Rory spent most of the day nowhere near his old school. He'd picked a spot he knew well, tucked behind the old skate park. Half-hidden by a screen of scraggly trees and weathered concrete, it sat far enough from the road that the world simply forgot to pay attention to him. He sat cross-legged on the cool earth, his hood pulled low and a sketchbook balanced precariously on his knees.

  He should have been in a classroom. Instead, he was bleeding his thoughts onto paper.

  The lines came fast, sharp and chaotic at first, then gaining a jagged deliberate focus as he settled into the rhythm. He drew two figures, exaggerated and almost cartoonish, yet unmistakably recognisable to anyone who knew the originals: Beau and Owen. He rendered them with a certain visceral intensity, sketching angry, careless strokes of fire licking up around their legs. He scorched the page with vibrant orange and red pencils, finding a dark sense of satisfaction in the imaginary heat.

  He pressed down with a sudden, sharp force, snapping the lead. Rory stared at the broken tip for a long second, huffed a frustrated breath, and continued with the blunt nub anyway.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He stilled, then pulled it out, his thumb hovering over the screen before he checked the time.

  3:15 PM.

  His stomach did a small, unexpected flip. He could go in now.

  The thought surprised him, not the timing, but the emotion attached to it. It wasn't dread. It wasn't the heavy, soul-deep bracing he had spent a lifetime perfecting. It was something closer to anticipation.

  He didn't like that. The realisation that he was actually looking forward to training, to seeing Ethan, sat strangely in his chest, unsettling and alien. To Rory, looking forward to anything felt dangerous, like noticing warmth after being cold for too long. It felt like trusting a hand before it had the chance to become a fist.

  That's stupid, he told himself automatically. But the feeling refused to be dismissed.

  He packed his sketchbook away, tucked the pencil behind his ear, and stood up to brush the city dirt off his jeans. As he walked toward the bus stop, that unfamiliar excitement remained, a quiet tension beneath his ribs.

  The bus ride passed in a blur of sliding cityscapes. Rory sat near the back, hood up and headphones in, chewing his thumbnail as he watched the world through the glass. His body felt different without the red band, lighter, more responsive. Every few minutes, he caught himself flexing his fingers, checking to ensure they still belonged to him.

  When the Karmal facility finally came into view, his stomach tightened. He pulled his headphones out and stood as the bus hissed to a halt. The grounds were quieter than the day before, fewer students, fewer prying eyes. He took a breath and headed inside.

  Stephanie was at the front desk again. Rory approached the sign-in area, his heart thudding frantically as he rehearsed excuses for where he'd been all day.

  She smiled when she saw him. "Hey, Rory."

  "Hey," he replied, grabbing the pen to sign in.

  She glanced at the screen, then paused. "Oh...actually," she said gently, "they've got you down to report to Medical today. Intake flagged it."

  Rory froze, his pen hovering mid-air. Medical. Not training. Not Ethan. His stomach dropped, slow and heavy. "Medical?" he repeated, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  "Yeah. Alex is expecting you. Wing C."

  His mouth felt suddenly dry. "Okay," he said, stepping away from the desk on autopilot. The excitement drained out of him, replaced by a cold, familiar hollow. This wasn't the routine he'd just begun to trust. This felt like a deviation.

  He followed the signs through the corridors until he found Wing C. Pushing through the door, he found himself in Alex's office. She looked up immediately, her face breaking into a genuine smile.

  "Hey," she said, her warmth hitting him like a physical force. "You made it."

  "Yeah," Rory replied, shoving his hands into his sleeves. "Stephanie said I had to come here first."

  "Yep, she was right." Alex set her tablet aside. Mara was standing near the counter, her arms folded loosely. She observed him with that same calm, unreadable focus she always maintained, not quite threatening, but not exactly comforting, either.

  Rory swallowed. "I thought I had training."

  "You will," Alex said quickly. "Just...not first."

  The clarification didn't reassure him. He shifted his weight, his fingers curling into the cuffs of his sleeves. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Alex's brows knitted together. "No. No, Rory. This is just part of the process."

  Process. There it was again.

  "We're just here to get you set up," Mara said evenly. "Baseline confirmation. Band fitting. Integration start. Nothing invasive."

  Rory glanced between them, his voice dropping. "Is...is Ethan coming?"

  Alex hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Not today," she said honestly. "But you'll see him soon."

  Something in Rory's chest sank, yet an embarrassing part of him felt a wave of relief. "Oh," he said.

  Alex watched him carefully, clocking the conflict on his face. "You okay with that?"

  "Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah. It's fine."

  Mara stepped forward. "We'll keep things light today. This is about adjustment, not performance."

  Rory nodded, even as his pulse began to race. Alex gestured toward the exam chair. "Why don't you sit?"

  He obeyed, his shoulders tight and his eyes fixed on the floor. This was that moment again, the one right before the world shifted. Alex moved closer, her voice soft. "Before we start, I just want to check in. You're still good to go today?"

  "Good to go?" Rory repeated, momentarily lost.

  Alex gave him a fond smile. "Your upgrades," she said simply.

