Rollo does not sleep.
He paces the length of the dorm cell, barefoot, counting steps and cracks in the synthetic tile, running fingers along the seam between wall and door. Every surface feels too thin, too clean. Every reflection off the glass—window, obsidian amulet, even the back of a spoon—makes his nerves prickle. He's not afraid of being watched. He's afraid of what's watching him from the inside out.
The last hour keeps looping on repeat: the upperclassman's fist, the taste of blood in his mouth, the way the shadow grew out of him before he even knew it was there. The way Miri looked at him, horror first and then gratitude, and the voice in his skull whispering, Good boy, you could've killed him.
He spreads his hand in front of the desk lamp. The old tattoos have gone from black to violet, faint circuits running the length of each finger, but now—when he focuses, when he wants—it looks like the shadow moves before the hand does. The light bends away from him, like even the photons know better.
He flips the desk over with a single hand, then sets it right again. No strain. No sound. Nobody comes.
The amulet at his neck pulses, a red heartbeat, numbers sliding across the projection like a malfunctioning speedometer. Still locked at [Power Level: 1]. He tries to touch it, to rip it off, but the thing just gets hotter and clamps tighter to his collarbone.
"That's not going to work," Kami purrs, the voice echoing behind his molars. "I made you, remember? If you want out, you gotta break the code."
He snarls, low. "Why don't you do it?"
A pause, then a laugh with knives in it. "We're leaking power now, babe. Either learn to bottle it or bang your way into control. But don't go soft on me. You'll never be anything if you do."
He stares at the wall, at the white paint already peeling at the corners. He hates it. He wants to cover it with blood or art or something that matters. The hunger is back—not for food or sex, but for movement, for violence. To see what this new body can actually do.
He drags his hand down the glass of the window. For a moment, just a moment, his shadow lags a quarter second behind. It blinks at him, then snaps back.
He does it again. Same thing.
"Kami," he whispers, "what the fuck did you do to me?"
No answer. Just a system notification, crisp and cold as a bullet:
[Shadow Surge Threshold Approaching]
Kami Sync: 18%
Shadow Affinity: +1 → 14
Lust Pressure: 12
New Trait: Flicker Reflex — movement speed increases by 30% when unseen
He flexes. The tattoo lines flare, then fade. He can feel the speed in his bones. The only thing holding him back is the fear of what might happen if he lets go.
He drops to the floor and knocks out a set of fifty pushups in under twenty seconds. The last ten, he's not even sure he's touching the ground.
He laughs. It sounds like someone else.
In the morning, he skips the communal shower. Too many eyes, too many angles of attack. He washes up with cold water in the sink, then slaps on the same threadbare hoodie and sweats from yesterday. The hallways are already alive with noise—kids screaming at each other, some hurrying, most just trying to get out of each other's way. His own footsteps sound wrong, like they're being played back on a shitty speaker.
He turns the corner and runs straight into Cassius Vale, the Prefect from yesterday. The older boy's hair is slicked back today, suit pressed and shiny, the badge on his chest upgraded to [Power Level: 6]. He doesn't even flinch when Rollo nearly bowls him over.
"Walk much?" Cassius says, eyeing him up and down. "Or is that just another orphan thing?"
Rollo smiles. "Wouldn't know. Never met my parents."
Cassius bares his teeth, but it's not a real smile. "You think you're funny, Hartmann. But there's a reason you're in the lowest squad. Just remember your place, yeah?"
He pushes past, shoulder-checking Rollo so hard it should knock him down. Instead, Rollo doesn't move, and Cassius almost trips on his own feet. For a second, they both freeze. Rollo holds Cassius's gaze, no anger, just pure blank challenge.
Cassius blinks first. "Freak," he mutters, and disappears down the corridor.
Rollo watches him go, then heads the opposite direction, toward the cafeteria.
The cafeteria is a circle of glass and white noise. The only thing breaking the monochrome is the students themselves—flashes of bright hair, blue skin, metal limbs, tattoos in every color that doesn't exist in nature. Some eat in packs, others sit alone, the hierarchy visible at a glance. Level 10s and above claim the center tables, laughing like nothing can ever touch them. Level 1s hover near the walls, heads down.
Rollo takes a tray, ignores the shit that passes for food, and scans the room.
He sees her before she sees him.
Ember Holloway sits cross-legged on top of a table, her rainbow-streaked hair even brighter in the daylight, katanas resting against the bench. She's wearing a black tank and ripped jeans, the badge on her chest still reading [Power Level: 1]. Her forearms are bandaged, and every finger is painted a different color. She's biting into a piece of fruit—red, probably spiked with something—but doesn't spill a drop. Around her, three other students pretend not to watch her every move.
