The alley was colder than the tunnel had been, and that made it worse.
Kael's clothes clung in stiff, wet folds. Water ran off his cuffs and spotted the asphalt. The dumpsters stank. The fence rattled in the wind—thin metal shivers Echo kept tagging as movement until Kael forced himself to ignore it.
Behind the storm drain cover, something scraped.
Not frantic. Not searching.
Just metal moving because someone decided it should move.
"We keep moving," Lina said. Her hands were bare and red at the knuckles. She didn't look at the drain. She watched the street like it was a second predator.
Jae rubbed his cheek, fingers trembling. Mara stood hunched, arms wrapped around herself, glow gone for now but still present in the air like static. Trev wiped blood from his nose and tried to stand angry instead of scared. Al shivered so hard his jaw clicked. Nina clung to Marta's sleeve, eyes fixed on Kael as if staring hard enough would make the night obey.
A voice rose through the metal, calm as a hotline.
"Kael."
The hum behind Kael's sternum answered, involuntary, like his body recognized being named.
"Keep walking," the voice said. "You'll stop when you're tired. I'll be there."
Kael stepped out first. He didn't run. Running made people look. Looking made hunger.
The block looked wrong without being ruined. Doors hung open. A grocery cart lay on its side, wheels still turning. Someone's shoes sat in the street, neatly placed like the person wearing them had been erased clean.
Echo wouldn't let him pretend. It kept offering layers: footsteps a half-block away, a door slamming above them, a spike of instability behind an apartment window that made Kael's stomach tighten.
Lina steered them tight to parked cars. "We can't stay near your building," she murmured. "He knows that route now."
"You're assuming he can't just follow," Trev muttered.
Lina glanced back. "I'm assuming he enjoys it. That's the only reason we're still breathing."
Nina whispered, "Who is he?"
Marta squeezed her hand. "Don't."
Nina didn't stop looking at Kael.
Kael felt it—soft pressure behind his sternum, the beginning of a link, because a kid needed a shape to hold on to.
He kept his voice flat. "I don't know his name."
"But he said—"
"That doesn't mean anything," Kael snapped, and watched Nina flinch. He swallowed the guilt. Being gentle wasn't the same as being safe.
Mara's voice shook. "Can we go somewhere warm?"
Al nodded immediately.
Lina scanned the street ahead. "Not a shelter. Crowds become collapses."
"Then where?" Jae asked, voice tight. "A store? A church?"
Lina's eyes cut to him. "You want to sit in a room full of panicking adults while half of them glow?"
Jae shut up.
Al stumbled. His knees buckled like his body remembered it could quit.
Jae caught him. "I got you."
Al's mouth worked. "Cold," he rasped. "My hands…"
No glow yet, but Echo felt the strain in him—panic waiting for an excuse. Kael watched Al's fingers twitch and pictured light leaking through them the way it had through Mr. Hernandez's.
Lina moved in, voice low. "Al. Look at me. Breathe."
Al nodded like he was agreeing to drown slower.
Kael scanned the buildings and found a narrow storefront with a faded sign: HERNANDEZ AUTO & TIRE. The gate was half open, bent where someone had forced it. Inside smelled like rubber and oil and old metal. A place not meant for crowds.
Jae's head snapped up. "That's my uncle's shop."
"Is he inside?" Lina asked.
Jae swallowed. "Maybe."
"Twenty-plus?" Lina pressed.
"Thirty-eight."
"So he qualifies," Lina said. "If he's here, he might be… unstable."
Jae's jaw clenched. "He's not weak."
Weak didn't matter, Kael thought, but he didn't say it. He nodded toward the gate. "We try. Quiet."
They slid under the metal one by one. The shop swallowed them.
A cough came from behind the counter.
"Close the gate," a man's voice said, hoarse.
Jae froze. "Unc?"
The man stepped into the thin light: broad shoulders, grease-stained sweatshirt, hands that had built a life out of broken engines. His eyes were red from exhaustion. He held his phone up; the screen showed the same black interface.
"Jae," he said, voice shaking once. "What are you doing out there?"
"We had to move," Jae whispered.
The man's gaze swept the group—Marta, Nina, Mara shaking, Al half-collapsed, Trev bleeding, Kael and Lina too still. His eyes landed on Kael and held a beat too long, the way people look at a dog that might bite.
"Gate," Lina repeated.
The man nodded and hit the control. The motor whined. The gate scraped down loud enough to make everyone flinch.
When it hit bottom, the shop became a sealed box of breath and oil.
"I'm Rafael," the man said. "Jae's uncle."
Names went around fast—Marta, Nina, Mara, Trev, Al. Lina said "Thread" like a warning label.
Rafael's gaze returned to Kael. "And you?"
"Kael."
Rafael's eyes dropped to Kael's chest like he could see the hum. "What happened?"
Trev answered because he couldn't stand quiet. "People disappeared. Fragments. He took one."
Marta snapped, "Trev."
Rafael's face tightened. "You absorbed a fragment?"
Kael felt the hook behind his sternum tug—curiosity, fear, attention. Inputs.
