The rain came down in sheets, hammering the cracked sidewalks of Ashwick. Streetlights glowed in hazy halos, their light bending strangely, as if the storm itself wanted to blur the edges of reality.
Eren Vale pulled his hood tighter and kept walking. His shoes slapped against puddles, each splash louder than it should've been. He could feel the Garden even here, humming beneath the asphalt, whispering in the roots of the trees that lined the street.
Closer.
It was always closer now.
He reached the corner store where he and Talia usually met after school. Tonight it looked deserted—metal shutters down, neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. But she was there, waiting under the awning, arms crossed, hair plastered to her forehead.
"You're late," she said.
"Had to make sure I wasn't followed." He scanned the street. Shadows clung too easily tonight, and the storm gave plenty of cover.
Talia's eyes narrowed. "Followed by what? The government or the jungle in your head?"
"Both."
She groaned. "You're getting paranoid."
"Not paranoid," Eren said softly. "Prepared."
He slipped a hand into his backpack, fingers brushing over his grandmother's journal. Its pages weighed more than paper should, like each word was an anchor. He hadn't dared to tell Talia the newest entry—the one that had appeared last night in handwriting that wasn't hers.
The Garden writes when it wants to be heard.
He hadn't written it. He knew Talia hadn't. But the ink had been fresh, smudging when his fingers brushed it.
And the words had burned.
---
Across town, in an unmarked van parked near City Hall, a different conversation was happening.
"Asset Vale is moving," a voice crackled over comms. The operator's gloved hand tapped the screen where a grainy feed showed Eren leaving the corner store with Talia.
In the back of the van, a man in a black raincoat leaned forward. His name was Marshall Kade, CIA liaison to Operation Black Veil. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over the screens.
"Keep distance," Kade ordered. "We want him breathing."
The British operative beside him, Agent Rowan, muttered, "Looks like a bloody teenager to me."
"He's not just a teenager." Kade's voice was cold. "He's a breach point."
Rowan frowned. "A what?"
Kade didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the screen where Eren Vale's outline blurred for just a second—like the static was inside him, not the camera.
"Just follow orders," Kade said.
---
Back on the street, Talia shoved her hands into her pockets. "So what now? You dragged me out here in the rain. What's the plan?"
Eren's eyes tracked the storm drains where water rushed faster than it should have, carrying with it bits of glowing moss. He swallowed. "We need to go back."
"Back?"
"To the greenhouse."
She laughed harshly. "Are you serious? After what happened last time? The vines nearly killed us, Eren!"
"They were testing me," he said. His voice was calm, steadier than he felt. "It's different now. The Garden's not staying inside anymore. It's bleeding out. You've seen it too. The cracks. The lights. The way the air bends."
Talia's smirk faltered. For a second, her bravado slipped, and he saw the fear beneath.
"And if you're wrong?" she whispered.
Eren didn't answer.
He didn't have to. The streetlight above them flickered, went out, then flared with a silver glow that wasn't electricity. Both of them froze, staring as vines of light crawled up the inside of the glass tube, writhing like veins.
The bulb burst. Shards rained down, hissing in the wet.
Talia grabbed his sleeve. "Eren—"
He shook his head. "It's already happening."
---
Two blocks away, the surveillance van shook as the bulb blew. The static feed spiked, monitors flooding with bursts of white.
Rowan cursed. "What the hell was that?"
Kade leaned closer, watching the screen settle again. Eren stood beneath the ruined light, shards glinting at his feet. And though the boy's hood shadowed his face, for a split second the camera caught something else—petals, silver and trembling, blooming across his reflection in the puddle.
Kade whispered, "The resonance is accelerating."
"Meaning?" Rowan asked.
"Meaning if we don't contain this, every nation sniffing around will get their claws in." Kade's jaw tightened. "And if the Garden chooses to break through fully…"
He didn't finish.
Rowan shifted uncomfortably. "Orders?"
"Stay dark. Don't spook him yet. But double the cordon."
---
Eren and Talia ducked into an alley, breath coming fast. Rain hammered the dumpsters, pooling at their feet. Eren crouched, tracing the water. It glowed faintly, like veins under skin.
Talia hissed, "Tell me that's a trick of the light."
"It's not." He touched it, and the glow flared—silver racing down the stream like it recognized him. The hum filled his chest, louder, closer.
Lyra's voice brushed his ear. Eren.
He stiffened. "Did you hear that?"
Talia looked around wildly. "Hear what?"
"Her. Lyra. She's—" He broke off, choking on the air. It was heavy, electric. The alley walls rippled, bricks twisting like wet paper.
Talia grabbed his shoulders. "Eren, snap out of it!"
He blinked—and the world steadied. The glow dulled. The hum receded.
But the mark on his arm burned hotter than ever.
"We're running out of time," he said hoarsely.
---
Cut to: Geneva.
In a sterile conference room beneath the United Nations building, a secure meeting was underway. Flags lined the walls, but every delegate present knew they represented more than countries—they represented intelligence agencies, militaries, and shadow programs buried too deep for sunlight.
On the screen, grainy footage played of Ashwick's streetlamp bursting in silver bloom. The delegates watched in silence.
"This is not an isolated anomaly," a Russian general said finally. His voice was like gravel. "We've seen matching resonance spikes in St. Petersburg, in Tokyo, in Delhi."
A Chinese operative leaned forward. "And always connected to the boy?"
"Always," the general said.
The American representative cleared her throat. "Then the question is clear. Eren Vale is either the key to containment…" Her eyes darkened. "…or the weapon itself."
Silence pressed heavy. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking: If he was a weapon, who would get to control him?
---
Ashwick again.
The rain had eased into a fine mist. Eren and Talia reached his house, slipping through the back door. The kitchen light buzzed overhead.
Talia slumped into a chair. "Okay. I need answers. Full answers. None of your cryptic half-sentences."
Eren set the journal on the table. He opened to the latest page. The words were fresh, ink dark and wet.
The Garden does not wait. The Black Veil comes. Choose, or be chosen.
Talia stared. "You wrote that?"
He shook his head.
The window rattled. Both of them turned. Outside, the mist thickened into a wall, rolling across the yard. Shapes flickered inside it—vines, blossoms, hands.
Talia's voice was barely a whisper. "Eren…"
The lights went out.
The hum roared.
And from the dark, Lyra's voice, clear and close as breath:
It's here.
---
The last thing Eren saw before the blackout was the journal's ink bleeding across the page, spreading like roots—until it formed a single word.
RUN.