The soft glow of the tablet reflected off Gabriel’s pale face as he sat curled into a window booth, knees pulled up, stylus tapping restlessly against the screen. The train hummed beneath him, gliding across scorched land and broken fields that blurred past the glass. Tactical layouts and roster profiles shifted on the display, but his focus snagged and unraveled. The same moment kept replaying vividly.

“Don’t look so studious. People might start thinking you’re trying to read your way into a promotion.”

Gabriel looked up to find Natalia stepping into the lounge with her usual precise grace. Her white uniform bore the twin chevrons of an Esper Deputy Commander, and not a single strand of her blond hair out of place. But the playful spark in her eye dimmed the instant she registered his expression.

She crossed the room with steady purpose.

“What happened?”

Gabriel glanced down at his tablet. “Nothing,” he said, too fast.

Natalia looked at him, unimpressed.

“…Something,” he admitted, sighing.

She tipped her head toward a semi-private booth lined with deep blue velvet. “Come on. You look like you need someone to talk to.”

Grateful for the barrier between them and the rest of the carriage, Gabriel followed. Once seated across from him, Natalia’s posture remained composed, but her focus was razor-sharp.

“He pulled me onto his lap,” Gabriel said, after a long pause. “Leonardo Ricci. Right in front of everyone.”

Natalia didn’t move, but her expression hardened.

“He joked about no seats, pulled me onto his lap… kissed my cheek.”

She still didn’t speak.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Gabriel added quickly. “Just embarrassed me. I didn’t know how to respond.”

Natalia’s voice was low and flat. “Did he make you feel unsafe?”

Gabriel hesitated. “No,... just cornered. It was all so public. My brain shut down.”

There was a pause before Natalia responded. When she did, her voice was measured.

“Leonardo’s been like this since before he made Commander. He flirts with anyone he finds interesting, male or female, doesn’t matter. But he’s never serious about it. Never sticks. Of all his flings, the most memorable was with someone named Cecilia Marchesi. She’s from another Guild but works most of her time at Central Station. For a while, everyone thought she’d be the one to make him settle down. Everyone shipped them. Even I thought, maybe, for once, Leonardo was going to commit to something. But he didn’t.”

Gabriel looked down. “Why would he target me, then?”

“Because you’re quiet. You’re kind. You’re new. You don’t give him what he expects and that makes you a challenge.”

Gabriel’s fingers fidgeted with the tablet case.

Natalia’s gaze softened. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, slowly. “I think so. Just overwhelmed.”

She leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “Persistent Espers push boundaries. The only thing that stops them is someone who refuses to play along. You don’t need to explain yourself, Gabriel. Just be clear. You’re allowed to set boundaries.”

Gabriel gave a faint smile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not. But that’s why I’m here. And Sasha. And Henry. We’re your shield until you grow your own.”

She reached out and took his hand.

“You’re never alone out here. If he so much as breathes wrong in your direction again—”

“You’ll kill him?” Gabriel guessed.

“Please,” Natalia muttered. “Sasha already called dibs on that one. I’ll bury him in administrative reassignment and subtle career sabotage.”

Gabriel let out a quiet laugh. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little.

Leonardo stood near one of the frosted observation windows, arms crossed and jaw set. The train's motion barely registered beneath his boots. Outside, the world rolled by in shades of gray and ash, burned earth and ruined foundations, long abandoned.

He should have gone to Gabriel.

But what would he even say?

Sorry for dragging you into a circus act in front of half the mission crew?

Sorry I showed off like an idiot and made you feel cornered?

He exhaled sharply through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.

“Look at that,” said a calm voice from behind. “The great Leonardo Ricci, frozen in place. Should I call a medic?”

Leonardo turned, unsurprised to see Henry settling onto a bench, thermos in hand and smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thought you were headed to the briefing,” Leonardo muttered.

“Briefing’s in fifty. And I’m not missing this rare existential crisis.” Henry said, leaning back. “Talk.”

Leonardo didn’t move. He just looked back out the window, where scorched plains blurred past. “I handled it like a complete idiot.”

