The academy didn't announce the change.
It never did when it mattered.
Kade noticed it in the way doors took longer to open. In how hallways felt narrower, even when they weren't. In the way faculty eyes lingered just a second too long before moving on.
Observation had shifted into scrutiny.
By midmorning, everyone felt it.
Classes went on, but lessons shortened. Instructors stuck to outlines, avoided questions. Students complied without complaining. Nobody wanted to be the one noticed for the wrong reason.
Kade kept his head down.
Not because he was afraid—but because attention pulled at something inside him, and he didn't want to test how tightly it was wound.
Mira walked beside him between periods, close enough that their sleeves brushed now and then. It wasn't accidental, but neither of them acknowledged it.
"They're compressing space," she said quietly, eyes forward.
He nodded. "To see what breaks first."
"Or who."
They stopped at a junction where three corridors met. A security drone hovered overhead, quiet, its lens tracking movement below.
Mira slowed. "Training today will be different."
Kade didn't ask how she knew.
The afternoon bell rang early.
Physical Systems again.
The gym doors sealed behind them with a sound too final for a routine class. The floor markings from before were gone, replaced by wide rings that overlapped each other like targets.
The instructor stood alone at the center.
"No partners," he said. "Individual response."
Students spread out, each assigned a ring.
Kade stepped into his.
The air inside the circle felt heavier, like pressure pushing inward. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. The pull stirred but stayed contained, like an animal lying still with one eye open.
"Begin."
The first wave came without warning.
Not physical—sensory.
Lights dimmed unevenly. Sound distorted. Kade's breath sounded too loud in his ears, while everything else faded.
He stayed still.
Then the floor beneath him shifted.
Not visibly—but his balance adjusted automatically, feet compensating before his mind caught up. His body knew where to stand.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision.
A shape.
Not fully formed. Not fully hidden.
Kade's jaw tightened.
Don't chase it, he told himself.
The shape moved closer.
The instructor's voice echoed, distant. "Maintain position."
Easy to say.
The shape lunged.
This time, Kade moved.
He pivoted sharply, weight transferring cleanly as his arm came up—not striking, but intercepting. The air resisted, dense as water. His fingers closed around nothing, yet felt resistance all the same.
The contact sent a jolt through him.
Heat flared beneath his skin.
He released immediately and stepped back into center stance.
The shape recoiled.
Around him, other students reacted—some freezing, others stumbling. One cried out when their ring collapsed inward, forcing them to their knees.
Kade didn't look away.
The second wave hit harder.
The shape split.
Two now.
They circled him, movements erratic, probing. His breathing stayed steady. He didn't fight them—he adjusted, shifting angles, turning with them instead of against them.
The pull surged, eager.
He acknowledged it without giving in.
When one shape darted close, he dropped low, swept his arm through the space it occupied. This time, his movement carried weight. The air cracked softly.
The shape dissipated.
The second hesitated.
Kade straightened, shoulders relaxed, hands open.
"I'm here," he said, voice calm.
The shape withdrew.
The ring around him stabilized.
A whistle cut through the room.
"Enough."
The lights returned to normal.
Kade stood still, chest rising evenly, skin warm but unbroken. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from restraint held too long.
He glanced across the gym.
Mira was still standing.
Their eyes met.
She nodded once.
That night, the academy imposed curfew.
Not officially. Doors simply locked earlier. Patrols doubled. Windows dimmed automatically after sundown.
Kade sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, replaying the moment when the shape had hesitated.
It had recognized something.
A knock sounded.
Soft.
He opened the door without asking.
Mira slipped inside, expression unreadable.
"They recorded everything," she said.
"I figured."
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely. "You didn't escalate."
"I didn't need to."
"That's what scares them."
Silence settled between them, comfortable but charged.
She stepped closer, stopping just within arm's reach. "When you spoke to it… what did you feel?"
He considered. "Not dominance. Not fear."
A pause.
"Understanding."
Her breath caught, barely noticeable.
"That means it's no longer instinct," she said. "It's relationship."
He frowned slightly. "With what?"
She met his gaze fully now. "With yourself."
Outside, something brushed against the boundary again—gentle this time, like fingers testing glass.
Kade didn't turn toward the window.
Instead, he reached out and took Mira's hand.
Not sudden. Not urgent.
Just certain.
Her fingers tightened around his, grounding him more effectively than any rule or wall ever could.
"They're watching," she said quietly.
"Let them," he replied.
For the first time since arriving at Aurelian Academy, the pressure didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like preparation.
And whatever waited beyond the boundary was no longer asking if he would answer—
Only when.