Chapter 141
Followed
IAM left the building, the door sliding behind him with a muted click that seemed to cut him off from the warm air of the building and into the colder, sharper edges of the world outside. The late afternoon light was thin, spilling down the cobblestone street in slanted stripes that alternated between shadow and gold. He took the first steps toward the academy, his pace measured, but his thoughts… less so.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, his gaze unfocused. His body carried him forward out of habit, but his mind sank inward, pulling him down into the undertow of memory. He was usually—almost habitually—willing to expand on his thoughts, to unravel them carefully and methodically when given the chance to Thomas. But during the session just moments ago, when Thomas had brought up his friends, something in him had stiffened.
It wasn't an active resistance—not exactly—but more like an instinctual recoil. A natural aversion that settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone. Talking about these people—people who had left their fingerprints on his life, no matter how brief the contact—made him feel a sense of grief. A deep, sinking heaviness that pressed against his chest until each breath felt painful. And along with it, an unmistakable sense of loss.
Of course, he could make it stop. If he truly wanted to, he had the means. A single exertion of his "power" could erase it—or at least suppress it. Lock it in a sealed box far from reach, where it would no longer weigh him down. He could do it in less than a heartbeat.
But he didn't.
Because as tempting as it was, something about that choice felt... inhuman.
To discard these feelings as if they were nothing… he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would be an insult, a quiet act of betrayal to all the connections he had made. These were his first bonds in this world—bonds he hadn't expected, bonds that had shaped him in ways he didn't fully understand. And no matter how small their impacts may have been in the grand scale of his existence, they were precious.
So instead, he did the only thing he could manage: avoid them. He avoided speaking of them, avoided letting his mind linger too long on their faces, avoided tracing the paths they had walked together. It was easier to step around the temptation entirely than to risk losing something that, despite the pain, was worth keeping.
But today's session had told him something.
For the first time, he began to consider that perhaps the time was coming when he would have to speak about them. To let the words spill out, no matter how jagged they felt in his mouth. To remember them openly, for everything they had done, and for the pieces of himself they had left behind.
His gaze dropped to the ground as he crossed a traffic spot, weaving through the small cluster of pedestrians. The sector hummed around him—distant chatter, the rhythm of a city, the occasional call of a street vendor. He stepped off the curb, and as he reached the opposite side, something made him glance over his shoulder.
It was quick—instinctive, nothing more than a flick of the eyes. But in that instant, he caught it: the flash of movement, the shape of someone slipping behind the corner of a building.
IAM's pace didn't change. His posture didn't stiffen. His expression remained the same, as though nothing had happened. But in his mind, the thought bloomed like a spark hitting dry tinder:
I'm being followed.
There was no uncertainty in the conclusion. Even if the truth was murkier, even if he was wrong, it was safer—wiser—to assume he wasn't.
Still, the why eluded him.
His first thought drifted towards the victims family—The ones who had been told of their loved ones' deaths after the incident in the Hold? People driven by grief, maybe even rage, their sorrow twisting into blame towards him. Or perhaps, more dangerously, that his name had been leaked and the Circle of the Accursed was hunting him down.
But almost as quickly, he dismissed it.
Unless they were unusually vindictive—and he doubted they were—it wouldn't make sense. The Circle had already taken from him what they could. His value to them was close to nothing. Killing him now would be nothing but a waste of resources.
And if there was one thing he understood about an organization that had lasted for thousands of years, it was that they wouldn't squander resources over wounded pride.
Especially not on something as comparatively insignificant as this.
While he had revealed fragments of knowledge—mentioning the divine orb and exposing the people that he could remember had betrayed them—he didn't know their true purpose. He didn't know why they required so much life force, what end it served.
So that left the question hanging in the air like a guillotine:
Who, then?
…
"Shit, did he see us?"
"I don't think so."
"Quickly—what are you two idiots doing? Follow him!"
…
The sound of their footsteps trailed him faintly as they drew closer, maybe too close as it was easy enough to catch if he paid attention. IAM turned a corner at an unhurried pace, as though entirely unaware, and slipped into the shadowed veins of a side street. He let them follow.
The path narrowed gradually, flanked by tall brick walls that cut away the light and muffled the street noise. At one point, the street forked, and IAM took the sharper bend, quick enough that their view of him broke.
The footsteps quickened.
He let the next turn lead him into an alley, his own pace slowing just enough to time it.
They came in seconds later.
"Where is he? I could have sworn he came down this way."
They stopped in the middle of the alley, their voices low, darting glances around the dead end ahead.
IAM stepped into the entrance behind them, his shadow stretching forward like a blade across the ground. His eyes were locked on the figures.
Almost as though they could sense him without seeing, the three turned in unison.
And IAM paused.
He knew these faces.