The class had barely ended before the hallway swallowed them again—dim lights overhead, the air still holding a faint sweetness from the strange cooking session they just left behind.
Evelyn said nothing, walking ahead with her usual composure, arms loose at her sides, her mind already sorting the ingredients they’d used by effect, ratio, and outco.
Ethan trailed behind, still running through the mory of his dish—the mont the recovery blend he’d been carefully combining had sparked too quickly, reacting in a small burst of light and pressure that made him step back.
A second later, the blue pulse faded, and in its place was silence, followed by Moxie’s buzzing approach.
The tiny instructor had zipped over instantly, goggles flashing. Her feet never quite touched the ground, and her wings kept her suspended just over the counter.
"Oh! That’s a good boom," she announced with delight, clapping her flour-dusted hands.
"Heals minor wounds and temporarily stuns enemies. Excellent application of unintended synergy!"
Ethan gave her a slow glance, his voice’s faintest edge of sarcasm. "Uh. Thanks?"
She didn’t respond with words—just laughed and patted his head before zooming off.
At the next station, Evelyn had already scanned her cube. It ca back with a flawless nutrient profile, zero instability, and perfect energy preservation.
Moxie had smiled, nodded once, and said, "Efficient. Elegant. Good work."
Then there was Everly.
Her cube wasn’t perfect. But it was adorable. She’d iced a sugary ssage across the top in curling pink letters: "For Ethan ♥" and when she placed it on the scanner, Moxie let out a laugh that echoed off the lab walls.
"Romantic. Slightly reckless. Approved," she declared.
Everly just smirked and leaned on the counter. "Healing through affection."
Moxie nodded. "Scientifically valid."
They left the class in mild disarray, a lingering cloud of flour trailing behind them. As they walked, Everly held her dessert grenade up like a trophy and announced, "I’m keeping it. No regrets."
Ethan didn’t argue. He just kept walking, half-listening, because beneath the laughter and sll of cinnamon, that earlier image still burned in his mind—the rune in the grove, the forgotten soil, and Evelyn’s quiet voice saying, "I think it’s seen you."
The next class was on the other side of the campus, deeper in the north quadrant. It wasn’t flashy.
No banners, no glowing signs. Just a quiet, narrow corridor lined with scanning checkpoints that read their bands one by one.
The door they reached had no emblem, no colored seal—just a flat silver plaque etched with three clean words:
ESPIONAGE IN URBAN ZONES.
Inside, the lighting was low, not in a dramatic way, just enough to blur the edges and make the corners hard to define.
The desks were arranged in crescent rows, curved inwards as if to minimize distractions and sharpen attention toward the center.
And there, sitting behind a basic desk with no title, projection panel, or aura of authority, there was a man who didn’t need any of that.
"I am Zei Lun," he said calmly. "Forrly of Highcity Intelligence."
He didn’t stand. Didn’t look around. I just said it like a statent about the weather. Then he continued, voice still soft but sohow impossible to ignore.
"This class is not about power. It is about presence. How to disappear. How to see others before they see you. How to blend until no one asks questions."
Students exchanged glances. So sat up straighter.
Then soone entered late, with loud steps and a confident posture. A tall boy with styled hair and a jacket half-unzipped like he knew he could get away with anything.
He didn’t apologize. Just dropped into the seat next to Ethan, turned slightly, and said, "Hey. You’re Ethan. Miran Vos."
He offered a hand.
Ethan didn’t take it. Just nodded once.
Miran didn’t seem bothered. "I read your stats. You scored in the top percentile for aura modulation and reaction balancing. That’s not a common mix."
Ethan blinked. "You morize everyone’s scores?"
"Only the interesting ones."
Everly, two rows back, made a face and mouthed, Creep.
Zei Lun didn’t react. The projection behind him lit up, showing a layered digital city with hundreds of blinking dots. He gestured once.
"This is simulation S3:9. There is an observer embedded in this visual. You have two minutes to spot them. No guessing. Log your answer. If you cheat, I will know."
Miran leaned in again, pointing subtly. "There. Noodles guy by the trash chute. He’s too still."
Ethan had already noticed the shadow irregularity.
But when Zei Lun revealed the answer, it wasn’t the man.
It was a woman. Sitting completely still on a broken bench, her back to the cara.
"That’s a counter-surveillance anchor. You’ll learn to find them next week."
So groaned.
Zei Lun didn’t comnt. "You’ll be split into teams for weekly drills—surveillance, blending, misinformation. If you find it boring, leave. If you stay, learn fast.
Because being invisible doesn’t make you weak, it makes you free."
Then he sat back down and started writing like the whole thing had been formal.
Their final class for the day was in a newer do near the central circle of campus. Clean floors, ambient music, glass walls tinted in soft hues. The sign outside read:
EMOTIONAL WAVE TRAINING
Rayce greeted them. Tall, bronze-skinned, a calm presence that didn’t need amplification. His tone was soft, but every word felt anchored.
"You all know this," he said. "Your abilities aren’t just powers. They’re shaped by what’s inside. If you don’t know what you’re feeling, your body will decide for you."
The class used a pulse platform—a device that mapped aura fluctuations to emotion. Ethan was called up first.
He hesitated, then stepped forward.
The machine flared. Light-blue waves flickered around him, then started to spike. Sothing pulled tight in his chest—not pain, but a tension that didn’t belong to the mont.
A mory, maybe. Or sothing older.
Rayce moved—ready to step in.
But Evelyn got there first.
She walked to the edge of the platform and opened her energy field slowly, quietly, without flash, just with presence.
Her calm pushed against Ethan’s tension, and his spike flattened, like steam eting cool air.
Then Everly reached over, still holding her dessert grenade, and locked her fingers with his free hand.
No words.
Just warmth.
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