Chapter 16: Memories
The surface was louder than the tunnels.
Victoria realized it the moment they emerged.
Not louder in sound—but in presence.
The city pressed in from every direction. Sirens echoed faintly in the distance, not close enough to matter, not far enough to ignore. Neon signs buzzed overhead. Footsteps crossed intersections. A normal night pretending nothing was wrong.
Dave paused at the mouth of the exit, one hand raised.
"Wait."
Victoria froze instantly.
Dave's resonance spread—not aggressively, but wide. Perception unfurled like a second set of eyes, mapping movement, intent, residue. He frowned.
"Three patrols," he murmured. "Not government. Freelance trackers."
Victoria's throat tightened. "He sent them?"
"Maybe," Dave said. "Or maybe someone else wants you."
That didn't help.
They moved anyway—slipping into the city's bloodstream, blending with shadows, timing their steps between clusters of people. Dave guided her with subtle gestures: stop, left, now.
Victoria's heart hammered.
Every reflection looked like him.
Every sudden sound made her flinch.
"Breathe," Dave whispered when she stumbled. "You're not with him anymore."
She almost laughed.
They ducked into a narrow alley just as voices passed nearby. Dave pressed her gently against the wall, shielding her with his body. His resonance flared briefly—misdirection, a soft bending of perception.
The footsteps faded.
Victoria sagged slightly.
"…Why are you helping me?" she asked quietly.
Dave didn't answer immediately.
"Because monsters don't need help," he said eventually. "People trapped by them do."
She swallowed.
"X says the world only understands fear."
Dave met her eyes.
"He's wrong," he said. "The world understands loss better."
Something in her chest shifted—painful, fragile, real.
The memory came.
They were younger.
The yard was uneven dirt and half-grown grass, the air warm and alive with laughter.
Leviathan chased James in wide circles while Mary shrieked in mock outrage. Paul tripped deliberately just to tackle X, who went down laughing, dust coating his clothes.
Aria clapped from the sidelines.
X was smiling.
Not the sharp kind. Not the distant one.
Real.
Leviathan remembered thinking then—he's annoying, but not dangerous. Just… there. Always there. Louder than the rest.
Later that day—
Leviathan sat in his father's study, feet barely touching the floor.
His father's voice was calm. Too calm.
"Your brother is different," the man said. "And different things become problems."
Leviathan frowned. "Alex?"
"Yes."
The word monster came later.
Quietly.
Casually.
"He'll be taken away soon," his father continued. "It's for everyone's good."
Leviathan didn't argue.
Didn't cry.
Didn't ask why.
When the black car came, Leviathan watched from the window.
X struggled.
Not violently. Confused. Angry. Looking back at the house like it might answer him.
The door shut.
The engine started.
Leviathan felt nothing.
No guilt.
No loss.
Just relief.
The present snapped back violently.
The Record Vault shook as resonance spiked.
X stood inches from Leviathan now.
The mask tilted slightly downward, shadow swallowing the lenses.
Leviathan didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't apologize.
X's hands curled slowly into fists.
Blood stirred beneath his skin, coiling, responding.
For a fraction of a second—just one—Leviathan wondered if that was the moment everything could've gone differently.
Then X stepped forward.
His fist drew back.
And the world held its breath.