"I took one because it was going to collapse in a tunnel," Kael said. "That's all."
Rafael swallowed, glancing at Jae like he wanted to drag him back into the old world by force. "Jesus."
"No," Marta said, quick. "Don't start."
Rafael's eyes flicked to her scarf-wrapped hands. "You're—"
"Not gone yet," Marta said.
"Office," Lina cut in. "We need to sit, out of sight. And you need a back exit."
Rafael pointed. "Back door to the alley. Office is… there."
They filed into the office.
It was cramped: desk, invoices, a space heater that looked half-broken, a small couch with an oily blanket. A coffee mug with a cracked handle sat on the desk beside a stack of unopened mail.
Rafael plugged the heater in. It clicked and pushed weak warmth. He hovered over it like the act of fixing something could prove the night was still manageable.
Mara sank onto the couch like gravity finally remembered her. Al sat on the floor, eyes closed, shoulders shaking. Jae crouched beside him, hand hovering near Al's back. Marta took the chair; Nina stood behind her, pressed close. Trev leaned on a filing cabinet with his arms crossed, watching Kael like Kael had stolen something.
Kael tried his phone again. No service. He stared at the missed call from his mother until his thumb went numb. He pictured her awake, watching the crack in the sky through their kitchen window, calling again and again into a dead network.
His stomach twisted.
Lina watched him for a second, then looked away like she'd decided sympathy was an indulgence.
Rafael's voice broke the silence. "What's your Authority?"
"Echo," Jae said before Kael could choose.
Rafael frowned. "So… you hear things?"
"More like he feels them," Lina said. "And he can interfere, a little."
Rafael's gaze tracked back to Kael's face. "And after the fragment—"
The office felt smaller. Even the heater's fan sounded loud.
Nina's attention sharpened, and Kael felt the soft tug again, like a thread trying to tie itself around his ribs. His panel pulsed at the edge of his vision:
FAITH LINK: POTENTIAL (NINA)
STATUS: UNFORMED
Kael hated it on principle. He hated that it felt good in a sick way, like being noticed when you're starving.
"Nina," he said, meeting her eyes. "Don't."
Her voice came small and defensive. "Don't what?"
"Don't make me into something," Kael said. "I can't carry that."
Nina's face twisted, hurt and angry. "You stopped it."
"I stopped one thing once," Kael said. "That's not a promise."
Marta's hand tightened on Nina's sleeve. "He's right," she said, quiet.
Trev snorted. "Yeah. Everybody's right. Meanwhile we're freezing and hiding in a shop because he"—again, the chin jerk toward Kael—"did something that got us hunted."
Kael didn't rise to it. His cheekbone still throbbed from the earlier hit. He tasted copper when he swallowed.
Rafael stared at Trev. "You bleed on my invoices and I'm supposed to be grateful?"
Trev's mouth twitched. "Your invoices won't matter if we die."
"Enough," Marta snapped.
Lina moved to the small sink in the corner and started rummaging through a drawer without asking. She came out with paper towels and a dusty first-aid box that looked like it had been forgotten for years.
"Sit," she told Trev.
Trev scoffed, but he sat.
Lina cleaned his nose with rough efficiency. Trev hissed and jerked back. Lina didn't flinch.
"You break it?" she asked.
"Feels like it," Trev muttered.
"Good," Lina said, and Trev glared at her.
She wrapped gauze tight, then did something Kael almost missed—Thread flashed in Echo's perception, a hair-thin line anchoring the bandage so it wouldn't slip.
Trev touched it with two fingers, surprised. "That's your—"
"Don't romanticize it," Lina said. "It's a tool."
Jae watched, swallowing. "Does it hurt? Using it?"
Lina's eyes flicked to him. "Everything hurts if you do it too long."
Rafael stared at his own hands like he expected them to start glowing in response.
"Your uncle's scared," Marta said softly, not to shame him—just naming it.
Rafael's jaw clenched. "I'm not—"
His fingers twitched, and Echo felt the air tighten around his palms.
A faint glow seeped between his knuckles.
Rafael's breath hitched. "No."
He shoved his hands into his pockets like that would stop it. The glow brightened anyway, lighting the fabric faintly.
Jae stood, panic surging. "Unc—"
Rafael backed into the desk. "I'm fine. I'm— I'm—"
The glow stuttered, feeding on his denial.
Kael stood before he meant to. "Rafael. Look at me."
Rafael's eyes flicked up, wild. "Don't tell me to—"
Kael didn't soften. "Look. At. Me."
Rafael's gaze caught on Kael's face. For a second the glow stalled, as if it needed the attention and didn't like where it landed.
Kael kept his voice low and plain. "You're in your shop. Your gate is down. Your nephew is here. You're not alone."
Rafael's mouth opened, closed. He tried to breathe and failed.
Lina stepped in beside Kael and counted. "In. Hold. Out."
Rafael followed—badly at first, then a little better.
The glow dimmed to a weak pulse, like a stubborn ember refusing to go out.
Rafael sagged against the desk, sweat beading at his hairline. "This is insane," he whispered.
Mara watched him with something like envy.
