The next day, Gabriel woke up before dawn.
It wasn't the sounds of the forest, nor the chickens under the house: it was something inside him. A thrill, an unnamed impulse.
He lay in the hammock, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his mind raced.
Had he really slowed down time?
Had he seen the marks on the tree?
Had he moved the boat without touching it?
He saw again the woman being dragged away by the current, the sharks lying in wait, the heat exploding in his head, the air thick as water, the boat changing direction. Then darkness.
If it wasn't me... then what happened? And if it was me... how did I do it?
He jumped up and ran into the garden. The leaves glistened with dew, the hummingbirds still in their nests.
She approached the large tree in the centre of the courtyard and placed her hand on the trunk. It seemed... alive. Not in the obvious sense: she could feel it breathing.
She sat down next to the roots and closed her eyes. She thought back to her fall into the ravine. No broken bones, just a sore arm. That moth suspended, motionless like a living photograph.
Time is no longer time when it stops flowing. It's as if it were... mine.
He touched his chest. The marks no longer hurt, but they vibrated. Not scars, but silent whispers.
From the back of the house came her mother's voice at the computer: technical English words, data, 3D models. Then her father's tired voice: 'Either it leaves today, or the boat ends up at the bottom of the sea.
Normality remained intact.
He was not.
******
Isabelle joined him later, with bread and fruit in a cloth bag. She looked him in the eyes, then sat down next to him on the grass.
"It happens to you too, doesn't it?" Gabriel asked.
"No. But I can feel when something changes. And you... you're changing."
"I don't know if it scares me or if it's good for me."
"You don't have to choose. Sometimes two true things can coexist."
Gabriel took her hand. They sat there in silence as the forest awoke.
The sun was just above the treetops when he heard a sound. Very distant, yet clear: a cry. Perhaps a child. Perhaps a bird. But it was as if it had been whispered in his ear.
He turned abruptly. Nothing.
A rustle in the branches. Two tawny monkeys stared at him, curious. One whistled, the other imitated it. Gabriel sensed their intention: not fear, but alertness. Curiosity.
Higher up, a sloth moved slowly along a branch. Every movement amplified, even the sound of its claws on the bark.
I'm hearing too much, he thought. Too far away, too precise.
He closed his eyes. He could still see. Or rather, he could sense. Behind him, a white stone. He hadn't noticed it, yet he knew it was there. He turned around. It was there.
He reached out his hand. "Move," he whispered.
The stone trembled. A millimetre, maybe less. But it moved.
He took a step back, his heart in his throat. Not fear: recognition.
Isabelle was staring at him. "What did you do?"
"I don't know. I thought about movement... and the stone did it."
"Are you trying to control it?"
"No. I'm just trying to figure out if it's mine. Or if it's passing through me."
The monkeys ran away, the sloth returned to its slow pace.
"You're connected to something," said Isabelle. "I can feel it."
— What if that thing isn't good?
"Then you'll have to choose how to use it."
Gabriel looked down. The stone was motionless. But the world seemed to be listening to him.
******
The afternoon became sultry, motionless. The dry season gripped the jungle: pale leaves, stiff branches, nervous animals.
Gabriel noticed the smoke before he smelled it. A thin trail rose from the north side of the hill.
"Isabelle... look."
She turned. "It's a fire. It's coming up."
They ran. The dry earth crunched under their feet. The air smelled of burnt plastic, resin, anger.
It wasn't natural.
Among the blackened branches, Gabriel saw empty petrol cans. Drug traffickers used fire to burn down the forest and plant drugs in its place.
"It was set," Isabelle said, her voice cracking. "Never so close."
A tongue of flame stretched towards the path. Birds fled, monkeys screamed, and no one was around.
Gabriel moved forward.
"What are you doing?" Isabelle shouted.
"I don't know. But I have to try."
He inhaled, his hands open in front of him. The heat hit him, but he didn't back away. He felt a rhythm: air, smoke, fire, a single beat.
"Enough," he thought.
A sudden gust descended among the trees. It carried no flames: it extinguished them. One after another, like candles.
Silence returned. The trees were wounded but alive. The animals were safe.
Isabelle looked at him speechless.
"Did you do that?"
"Yes... or maybe I was just a channel."
His knees were shaking, his hands still stretched out to hold back an invisible energy.
A rustling sound. Footsteps among the scorched branches.
Gabriel turned around.
A woman was advancing through the smoke: petite, light-coloured shirt, rucksack on her shoulders. Her hair was tied back, her eyes intelligent.
"Mrs Clara..." he murmured.
The teacher stopped a few steps away, her sunglasses just removed.
"What have you done?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but tense with control.
Gabriel did not answer.
Clara looked at the blackened ground, the saved flowers, the returning birds. Then she stared at him, as if faced with an unsolvable equation.
"That fire would have consumed the hill. No one would have arrived in time. But you... you arrived first."
'It was a coincidence,' Gabriel stammered.
"Sure. A coincidence."
She looked at him again, then turned to Isabelle.
"And you?"
"I was here. I saw it."
Clara gave a brief nod.
— Don't come to school tomorrow, Gabriel. Take a day off. I'll explain to your parents. Be at my house at 9 o'clock.
"I'm fine."
— I know. That's not why.
He put his glasses back on and disappeared into the branches.
Gabriel stood motionless.
"He saw us," whispered Isabelle.
"He understood," he replied.
"Do you think he'll tell your parents about this?"
Gabriel didn't answer right away. He stared at the spot where Clara had vanished.
"It depends on what he thought he saw. Let's wait and see."