  The realisation hit him. Upgrades. He had agreed to them, but he hadn't quite believed they would actually eventuate. Alex caught his surprise and grinned, lightly tapping his shoulder with a manila folder. "You still want them, right?"

  Rory thought of his drawing, the fire and the ice. He thought of the red band biting into his skin, and how Ethan had looked at him the day before, steady, patient, and real. He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "But...like...this is actually happening? This is real?"

  "Yeah. You said you wanted it, and you got the sign-off. They're yours if you still want them," Mara replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

  "Yeah...yes...let's do this," Rory answered, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together.

  Alex studied him for a beat, then smiled, a look that was less about reassurance and more about respect. "Okay. Then we'll take it one step at a time."

  She moved with a quiet, warm professionalism, methodical and calm. "Alright," she said, setting her tablet on the counter. "Before we do anything, I need to check you over properly."

  "I'm fine," Rory said, a little too quickly.

  Alex gave him a look that suggested she'd heard that sentence from every stubborn patient she'd ever treated. "I know you think you are. Humour me anyway."

  He sat stiffly as Alex checked his vitals. The blood pressure cuff tightened, and the monitor whirred. She watched the numbers, her brow knitting slightly. "Your heart's racing. You nervous?"

  He shrugged. "I mean...my heart's kind of always racing."

  Alex huffed a quiet smile. "Fair."

  She checked his pupils with a penlight and examined the bruising along his cheek and collarbone with careful, barely-there touches. "Still sore?"

  "It's fine," he said. "I'm good."

  She moved on to temperature and neural response. Each check felt deceptively normal. Alex then turned to a wall-mounted console, where the screen bloomed with dense diagnostics. "Your scans from intake looked good. Your implant's stable, no signs of rejection. That's the most important part."

  Rory swallowed. "So...this is okay to do?"

  "Yes," she said, meeting his eyes. "Medically, you're cleared."

  Alex reached for something on the counter and turned back to him. "Before we start integration, there's one more thing." She held it up.

  Rory's breath caught. It was a band. Not red, but close enough to trigger a physical reaction. His shoulders tensed instantly. "What-" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "I thought I wasn't-"

  "It's not a red band, Rory. I promise," Alex said, reading the panic on his face. She stepped closer so he could see it. It was a matte orange, smooth and familiar in shape.

  "Orange band," Mara explained. "Temporary dampener. Safety-focused."

  Rory stared at it. "So...like the red one."

  "No," Alex said firmly. "Not like the red one."

  "Same tech family. Different function," Mara added.

  Alex crouched so they were eye-to-eye. "This doesn't punish you. It doesn't lock you down or cut you off. It just...smooths the extremes while your body learns what to do."

  "So it stops me from using them?"

  "It limits output," Mara corrected. "Prevents uncontrolled spikes. You'll still feel them."

  Rory looked between them. "Do I...have to wear it all the time?"

  "At first, yeah," Alex said honestly.

  "Eventually, it'll come off," Mara added. "Or be toggled only in certain environments."

  Eventually was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence. Rory leaned back, crossing his arms. Part of him recoiled, another band, another reminder that he couldn't be trusted with himself.

  "It's a limiter," Alex said. "Not a lock."

  "That doesn't sound better."

  Mara tilted her head. "It's not meant to."

  Alex shot Mara a look, then softened her voice. "Rory, this doesn't shut you down. It just keeps things from running away from you while your body adjusts."

  "And if I don't want it?" he asked.

  Mara answered bluntly. "Then today becomes much shorter. And much more controlled."

  "What Mara means," Alex added gently, "is that if something goes wrong, we won't be able to stop it fast enough."

  That landed. Rory nodded once. "Okay. I get it." He didn't know if he liked it, but he knew he didn't want to hurt anyone.

  Alex set the band aside. "Alright. We won't put it on yet. We only put it on after we see how your system responds."

  Something cold slid down Rory's spine.

  "Raw," Mara clarified. "Initial integration without dampening."

  Rory let out a breath. "That sounds...bad."

  Alex didn't lie. "It can be intense. Remember, you can tell us to stop at any point."

  Rory nodded, his throat dry. He watched Alex's fingers fly across the interface. "Last chance to back out," she said softly.

  He thought of the sketchbook. The fire. The ice. He thought of Ethan's hands as the red band came off. "I'm not backing out," he said.

  "Okay. You might feel temperature fluctuations first," Alex warned. "Heat or cold. It might be uncomfortable."

  "Cool," Rory muttered. "Love that."

  Mara stepped back. "Upgrade pathways uploading. Thermal regulation suite. Pyro and cryo channels."

  Rory's fingers curled into the chair. His heart thudded. Then, suddenly, something flooded him. It started as a blooming warmth in his chest, radiating outward through his ribs and down his arms. His skin prickled.

  "Okay," Alex said. "That's normal. Just notice it."

  Then the warmth spiked. Rory gasped as the heat surged, sharp and sudden, like standing too close to a furnace. Sweat broke out across his spine. "I-" He stopped, jaw clenching. "It's hot."

  "I know. You're doing fine."

