The lecture hall buzzed with the muted clatter of students settling into their seats. Yuri kept her head low, doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her notebook, ears tuned to the conversation behind her. Someone was complaining about the upcoming midterm. Typical.
Professor Clave's gravelly voice cut through the hum.
"Today, we'll be discussing the natural process of awakening—an evolutionary mutation found in approximately ten percent of the human population."
Yuri's pen stilled. Awakening. Of course.
"At around the age of fifteen," the professor continued, "the body of a select few undergoes a mutation. It's dormant at first—embedded in the very cells of those individuals—until a trigger: the telomeres of chromosomes reaching a certain length. Only then do these powers manifest for the first time."
The screen behind him displayed a diagram of DNA strands, chromosomes highlighted in vivid colors. Yuri didn't bother looking. She'd seen more detailed charts in training manuals, and she knew firsthand that the reality wasn't as sterile as the professor made it sound.
"Superpowers," he mused, almost wistfully. "Some people prefer to call them gifts. But they are rare. Even rarer to maintain until adulthood. The oldest recorded human to retain these abilities was sixty-seven. Most lose them long before that."
Gifts. Yuri's lips tightened. Back then, that's what they'd taught her—gifts, blessings, divine endowments. She knew better now. Power was a curse, and those who wielded it were nothing but puppets on strings.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a whisper at her side. "Hey, Yuri," Blair murmured, leaning closer. "Do you think powers are real?"
Yuri gave a slight shrug, careful to keep her expression neutral. "Maybe."
On her other side, Athena huffed. "Of course they are! They wouldn't teach it if it wasn't true. Right, Yuri?"
Yuri gave a noncommittal hum. She could feel Athena's eyes on her, but she kept her gaze forward. A small part of her acknowledged that these two girls—persistent, chatty, intrusive—had wriggled their way past her defenses. But she refused to think about that. Friendships were risky. Attachments even more so.
Professor Clave continued, oblivious to the murmurs spreading through the room. "Those who awaken are often trained to manage their abilities. They become agents, integrating into organizations to control their power and minimize risk to others."
Yuri resisted the urge to scoff. Minimize risk. Sure. More like weaponize.
Class wrapped up with the usual shuffle of notebooks and phones. As Athena and Blair tried—again—to convince Yuri to grab lunch with them, she simply shook her head, muttering an excuse about assignments. The pair pouted but let it go. Yuri could see they were starting to notice her pattern of refusal. She needed to adjust her approach—maybe humor them next time to maintain the illusion.
As always, she went straight back to her dorm, closing the door with a soft click. Safe. Alone. Just how it should be.
Hours passed, and midnight crept in. Yuri had almost drifted to sleep when the faintest rustle snapped her awake. Her instincts flared, every muscle coiled. She kept her breathing steady, pretending to sleep while focusing on the sound. Footsteps—soft, cautious. The doorknob turned.
In a single, fluid motion, Yuri retrieved a knife from beneath her pillow and hurled it at the intruder.
A sharp yelp cut through the darkness, and the light flicked on.
Blair stood frozen in the doorway, Athena clutching her shoulder. They both stared at the blade embedded in the doorframe, inches from Blair's head.
Yuri forced herself upright, cold expression fixed firmly in place. "Get out."
Athena blinked, then raised a shaky hand, revealing a small, lopsided cake.
"Happy birthday...?"
Yuri's fingers massaged the bridge of her nose. Her birthday. Of course. She'd forgotten. Again.
Blair, still pale, managed to stammer, "Yuri, what the—how did you—why do you have a knife?"
"Precaution. My mother taught me to keep one nearby. Don't sneak up on me. Ever." Her tone was flat, but internally, Yuri's thoughts churned. She hadn't even considered using her powers. Too risky. Too revealing. A knife was simple—plausible.
Athena, recovering first, grinned. "You're a psycho. But it's your birthday, so we'll forgive you."
Blair shot her a glare. "You nearly killed me!"
"If I wanted to, you wouldn't be standing," Yuri replied calmly, folding her arms. "Next time, knock."
Despite herself, Yuri accepted the cake, her cold facade barely masking the flicker of guilt. When the two finally left, she traced the edge of the icing with a finger, thinking of all the birthdays spent alone—training, fighting, surviving.
She glanced at her reflection in the darkened window, a thought gnawing at the back of her mind. Ever since her eighteenth birthday, instead of the usual stabilization that agents experience, her powers had been growing stronger—more insistent, more present. It didn't overwhelm her, not yet, but it left an uneasy tension just beneath her skin, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.
Yuri exhaled slowly, trying to push away the worry. The thought of losing control made her throat tighten.
No. She'd promised herself she wouldn't use them again. But in the back of her mind, one question lingered: If her powers weren't stabilizing, what did that mean for her?