Morning did not bring relief.
It brought clarity.
Elyon stood on the rooftop as the light spread across the city, turning metal gray and concrete pale. Below him, streets filled again. People moved with purpose, but something had changed. Not in the machines. Not in the schedules.
In the looks.
Too many glances lingered. Too many heads turned when he passed nearby. Not fear. Not respect.
Recognition.
"They're close," Rin said behind him.
Elyon nodded. "They already were. Now they're trying to define it."
They moved down from the rooftop before the street fully woke. The longer Elyon stayed visible in one place, the easier it became to connect dots.
Still, he felt it.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That's him."
"The one from the station."
"He knows before things break."
None of the voices were loud. None were sure.
That uncertainty was dangerous.
A public screen flickered on as they crossed a transit lane. News feed. Local updates. Weather warnings.
Then a short segment appeared.
UNCONFIRMED REPORTS OF CIVIL INTERFERENCE IN LOWER DISTRICTS
AUTHORITIES URGE CAUTION AGAINST RUMORS
No name.
No accusation.
Just suggestion.
Rin stopped walking. "They're warming the ground."
Elyon watched the screen. "They're teaching people how to talk about me."
They turned into a narrow market street. Vendors were setting up stalls. Someone spilled a crate of fruit, and people rushed to help without being asked.
Elyon felt a small, quiet relief.
Then it vanished.
A man stepped into their path.
He looked ordinary. Clean clothes. Nervous smile.
"You're Elyon, right?"
Elyon stopped.
Rin shifted closer.
"Who's asking?" Elyon replied.
The man raised his hands slightly. "No trouble. I just… people say you can help."
Elyon's chest tightened.
"Help with what?" he asked.
The man hesitated. "My sister. Her building keeps losing power. The kids are scared. Officials say it's fine, but—"
Elyon shook his head gently. "I can't fix that."
The man's smile faltered. "But you helped at the station."
"I warned people," Elyon replied. "That's all."
The man looked disappointed. Hurt. "So… you won't even look?"
Elyon felt the pull again.
Not the band.
Guilt.
"I won't," Elyon said quietly. "But you should gather others in your building and demand inspection together."
The man stared at him. "That takes time."
"Yes," Elyon agreed. "And it lasts longer."
The man stepped back, confused. "You're not what they said you were."
Elyon nodded. "That's the point."
The man walked away, shaking his head.
Rin exhaled slowly. "That hurt."
"Yes," Elyon said. "Which means it worked."
They reached a quiet overlook where the district dropped away into older levels. Rin leaned against the railing.
"They'll keep sending people like that," Rin said. "Each one makes you look colder."
"I know," Elyon replied.
"And if you ever say yes—just once—you become responsible for everyone you say no to after."
Elyon closed his eyes. "I know that too."
By midday, the city made its next move.
Not through screens.
Through stories.
Elyon heard it in passing conversations.
"They say he can predict failures."
"They say accidents follow him."
"They say things calm down when he's nearby."
Contradictions.
Loose truths.
Easy to shape.
Rin listened from a distance. "They're not giving you a title."
"Not yet," Elyon said. "They're waiting for one to stick."
They hid in an abandoned office floor to think. Broken desks. Dusty screens. A place forgotten by everyone.
Rin paced. "Once they name you, it's over."
Elyon sat on the floor, back against the wall. "Names simplify."
"And systems love simple things," Rin said.
Elyon looked down at his wrist and finally pulled the sleeve back.
The cracked band glowed unevenly, like it was struggling to decide what it was connected to.
"They used to track me," Elyon said. "Then they tried to use me. Now they're letting people do it for them."
Rin stopped pacing. "So what do you do?"
Elyon thought of the silence. The platform. The place that did not answer.
"I break the name before it forms," he said.
Rin frowned. "How?"
Elyon stood. "By becoming inconsistent."
They went back out.
But this time, Elyon did something different.
When someone asked for help, he answered differently every time.
Sometimes he redirected them to officials.
Sometimes to groups.
Sometimes to documentation.
Sometimes he admitted he didn't know.
No pattern.
No reliable response.
Confusion spread.
People argued among themselves about what Elyon actually did. About whether he was useful. About whether he was even real.
That uncertainty slowed the story.
Late afternoon, a new message appeared on screens.
NO VERIFIED INDIVIDUAL LINKED TO RECENT EVENTS
REPORTS REMAIN INCONCLUSIVE
Rin smiled faintly. "They're backtracking."
"They don't like gaps," Elyon said.
"But gaps are where choice lives," Rin replied.
As dusk fell, Elyon felt something shift again.
Not pressure.
Focus.
Somewhere, the system had stopped trying to name him.
And started trying to categorize him.
That was worse.
The band pulsed once.
Not sharp.
Not loud.
—CLASSIFICATION ATTEMPT: FAILED—
Elyon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Rin stared at his wrist. "Did it just… give up?"
"No," Elyon said. "It postponed."
They stood together as the city lights came on one by one.
"They'll try again," Rin said.
"Yes," Elyon replied. "But each time they fail, it costs them."
Rin looked at him. "And costs you."
Elyon nodded. "Everything does."
Far above, models adjusted.
Not alarms.
Not commands.
Uncertainty.
Because the system had learned something unsettling.
Elyon was no longer resisting control.
He was resisting definition.
And a thing that cannot be named
cannot be easily owned, blamed, or replaced.
The city tried to give him a name.
And for now—
It failed.