The dorm room was a box. Four walls, a bed, a desk, a window overlooking the concrete courtyard of Nexus High. Aiden sat on the edge of his bed, the sterile quiet pressing in on him. The med-pads were off his arms now, leaving skin that was pink, tender, and sensitive to the touch. A permanent reminder.
He replayed the infirmary conversation in his head. Anomaly. Containment. Liable.
The simmering heat in his chest, that strange ember that had ignited with his anger, had cooled to a dull glow. But it was still there. A new layer beneath his skin. A passenger.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The air in the room was cool, recycled.
Then it wasn't.
It was a sudden change, like stepping into a wall of invisible steam. The temperature spiked ten degrees in a heartbeat. Aiden's new skin prickled.
By the window, the air twisted.
It wavered, like asphalt on a hot day. Then color bled into the distortion—flickers of orange and gold. She coalesced, not in the roaring inferno of the dungeon, but in a muted, mournful smolder.
Lyra.
She stood, translucent, her back to him, looking out the window. The flames that made up her hair and the edges of her simple school-style dress were low, like banked coals. She was less a torch and more a ghost of a candle's memory. But the heat radiated from her in palpable waves.
Aiden's breath caught. Fear, sharp and instant, shot through him.
At the same moment, the plain grey curtain next to her began to smolder. A tiny thread of smoke curled up from the hem. The fabric darkened, then glowed a faint, hungry orange.
"No!" The word tore from Aiden's throat.
He lurched across the room, ignoring the pain in his arms. He grabbed the half-full water bottle from his desk and squeezed it over the curtain. The water hissed against the heat, steam billowing up. The glow died, leaving a blackened, wet hole.
He turned, panting, to face her.
Lyra had turned her head. Her eyes were still pools of molten gold, but the fury was gone. Replaced by a hollow, empty look. She stared through him, not at him. Her mouth moved, shaping a word he couldn't hear.
The heat in the room began to fade. Her form flickered, growing fainter.
"Wait," Aiden whispered. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Her gaze seemed to settle on his burned arms. For a fleeting second, something like sorrow passed over her blurred features. Then she dissolved, not in a burst, but in a sigh of rising warmth that dissipated into the air.
The room temperature normalized. The only evidence she'd been there was the scorched curtain and the smell of ozone and wet ash.
Aiden slid down the wall to the floor, his heart pounding.
She appeared when he felt strong emotion. In the dungeon, it was terror. Just now, it was a spike of fear. And her power… it reacted. It mirrored him. His fear made the curtain burn.
She wasn't a tool. She was a reflection. A dangerous, amplified echo of his own state.
The realization chilled him more than any warning from Vance.
The cafeteria was a gauntlet.
The usual din of clattering trays and chatter seemed to hush slightly as he walked in. Eyes followed him. Whispers slithered through the air. Human Torch. Meltdown Ward. Anomaly.
He kept his head down, got his bland nutrient block and synth-juice, and moved to an empty table at the back.
He'd taken two bites when the shadow fell over him.
"Well, if it isn't the school's new heating system."
Kyle. B-rank, Combat Class. Broad-shouldered, with a perfectly styled smirk. His clique—two other high-ranks—flanked him, their expressions a mix of amusement and disdain.
"Heard you got a promotion," Kyle said, his voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "F-rank to Fire Hazard. Must be a new record."
A hot knot twisted in Aiden's stomach. Humiliation. The ember in his chest pulsed, warm.
"Leave me alone, Kyle."
"Or what?" Kyle leaned on the table, his face close. "You'll get emotional? We all saw the report. Unstable. Can't control your own magic. You're a walking violation of system safety. They should have quarantined you."
The words were needles. The heat spread from Aiden's chest up his neck. He felt a flush on his cheeks that wasn't just shame. The air around him grew faintly warm.
Kyle's synth-juice sat in a plastic cup on his tray, next to Aiden's elbow.
