The blackout started in his teeth.
Not the lights.
Not the grid.
His teeth.
A faint metallic buzz at the back molars—then a pressure along his jaw, like someone had hooked invisible fingers under the bone and was testing the weight.
Kael froze on the fire escape, halfway down the rusted ladder, one hand still wrapped around the rail.
"Don't," he whispered to nobody.
The city below ignored him.
Traffic lights flicked yellow to red in neat, obedient patterns; holo‑ads slid from sneakers to energy drinks without a hitch; the nearest arch pulsed its usual pale blue, scanning pedestrians with the patience of a bored god.
Everything looked normal.
But the buzz kept rising.
He knew what came next.
"Come on," he muttered through his teeth. "Not now."
The metal railing under his palm warmed.
Then, slowly, it began to glow.
Just a faint blue rim at first, haloing his fingers.
Kael swore, yanked his hand back, and pressed his knuckles into his jacket to smother the light.
