," Mara snapped. "Deviants lash out when cornered. We keep the formation. We control the field."
They turned into a narrower side street. Trash overflowed from bins. Water ran in thin rivers along the cracked pavement. Above them, laundry whipped in the wind like flags.
Mara's scanner suddenly spiked.
"Close," she said. "Very close. Eyes up."
Aiden lifted his head.
At the end of the alley, where the street curved into shadow, someone stood alone.
Rain blurred the shape, but then the details came into focus: a thin jacket soaked through, hood pushed back, messy light hair stuck to a sharp face. The boy looked around Aiden's age, maybe younger.
His hands hung at his sides.
Lightning curled around his fingers.
It wasn't a trick of the light. Thin lines of blue‑white electricity wrapped his knuckles, jumped between his fingertips, and snapped into the puddles at his feet. Each small flash lit his face for a moment.
Their eyes met.
The rest of the alley faded. Aiden had expected fear in the boy's gaze.
He didn't see fear.
He saw anger. Exhaustion. Defiance. And under all of that, a hurt so fresh it still looked open.
The electricity around the boy's hands flared once, brighter than the street lamps.
"Target acquired," Mara said, her voice steady. "Electromancer confirmed. All units, hold. Do not advance until I give the order."
The Deviant didn't run.
Every simulation Aiden had done said he should. Instead, the boy stayed where he was, soaked and shaking, staring down a full unit of armed agents.
He looks tired, Aiden thought, before he could stop himself.
"Deviant," Mara called, her voice amplified, "you are in violation of Article 9‑C of the Magical Regulation Act. You are ordered to stand down and submit to containment. If you refuse, lethal force is authorized."
The boy's mouth twisted.
"Contain this," he said.
The street lights exploded.
Bulbs burst one after another, sending showers of glass into the rain. For a few seconds, the alley flashed white and blue. Lightning jumped from lamp to lamp, racing down metal poles and wires.
Agents flinched and ducked.
Aiden squinted against the brightness. His instincts screamed at him to raise his own magic, to throw an illusion shield around the unit.
Stop.
He forced his power back down.
Let someone see, and you're not Agent Lioren anymore. You're just another anomaly.
The light vanished as quickly as it had come.
Darkness crashed in. The only glow left came from a few dying holo‑ads and the firm blue halo of electricity around the Deviant's hands.
"Shields!" Mara shouted.
Transparent barriers shimmered to life in front of the agents. Magic hummed in the air, controlled and tight. Two shields flickered, struggling after the surge, but held.
"Stupid move, kid," an agent muttered. "You just signed your own—"
"Silence," Mara snapped. "No provocation."
The Deviant gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You talk about provocation," he called, "when you show up with guns first and questions never?"
"Your existence is a crime," Mara replied. "You endanger civilians and the city's grid. Stand down."
"I endanger the city?" He looked around, rain running down his face. "Look at this. You bring a whole unit for one scared mage and call me the threat."
His gaze passed over the agents then stopped on Aiden.
Stayed there.
It felt like standing under a spotlight.
Aiden's lungs forgot to move for a second.
The Deviant tilted his head, studying him. The crackling around his fingers tightened, brightening.
"You," he said, voice lower. "You don't belong with them."
The alley fell silent.
Mara's eyes cut to Aiden immediately, sharp and cold.
"Ignore him," she said. "He's destabilizing the situation. Lioren, maintain formation."
"Yes, Captain," Aiden answered, but his heart was pounding too fast.
What could the boy possibly see? Aiden wore the same uniform, held the same weapon, stood behind the same shield. He had spent years learning how to be unreadable.
And still, under that stare, he felt exposed.
"You have five seconds to comply," Mara called. "Five—"
Electricity flared brighter.
"Four—"
Aiden's scanner vibrated with a warning: power spike.
"Three—"
The Deviant raised one glowing hand.
"Two—"
The air grew thick and sharp. Aiden's ears popped. His skin tingled. His own magic strained inside him, wanting to move.
"One—"
"Now!" Mara shouted. "Stun and contain!"
The front line fired.
Stun bolts and suppression chains shot down the alley in straight, bright lines. In training, this combination dropped a target in seconds.
The first volley hit a solid wall of lightning.
The stun bolts vanished into it. The chains heated mid‑air and fell apart in showers of sparks before they could wrap around their target.
"Shields up!" someone yelled, late.
The backlash slammed into the agents' barriers. Aiden braced and pushed his will into his shield, feeling the impact ring up his arm.
"Electromancer rating just jumped," Varrick said in their ears, tense. "This is not low‑level. Watch yourselves."