“Obviously.”

Leonardo gave him a side glare. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Henry’s voice softened. “So am I.”

A quiet moment passed between them, filled with the rhythmic hum of the train.

“I want to go talk to him.” Leonardo admitted. “But I know that’ll only make it worse. It wasn’t just embarrassment, Henry. His whole body froze, like I’d triggered something deeper.”

Henry nodded slowly. “You did the right thing staying away. For now.”

Leonardo didn’t respond. He shifted his weight, shoulders tense.

Henry studied him for a moment, then offered, “You know, the first time I met Gabriel, he was seven.”

Leonardo blinked and looked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Natalia and I had just started seeing each other. She brought me home to meet her family, right before we met Sasha. Gabriel was this tiny, serious kid and a habit of reading under the table.”

Leonardo’s lips twitched despite himself.

“When he was ten, after the mission that took his parents… he came to live with us.” Henry’s voice held a mix of fondness and regret.

Leonardo didn’t interrupt.

Henry continued. “He was different. Quieter. Still polite, still sweet, but withdrawn. For a while, it felt like he was holding his breath all the time. We tried to give him space, routine and comfort. And it worked. He started smiling again. Clung to Sasha like he was a lifeline.”

Leonardo’s brow furrowed. “Why Sasha?”

“He was calm. Never pushed. Never raised his voice. Gabriel always said Sasha made things feel safe without trying.” Henry glanced down into his thermos. “But the real shift happened when Gabriel turned twelve.”

Leonardo stayed silent, waiting.

Henry’s expression sobered. “We never got the full story. One day he just… stopped being okay. Started flinching from contact. Avoided Espers in the hallway. Even Natalia and I had to work just to get a full sentence out of him some days. But with Sasha, he never pulled away.”

Leonardo’s throat felt tight. “So this… it goes deep.”

“It does,” Henry said. “You’re not the cause of it, but you stepped right into the space where it lives.”

Leonardo looked down. “I thought I could break the tension with a little charm. That maybe if I made him laugh...”

“You tried to control the outcome,” Henry said gently. “You’re good at reading people, Leo, but Gabriel’s not a surface-level read. You can’t flirt your way around his walls.”

Leonardo nodded slowly, gaze drifting. “I want to… understand him. The way he sees things.”

Henry gave a small, warm smile. “Then you’re already doing better than most.”

Leonardo’s voice lowered. “I still feel like I wrecked my chances.”

“Maybe.” Henry said. “But there is more grit in Gabriel than you'd think. He’s also fair. If you mean what you say, and you show it without forcing anything, you might still have a shot.”

Leonardo nodded again, more firmly this time.

Henry stood and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Start with listening and not pushing. And maybe grape candy. He used to hoard them in his pillowcase.”

Leonardo actually chuckled. “Noted.”

The landscape outside the windows had changed. The train slid through a region where nature had never fully recovered, charred hills rolled like waves, their surfaces scorched and wind-scoured. Skeletons of buildings jutted from the dust, some half-buried, others twisted into impossible angles.

Gabriel sat quietly in one of the rear compartments, watching the outside world blur, but his thoughts were elsewhere—looping, knotting, untangling just enough to start over again.

Behind him, soft footsteps came and went. Teams shuffled, people preparing for the debriefing, but he tuned it out.

Then the lights flickered.

Just once.

The overhead lamps buzzed and dimmed, then snapped back to full brightness. A second later, the comm system crackled—static surging for half a breath before the default station voice resumed mid-sentence.

Gabriel blinked and sat up straighter.

Across the aisle, Natalia’s posture shifted. She didn’t speak, but her expression sharpened. She and Sasha exchanged a brief, silent glance. Sasha rose and slipped out with a nod, heading toward the systems access corridor without fanfare.

Gabriel rubbed at his temples.

It wasn’t pain, exactly. More like pressure behind the eyes, the kind that prickled along his sinuses and tightened across the back of his head. His fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the edge of the bench.

“You alright?” Natalia’s voice was low but immediate, already beside him.

He lowered his hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Don't worry.”