  And then, cold. A sudden, sharp drop. The heat vanished, replaced by a biting, bone-deep cold that made his teeth chatter. His fingers went numb. Rory sucked in a sharp breath. "Alex, I...I can't-"

  The room responded. Frost crept along the edge of the exam chair. A thin sheen of ice crackled across the floor. Alex's eyes widened. "Rory, stay with me."

  "I am!" he snapped, panic clawing at his throat. "Why is it both?"

  His skin burned and froze simultaneously, nerves screaming under conflicting signals. Hot wasn't hot, cold wasn't cold. Everything was too much. "I can't stop it! I'm not doing anything!"

  "I know," Alex said. "You're not doing anything wrong."

  The heat surged back, uncontrolled. The air shimmered, and the frost hissed into steam. Rory squeezed his eyes shut. Stop. Stop. Stop.

  His panic fed the energy. Something deeper stirred, a dark, luminous pressure behind his sternum.

  The lights flickered.

  For a split second, the air warped, light bending, shadows stretching, as energy rippled in a way that wasn't just thermal. The sensation didn't stop at his skin. It reached outward, thinning the space around him like it had brushed against something hollow. Rory's ears popped painfully, like the room had dropped a floor beneath him.

  Rory gasped, a sharp, disoriented sound. For the briefest moment, he had the uncanny sense that the room had answered him, not with heat or cold, but with depth.

  Mara swore. "What the hell was that?"

  "Mara. Orange band. Now," Alex commanded.

  Mara moved with blurring speed. Rory barely felt the band snap around his wrist or the sharp sting that followed. Then came the relief. It wasn't gone, but it was muted. The heat dialled back from unbearable to sweltering, the cold receded to a lingering ache.

  Rory sagged forward with a shaky gasp. "Fuck. What...what was that?"

  Mara stared at the console. "That wasn't standard thermal output."

  Alex knelt in front of him, her hands steady on his knees. "Hey. Stay with me. Breathe."

  "I didn't mean to," Rory whispered, shame flooding in. "I swear I didn't-"

  "I know," Alex said without hesitation. She shot Mara a sharp, warning look. "Neural feedback glitch. Integration surge. It happens."

  Mara looked unconvinced but let it go. "Output is stabilising."

  Rory barely heard her. His skin buzzed with static. He felt as if his edges had blurred. Alex stayed close. "It feels awful right now, but it won't always feel like this."

  Rory laughed weakly. "You say that like you know."

  Alex hesitated, then smiled. "I do. When my upgrades went in, I cried in a supply closet for half an hour."

  Rory blinked. "You...did?"

  "Full breakdown. Mascara everywhere. Not my best look." She paused. "When my upgrades went in, I didn't just feel my emotions amplify. I felt everyone's. All at once."

  Rory listened, his focus sharpening.

  "Every person within ten meters," Alex said softly. "Fear, anger, stress, boredom. Everything they were feeling, magnified, until I couldn't tell where I ended and anyone else began. It was like being in a room where everyone is talking at once and you can't turn the volume down."

  Rory's spiral slowed. "That sounds...unbearable."

  Alex nodded. "It was. I stood there thinking I was losing my mind. That I'd never feel quiet again." She met his eyes. "That's why I know this part is the worst."

  Rory sat with that for a moment. "And you only stayed in the supply closet for thirty minutes?"

  She laughed. "That's what you took from that?"

  "I don't think I would've left," Rory huffed weakly. "I'd still be in there. I'd make a nest out of paper towels."

  Alex laughed properly, the warmth breaking the clinical air. "Yeah. I thought about it."

  Rory shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. "That's genuinely horrifying."

  "It is," Alex agreed. "But you learn. Your brain adapts. You build filters. You figure out what's yours and what's not. And you let us help."

  Rory let that sit. The heat was still there, and the cold still lingered, but the orange band muted the worst of it. No longer a storm. He wasn't okay, but he wasn't drowning.

  "...Okay," he said quietly.

  Alex smiled, not as a doctor, but as a friend. "You didn't mess this up, Rory. Your body just learned a new language in thirty seconds. It needs time to catch up."

  "Kind of feels like I messed up," he muttered.

  "No," Alex shook her head. "It feels like change. And change always feels worse before it feels better."

  Mara cleared her throat. "The band stays on outside controlled environments. We'll reassess in seventy-two hours."

  Rory nodded numbly. The room had stopped frosting over. The fire had settled into a manageable simmer.

  ***

  Friday night crept in with a deceptive quiet.

  Rory didn't notice the transition at first. He lay sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hoodie half-on and his blanket bunched around his knees like a failed negotiation. His body refused to settle, it kept swinging between uncomfortable extremes. One moment he was burning, skin prickling as heat pooled under his ribs, the next, a hollow chill crawled up his arms as if he'd stepped into a deep shadow.

  He kicked the blanket off in a fit of frustration. Thirty seconds later, he dragged it back.

  "Fuck's sake," he muttered, rolling onto his side.

  The orange band sat heavy on his wrist, dull and warm against his skin. It wasn't biting or cruel like the red one had been, it was just there, a constant, tactile reminder. He flexed his fingers, watching as his breath fogged faintly in the air for a split second before the internal warmth rushed back in, overcorrecting the temperature with a vengeance.