The Deviant's face twisted not in triumph, but in frustration.
"Stop shooting!" he shouted. "When you fire, I react. That's how this works!"
"Keep firing," Mara ordered. "He can't hold that output forever. We can."
The second volley hit.
This time, one stun bolt clipped the boy's shoulder. He stumbled, teeth gritted. The lightning shield dimmed for a moment. Aiden saw the truth then: underneath all that power, he was just someone's exhausted, soaked son.
The air screamed.
Electricity rushed outward from the Deviant like a shockwave. It ran up the walls, lit the metal fire escapes, filled every puddle with violent light. Steam burst from the wet ground.
Aiden's shield shook under the force. The world turned into white and blue.
Something sharp shot through his barrier and into him. It wasn't physical it raced through nerves, through the same channels his own magic used. It felt wild and alive, nothing like the neat, cold current of Department tech.
His illusions flared in reflex.
For an instant, he lost control.
The alley warped. Walls stretched. Lights smeared. The agents around him blurred and doubled as ghost images. The whole world looked like a broken reflection.
Then Aiden dragged his power back.
The distortion vanished, leaving him breathing hard and slightly dizzy.
No one was looking at him.
Everyone still stared at the Deviant.
The boy had dropped to one knee. Steam rose around him. The lightning had pulled back to his hands again, tighter now, as if it was clinging to him to stay alive.
"Captain," an agent said, voice unsteady, "requesting lethal authorization. If he spikes again—"
Mara hesitated, just for a second.
"Negative," Varrick answered over the comm. "Director's orders. Energy readings are off every chart. He wants the target alive."
Aiden's stomach turned. Of course his father wanted this boy alive. The Department loved rare things as specimens.
Mara nodded once. "Copy. All units, hold fire. We move in for close suppression."
She looked at Aiden.
"Lioren. With me. Shields front. We lock him before he spikes again."
The plan was simple: advance under shields, hit the Deviant with suppression fields at close range, call in containment. Aiden had practiced this pattern so often his muscles knew it by themselves.
He stepped forward, raising his barrier.
The rain hit harder here, bouncing off his shield and running down the glowing surface in streams. The Deviant watched them approach, breathing fast. Up close, the anger on his face looked even more raw. So did the fear behind it.
"Don't come closer," he rasped. "I can't control how it reacts. It just… answers."
"Then let us help you control it," Mara said. Her tone was smooth, but her stance screamed caution. "Once you're contained, we can stabilize—"
"Contain," the boy repeated, almost choking on the word. "You mean cut. You mean drug. I've seen your 'stabilization.'"
His gaze fixed on Aiden again.
"You feel it, don't you?" he whispered. "You feel the current."
Aiden's throat went tight.
He could lie. Training had taught him to lie under pressure.
Instead, a quiet truth slipped out.
"I feel…something," he said.
The Deviant's expression shifted surprise, then a strange, fragile recognition.
"There," he breathed. "There's the crack."
"Lioren," Mara warned, "do not talk to the target. Prepare suppression. On my mark. Three—"
The boy moved first.
Lightning shot out from the puddle around his boots, racing straight for Aiden's shield. It didn't slam into it like a punch. It slid along the surface, searching for an opening.
Aiden forced his feet to stay planted.
The impact sent a sharp vibration through his whole body. The barrier flared, but held. The lightning wrapped around it, alive and restless.
Underneath, his illusion magic rose again, stronger this time.
For a split second, he saw exactly what he could do: bend the lightning into harmless threads of light, twist it into a net that held without hurting. A different kind of containment.
Something kinder.
Something his father would never approve.
His hands shook.
He almost reached for it.
Then his father's voice echoed in his head:
Emotion is the enemy of control.
Aiden flinched. The vision shattered. His power snapped back like a door slamming shut.
His shield flickered.
The Deviant's eyes widened. "You—"
Mara stepped into that opening.
"Now!" she shouted.
Three suppression fields hit from different angles.
The lightning exploded outward, then collapsed in on itself. The boy's back arched. A strangled sound tore from his throat. Red bands of energy wrapped around his chest, arms, and wrists, locking tight.
His knees gave out. He hit the ground hard, water splashing around him.
Agents rushed forward, shouting codes, checking his pulse, securing the restraints. The comms filled with clipped reports and confirmation calls.
Aiden stayed where he was, shield still raised, staring.
His first Deviant capture.
His first mission success.
And his first clear, crushing sense that this victory felt wrong.
The boy's head lolled to the side. Through the rain and the red glow of the restraints, his eyes found Aiden one more time.
No fear.
No gratitude.
Just a quiet, burning promise:
This isn't over.