Chapter 15: The Second Test
Lisa's smile over coffee was sharper than usual.
I noticed it the moment I walked into the loft—the particular quality of her attention, the way her eyes tracked me from the door to the couch. She was working, analyzing, her power pulling threads from every micro-expression and verbal tic.
The cold war was escalating.
"You look like you slept," she said. "That's new."
"I'm full of surprises."
I settled onto the couch across from her. Alec was in his usual spot, sprawled across the armchair with his phone, either oblivious to the tension or pretending to be. Brian wasn't here yet—still en route, probably, or handling something with Rachel.
"Coffee?" Lisa asked, gesturing to the pot in the kitchen area.
"Already had some."
"Suit yourself." She took a sip from her own mug, watching me over the rim. "So. The shooting yesterday."
"What about it?"
"Three civilians hit. ABB retaliation for our scouting run. One of them died at the scene, but they couldn't find a body when the ambulance arrived." Her smile widened. "Interesting, don't you think?"
My expression stayed neutral. The firearm handling fragment pulsed at the edge of my awareness—new instincts, unfamiliar steadiness. I kept my hands relaxed, visible, nothing to give away.
"Sounds like the body was moved," I said. "ABB cleaning up their mess."
"Maybe." She set down her mug. "Or maybe the victim walked away."
The silence stretched.
"That's a hell of a theory," I said finally.
"I have a lot of theories." She leaned forward, elbows on knees, the posture of someone preparing to deliver a verdict. "Here's another one. Coil's got a job coming up. Big one. High-profile target, significant risk, the kind of operation that could put us on the map or get us killed."
The bank robbery. She was describing the bank robbery.
I kept my face neutral, but something must have flickered—a fraction of a second, a micro-expression too fast for me to control. Lisa's eyes sharpened.
"You already knew," she said.
"Knew what?"
"About the job. The target. The timeline." She sat back, studying me with the intensity of a scientist examining a new specimen. "I described it in vague terms, and you didn't react like someone hearing new information. You reacted like someone confirming a hypothesis."
Shit.
"You're reading too much into my face," I said.
"That's literally what I do."
The coffee was getting cold between us. I could feel Alec's attention shifting—he wasn't looking at his phone anymore, watching our exchange with the detached interest of someone observing a car crash.
"Okay," I said. "Let's say you're right. Let's say I know things I shouldn't know. What's your theory?"
"Still working on it." Lisa tilted her head, power working behind her eyes. "You're not a Thinker—or if you are, it's not a classification I recognize. You have information, but you also have gaps. You knew about the ABB patrol routes, but you were wrong about the density. You know about the bank job, but you didn't know the specific details I was fishing for."
"What does that tell you?"
"It tells me your knowledge comes from somewhere specific. Not precognition—that would be continuous, updating. Not postcognition—you react to things before they happen, not after. Not data collection—you're not hooked into any information networks I can identify."
She paused, and her expression shifted—something closer to genuine curiosity beneath the strategic interest.
"It tells me you know the shape of things, but not the details. Like you read a summary without seeing the full picture."
The web serial. Two reads, years ago, the details fuzzy but the major events burned into memory.
She was closer than she knew.
"Interesting theory," I said.
"I'm not done." She stood, crossing to refill her coffee. Her back was to me, but her voice carried clearly. "I'm also noticing that you're not lying. You're deflecting, evading, controlling what you reveal—but the actual statements you make are true, as far as I can tell."
"I try not to lie."
"Most people don't try. They just do it automatically." She turned, fresh cup in hand. "You're different. You're choosing what to say and what to hide with a level of precision that most people don't bother with. That tells me the truth matters to you, even when you can't share it."
I didn't respond. She wasn't wrong.
"So here's my proposal," she continued, settling back into her seat. "I'm going to keep investigating. I'm going to figure out what you are and where your knowledge comes from. And you're going to keep evading, because whatever you're hiding is too important to reveal."
"And then?"
"And then we see who blinks first." She smiled—not the sharp smile from earlier, but something more genuine. "I like games, Evan. And you're the most interesting puzzle I've encountered in years."
Across the room, Alec snorted. "Get a room, you two."
The tension broke. Lisa laughed—short, surprised—and I felt something in my chest loosen.
"Fine," I said. "Cold war it is. But I want to be clear about something."
"Go ahead."
"Whatever I'm hiding, it doesn't threaten the team. It doesn't threaten you, or Brian, or any of the others. When it matters—when we're in the field, when lives are on the line—I'm on your side. That's the part you can trust."
Lisa studied me for a long moment. Her power worked behind her eyes, analyzing my words for deception, my body language for tells.
"You believe that," she said finally. "My power says you believe it completely."
"I do."
"Then we have something to build on." She raised her coffee mug in a mock toast. "To the cold war. May the best Thinker win."
I didn't have a mug to raise, so I just nodded.
"May the best Thinker win."
Alec showed me a video on his phone twenty minutes later.
It was something stupid—a compilation of cats failing to jump onto counters, the kind of mindless content that existed purely to kill time. But he was genuinely enjoying it, laughing at the particularly spectacular failures, and his enthusiasm was infectious.
I laughed too. Real laughter, not performed, the kind that came from somewhere I'd forgotten existed.
Lisa watched from across the room, and I caught her expression softening. Not strategic calculation—something more like recognition. The acknowledgment that I was a person, not just a puzzle.
Brian arrived at 4:47, apologizing for the delay. Rachel followed with her dogs, and the loft filled with the organized chaos of a team preparing for briefing. Coil's job—the bank robbery—would be discussed, planned, dissected into component parts.
I already knew how it would go. The web serial had described it in detail: the vault, the hostages, the confrontation with the Wards. The cascade of consequences that would push the Undersiders toward legitimacy and Taylor toward a choice she couldn't unmake.
Except Taylor wasn't here. Taylor might never be here—I'd prevented the locker, changed her trigger conditions, altered the path that would have brought her to this team.
The meta-knowledge was cracking. The story I'd read was becoming less reliable with every butterfly I created.
But the people were real. Brian, focused and protective. Lisa, sharp and searching. Alec, detached and unexpectedly kind. Rachel, hostile and loyal to her pack.
They were becoming my team. My family, in a city where family was the only currency that mattered.
I sat through the briefing and filed away the details that differed from what I remembered. The bank's security had been upgraded since the serial's timeline—another butterfly, probably, or just the natural evolution of systems I couldn't track.
When the meeting ended, Brian caught my arm.
"Training tomorrow," he said. "6 AM. Don't be late."
The first private message between us. A text, probably, or in-person—he wasn't the type for group announcements when one-on-one would do.
"I'll be there," I said.
He nodded. Something shifted in his expression—not quite approval, but the beginning of it. The foundation of trust that could become something more if I proved myself.
I left the loft with Lisa's gaze on my back. She was still watching, still analyzing, still pulling threads.
But she was also letting me go. For now.
The cold war would continue. The game would play out. And somewhere in the middle, I'd find a way to be useful without revealing everything I couldn't afford to share.
Brian's text came through as I reached my truck.
Brian: Training tomorrow. 6 AM. Don't be late.
I smiled and typed back: I'll be there.
To supporting Me in Pateron.
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes.
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!