Later that evening, long after Kael had been picked up and the yard lights dimmed into their soft, orange glow, the dome lights in the Virek home buzzed faintly overhead, flickering in that way they always did during heat shifts, like the power lines were thinking about taking the night off.
The dome lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering in that way they always did during heat shifts, like the power lines were thinking about taking the night off.
Mirena sat at the edge of her sleeping bench, still in her work clothes, a bowl of lukewarm broth in her hands. She wasn't hungry. But it gave her something to do while the world outside cooled.
Kael had gone down early. He hadn't spoken much that evening, just pointed once to the small vent above his sleeping mat and said, "Whistling." When Mirena checked, the cap had loosened again. She tightened it without comment.
Now the house was quiet.
The knock on the hatch was soft, three taps, spaced deliberately.
Mirena opened it to find Vessa on the other side, wind-chapped and still wearing her patch coat. She looked more worn than usual.
"Couldn't sleep," Vessa said.
Mirena stepped aside.
"I've got leftover broth," she offered.
"I'd rather drink sand," Vessa replied, but followed her in anyway.
They settled near the small table. For a while, neither of them said anything.
Then Vessa took a breath. "He calibrated a dual-phase stabilizer today."
Mirena looked up.
"Not just watched me do it," Vessa continued. "He adjusted the voltage offset by three degrees and knew how to test the resonance manually."
Mirena's fingers tensed around her bowl.
Vessa leaned forward, voice low.
"He's not just learning, Mira. He's not mimicking. He's solving problems before I even know they're there."
Mirena closed her eyes for a moment.
"I know," she said quietly.
"You've known for a while, haven't you?"
Mirena nodded.
"Arik?"
"He knows. He pretends not to. Like if he doesn't say it out loud, it won't be real."
Vessa rubbed her palms together, her eyes never leaving the floor. "There's knowing he's smart. Gifted. And then there's what I saw today. I've taught apprentices from four different guilds, Mira. Kael doesn't think like them. He doesn't think like us."
"He's still a child."
"Yes. And that's what makes it terrifying."
Mirena stood and crossed the room to look into the sleeping chamber.
Kael lay curled under his blanket, small shoulders rising and falling with each slow breath. His fingers twitched slightly, still thinking in sleep.
"I don't know what he is," Mirena whispered. "But he's mine. And I won't let this world chew him up because it doesn't know where to put him."
Vessa stood beside her.
I won't let it either, she said. "But Mira, you need to start thinking about how far this goes. How much longer before someone with the wrong kind of eyes sees him? Before someone says the wrong name in the bad ear?
I've thought about it.
And?
I'm preparing.
Vessa looked at her closely. If the time comes, and you need to disappear
I'll need your help.
You'll have it."
They stood there a moment longer, two women bound by something more profound than blood. The kind of bond forged only in silence, in shared truth, in the sacred trust of protecting something precious.
Behind them, the lights flickered again.
And from his bed, Kael stirred eyes blinking open just briefly, as if he had heard everything.
Then he closed them again.
And slept.
The next morning came quietly and dry, a rare pause in the winds that usually howled through the canyon. The kind of morning that made Grey Hollow feel half-asleep, as if even the dust had decided to rest.
Arik liked these mornings.
He stood by the loading bay of the eastern dome, checking over a rusted torque arm they were prepping for the crawler rig. Jace was already out running pipe scans with a drone team, and Lenn had left early for a salvage pull. It was just him, the silence, and the bite of metal under his gloves.
He was halfway through reattaching the stabilization mount when he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
Kael.
The boy walked calmly across the path from the southern wall, still in his oversized jacket, hands tucked in, boots kicking up little clouds of grit. He wasn't being led. He wasn't stumbling. He moved with purpose.
Mirena must have let him go early to meet Vessa.
But instead of heading to the south yard, Kael stopped in front of the old pressure valve near the depot's backup tank. A corroded thing. No longer active. Arik had marked it months ago for eventual dismantling, as it was nonessential, leaking slightly, and technically off-grid.
Kael stood still for a long moment, just looking at it.
Then, without a word, he dropped to one knee, pulled the side pouch off his belt, and unrolled a small tool wrap Mirena had sewn him from canvas scraps.
Arik narrowed his eyes.
"What're you doing, boy?" he muttered under his breath.
Kael's hands moved with confidence, disarming the housing panel, isolating the upper bracket, and exposing the faulty seals beneath. Arik recognized the pattern: sequential de-pressurization with flow-back control. It was a procedure he'd only taught senior techs.
Kael paused, reached into the wrap, and pulled out a ring-seal compound tube.
Arik's heart stopped for a beat.
That tube wasn't from their home kit. It was his.
Kael had taken it.
And used it.
Correctly.
The boy resealed the housing, replaced the bracket, cleaned the edge with a rag from his coat pocket, then stood.
Only then did he see Arik standing nearby.
He didn't look surprised.
He never did.
Just nodded once, silent.
"Who taught you that?" Arik asked.
Kael stared back.
"It was leaking," he said. "Loud."
Arik stepped forward, knelt, and ran a hand along the panel. Clean. Smooth. Functional. Not just repaired but optimized.
He looked back at Kael.
And for the first time in a long while, Arik felt something gnaw at the edges of his logic.
It wasn't fair.
It was a realization.
Kael wasn't becoming extraordinary.
He already was.
The weight of that truth stayed with Arik as he watched the boy disappear around the edge of the loading bay, small boots kicking up pale dust, hands tucked calmly into his too-big coat.
Later that same day, while Arik returned to his tools in silence, Kael rode quietly to the south yard on the back of Jace's pony-cycle. The older boy said nothing. He never needed to. Kael always dismounted with quiet precision, gloves already in his hands before the engine powered down.
The sun burned low in the sky, its rust-colored glare casting long, sharp shadows through the canyon's scaffolds and abandoned towers. The south maintenance yard shimmered faintly with heat.
The sun burned low in the sky, its rust-colored glare casting long, sharp shadows through the canyon's scaffolds and abandoned towers. The south maintenance yard shimmered faintly with heat.
Vessa sat with her back against the loader hull, a half-assembled filtration pump cradled between her boots. Her tools were scattered across the tarp. Beside her, Kael was on his stomach, arms folded under his chin, studying the open module like it was a map to something sacred.
They'd been working like this for over an hour, barely speaking as always.
Kael had cleaned every joint, stripped the faulty cables, and re-threaded the circuits without needing instructions. His hands didn't fumble. His gaze didn't drift.
Vessa couldn't take it anymore.
"Kael," she said softly.
He didn't look up.
"You always knew how to do this?"
"Not always," he replied.
She paused. "Then… how?"
He was quiet for a long time. The wind scraped against the yard walls, tossing grit over the edges of the old rig frames.
Finally, Kael spoke.
"When I see something broken, I can see where it doesn't belong."
Vessa blinked. "That's not an answer."
Kael sat up, wiping his hands on a cloth. He picked up a damaged capacitor and turned it over in his palm.
"It's like… feeling where a sound is wrong. Like when a word is said backwards, or when a screw isn't tight."
"And you just… know what to do?"
He nodded slowly. "Sometimes I don't even think. I… fix."
Vessa exhaled and leaned back. "That's not normal, you know."
Kael glanced at her. "I'm not normal."
The words weren't proud or defensive.
Just true.