The crowd slowly forgot.
People always did.
Within minutes, the street returned to its usual noise. Vendors shouted again. A transport horn blared somewhere. Life pushed forward, stepping over fear like it always had.
But Elyon did not forget.
He could still feel the thin lines of attention pulling away from him, like threads snapping one by one. Not gone—just loosened.
Rin walked beside him, silent.
They took a longer route through narrow streets and broken walkways. Elyon did not rush. He forced himself to keep a normal pace, even though every part of him wanted to move faster.
"Say it," Elyon said after a while.
Rin glanced at him. "Say what?"
"That this was stupid," Elyon replied. "That I just painted a target on my back."
Rin let out a short breath. "It was stupid."
Elyon nodded. "And?"
"And it worked," Rin added.
That made Elyon smile—just a little.
They stopped near an old water station, long out of use. Rust covered its sides. Someone had painted over the warning signs years ago with meaningless symbols.
Rin leaned against the wall. "You felt it, didn't you?"
Elyon nodded. "They didn't expect me to slow things down instead of speeding them up."
"That's because most people with access panic," Rin said. "Or they try to win."
"I'm not trying to win," Elyon replied. "I'm trying to stay human."
Rin studied him carefully. "That's harder."
The band on Elyon's wrist warmed slightly, then cooled. No words followed.
It was listening.
They moved again, this time toward a quieter part of the district. Fewer cameras. Fewer patrol routes. The kind of place where people disappeared without records.
Elyon hated that he could feel those boundaries now.
"This city is full of traps," he said quietly.
Rin nodded. "And you just walked across one without triggering it."
"That won't last."
"No," Rin agreed. "They'll change the trap."
They reached an abandoned apartment block, windows shattered, entrance half-collapsed. Rin checked the area, then waved Elyon inside.
The stairwell smelled of mold and dust. Old footsteps echoed as they climbed.
On the third floor, Rin stopped and pushed open a door.
Inside was a bare room. No furniture. Just a broken window and a view of the slums stretching outward.
"This is temporary," Rin said. "But it'll do."
Elyon stepped inside and leaned against the wall. The exhaustion finally hit him. Not physical—mental. Like he had been holding his breath for days.
"They're not coming right away," Elyon said.
Rin frowned. "How do you know?"
"Because if they were," Elyon replied, "they wouldn't let things calm down first."
That worried Rin.
"Quiet," Elyon continued, "is more useful to them than force."
The band pulsed faintly.
—PATTERN OBSERVATION: ACTIVE—
Rin noticed. "It's back to talking."
"Barely," Elyon said. "And that's the problem."
He stared out the broken window. Far below, people moved like dots, each carrying their own fear, their own small choices.
"They're going to wait," Elyon said. "And then they'll use someone else."
Rin's jaw tightened. "You think they'll bait you."
"Yes," Elyon said. "Not with threats. With consequences."
It happened sooner than Elyon expected.
A sharp sound cut through the air outside. Not an explosion—something smaller. A scream followed. Then another.
Elyon straightened immediately.
Rin was already moving toward the window. "What is it?"
Elyon felt it.
A disturbance. A wrongness. A knot forming nearby.
"Three blocks east," Elyon said. "Infrastructure failure. Not accidental."
Rin looked at him. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
The band warmed.
Not urging.
Not commanding.
Waiting.
Elyon clenched his fists. "They're testing me."
"By hurting people," Rin said.
"Yes."
Rin looked toward the door. "If we go, they'll know."
Elyon swallowed. "If we don't, people get hurt."
Silence filled the room.
This was different from before. No direct threat. No demand.
Just choice and consequence.
"This is what they do," Rin said quietly. "They make you pay either way."
Elyon closed his eyes.
He saw the platform again. The silence. The truth it had shown him.
Power creates resistance. Cost creates hesitation.
He opened his eyes.
"Then I won't give them either," Elyon said.
Rin blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means I don't go as myself," Elyon replied.
Before Rin could ask more, Elyon grabbed a piece of cloth from the floor and wrapped it around his wrist, hiding the band. He pulled up his hood.
"I don't step in as the problem," Elyon said. "I step in as just another person."
Rin frowned. "And the risk?"
Elyon looked at the door. "Mine."
They moved quickly, keeping to back paths. The noise grew louder as they approached—shouting, panic, the sound of metal failing.
A transport bridge had partially collapsed. Not fully—but enough to trap people on both sides. Power lines sparked dangerously overhead.
Elyon felt the system watching now.
Not close.
But interested.
Rin grabbed his arm. "This is exactly what they want."
"I know," Elyon said. "Watch me choose anyway."
He stepped forward into the crowd.
"Everyone back!" Elyon shouted. "Clear the area!"
People hesitated.
Elyon did not reach.
He did not bend reality.
He grabbed a fallen warning barrier and dragged it into place. He shouted instructions. He moved people with his voice, not his power.
The band stayed quiet.
The bridge gave one final shudder—and held.
Emergency crews arrived minutes later.
The danger passed.
Elyon stepped back into the shadows, heart racing.
Rin joined him, eyes wide. "You walked the line."
Elyon nodded, breathing hard. "And I didn't cross it."
Above them, systems recalculated.
Because Elyon had done something unexpected again.
He had acted without becoming visible.
He had helped without triggering escalation.
And that confused the watchers more than open defiance ever could.
As the noise faded and the city returned to its usual rhythm, Elyon leaned against a wall, exhausted but steady.
The band pulsed once beneath the cloth.
Not approval.
Not warning.
Recognition.
Because quiet, when chosen carefully,
was becoming just as dangerous as power.