Bala had called the meeting, and I sat beside Mary Stam as he addressed our new coalition from behind his desk. The room was dimly lit, sunlight slanting through half-closed blinds and casting striped shadows across the polished wood. Behind his heavy oak desk, Bala stood tall in his army uniform, the fabric crisp and dark, the same one he had worn the first time I saw him.

"You need to understand these aren’t ordinary families," he said, choosing his words carefully, avoiding any names. "All I’ll ask is that you do what I tell you. No questions."

Mary glanced sideways at me. Just a flicker, dark eyes meeting mine for half a second. Riya’s warning burned in my skull like fresh ink: Mary Stam is bound to the house of Veyron. Was she sitting here as an ally... or a spy planted in our midst? I couldn’t read her.

Bala continued, pacing slowly behind the desk, boots thudding softly on the floor. "I’ll give you what you need to know when you need to know it. But thank you—for standing with me. For the truth." His tone shifted, almost reverent. "I never thought I’d see the day I’d turn against the system. But the truth always prevails. And it’s right to stand for it."

He rose fully. The uniform fit him perfectly, the medals on his chest catching the light as he moved.

"That’s all." He gave a curt nod. "You’re dismissed. This evening I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team." His gaze locked on me. "Abram. A minute."

Mary stood smoothly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. She walked out without looking back, her steps quiet and confident. Bala’s eyes followed her the whole way, lingering on the door even after it clicked shut. I stayed where I was.

He rounded the desk and dropped into the chair Mary had vacated, close enough now that I could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes.

"Abram." He looked at me directly, the lines on his face deeper in the slanted light. "Am I dragging you into this? Tell me if you feel forced."

"No," I said. "I’m fine with it."

He exhaled, long and heavy, shoulders dropping a fraction. "Good. Because I thought maybe, as an outsider, you’d believe you had no real say. You do. More than most."

"I know."

He stood again, uniform straightening with a faint rustle. A beat of silence stretched between us. Then: "You’re the one person at CGI I fully trust. Strange, given you’ve worked with us two days. But I trust you more than people I’ve known for years."

The words hit like a quiet grenade. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I just nodded. "Thanks."

I got up and walked out. The door closed behind me with a heavy click. Mary was already gone, the corridor empty except for the low hum of the building and distant footsteps somewhere down the hall.

I had no mission at the moment, and Riya came into my mind. She had reached out to me herself. She had information I needed beyond the extraction. I needed to know who the Veyron girl was.

Outside the building, the afternoon sun was strong as ever, beating down on the parking lot and turning the asphalt into a shimmering haze. Cars sat in neat rows, metal surfaces hot and glaring. I had no driver, and I’d never driven in my life.

So what do we do? I put the question to the system.

[You can drive.]

You don’t get it.

[No. You don’t get it. There’s nothing here you can’t do.]

I crossed to the car Becky and I had used the day before, the same one still carrying faint dust from yesterday’s streets. I slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was warm from the sun. I started the engine, the low rumble vibrating through the wheel under my hands. For a second I sat there, feeling the unfamiliar power, then pulled out into the city.

Give me Riya’s location.

[Riya Belmonte. Source. Tagged.]

The map opened in my vision, a glowing overlay across my sight. I drove, watching the people on the streets. Families walking, vendors calling out, everyone moving through their day as if the world beyond the walls had never ended. They laughed, argued, carried bags, lived like the ground under their feet was safe.

None of them know, I thought. They’re being raised for the awakening. Every ability user among them, and they have no idea.

A horn blared. A car cut sharply in front of mine, the driver throwing a finger out the window as he sped past. I gripped the wheel tighter and turned off, following the glowing route the system laid out.

A house came into view. Modest from the outside but well-kept, tucked behind a low wall and flowering bushes. My destination.

I parked and walked to the door. Before I could knock, it opened on its own, swinging inward silently as if it had been waiting for me. I stepped inside.

The house was immaculate, the kind of order that only came with old money and careful hands. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floors. Photographs lined the walls — a girl, maybe twenty, captured in different moments: smiling in a garden, reading by a window, standing beside a man who could have been her father or someone Riya had loved. The same girl, again and again. Her daughter, most likely.

"Hello," I called, my voice echoing softly through the quiet rooms. No answer.

I turned to go. Maybe I’d come on the wrong day.

I was almost at the exit when a sound came from above — something heavy hitting the floor with a dull thud. I stopped.

"Riya?" I went back in. "Hello?"

I climbed the small staircase, each step creaking faintly under my weight. At the top, down the corridor, I saw her.

Riya Belmonte lay on the floor, blood running from a deep wound in her neck, pooling dark and glossy beneath her. Her striking blue hair was splayed across the wood, eyes open but empty. She had clearly been trying to reach a door at the end of the hall.

I moved closer. Someone had done this in the last few minutes. The blood was still spreading, slow and wet.

[One primordial female dead.]

[1 of 9 marked. 8 remaining. 3 sources.]

She was a source, I thought. She’s dead. So why does the count still show three sources?

Unless a source didn’t die with whatever she carried.

The door ahead creaked open slowly on its own, the hinges giving a low, drawn-out groan that cut through the silence like a warning.

A little girl stood inside the room.

She couldn’t have been older than five. She wore a simple white dress that hung loosely to her knees, the hem brushing her bare feet on the polished wooden floor. Long blue hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, almost reaching her waist, catching the faint light from the window in soft, luminous strands.

She looked at me. My breath caught in my throat.

The same eyes. Piercing blue, ancient in their clarity even in such a young face. The same quiet expression. The same delicate features.

It was like looking at Riya Belmonte countless years before I was ever born.

The little girl tilted her head slightly, studying me with calm, unblinking curiosity. A single strand of blue hair slipped across her cheek as she moved. The room behind her was dim, sunlight filtering weakly through half-drawn curtains, casting shadows that stretched across the floor between us.

I took one cautious step toward her, boots soft against the wooden floor.

"Who are you?" I asked, voice low.

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes drifted past me. Not around me, not through me, but past me, as if I were nothing more than empty air standing in her way. A small, serene smile spread slowly across her face, softening the delicate features and revealing the faintest dimple in one cheek.

"Mama," she said softly, the word barely more than a breath.

She nodded once, slow and deliberate, as if listening to someone I couldn’t hear. Her long blue hair shifted with the motion, catching the weak sunlight from the window and glowing like strands of liquid sapphire. The smile widened, innocent and chilling at the same time, her small hands clasped calmly in front of her white dress.

"Nothing can stop us now."

A voice answered from somewhere behind me.

The little girl smiled. And ran straight through me.