He moves closer. No hesitation.
When he gets within five feet, Ember looks up, fixes him with the kind of stare that makes most people apologize and back away.
He doesn't blink.
"You move like a ghost," she says, voice even. "But you still got caught with a Level 1 label. That's dumb or dangerous."
He shrugs, then grins. "Both."
She laughs, a quick exhale. "You don't talk like them, either."
"Maybe I'm not one of them."
She gestures at the bench. "Sit."
He does. The other three students scatter in a heartbeat, leaving just the two of them.
Ember finishes the fruit, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, and tosses the core onto the floor. "Saw your trick yesterday. The shadow thing. You control it, or does it control you?"
He takes a second, debating whether to lie. Decides against it.
"Little of both," he says. "Still figuring it out."
She nods, approving. "That's good. Means you haven't let the system break you."
He thinks of Kami, the way her voice seems to root deeper every time he uses the powers. "Not yet," he says.
She leans in, elbows on knees, chin in her hands. "You know what happens to support classes here?"
He shakes his head.
"They get used up. The higher-level squads treat you like gear. If you're not careful, you end up dead before you ever get a real power-up. Most of us… don't make it to graduation."
He looks at her, really looks. The gold-flecked eyes, the way her hands never stop moving, the edge in every syllable. He recognizes the survival instinct. It's the same as his.
"What's your plan?" he asks.
Ember's lips twitch, a smile and a challenge at once. "My plan is to outlast everyone. And maybe burn the place down, if it comes to that."
He can't help it. He laughs.
She watches him for a long time, then nods like she's made a decision.
"You're different, Hartmann. You're not scared of the system. That's rare." She stands, stretches, grabs her katanas. "I'll be watching you."
He wants to say something clever, but she's already gone, weaving through the tables with a predatory grace that leaves nothing but stares in her wake.
He watches her go, then notices Miri and Daisy at a table near the back. Miri is curled in on herself, vines creeping up her neck. Daisy waves him over, but he ignores her.
He's got too much energy to burn.
Rollo spends the rest of the day running the perimeter of the campus, climbing fences, mapping escape routes. He pushes himself until his lungs burn and his legs shake, but even then he feels like he could run forever. The shadow keeps pace, always a half-step ahead or behind, but never quite matching him.
After dark, he sits on the roof of the dorm, staring up at the sky, at the clouds smeared with the light from the city beyond. He tries to remember a time when things were quieter, easier. There isn't one.
Kami's voice breaks the silence. "You like her."
He snorts. "You don't know anything."
"Oh, babe," she says, sultry and amused, "I know everything about you. I live inside your skull, remember? And right now, you're thinking about the way she looked at you. The way she smells. The way she'd taste if you let her bite."
He closes his eyes. "She's dangerous."
Kami hums, low. "So are you. Why do you think I picked you?"
He doesn't answer. He lets the wind chill his skin, lets the hunger pass, lets the world slow down until all he hears is his own heartbeat.
And then another system message, hotter than the last:
[Kami Sync: 19%]
[Shadow Affinity: 15]
[Lust Pressure: 13]
[Unlocked: Flicker Reflex — Movement speed increased by 30% when unobserved.]
He smiles.
He can work with that.
He comes down off the roof near midnight, pads silent through the empty hallway, and heads for his room. The door is ajar, just barely.
Every muscle tenses. He's ready for an ambush, a test, a trap.
He pushes it open.
Ember is there. Curled up on his bed, knees hugged to her chest, katanas crossed over her lap. Her eyes are closed, but he knows she's not asleep.
He stands in the doorway. Waits.
After a few seconds, she cracks one eye.
"Couldn't sleep," she says.
He doesn't move.
"Me either," he replies.
She scoots over, patting the empty spot next to her.
"Not here to fight," she says. "Just didn't want to be alone tonight."
He slides in, careful not to touch her. She smells like burnt ozone and sweat and something else, something almost sweet.
They sit in silence, breathing together.
Kami's voice is silent for once.
After a while, Ember leans in, lips an inch from his ear.
"I don't trust you yet," she whispers. "But I want to."
She turns and burrows under the thin blanket, her back to him, one hand always on the handle of her blade.
He lays awake, staring at the ceiling, the glow of the amulet painting lines across his chest.
He doesn't sleep.
He doesn't need to.