Kael sat back down, legs suddenly shaking. He realized his palms were wet with sweat and sewer water. He wiped them on his jeans and left dark streaks.
The heater hummed. Outside, a car alarm started and didn't stop.
Lina's head lifted. Kael felt it too—coherent footsteps, slow, checking doors. Not panicked. Searching.
Rafael's face went pale. "Police?"
Lina shook her head. "No."
"How do you know?" Trev asked.
"Because police shout," Lina said. "Because they don't tap."
As if to prove her, a faint tap came on the metal gate—one, two, three. Polite.
Rafael went still.
Then a voice through metal, muffled but calm and familiar.
"Kael," it said. "The shop is smart. The heater is a nice touch."
Nina's eyes went wide. She turned to Kael, and that need flared again in her expression—tell me you can fix this.
Mara's hands clenched at her sides. A faint shimmer licked her knuckles.
Kael stood. The hum in his chest deepened, like the system woke fully at hearing its name spoken with certainty.
His panel flickered:
INFINITE AMPLIFICATION — READY
Inputs detected: fear (multiple), attention (high)
He felt the temptation—if he amplified, he could make the voice stop. He could also tear the block apart.
Lina's voice cut low beside him. "Small."
Kael nodded. He reached for Echo, not the infinite space behind it.
He breathed in and sent a thin interference along the shop's metal skin—not attacking, smearing his signature the way he'd smeared water.
The voice outside paused, listening.
Kael held it, jaw clenched. Pain bloomed behind his sternum like a bruise pressed hard.
Then the voice spoke again, amused.
"Better."
Kael's stomach dropped.
"You're learning," the voice said. "But you're still leaving tracks. Your system wants to be fed."
The taps resumed, soft. "Open the gate. Or I come in through the back."
Trev pushed off the filing cabinet.
"Open it," he said.
Marta's head snapped up. "Trev—"
"We're not winning a siege," Trev shot back. He pointed at Kael without looking away from the gate. "He wants him. Give him what he wants. He leaves the rest."
Rafael stared at Trev like he'd grown a second head. "This is my shop."
"And that's your nephew," Trev said, voice rising. "You want him dead because you're sentimental?"
Jae surged forward, fists half-clenched before he remembered. "Say that again."
A heat flashed in Jae's fingertips—tiny, involuntary. Burst stirring like a reflex.
Kael caught it with Echo. The air around Jae's hands tightened, warning.
"Jae," Kael said, sharp. "Open hands."
Jae's fingers spread, shaking. The heat faded, but his eyes stayed lit with it.
Trev moved anyway. He crossed the office and grabbed the doorframe, then the heater's cord, as if he meant to pull anything that made this room feel safe.
Marta stood, putting her body between Trev and Nina. "You don't trade people."
"You already did," Trev spat. "Every time you told a kid to stay quiet while adults disappeared. You just don't like the price."
Nina's face went white.
Kael felt the tug in his sternum spike—fear and attention knotted into something that wanted to anchor. His panel blinked like a nervous eye.
Lina stepped in front of Trev so fast he barely saw her move. Thread flicked—Kael didn't see it with his eyes, he felt it: a hair-thin restraint catching Trev's wrist and yanking it down.
Trev cursed and tried to rip free. The Thread bit back, not cutting skin, cutting momentum.
"Try it," Lina said, voice flat. "Make him open his hands in a room full of gasoline fumes."
Trev's nostrils flared. "You think he won't kill us anyway?"
From the gate, the calm voice answered, conversational. "I might. Depends how cooperative you are."
Rafael made a sound like he'd been punched.
Trev's bravado faltered for half a second. He looked at the office door, then at Kael, hatred and fear mixing until he couldn't separate them.
Kael didn't look away.
Trev finally spat on the floor. "Fine. Run. See how long you last."
Lina's Thread loosened, but it didn't disappear. It stayed near him like a warning collar.
Rafael's eyes snapped toward the office door. "Back—"
Lina was already moving. She pointed at Kael, then Jae. "With me. Marta—keep the others quiet."
Marta nodded once. She pulled Nina tighter and murmured something in Spanish Kael couldn't catch.
Kael followed Lina into the main shop.
The back door sat behind a stack of tires. Lina eased it open an inch.
Cold air slipped in.
Echo traced the alley: a cat scattering, a loose lid rattling—and slow footsteps approaching from the left.
"He's not alone," Kael whispered.
Lina's mouth tightened. "Of course."
Jae stood behind them, hands open, eyes bright with panic. "What do I do?"
"Don't Burst in a shop full of oil," Lina said.
Jae swallowed. "Right."
A shadow shifted in the alley.
A woman stepped into the thin slice of light: hood up, eyes hollow and focused. Her hands were in her pockets, but Echo felt the tension in her wrists—ready to pull something out.
She smiled slightly when she saw them, like she'd been sent and didn't mind the work.
"You hiding?" she asked, almost friendly.
Farther down the alley, another set of footsteps approached—slow, coherent, patient.
Kael's sternum hummed, deep and endless.
The night hadn't ended.
It had just changed rooms.