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  Too hot.

  He groaned and sat up, tugging the hoodie over his head and tossing it onto the floor. His t-shirt stuck to his back, a low-grade fever crawling under his skin. This is stupid, he thought, his jaw tightening. I wanted this.

  He had imagined power would be like a switch, something clean, controlled, and impressive that you flipped on when you needed it. Instead, it felt like his body had forgotten how to regulate itself. He paced the small perimeter of his room, his bare feet silent on the worn carpet. He opened the window an inch, only to slam it shut when the evening air rushed in too fast. His reflection in the dark glass looked wired and exhausted, his eyes far too bright.

  His phone buzzed on the mattress. He glanced at the screen: 6:30 PM.

  His stomach sank. Homework.

  The thought brought an immediate tightening in his chest, his muscles bracing out of a years old habit. Fridays were always the most gruelling; Pete was home instead of out, already looking for a reason to be irritated.

  Rory exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to steady his pulse. Okay. Fine. Just get it over with.

  He reached for the hoodie, then paused and dropped it, annoyed with his own indecision. He grabbed a thicker jumper instead, shrugging into it as he headed for the door. The hallway was hushed, the house settled into that strange, pressurised stillness of early evening.

  He started down the stairs, each step measured and cautious. Halfway down, he heard movement in the kitchen. He expected to hear the heavy, deliberate thud of Pete's footsteps, but these were lighter, hurried.

  "Rory?"

  It was Liz. He froze instantly.

  She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, her jacket half-on and keys already clutched in her hand. Relief flooded her face the second she spotted him.

  "Oh, thank god," she said, lowering the phone. "You're home."

  Rory blinked, his brain struggling to keep up. "Yeah...? I mean...yeah."

  She laughed softly, sounding breathless. "I didn't know if you'd be back yet. A shift came up last minute and Pete went out for work drinks."

  The words hit him like a physical weight lifting. Pete went out.

  Liz was already moving again as she grabbed her bag. "He said he might be late. I was panicking because Abbey's upstairs and I can't leave her alone."

  Something unclenched in Rory's chest so suddenly it made him feel momentarily dizzy. "Oh," he said, his voice dropping. "Okay."

  Liz studied him for a heartbeat, her brows knitting. "You alright, love? You look pale."

  "I'm fine," Rory said automatically, then caught himself. "Just...tired."

  As if on cue, the heat flared. Another sudden and sharp thermal spike that bloomed across his chest and prickled his scalp. He shifted, uncomfortable, his fingers curling into the thick fabric of the jumper. Too hot. He tugged it off quickly, draping it over his arm as if that had been the plan all along.

  "I'll order pizza, okay? Your usual," she said, glancing at the clock. "You don't mind watching a movie with Abbey, do you?"

  The idea of a night without Pete's "corrections" almost made him laugh. "No," he said quickly. "I mean...yeah. That's fine."

  Her smile widened, genuine and grateful. "You're a lifesaver." She leaned in to kiss his cheek in passing, but stopped, her frown returning. "...God, you're warm. You're not getting sick, are you?"

  Panic flared, sharp and fast. Rory didn't have time to think, he just reacted.

  "No," he said, the word coming out far too quickly. He forced an awkward but believable laugh. "I was just...doing push-ups. Before. Haven't cooled down yet."

  Liz blinked, then huffed a soft laugh of her own. "Of course you were." She didn't question why he'd been wearing a heavy jumper if he was overheating. She was already distracted, checking her phone and sliding it into her pocket.

  "Alright. Pizza's coming. Abbey!" she shouted toward the stairs. "Rory's home. I'm heading out. You do what Rory says, okay?"

  "OKAY!" Abbey's voice boomed back.

  Liz grabbed her bag, squeezing Rory's arm once. "I owe you."

  "No problem," he said, and he truly meant it.

  The door shut behind her, leaving the house suddenly lighter. Rory leaned back against the wall, exhaling a long, shaky breath. Then, Abbey came barreling down the stairs.

  "RORY!" She launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his waist.

  "Whoa!" Rory laughed, shifting his grip to avoid dropping his schoolbooks. "Hey-"

  She pressed her cheek against his chest, then recoiled, her eyes wide. "Whoa, you're so hot!"

  Rory snorted, his nerves already beginning to settle, and gently nudged her back with his elbow. "Then don't hug me."

  She shoved him lightly, grinning. "Rude."

  "You're the one who tackled me," he countered, nudging her back with his knee.

  She eyed the homework under his arm, then the discarded jumper. "Mum said pizza."

  "She did," Rory confirmed.

  "And movie night."

  "Yep."

  Abbey's eyes lit up with mischief. "Buffy?"

  Rory groaned. "You know I'm not supposed to let you watch that."

  "Why not?" she demanded, already heading for the lounge. "It's about feminism and girl power. It's educational."

  "It's also full of vampires," Rory said, following her. "And violence. And gore."

  Abbey shrugged, unbothered. "I like gore."

  He stared at her for a second, then shook his head. "You're weird."

