By the time they ended the session, Kael's hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The lights in the testing room powered down in stages. The rings on the floor dimmed. The target box on the wall went dark again, as if nothing had happened.
Only the smell of ozone and the thin tremor in Kael's fingers proved otherwise.
"Baseline complete," Dr. Vell said, scrolling through the data on her tablet. "We have enough for today. Suppression back to standard."
An assistant tapped a control. The collar's glow eased from harsh white to a dull, steady blue. The band on Kael's wrist tightened a fraction.
Kael hissed between his teeth.
"Feedback residual?" Vell asked, glancing up.
"Feels like someone's sanding my nerves," Kael said. "So, yeah. Residual."
"Noted," Vell replied, like he'd commented on room temperature.
She nodded at Aiden. "Escort him back to Holding. Same protocol as before."
The door opened. The guards re‑entered, weapons ready.
Kael stepped off the platform, legs unsteady but refusing to stumble. Aiden reattached the tether to his belt. The line hummed between them again, a short chain of light and control.
As they left the lab, Kael spoke without looking back.
"On a scale from one to ten," he said, voice rough, "how happy are you with your science project?"
Aiden didn't answer immediately.
"I argued to lower the intensity," he said finally. "For what that's worth."
Kael snorted. "So I should thank you that it only felt like being hit by a truck instead of a train?"
One of the guards shifted, clearly annoyed. "Subject, you are not authorized—"
"Don't worry," Kael cut in, eyes still on the corridor ahead. "I'll save the heartfelt gratitude for the next round."
They walked in silence for a few steps.
"What they did in there," Aiden said quietly, "is how they justify calling you dangerous. High output. Unstable channels. Potential threat."
"Sure," Kael said. "And what you did in there is how they justify calling you reasonable. Concerned. Valuable asset." He tilted his head slightly. "You really think there's that much difference between the two?"
Aiden had no good answer.
At the corner, the tether jerked slightly as Kael slowed.
"You saw the readings," he said. "You saw I can aim. I hit your little battery box without frying the wall. I kept it inside the circle while they poked me."
"I saw," Aiden said.
"Then tell me," Kael said, "what exactly makes me a Deviant and you an agent in their eyes? Because from where I'm standing, we're both walking around with enough power to ruin a city block."
"Registration," Aiden said after a beat. "Training. Oversight."
Kael laughed, short and humorless.
"Registration," he repeated. "Right. Because the magic that almost tore my shoulder out tonight would have been completely fine if I'd just signed a form when I was eleven."
His voice lowered.
"You know what training looks like in my part of the city?" he asked. "Trying not to blow up the stairwell when the power grid short‑circuits. Holding back when you see someone fall because if you help with magic, the next van that comes might not be for them."
The guard behind them cleared his throat. "Less talking," he said.
Kael ignored him.
"Agents learn how to use power without breaking things," he said. "Deviants learn how to breathe without being seen. Guess which one leaves more damage."
Aiden's grip tightened on the tether.
"Not all agents enjoy this," he said.
"I know," Kael replied. "If you all liked it, you wouldn't have flinched when she cranked the pain up."
Aiden looked at him sharply. "You saw that?"
"I feel electricity," Kael said simply. "I felt your field twitch. You wanted to step in. You didn't."
"Protocol," Aiden said.
"Exactly," Kael answered. "You hurt yourself on it every time."
They reached the elevator.
As the doors closed them in, the noise from the lab levels faded to a soft mechanical hum.
"Why did you argue for the 'task' thing?" Kael asked suddenly. "The box. The power test. That wasn't for their benefit."
"It gave you a target that wasn't the wall," Aiden said. "It showed them you can be precise."
"It showed them I'd make a great living generator," Kael said. "You heard her. 'Useful.' Not 'human.'"
He let his head bump back against the elevator wall.
"Don't confuse 'less cruel' with 'kind,' Agent," he said. "It'll bite you."
"Maybe I was trying to help," Aiden said.
