Riley Hayes learned something important in the last two days.
Silence was louder than screaming.
The room they kept him in after Quinn left wasn't white like the first one.
It was gray.
Soft gray.
The kind of color meant to calm you down while it quietly watched you unravel. Not comforting—neutral. As if the walls didn't care whether you lived or died, only that you did so neatly.
He lay on the narrow cot, hands folded on his chest, staring at the ceiling.
No system messages.
No floating windows.
No reassuring glitches or warnings.
Nothing.
Just the hum.
Low. Constant. Patient.
It reminded him of standing near a power plant as a kid—how you couldn't hear anything specific, but you could feel it in your bones. Like the building was breathing.
They hadn't interrogated him again.
No questions.
No threats.
No explanations.
Which somehow made it worse.
If they were scared of him, they would've poked. Tested. Provoked.
But they weren't.
They were interested in Quinn.
And that thought sat in Riley's chest like a stone.
The door opened without a sound.
Riley didn't flinch.
That realization unsettled him more than the door itself.
"Riley Hayes," a woman said.
She wasn't Agent Vale.
Younger. Sharper. Movements clipped and efficient, like she didn't waste energy on unnecessary motions. A dark uniform hugged her frame, the Nexus insignia etched faintly at the collar—subtle, but unmistakable.
"Follow me."
Riley swung his legs off the cot. "So… am I getting executed, or am I getting the Quinn treatment?"
A pause.
"Tested," she said flatly. "Execution comes later."
A chill slid down his spine.
"…Hey," he said, trying—and failing—to keep his voice light. "What do you mean later?"
She didn't answer.
The hallway swallowed them whole.
Same seamless walls. Same absence of cameras. Same unsettling feeling that the building knew exactly where he was at all times—knew his heartbeat, his breath, the slight hitch in his step.
They stopped at a room much smaller than Quinn's evaluation chamber.
No floating platform.
No endless void.
Just a single chair bolted to the floor.
And a mirror.
Too clean. Too still.
"Sit."
He did.
The door sealed with a soft click that sounded permanent.
A voice filled the room. Neutral. Genderless. Empty of judgment—and that somehow made it worse.
"Riley Hayes. Age seventeen. Orphan. No prior awakening markers. No measurable mana sensitivity."
Riley clenched his jaw.
"So why am I here?" he asked.
The mirror shimmered.
A pulse rippled through the room.
And then—
Pain.
Not sharp.
Heavy.
Like gravity had suddenly doubled.
Riley gasped as pressure slammed down on his shoulders, his lungs, his spine. The chair groaned beneath him, metal straining as if considering whether it should snap.
His breath came out in ragged bursts. Every inhale felt stolen.
"Stress response test," the voice said calmly.
"Do not resist."
"Easy for you to say," Riley wheezed.
The pressure increased.
His vision blurred. His arms trembled violently. It felt like his body was being pressed flat, molecule by molecule, against the chair.
Panic flared.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Cold and sharp.
I'm going to die sitting down, he thought bitterly.
No powers surged to save him.
No system chimed in.
No glowing miracle.
So he did the only thing he'd ever been good at.
He refused.
Riley planted his feet. Locked his core. Forced air into his lungs inch by inch, teeth grinding as he fought his own instincts screaming at him to give up.
Something inside him shifted.
Not mana.
Not a system.
Something older. Meaner. More stubborn.
The pressure faltered.
Just for a fraction of a second.
The mirror flickered.
"Interesting," the voice murmured.
The weight vanished.
Riley collapsed forward, coughing hard, sweat dripping from his chin.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Baseline confirmed," the voice replied.
"Proceeding to secondary evaluation."
The room changed.
The mirror darkened—
and reflected something else.
Riley froze.
He saw himself.
Not now.
Later.
Older. Taller. Harder.
Scars mapped across his skin. His prosthetic arm extended further now—sleeker, deadlier. His eyes looked hollow in a way Riley didn't like recognizing.
Behind that version of him—
A battlefield.
Aurelia City reduced to rubble. Buildings split open. Fires burning without anyone left to scream.
Bodies.
Too many.
And then—
Quinn.
Standing alone. Back turned. Surrounded by enemies.
"Quinn!" Riley shouted, lurching forward.
The chair locked him in place.
The future version of Riley didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just looked at him.
Disappointed.
"You may intervene," the voice said.
"How?!" Riley snapped. "That's not even real!"
"Neither is helplessness," the voice replied evenly. "You may be injured or killed during the simulation."
Riley's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
He didn't have powers.
Didn't have a system.
Didn't have glowing text telling him what to do.
All he had—
was choice.
He closed his eyes.
Took one breath.
Then opened them.
And stood.
The world lurched.
Suddenly he was inside the mirror.
Inside that ruined future.
"What is this… how—" he muttered, panic clawing up his throat.
The monsters noticed him immediately.
Their attention snapped to him like predators catching a new scent.
They lunged.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Claws slashed. Jaws snapped. Energy blasts ignited mid-air—all aimed at Riley.
Behind the glass, examiners leaned forward.
Vale watched silently.
Riley panicked.
He raised his hands instinctively, bracing for impact—
Like anyone does when they know they're about to get hit by something they can't stop.
And then—
Silence.
No roars.
No impact.
No pain.
Seconds passed.
Am I dead? Riley wondered dimly.
Then he noticed the quiet.
He opened his eyes.
The beasts were frozen.
Mid-strike. Mid-roar.
Locked inches from his body.
A faint yellow pulse of light radiated from every point of contact—claws, teeth, energy—flowing backward into his prosthetic arm.
Riley stared, stunned.
"I… I don't know what I did," he whispered.
But whatever it was—
It worked.
Heart hammering, he swung.
Not flashy.
Not elegant.
Just raw, desperate punches.
Each impact sent a ripple through the frozen figures, shattering them into light that dissolved into nothing.
One by one.
Gone.
Behind the glass—
Silence.
"Is that some sort of speed-based ability?" one examiner whispered.
Vale didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes narrowed.
"…He passed," she said finally, and for once she didn't bother hiding her surprise.
A soft chime echoed.
[Evaluation Complete]
The mirror shattered.
The battlefield collapsed.
The room snapped back to gray.
Riley staggered forward as the door opened.
Vale stood there, arms crossed, studying him like a problem that had just rewritten itself.
"You didn't awaken," she said. "No light. No flare. No system manifestation."
Riley wiped blood from his lip and shrugged weakly. "Is… is that bad?"
"It means you're different," she replied. "And that makes you dangerous in a different way."
He met her gaze.
"So where's Quinn?"
She turned away. "Still breathing."
Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled.
"Good," Riley said quietly. "Because whatever you're planning?"
He straightened, jaw set.
"We won't go down easy."
Vale didn't argue.
She gestured down the hall. "Waiting room."
Quinn might be the one changing the world.
But Riley?
Riley was becoming something the world wouldn't see coming at all.