Chapter 20: Summer Preparation
Summer became a systematic war against my own limitations. Without the social obligations and academic schedule of Nevermore, I could focus entirely on understanding what Crackstone's battle had cost me and what remained to be developed.
Power development through repetition and analysis.
Shadow manipulation responded to consistent pressure, range extending from twenty-five to thirty meters through daily sessions that left me with splitting headaches. More importantly, I could create semi-solid constructs now—barriers that held weight briefly, tools that functioned for precious seconds before destabilizing.
Precision over power. Quality over quantity.
Presence alteration required more delicate calibration. Familiarity Mode now reached strangers with "casual acquaintance" impressions that lasted two full minutes, while Unnoticed Mode held for twenty minutes with reliability that bordered on terrifying.
Each use strips away pieces of identity.
The psychological cost was mounting. Extended Unnoticed Mode sessions left me questioning whether I actually existed or if I'd become a particularly persistent hallucination. Eugene's twice-weekly video calls became anchors to reality, proof that someone remembered I mattered.
Connection as lifeline.
Cursed Speech testing proceeded with scientific caution. Single words with twelve-hour recovery time, complex two-word commands that pushed my damaged throat to its limits. During one exhaustion-induced session, I discovered shadow travel—sinking into darkness and emerging five meters away, disoriented but functional.
New ability. Accidental development through desperation.
The cost was brutal: migraines every night, nosebleeds weekly, and growing sense that I was slowly erasing myself through power overuse.
Building capabilities for war I hope won't come.
But probably will.
Digital connection became my emotional anchor. Eugene's emails arrived like clockwork, filled with Defense Initiative planning and bee research that somehow made tactical sense when he explained it. His enthusiasm was infectious even through screens.
"Working on my courage," he mentioned during one video call. "Nearly dying taught me life's too short for cowardice."
Character development through trauma. Eugene becoming the leader he was always meant to be.
Enid's texts started daily and gradually became constant—pack drama that revealed the suffocating politics of werewolf hierarchies. Her traditional mother viewed alpha status as political asset rather than personal identity, leading to conflicts that made Nevermore's supernatural politics look simple.
"Your power belongs to you," I texted back. "Not your family's ambitions."
Truth. Simple truth that apparently needed saying.
Our conversations shifted from friendship toward something unspoken but mutual. Flirtation disguised as emotional support, connection that deepened through distance rather than proximity.
Dangerous territory. Attachment creates vulnerability.
Worth the risk.
Wednesday called once, mid-July, with information that changed everything:
"Crane is my godmother. My parents finally admitted it. She's dangerous in ways I don't understand yet. Be cautious."
Godmother. Family connection. Season two complication.
The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me with fragmented memories that refused to crystallize into useful intelligence.
Important. Dangerous. Trust carefully.
Summer research project just became survival priority.
Returning to Nevermore felt like stepping into an alternate reality. The damage from Crackstone's assault had been repaired, but everything else had changed in ways both subtle and profound.
New regime. New rules.
Principal Crane had redecorated Weems' office with subtle menace—dark wood that absorbed light, strategic lighting that created dramatic shadows, and an unsettling portrait of Joseph Crackstone with his eyes scratched out.
Message received. She knows exactly what happened here.
Within an hour of arrival, I was summoned for private consultation. Crane studied me with the clinical attention of someone cataloguing weapons capabilities while pretending to conduct friendly conversation.
"Remarkable combat applications during the Crackstone incident," she observed. "Using Cursed Speech to amplify another's attack shows tactical sophistication beyond typical teenage development."
She knows. Everything.
"I value those who value my goddaughter," she continued, acknowledging my alliance with Wednesday without making it sound like approval. "Wednesday speaks highly of your investigative capabilities."
Dangerous ground. How much does she know about our partnership?
"Your Cursed Speech development concerns me, however. Traumatic manifestation, improper training, significant overuse leading to permanent damage." Her smile could have cut glass. "I can offer resources, mentorship, proper instruction in ability management."
Trap disguised as opportunity.
Every instinct screamed warning, but refusing would mark me as hostile rather than cautious. I accepted with polite gratitude while my shadows unconsciously coiled defensively.
Crane's smile widened like she'd expected nothing less: "We'll do great things this year, Mr. Bason. Provided we survive what's coming."
Threat or promise? Both?
Eugene was already unpacking when I returned to our dorm, new beekeeping equipment spread across his desk with the enthusiasm of someone who'd spent summer planning systematic revolution.
"The new principal is terrifying," he announced without preamble.
"Agreed."
"But she approved my Defense Initiative with full funding."
"That's suspicious."
"Extremely suspicious." Eugene's grin suggested he was enjoying the strategic complexity. "But I'm taking the resources anyway."
Practical approach. Accept the tools, watch for the trap.
He tossed me a leather-bound journal thick enough to serve as body armor. "Summer training program for both of us. Systematic development, strategic planning, coordinated capability building."
Professional-grade tactical planning. Eugene's transformation from victim to strategist complete.
I flipped through pages of meticulous strategy, recognizing my best friend had become the partner I needed rather than the liability I'd feared.
Found family evolution. Partnership through shared trauma.
Outside our window, Principal Crane watched students arrive with expression that could be protective or predatory. The fragmented memories offered no clarity, just whispered warnings about importance and danger and trusting carefully.
Arc Two beginning. New threats, new allies, new complications.
At least this time I wouldn't face them alone.
"Ready?" Eugene asked.
As ready as I'll ever be.
"Let's find out what fresh hell awaits."
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