The fire alarm goes off at 10:17 AM.
Red lights flash. Sirens scream. Students jump out of their seats, yelling, laughing, panicking like it's a free excuse to skip class.
Normally, my heart would spike.
Normally, I'd think of Mika.Where she is. If she's safe. If I need to rewind.
But today—
Nothing.
I stand up calmly. Too calmly.
The teacher shouts instructions. People push past me toward the door. Someone slams into my shoulder.
I don't react.
I just walk.
That's when I notice the looks.
Not panic.Not fear.
Confusion.
Because everyone else is rushing, and I'm moving like I have all the time in the world.
Outside, smoke curls up from the science wing. Real smoke. Thick. Black.
Someone screams.
Still nothing inside me snaps.
That's bad, a distant part of my brain notes. You should feel something right now.
I don't.
I scan the crowd instead.
Exits. Fire trucks approaching. Teachers trying to herd students into lines.
Efficient.
Predictable.
Then I see it.
A section of the second-floor railing, warped and cracked from heat. A group of students trapped behind it, coughing, terrified.
One of them slips.
The railing groans.
People gasp.
Time slows—not because I rewound it.
Because my mind already knows what happens next.
The railing gives way.
Someone falls.
In every other version of me, this is where panic would hit. Where my heart would scream rewind now.
Instead, I move.
I sprint.
Climb the emergency stairs two at a time. Ignore the heat biting at my skin. Ignore the shouting.
I reach the second floor just as the railing snaps.
A girl screams.
I grab her wrist mid-fall.
The force yanks me forward. Pain shoots up my arm, sharp and clean.
I brace my feet against the wall and pull.
She collapses against me, sobbing.
Teachers rush in moments later. Firefighters after that.
People stare.
Someone says, "How did he know?"
I don't answer.
Because I don't know either.
—
They call it heroic.
That's the word people keep using.
Heroic.
They pat my back. Ask my name. Take statements.
I answer automatically.
Inside, something cold watches.
You didn't rewind.
You didn't hesitate.
You didn't panic.
That night, Luna finds me before I find her.
She's waiting outside my building, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"That was dangerous," she says without greeting.
"So was the fire," I reply.
She studies me. "You didn't rewind."
"No."
"Why?"
I think about it.
About the empty space where fear used to live.
"…Didn't need to."
Her jaw tightens.
"That's not an improvement," she says.
"It saved someone."
"Yes," she snaps. "And it cost you nothing."
I frown. "Isn't that good?"
"No," she says quietly. "Because it means you're changing."
I step closer. "Aren't you?"
She doesn't answer.
I can see it, though. In the way her eyes linger on me now. In the way her breathing shifts when we're close.
She's not just watching time anymore.
She's watching me.
"You're becoming an anomaly," she says. "A stable fracture."
"Sounds impressive."
"It's terrifying."
"Why?" I ask.
Her voice drops. "Because if you stop feeling the cost… you won't stop using the power."
The thought settles heavy in my chest.
She's right.
And I hate that she is.
"What happens when I don't feel anything at all?" I ask.
She looks at me like she already knows the answer.
"Then," she says, "you won't be human enough for me to hesitate."
Silence stretches between us.
The city hums around us, unaware.
"Luna," I say softly.
She looks up.
"If that happens… will you kill me?"
Her eyes flicker.
For the first time since I met her—
She looks unsure.
"…I don't know," she admits.
And somehow, that scares me more than a yes ever could.