The moment I stepped out of the depot, the sun punched me in the face. Not warmth — pressure. A thick, burning weight, like the city was warning me not to relax.
I walked fast, dodging people without touching anyone. My body reacted before my eyes did. A shift here, a turn there. Movements that felt rehearsed even though I'd never practiced them.
I muttered under my breath, "Can't keep going like this…"
But it didn't matter how many times I said it — everything had changed.And kept changing.
The fragment in my pocket pulsed again, hotter than in the morning. Not burning, but… aware. Every step made it vibrate harder, like it synced to my heartbeat and didn't like what it heard.
Then I felt it.
Someone watching me.
I turned slowly, pretending to check the traffic, scanning the other side of the street.
Two suits.The same ones.Same posture.Same cold walk.
They weren't looking at me — not directly — but their rhythm gave them away. The kind of walk men use when they're pretending they don't have a target.
My stomach twisted.Couldn't go home.Not with hunters behind me.
I picked up the pace.
A motorcycle shot past too close, the mirror aiming straight for my arm, but I slid out of its path like it was choreographed. The rider didn't even notice.
But I did.
"What the hell is happening to me…?"
I kept walking, forcing my pace to look normal.
Didn't work.
The world felt wrong — every sound too clear, every movement too predictable. I saw patterns in people's steps. Heard scraps of conversations across the street. Even the air felt different, heavier, like the city was tightening its grip on my chest.
I needed a reason to change my route before going home.
That's when I spotted Naron's workshop. The smell of burnt oil hit before I even stepped near the door.
"Giva!" he called from the entrance, wiping his hands on a rag. "Achei que tinha sumido."
"Trabalhando demais," respondi. "O mês tá puxado."
"Tá puxado pra todo mundo," ele bufou. "Quer um trampo rápido? Pago já."
I hesitated.Quick cash.Simple job.And the perfect excuse to shake off anyone behind me.
"Claro. O que precisa?"
He handed me a small, lightweight box."Só entrega na oficina do bairro ao lado. Me manda mensagem quando chegar. Pago quarenta."
"Beleza." I started walking. "Volto já."
But the moment I turned the corner, something crawled up my spine — that same pressure I've been feeling all day. Not anxiety. Not paranoia.
A warning.
I walked past a closed shop and checked the window's reflection.
Two suits.Entering the same street.Not fast.Not slow.
Just… tracking me.
My fingers pressed the fragment in my pocket, and it pulsed like it was answering.
I cut left.
Then right.
My breathing adjusted automatically — slower, quieter, in sync with my steps. Everything I did felt too precise, too controlled. Even the way my foot landed on the pavement sounded calculated.
But the men kept following.
Fear hit my chest like a fist — but right behind it came something else.
A spark.A hum.Energy crawling under my skin.
The world around me slowed, not completely but enough to make the air feel heavy. My vision widened, catching details that weren't supposed to matter:
A car door about to open.A man blinking before he sneezed.A cyclist leaning too much to one side.Two suits increasing their pace exactly 0.3 seconds before they actually moved.
I gripped the box tighter.
My body aligned itself like it was ready for something — something I wasn't prepared to let happen in the middle of the street.
"No. Not here. Not with them behind me."
I spotted a tight alley — barely wide enough for motorcycles. A broken camera hung above the entrance, dead for years. They wouldn't know that.
I slipped in.
They hesitated.
Good.
I ran.
My legs moved like they remembered speed in a way my lungs didn't.It felt too natural.Too easy.Too fast.
I burst out the other end into a wider avenue.
No suits.No footsteps behind me.
I pressed a hand on a light pole, breathing hard.My heart wasn't just fast — it was waking something up.
"I need to get home…"
By the time I reached my street, the sky was orange.Soft, almost peaceful — which felt like a joke after the day I had.
Tônia stood outside talking to our neighbor, Elna. Their faces were tight with worry. When they saw me, they relaxed just a little.
"You took forever," Tônia said, arms crossed. "I was about to call the depot."
"The depot held me," respondi.Not a lie.Just not the whole truth.
Alya sprinted toward me with a messy ponytail and a huge smile."Daddy! Daddy! I made a drawing!"
I crouched and hugged her, lifting her with one arm."Show me later, minha artista," I said, kissing her cheek.
Arty waddled behind her, still learning how to balance. His tiny steps slowed my whole world in a way no power ever could.
Tônia touched my arm gently."Are you okay? You look… tense."
I hesitated two seconds too long.
She frowned."Giva?"
"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Só cansado."
She didn't buy it.I felt the doubt in her fingers.
We walked inside, and I closed the door slowly — too slowly. My hand stayed on the wood longer than needed.
The fragment in my pocket burned with a low, steady heat.
And then the truth hit me — clean, heavy, unavoidable:
If those men were after the sphere…they'd be after me next.
I looked around our tiny home — the old technomagic lamp flickering above the table, Alya's crayons scattered across the floor, Arty banging a plastic cup against his leg, Tônia picking up toys with tired eyes.
I couldn't let danger reach them.
Not while Alya laughed like that.Not while Arty barely knew how to walk.Not while Tônia held this house together with nothing but determination.
Something was changing inside me — fast, unpredictable.
But if the world decided it wanted a piece of me…
I'd fight.Even if I had to fight alone.