  She shot him a sideways grin. "And you love Buffy. Don't act like you don't."

  Rory exhaled a long, tired breath, but the fight had left him. "You're going to get me in trouble."

  "I won't tell," she said immediately. "Scout's honour."

  "You were never a scout."

  "Still won't tell."

  He rolled his eyes, a small smile finally tugging at his mouth. "Fine. One episode."

  "Yes!"

  As they settled into the lounge and Abbey began chattering about her favourite characters, Rory realised something had shifted. He was still warm, and he still felt a slight chill when the air vent kicked on, but the swings were no longer so violent. His body was settling. Not fixed, and certainly not controlled, but quieter.

  Abbey curled up beside him, stealing the blanket and half his pizza without asking. Rory leaned back into the cushions, the orange band a warm, grounding weight on his wrist. For a few fragile hours, there was no Pete, no training, and no expectations. There was just pizza, dated special effects, and the sound of his sister laughing beside him.

  ***

  By Saturday morning, Rory had come to three definitive conclusions.First, the orange band definitely helped. Second, it didn't help nearly enough. And third, his body had apparently decided to turn basic temperature regulation into a personal vendetta against him.

  The morning began with him waking up drenched in sweat, his blankets kicked halfway across the room and his skin burning as if he'd spent the night under a heat lamp. He peeled himself out of the damp sheets, muttering curses under his breath, only to find himself shivering violently ten minutes later while brushing his teeth. Goosebumps raced up his arms in a frantic wave as frost crept across the bathroom mirror, blooming from the mere touch of his breath against the glass.

  "Seriously?" he hissed, hugging his ribs to keep his teeth from rattling. "Just pick one."

  By lunchtime, he had learned to layer his clothing like a professional survivalist. It was a constant cycle: hoodie on, hoodie off, socks on, socks off. At one point, he found himself hovering awkwardly near the kitchen window, pressing his palms flat against the cold pane simply because the chill was the only thing that allowed him to think clearly again.

  Abbey noticed his erratic behaviour immediately.

  "Why are you standing like a lizard?" she asked, squinting at him suspiciously from her spot on the couch.

  "I'm not," Rory replied, the lie falling flat even as he said it. "I'm just...airing out."

  She stared at him, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. "You're steaming, Rory."

  He looked down at his shoulders. He was, in fact, visibly steaming.

  "Don't tell Liz," he said sharply.

  Abbey's expression shifted into a devious grin. "Only if you let me control the remote."

  That was how Rory ended up sprawled on the living room floor on Saturday afternoon, hoodie half-off, a fan blasting directly onto his face, and watching Buffy while Abbey narrated every scene with dramatic flair, having seen the episode at least five times before.

  There were several close calls throughout the weekend.There was the mug that cracked with a sharp snap when he poured tea into it because the liquid hit its boiling point the moment his hand touched the ceramic. There was the patch of grass in the backyard that turned brittle and white under his bare feet when he stepped outside to cool down, the life sucked out of the blades by his localised frost. And then there was the moment in the kitchen where Liz brushed past him and stopped short, her face clouding with concern.

  "God, Rory, you're warm again," she said, pressing the back of her fingers to his cheek. "Are you sure you're okay? You feel like you're burning up."

  His heart slammed against his ribs, the panic only making his internal temperature spike higher.

  "Yeah," he said, the word coming out far too fast. "I'm good."

  Liz blinked, her hand lingering for a second. "Are you doing push-ups again or something?"

  "Mm, yeah...just did a workout," Rory muttered, staring at the floor.

  She accepted the excuse, somehow, and moved on to the sink. Rory didn't breathe properly again for a full ten minutes.

  Sunday was better, but only marginally. The orange band served its purpose, it dulled the sharpest spikes and took the jagged edge off the extremes, but it also made his entire existence feel strangely fuzzy. It was like trying to grip a delicate object through thick, heavy gloves. He could still feel the heat and cold rolling through his veins, but it was quieter now, as if someone had turned the volume down on a radio without actually fixing the static.

  By Sunday night, he was exhausted in a way that surpassed mere physical fatigue. His body didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. His emotions seemed to leak directly into his temperature, and every time he thought he finally had a handle on the ebb and flow, something slipped.

  By the time Monday morning arrived, Rory was equal parts eager and terrified to be heading back to Karmal.

  He needed Ethan.

  And he hated how much that had become his only truth.

  On Monday afternoon, Rory sat cross-legged on the centre mat of the private training room he'd been assigned. He had arrived ten minutes early, sitting in the silence and waiting for whoever was coming to teach him how to get a grip on his malfunctioning thermal regulation.

  The door hissed open, and Ethan entered with a tablet tucked under one arm. He took one look at Rory and paused. It wasn't an obvious or dramatic halt, but it was enough to show he was reading the room, and the boy in the middle of it.

  "Hey," Ethan said calmly, setting the tablet on a nearby bench. "So...before we do anything, how was your weekend?"

  Rory offered a noncommittal shrug. "Fine."

  Ethan lifted an eyebrow, his silence demanding the truth.