"You know," Kyle sneered, "maybe they'll stick you in the old boiler room. Put that 'latent affinity' to use warming the—"
Aiden's control, worn thin by fear and isolation, snapped. A silent, internal shout of SHUT UP roared through him.
The ember in his chest flared white-hot.
On the table, Kyle's plastic cup bubbled. The red liquid inside churned violently, then erupted over the rim in a geyser of boiling steam, splashing directly onto Kyle's hand and wrist.
Kyle yelped, jerking back and knocking his tray clattering to the floor. He clutched his scalded hand, his face a mask of shock and pain. "What the—?!"
Every eye in the section was on them. The silence was absolute.
Aiden stared, horrified, at the steaming puddle on the table. He hadn't moved. He hadn't gestured. He'd just… felt.
And Lyra had answered.
Instructor Rykker was there in moments, summoned by the commotion. His cold eyes took in the scene: Kyle nursing his hand, the boiling liquid, Aiden frozen in his seat.
"My office. Now, Ward," Rykker said, his voice a low whip-crack.
The walk was a death march. Rykker's office was Spartan, all metal and hard angles. He didn't sit.
"That was not an accident," Rykker stated.
"I didn't touch his drink," Aiden said, the defense sounding weak even to him.
"I am aware. Your file says 'uncontrolled pyrokinetic manifestation.' It seems your lack of control extends to petty schoolyard disputes." Rykker leaned on his desk, his imposing frame looming. "Let me be unequivocally clear. The Board is looking for a reason. Vance is looking for a reason. To be rid of the liability, the noise, the problem that is you."
Aiden's mouth was dry.
"The outer city slums, Ward. That's where expelled anomalies go. No system support. No protections. Just the crumbling world and whatever unstable power is eating you from the inside. Is that what you want?"
Aiden shook his head, a small, desperate motion.
"Then you will learn to suppress it. Clamp down. Lock it away. There will be no more 'incidents.' Not one." Rykker's eyes were like chips of flint. "One more. A singed notebook. A overheated terminal. One more hint of that power escaping, and you are gone. You will be a slum-rat with a death warrant in your own veins. Do you understand?"
The words landed with the finality of a tombstone sealing shut.
"Yes, sir."
"Get out."
The library was a cavern of quiet, a tomb for knowledge. The air was cool, dust motes dancing in the light from high windows. It was the only place left where he wouldn't be watched with fear or scorn.
He sat at an isolated terminal, its screen casting a pale blue glow on his face. He had to know. He had to understand the thing that was going to get him killed or exiled.
He typed into the school's public system archive, his fingers clumsy.
Pyrokinetic manifestation, unstable.
System anomalies, classification.
Latent affinity protocols.
Dry, clinical reports. Nothing that explained her.
He took a breath, thinking of the glitching text in his mind. The words that felt older, deeper than the standard system interface.
He typed two words, a faint, desperate hope.
Ghost Protocol.
The search circle spun. For a moment, nothing. Then, a single result appeared. Not an article. Not a report. A system log entry. Dated ten years ago. The access tag was corrupted, but the location code was clear: OLD EAST WING - MAINTENANCE ARCHIVE.
The preview text was fragmented, as if heavily redacted:
...Protocol initiated following [DATA EXPUNGED] incident. Anchor stability... failure. Memory engram rejection... Legacy of the [DATA EXPUNGED] fire suggests... Protocol is to remain [DATA EXPUNGED] pending review...
And at the bottom, one line that made the ember in his chest burn with a cold, certain intensity:
...associated spectral residue designated: LYRA.
Aiden stared at the screen. The old east wing. The burnt-out shell of a building sealed off after a fire a decade past. A fire no one ever talked about.
He had his answer, and it led straight into the dark.
He had to see that place. He had to know what they had buried there.
And for the first time since the wolf had cornered him, his fear was not of the power inside him. It was of the truth it was desperate to show him.