The Interstice did not sleep.
It listened.
Aarav sat alone at the edge of the chamber, knees drawn up, staring at nothing while feeling everything. The planetary hum had softened since the scout turned away—but it hadn't faded.
It never would.
"You're shaking," the boy said quietly, hovering nearby.
Aarav hadn't noticed.
"I'm fine."
The boy tilted his head. "You always say that when you're not."
Aarav let out a slow breath. "Every time I touch the system, it remembers me."
"That's how attention works," the boy replied. "Once something looks at you, it never fully unsees you."
The words settled uncomfortably.
Across the chamber, the man in white and the others were arguing in low voices.
"We can't keep relying on him," the silver-haired woman said. "He's burning out."
"And yet he's the only one who can do this," the older man countered.
"That doesn't make it right."
The man in white raised a hand, silencing them.
"He isn't a tool," he said calmly. "He's a variable."
Aarav stood.
"Then stop talking like I'm not here."
They turned.
Aarav walked toward them, each step heavy but deliberate.
"You keep saying I bought time," he said. "Time for what?"
The man in white met his gaze.
"For choice," he answered. "For humanity to decide what kind of velocity it wants."
Aarav clenched his jaw.
"They don't even know this is happening."
"No," the stranger agreed. "And they can't. Not yet."
The silver-haired woman sighed. "Panic would spike the curve."
"So we lie to them too," Aarav said flatly.
"Temporarily."
Aarav looked away.
"I'm tired of lies."
The Interstice trembled faintly.
Not from Earth.
From elsewhere.
The older man's eyes snapped upward. "That wasn't a scout."
A projection burst into existence.
Deep space—distorted.
A ripple tearing sideways through vacuum.
Something fast passed through it.
Too fast to be seen clearly.
Aarav felt it like a knife sliding across his spine.
"That's not an Accelerant," he whispered.
The man in white's expression hardened.
"No."
The silver-haired woman's sparks flared uncontrollably. "That's a Hunter."
The projection replayed in slow motion.
A silhouette—sleek, asymmetrical, wrapped in phase-shifted light.
It didn't scan.
It tracked.
"What do Hunters do?" Aarav asked quietly.
The boy swallowed. "They don't take worlds."
"They take regulators," the older man said.
Silence crashed down.
Aarav laughed once, hollow.
"So I'm bait now."
"Yes," the man in white said. "And no."
Aarav looked at him sharply.
"You're valuable," the stranger continued. "But only if you remain attached to Earth."
Aarav felt the implication immediately.
"If I leave…"
"You sever the bond," the man in white said. "And the Hunters lose interest."
The silver-haired woman stepped forward. "You'd survive. Earth might not."
Aarav's chest tightened.
A projection shifted again.
The Hunter's trajectory adjusted.
Subtle.
Deliberate.
Aarav's name wasn't spoken.
It didn't need to be.
It felt him.
"I won't run," Aarav said.
"No one is asking you to," the man in white replied. "We're asking you to prepare."
"For what?"
"For attention that doesn't test," the stranger said. "But claims."
The Interstice darkened.
New symbols ignited—older, sharper.
Combat patterns.
Evasion that wasn't escape.
Binding techniques.
The silver-haired woman rolled her shoulders. "Training just got uglier."
Aarav steadied himself.
"Teach me how to survive being hunted."
The man in white studied him for a long moment.
"Very well," he said. "But understand this—"
He gestured, and the projection zoomed out.
Multiple Hunter ripples appeared.
Not converging yet.
But aware.
"Once they choose you," he finished quietly, "there is no probation."
Aarav looked at the stars beyond the Interstice.
The hum inside him deepened—not heavier, but sharper.
"Then I'll make sure they regret choosing."
Far away, the Hunter slowed.
Adjusted.
Locked.
The hunt had not begun.
But it had been acknowledged.