She didn’t press. She didn’t leave either. She stood near the seat instead, scanning the nearest lights and support beams like someone looking for faults in a building’s frame.

Another breath passed. The lights didn’t flicker again.

But Gabriel couldn’t shake the weight pressing faintly between his ribs.

Some times later the train slowed with a long, humming exhale and the screech of magnetic brakes. Outside the window, a minor outpost came into view—little more than a fortified platform surrounded by rusted fences and dust-choked structures. A few sentries stood watch in dull-colored armor.

Gabriel, who was reading, barely glanced up from his tablet. He was curled beside the window on a velvet bench, Natalia seated opposite him, sipping from a thermos. Neither spoke. His body had relaxed a little since their conversation, though his eyes still flicked toward the door whenever footsteps passed.

Outside, the airlock hissed, and the carriage door slid open.

Two figures stepped inside.

The first was tall and imposing—Kael Raines, clad in an A-Class Esper’s white uniform, a shock of dark hair falling into storm-grey eyes. Scars traced across the side of his neck and under the collar of his coat. His gaze scanned the carriage without expression. A diagnostic tool clinked softly from his belt—one of many. He wore more gear than most Espers and less emotion than all of them.

The second was Miriana Weiss.

Composed and sharp in her S-Class Guide uniform. Her black hair was pulled into a smooth bun. Two regulation notebooks and a reinforced mission tablet were tucked under her arm. She took in the train’s layout, counted the bodies with her eyes, and spotted the leadership team in seconds.

Instead of greeting her team casually, she made a direct line toward Sasha, who had returned from the front of the train and was standing near the central briefing console. Flora trailed after her, curious but unobtrusive.

“Sasha,” Miriana said quietly, her voice as crisp as the folds of her collar. “A moment?”

Sasha blinked, then nodded and stepped aside with her.

Flora hovered close enough to hear, pretending to skim something on her tablet.

“I reviewed the updated team manifests during transfer,” Miriana began, her tone low but firm. “Gabriel Laurent is assigned to Zone 9-W?”

“Yes.” Sasha replied evenly.

Miriana’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I have some concerns. He’s fresh out of training. There’s chatter circulating about that zone. Unstable Esper activity. Distortions. That kind of terrain isn’t for recruits.”

Sasha met her gaze calmly. “He graduated with top scores. Emotional control, resonance rate, cross-squad compatibility. All excellent.”

Miriana didn’t look convinced. “On paper.”

Flora finally spoke up, tone light but pointed. “We’ve seen him in simulation runs. He holds up better than some veterans.”

Miriana looked between them. “With all due respect, I’ve been on the field long enough to know what happens when someone untested walks into anomaly territory. I just want to make sure you’re not being… overly optimistic.”

Sasha nodded once, serious. “I wouldn’t risk him if I didn’t believe he could handle it. And Natalia wouldn’t either.”

Miriana didn’t argue further, but the furrow between her brows lingered.

Not far away, Gabriel remained oblivious—focused on the tablet in his lap, jotting notes into his compatibility log with slow, careful taps. Natalia sat quietly across from him, eyes unreadable.

Neither of them saw Miriana glance their way again before she turned and moved to the far end of the carriage, boots silent on the carpet.

The train rumbled softly beneath Gabriel’s feet as the silence stretched around him. The observation deck was quiet now—just a few scattered team members passing through, hushed voices, the occasional clink of a mug on glass.

Gabriel sat alone on the velvet-lined bench, his back against the wall of wide windows. His tablet rested beside him. In his lap lay a worn compatibility notebook, bound in imitation leather. He opened it slowly.

The pages inside were filled with hand-drawn aura symbols, sensory diagrams, and neat, slanted handwriting. Some entries were clinical—data from coursework and lab exercises. Others were messier: thoughts, emotional impressions, fragments of memory.

He turned to a fresh page and uncapped his pen.

L.R. – Esper Type: Kinetic Enhancement + Fire Control

Rank: S-Class

Initial reaction: overwhelming

Follow-up: uncertain

Possible compatibility spike? