The next morning came cold and cloudless.
Kyo awoke before his alarm, lying perfectly still beneath a thin futon in a room with no posters, no toys, no clutter. Just a desk. A cracked window. A cup of pencils worn flat.
He sat up slowly.
His back ached. Not from bruises — from tension.
His body felt... tight. Over-aware.
Every sound sharper.
Every texture more vivid.
The air itself seemed heavier, as if it had learned a new weight overnight.
He opened his hand. Stared at the palm.
Nothing.
But he knew.
He remembered the glow — faint but real. The warmth like static. The ring of dust that had floated, weightless, around them.
And the way it had all stopped the moment Lisa touched him.
He dressed silently, rolled his futon, and moved through the foster center like a ghost — just another quiet kid with old shoes and perfect attendance.
No one noticed the difference.
They never did.
At school, Lisa was already there.
No bandages. Just a small scratch on her elbow and a damp scuff on her schoolbag.
She was sketching stars again on the edge of her desk — tiny five-pointed ones, barely visible under her sleeve.
She glanced up when he sat down.
Didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
But she slid a second piece of chalk across the desk to him.
Kyo stared at it for a moment.
Then took it.
Held it like something fragile.
At recess, he didn't run.
Didn't eat.
Just sat alone behind the gym, knees pulled up, watching his breath fog the air.
He raised one hand slowly. Focused.
Do something.
Nothing happened.
He closed his eyes.
For a second — a flicker — he felt it again.
The hum.
The pressurized stillness.
A sense that the world was listening.
Then it vanished.
By the time school ended, the clouds had returned.
Not rain — just the kind of gray that dims everything.
Lisa walked beside him again.
Halfway down the block, she stopped.
"You okay?"
He nodded.
"Your hands were glowing yesterday."
He said nothing.
"Just for a second," she added, like she wasn't sure she'd seen it after all.
Still, he didn't speak.
Lisa turned back toward her apartment. Paused.
"If it happens again," she said, "I won't tell anyone."
And just like that, she was gone.
Kyo stood alone in the streetlight, hand in his pocket, skin still cool —
but the hum was there again.
Faint and warm.
Not power.
Just resonance.
Waiting.
The house was warm. Always a little too warm.
Lisa sat cross-legged on the floor, her math workbook open in front of her and her sweater sleeves pushed past her elbows.
The living room smelled like rice and grilled fish.
The TV was on in the background — muted — playing the early news.
She hadn't written anything on the worksheet for fifteen minutes.
From the kitchen, her mother's voice drifted in.
"Lisa, your pencil stopped moving."
Lisa didn't look up.
"I'm thinking."
A rustle of newspaper behind her. Her father, seated on the couch.
"Are you thinking about that boy again?"
Lisa froze.
"...What boy?"
"The one who walks you home now."
Lisa turned around, face a little red.
They weren't teasing. Just noticing.
And somehow, that was worse.
Her mother stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a towel.
"Is he a friend?"
Lisa shrugged. Then nodded.
"I think so."
"He's quiet," her father said.
"So am I."
A pause.
"He caught me yesterday."
Her parents exchanged a look.
"Caught you?"
"From the bridge," she said.
"What bridge?"
"The one over the canal. I slipped. He caught me."
"We landed funny."
That last part came out quieter. Like maybe it shouldn't be real.
Her mother crouched beside her.
"Are you hurt?"
Lisa shook her head.
"It felt like flying," she said.
No one spoke for a moment.
Then her father coughed lightly. Turned the page of his newspaper.
"Well," he said. "You should thank him."
"I did."
Lisa looked down at her workbook again.
She'd drawn two small stars in the margin, side by side.
She circled them once, very carefully.