They didn't say anything at first.
That was what bothered Aiden the most.
The path narrowed as they moved deeper inland, stone rising on either side like the world was closing in around them. Footsteps echoed softly, uneven and careful. No one rushed now. No one joked.
No one spoke to him either.
Aiden noticed the distance before he noticed the looks.
Where the group had once clustered together out of fear, space had opened around him. Not much—just enough. A step behind. A wider arc when passing. Eyes sliding away when he glanced back.
He slowed slightly.
The others slowed too.
He sped up again.
So did they.
Aiden's jaw tightened.
They weren't following him.
They were keeping him in front.
A man with a bandaged arm leaned toward another, whispering too quietly to hear. When Aiden turned, both men went silent, suddenly fascinated by the rock wall.
A woman clutching a torn sleeve pulled her child closer as Aiden passed. Not protectively. Reflexively.
That hurt more than he expected.
He replayed the moment in the ravine in his head—the jump, the collision, the creature hesitating like it had forgotten what it was doing.
He hadn't meant to do anything special.
He'd just… moved.
"Hey."
Aiden stopped.
The voice came from behind him. An older man, gray-haired, the same one who'd warmed his hands at the fire earlier. He didn't step closer.
"Thanks," the man said.
Aiden nodded. "You're welcome."
The man hesitated. "That thing back there… you didn't look scared."
Aiden searched for the right answer. "I was."
The man studied him for a moment, then smiled weakly. "Could've fooled me."
He walked away before Aiden could respond.
The space widened again.
They reached a bend where the land leveled out briefly, the ravine opening into a stretch of broken stone dotted with low brush. The group paused instinctively, like animals testing a clearing.
Aiden took a breath.
"I didn't know what I was doing," he said aloud.
Several heads turned.
"I'm not—" He stopped, trying again. "I'm not different. I just… reacted."
No one contradicted him.
That silence was worse than doubt.
A young woman finally spoke. "It stopped," she said softly. "When you looked at it."
"I didn't—"
"It hesitated," another person added. "Like it didn't want to come closer."
"That doesn't mean anything," someone snapped. "Things hesitate all the time."
"Do they?" the woman shot back.
The argument fizzled before it could ignite. No one wanted to push too hard. Not yet.
Aiden felt the weight again—not the pressure from before, but something else.
Expectation.
He realized then that it didn't matter what he said.
They'd already decided something about him.
A man near the back muttered, "If there are more of those things…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
The implication hung heavy in the air.
If there are more, they'll look to you.
Aiden turned away, staring down the path ahead. Stone sloped upward, disappearing into mist. Whatever waited there wouldn't care what anyone expected of him.
But people would.
That scared him more than the creature.
They started moving again.
This time, no one walked beside him.
And no one walked ahead.
Aiden swallowed, shoulders tight, and kept going.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps followed—careful, measured, watching.
Not because they trusted him.
Because they were afraid of what he might become.
End of Chapter 6