  Rory let out a sharp, jagged sigh. "Not fine. Actually, it was pretty shit of you guys to give me these abilities on a Friday afternoon and then just be like, 'See you Monday.'"

  Ethan leaned back against the wall, unbothered. "It gives you a chance to get to know them. To ease into the sensation without the pressure of a facility."

  "Except that's not what happens," Rory shot back, his voice rising. "I'm steaming in the living room and cracking mugs just by touching them. You should change your process, it's fucked."

  Rory shifted his weight, nervously rubbing his hands together. As he did, the air around his fingers began to waver. Heat shimmered like a desert road before snapping violently into a cold front, his breath fogged in the air for a second before the temperature swung back.

  Ethan clocked the fluctuation immediately. "Okay," he said, his voice steadying the atmosphere. "Talk me through what that feels like."

  Rory frowned, searching for words that didn't feel stupid. "It's like...my body's arguing with itself. Like one part of me wants to light everything on fire and the other wants to freeze it solid, and neither of them bothered to ask me which one I wanted."

  "Yeah, sounds about right," Ethan said mildly.

  Rory shot him a dry look. "That's not exactly reassuring."

  "It's not meant to be," Ethan replied, stepping closer but stopping just outside Rory's personal space. "It's meant to be honest. Now, we're not going to push today. This isn't about power. It's about noticing."

  Rory nodded, his jaw tight enough to ache. "Okay."

  Ethan didn't move toward the console right away. He stayed where he was, hands loose at his sides, watching Rory with that quiet, assessing stillness that Rory had come to realise meant Ethan was paying attention to the things Rory wasn't saying.

  "Before we change anything," Ethan said, "tell me what you're feeling."

  Rory blinked. "Physically?"

  "No," Ethan said easily. "Just...generally."

  Rory shifted uncomfortably on the mat. "I don't know. Normal."

  Ethan simply waited. He was a master of the expectant silence.

  Rory huffed, shoulders dropping. "Okay...not normal. I'm tired. And I'm kind of pissed off. And also-" He gestured vaguely at his own chest. "I feel like I'm just waiting for the next thing to go wrong."

  As the words left him, the air around his body began to shimmer again. A wave of heat crept outward, subtle, but unmistakable.

  Ethan nodded once. "There it is."

  Rory stiffened. "What?"

  "That," Ethan said. "That heat spike. It wasn't random, Rory. It was a reaction to what you were saying."

  Rory looked down at his hands. They were glowing with a faint, internal warmth, far hotter than they should have been. "I didn't do that on purpose."

  "I know," Ethan replied. "That's the point."

  He turned to the console then, his fingers moving with precision across the glass. "I'm going to dial the dampener down ten percent. Not off. Just...quieter."

  Rory's head snapped up. "Wait-"

  "I'm not removing it," Ethan said, cutting off the panic before it could bloom. "You're still protected. But I need to see you, not the filter."

  Rory hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Okay."

  Ethan tapped the panel. The change wasn't dramatic to the eye, but Rory felt it instantly. It was as if the world had suddenly leaned in closer to his skin. Everything prickled, the air felt thicker, and every emotion felt sharpened, less muffled by the technology on his wrist.

  He swallowed hard. "That feels...louder."

  "Good description," Ethan said. "Now, stay where you are. We're going to do something boring."

  Rory snorted weakly. "Figures."

  "Plant your feet," Ethan instructed. "Close your eyes. Breathe in for four. Hold for two. Out for six."

  Rory followed the rhythm, his shoulders rising and falling. He focused on the air moving in and out of his lungs. His jaw slowly unclenched. On the fourth breath, however, his mind drifted, not to anything in particular, just away from the room.

  The temperature dropped instantly.

  Ice crackled across the mat beneath his boots, spreading like a web.

  Rory gasped, his eyes flying open. "Shit-"

  Ethan was already there. He didn't touch him, but he stood close enough that Rory could feel his presence acting like a physical anchor. "Stay with me," Ethan said evenly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

  Rory stared at the ice, his heart hammering against his ribs. "But I didn't mean to-"

  "I know. Just bring it back."

  He didn't explain how, and he didn't explain why. Rory focused, his pulse racing. The frost began to recede in slow, uneven patches, leaving shallow pools of water on the mat. It took immense effort, significantly more than it had taken to freeze it in the first place.

  Ethan noted the strain. As Rory grew frustrated with how long it was taking and how hard he had to fight his own skin, his temperature spiked. A wave of dry, intense heat rolled off him.

  He flinched. "Shit! Fuck!"

  "Stay with it," Ethan said immediately. "Don't shut it down. Just notice it."

  Rory swallowed hard, forcing himself not to clamp down instinctively. The heat rippled outward, then collapsed back inward, followed by a cold backlash that made his teeth chatter briefly. His control was sloppy, emotional, and entirely raw.

  "I'm screwing it up," Rory muttered, looking at the floor.

  "No," Ethan said firmly. "You're learning."

  Rory looked up, his face tight with frustration. "It doesn't feel like learning. I'm never going to get this."

  Ethan studied him for a long beat, his tone softening. "Rory, if you were doing this perfectly already, we'd be worried."

  Rory let out a breath that shook. Ethan nodded. "Alright. Reset."