Kael opened his eyes and met his gaze.
"You did," he said. "It still hurt."
The doors slid open onto Sublevel Three.
The walk back to Kael's cell felt shorter. Too short.
When they reached the door, the guards moved ahead to open it. Wards rippled and peeled back. The tether went slack as the band synced with the room's restraints.
Aiden unhooked the line from his belt.
Kael stepped inside, then turned around before the door could close.
"Why are you really doing this?" he asked, voice low. "Don't give me the 'I follow orders' speech. You're bad at lying. It makes your eyes twitch."
Aiden hesitated.
"Because if I'm not here," he said, "no one in this building will say anything when they push you too far."
"And you think you can stop them?" Kael asked.
"No," Aiden said. "But I can slow them down. I can argue. I can put things in the record that don't vanish."
Kael studied him for a long second.
"For the file, then," Kael said. "Here's something you can write down: it hurts. Not just the zaps. The way they look at me. Like I'm already broken and they're just cataloguing the pieces."
His throat worked.
"And for the record," he added, "I still don't think you belong with them."
The door closed between them before Aiden could respond.
The locks clamped. The wards hummed back into place.
For a moment, Aiden stared at his own reflection in the small window.
Uniform. Badge. Control unit still clipped to his belt.
Belonging to the people who had just turned a boy into data points.
-----
On the surface, the city looked almost peaceful.
Night had fallen, turning the towers into dark pillars with scattered windows of light. Street vendors in the lower sectors packed up their stalls. Somewhere, music drifted up from an open bar door.
In a forgotten maintenance tunnel, the woman with the close‑cropped hair spread another hand‑drawn map on the floor.
"News from inside?" the boy beside her asked.
She nodded.
"Short," she said. "But good. Our contact confirms they're moving Kael to the higher labs."
"Good?" the boy repeated. "How is that good?"
"Because movement means weak points," she said. "More doors. More systems. More chances for something to misfire."
The boy snorted. "So we're hoping the city's favorite electrocution lab makes a mistake."
"No," she said. "We're hoping the agent with him does."
The boy frowned. "You really trust this guy? He wears their uniform."
"He walked into Sublevel Three when he didn't have to," she said. "He's been flagged in at least two internal memos for 'excessive curiosity.' That's the start of a conscience, where I'm from."
She tapped a point on the map.
"If we want Kael back," she said, "we're going to need that crack on the inside."
"And what if he doesn't crack?" the boy asked. "What if he stays loyal?"
She looked at the map the line she'd drawn between Central Ward and the lower sectors.
"Then we burn something else," she said. "But first, we give him a choice."
-------
Later, in his apartment, Aiden replayed the lab footage on his personal screen.
Lightning in the circle.
Pain on Kael's face.
Dr. Vell's calm voice labeling it "feedback."
He scrubbed the recording back to the moment Kael powered the box on the wall.
The bolt was clean. Sharp. Controlled.
If a Deviant could do that on command, what did it say about all the times the Department had called them uncontrollable?
His console chimed.
A message from an internal address he didn't recognize.
NO SUBJECT.
NO SIGNATURE.
JUST ONE LINE:
HOW MUCH MORE CAN HE TAKE BEFORE YOU CALL IT TOO FAR?
Aiden stared at it.
There was no traceable name, no department stamp. It could have been a test. A trap. A glitch.
Or it could have been someone else asking the same question he was afraid to say out loud.
He didn't answer.
But he didn't delete it either.
He let the message sit on the screen, a small, silent fracture in the smooth surface of Department certainty.
Somewhere below, in a cell surrounded by wards, Kael tried to sleep with his nerves still buzzing.
Somewhere above, in offices lined with glass and steel, the people who decided what counted as "necessary pain" prepared their next set of orders.
Between them stood Aiden.
Not yet broken.
Not yet brave enough.
But starting, very slowly, to understand that "helping" and "hurting" had stopped being opposite sides a long time ago.