They were waiting for him.
Aren felt it before he saw it—the pressure in the air, the wrongness of silence where noise should have been. Lower Crest was too calm now. Too orderly. Patrol vehicles idled at corners that never had them before. Cameras blinked from poles that hadn't existed yesterday.
The city had changed overnight.
Because of me.
Aren kept walking, hood still low, pace unhurried. He forced his breathing steady. Running now would only confirm what they already suspected.
A narrow alley opened to his left.
He turned into it without breaking stride.
Three steps in, the sound hit.
A sharp click.
The alley sealed behind him—metal shutters slamming down at both ends. Lights snapped on overhead, white and unforgiving.
Aren stopped.
Slowly, he raised his hands.
"Easy," he said, voice calm despite the tension coiling in his chest. "If you wanted to talk, you could've knocked."
Boots echoed.
Six figures emerged from the shadows, armor matte-black, faces hidden behind visors that reflected his own silhouette back at him. Rifles tracked his movement with practiced precision.
One of them spoke, voice filtered and flat.
"Aren Vale. You are coming with us."
Aren tilted his head. "And my mother?"
A pause.
Too long.
"We're not authorized to discuss—"
The wind surged.
Not violently. Not yet.
It curled around Aren's feet, lifting dust, tugging at loose fabric. The lights overhead flickered.
"Where," Aren repeated, "is my mother?"
The soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons.
Another voice cut in, colder. Closer.
"She's safe. For now."
Aren smiled.
It wasn't a happy expression.
"That's not an answer," he said.
The alley screamed.
Aren moved—not forward, not upward, but through. The air folded as he accelerated, slipping past the first line before their fingers could finish tightening on triggers. A shockwave blasted outward, hurling two soldiers into the walls.
He stopped at the far end of the alley.
Stood still.
Waited.
"Listen carefully," Aren said, his voice carrying unnaturally clearly through the rushing wind. "You can't hold me."
Weapons fired.
The bullets never reached him.
They curved. Bent. Dropped harmlessly to the ground as the air thickened around Aren like invisible glass.
"But you can hurt her," he continued. "And that's the only reason I'm still standing here talking."
The wind died down.
Aren lowered his hands.
"So here's what's going to happen," he said quietly. "You're going to take me to whoever thinks they own the sky."
The soldiers hesitated.
Then, slowly, one of them lowered his rifle.
"Escort protocol," the voice said. "Initiated."
Aren exhaled.
This wasn't a rescue.
This was surrender—on his terms.
As the shutters lifted and the alley opened back into the city, Aren took one last look at the open sky above.
Wait for me, he thought.
I'm coming back.
And somewhere far above the clouds, the wind shifted—as if listening.