  Rory swallowed, trying to find his centre again. "Why does it keep doing that?"

  Ethan considered him. "Your powers respond fast," he said finally. "Sometimes faster than you do."

  Rory looked annoyed and defeated, his head hanging.

  "It's not a flaw," Ethan added. "It just means your control has to start earlier." He reached into his pocket and handed Rory a small metal disc. "Hold this."

  Rory took it. It was cool and neutral.

  "Keep it that way."

  Rory concentrated. Without meaning to, his fingers tightened around the metal. The disc warmed, then rapidly overheated until it was searing.

  Rory yelped, dropping it. "Fuck!"

  Ethan caught it mid-air with a smirk. "Again."

  Rory stared at him in disbelief. "You enjoy this, don't you?"

  Ethan's mouth twitched. "Immensely."

  Rory snorted despite himself, the tension breaking just enough for him to take the disc back.

  "Same thing," Ethan said. "But slower."

  Rory nodded. This time, he tried to relax, not just his grip, but his entire posture. The heat still crept into the metal, but it was less violent, less like an explosion. Ethan didn't praise him, but he noted the improvement with a nod.

  "Good. Drop it."

  Rory let the disc fall, breathing hard as if he'd just run a mile. "So what, I just, think calmer thoughts?"

  Ethan shook his head. "No. You notice earlier. You notice the moment you're about to push, before your body decides for you."

  Rory rolled his shoulders. "That's...vague."

  "It's intentional," Ethan replied.

  They moved through smaller drills after that, temperature pulses timed with his breathing and stepping between warm and cold zones without overshooting the mark. Ethan eventually adjusted the dampener back up without making an announcement.

  Rory noticed anyway. "You turned it up."

  "You're hitting overload," Ethan said simply. "Learning stops there."

  Rory looked embarrassed, his gaze dropping. "Sorry."

  "Don't be," Ethan said. "This is what progress looks like."

  By the end of the session, Rory was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. He sat on the mat, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Ethan crouched nearby, keeping a respectful distance.

  "You did real work today, Rory."

  Rory shrugged. "Feels like my body hates me."

  Ethan shook his head. "Feels like it's talking."

  Rory snorted quietly. "Yeah. Loudly."

  Ethan stood and offered a hand. Rory took it without thinking. As Ethan pulled him to his feet, he said casually, "Next session, we'll work on choosing your response instead of just reacting to the world."

  Rory looked up, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "You think I can?"

  Ethan met his gaze, steady, certain, and entirely unflinching. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

  Rory didn't say anything, but as he turned to grab his bag, the heavy knot in his chest loosened just a little.

  Rory shouldered his bag and headed for the lift, the training wing settling into a low, held quiet behind him. His body still buzzed with the residual energy of the session, but it was manageable now, the heat contained, the cold distant.

  The doors slid open with a soft, melodic chime. Rory's forward momentum died instantly.

  Owen was inside.

  The sight of him hit harder than Rory expected, sudden and sharp, like a misstep you don't have time to brace for. Owen was leaning back against the brushed-metal wall, his skateboard hooked loosely under one arm and his phone held in the other. His hood was pulled half-up, and his headphones hung uselessly around his neck. There was a natural ease to him that had always grated on Rory—a sense that gravity never pulled quite as hard in Owen's direction.

  For a heartbeat, Owen's attention remained fixed on his screen. Then, something shifted.

  Owen's head snapped up, quick and instinctive, as if he'd felt a change in the air before he actually saw the person standing there. His eyes widened a fraction before his expression smoothed over into a mask of stunned realisation.

  Their eyes locked. The lift doors remained open, patient and unbothered, but the space between the two boys stretched thin, heavy with the weight of everything that hadn't been said and everything that could never be taken back.

  Owen's mouth parted, then closed again. His fingers fidgeted nervously around the scuffed edge of his skateboard. "Hey," he said, his voice soft and tentative, as if he were approaching something fragile that he didn't want to scare off.

  The word scraped against Rory's nerves. The air in the corridor changed.

  Heat stirred under Rory's ribs, low and dangerous. His hard-won calm cracked open like thin ice, shattered by the sudden, sick awareness of being seen when he wasn't prepared for it. He felt himself being pulled off balance, his internal regulation spiralling.

  Owen felt it, too.

  His expression flickered, confusion giving way to a sharp, sudden recognition. His shoulders tensed, his breath catching in his throat as the unnatural warmth reached him, a sensation that was familiar and wrong all at once. Owen's grip tightened on the wood of his board. Guilt crossed his face, naked and unguarded, because he realised this wasn't just anger or distance he could joke his way around.

  This was a fundamental rejection.

  Rory met his eyes, held them for a punishing second, and made a choice.

  He stepped back.

  Owen blinked, the movement sharp and pained. "Rory-"

  The doors slid shut, cutting him off.

  The lift dropped away, taking the sudden heat and the suffocating history with it. Rory stood alone in the corridor, his own reflection staring back at him from the polished metal as the indicator light flicked steadily downward. The heat in his chest receded, his control snapping back into place with a familiar, hollow ache.

  On the other side of those doors, Owen descended, the weight of the moment settling hard in his gut. The realisation had landed too late, and it was far too heavy to carry alone.

  Rory let out a slow, measured breath. Then, he reached out, pressed the call button again, and waited for the next car.***

  Ethan was lingering just outside the training wing when Alex found him, leaning against the industrial wall with his tablet balanced in one hand. He looked relaxed in the way people did when they were anything but, his weight settled back and his posture loose, yet his attention remained half-anchored inside the room he'd just vacated.

  Alex had been sitting on Friday's spike all weekend. She'd waited until Rory was out of the wing before she came looking for Ethan.

  She slowed as she approached, observing him for a beat before breaking the silence. "How'd he go?"

  Ethan glanced up, his focus snapping back to the present. "Rory?"

  Alex offered a faint, tired smile. "Unless you've got another fifteen-year-old spontaneously combusting in there."

  He huffed once, a short and dry sound. "First session with the upgrades?" He tilted his head, weighing his words. "It was messy. Honest. Better than I expected, actually."

  "Better than expected," she repeated, mentally filing the observation away. "That's not exactly a glowing review."

  "I didn't mean it like that. He did well," Ethan clarified, tapping the edge of his tablet absently. "But you know how it is. He's not stabilised yet. He's currently learning how to notice a surge instead of just reacting to it. That kind of calibration takes time."

  "Mm," Alex hummed softly, then caught herself and shifted gears. "And nothing out of the ordinary happened?"

  Ethan looked at her reading her expression carefully.

  "You're asking something specific," he said.

  She sighed, the sound small but weighted. "I am."

  Ethan leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Okay. Ask it."

  Alex hesitated, then shook her head with a faint, frustrated smile. "I was hoping you'd volunteer it."

  "Alex."

  "Fine." She met his eyes. "Did he spike?"

  Ethan didn't answer immediately. He replayed the session in his head, the breath work, the ice blooming across the mat, the heat backlash that followed. Sloppy. Emotional. Expected.

  "Yes," he said finally. "But nothing outside the parameters I'd expect for a first integration. Thermal instability, delayed regulation, emotional bleed-through."

  Alex's jaw tightened just slightly.

  "That's not what I meant," she said.

  Ethan straightened.

  She adjusted the tablet against her hip, grounding herself. "When we integrated the upgrades on Friday, before the dampener went on...something happened."

  Ethan waited.

  "It wasn't just heat and cold," Alex continued. "There was a distortion. Brief, but measurable. The room didn't just change temperature...it shifted."

  "Shifted how?" Ethan asked.

  Alex grimaced. "Light refraction anomalies. Shadow elongation. Spatial pressure readings that didn't line up with thermal output."

  Ethan's gaze sharpened. "That shouldn't be possible with the suite you gave him."

  "No," Alex agreed. "It shouldn't."

  "And you're sure it wasn't just a panic feedback loop?"

  "I've seen panic loops, Ethan," she said. "This wasn't that."

  "Equipment fault?"

  "I ran the diagnostics twice."

  Ethan's gaze dropped to the floor, his mind clearly racing through possibilities. "What did Mara say?"

  "She noticed, of course. But I told her it was a neural feedback glitch," Alex replied. "Which is what you say when something doesn't fit and you don't want to escalate the situation yet."

  Ethan looked back at her. "But you don't believe that."

  Alex met his eyes directly. "No."

  They stood there in the quiet corridor, both staring at the same invisible problem from opposite sides.

  "The dampener?" he asked. "Did it help?"

  "By the time we applied the dampener, the surge had already collapsed."

  Ethan's jaw tightened slightly. "So you don't know if the band actually affected it."

  "No," Alex said. "I don't."

  That answer landed with a thud. Alex folded her arms tighter, a protective instinct she hadn't managed to shake even after years in the facility. "If this is coming from somewhere deeper than thermal regulation-"

  Ethan lifted a hand slightly, cutting her off. "Let's not finish that sentence yet."

  "But... could this be genetic?" Alex asked finally, the question they were both avoiding. "Lineage-related?"

  Ethan's mouth thinned into a hard line. "That's what I'm worried about."

  She nodded slowly. "We screened for standard compatibility."

  "I know," he said. "But Rory isn't standard."

  The statement hung in the air with quiet finality. Alex leaned back again, her medical mask slipping for a moment. "So what do we do?"

  Ethan didn't answer right away. "We watch," he replied eventually. "We keep him regulated. We don't flag anything prematurely. And we certainly don't tell him there's something inside him he might not be able to control yet."

  "And if it happens again?"

  His eyes flicked back toward the training wing doors. "Then I want to see it firsthand."

  Alex hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "Okay." She pushed off the wall, her professional mask sliding back into place. "I'll keep the intake files clean. No annotations. No patterning."

  "Thank you."

  She paused a step away, looking back over her shoulder. "Ethan?"

  "Yeah."

  "Whatever that was," she said quietly, "it didn't behave like an upgrade artefact."

  He didn't argue. "I know," he said.

  Also, Alex’s anomaly discussion isn’t random. File that under: not upgrade-related behaviour.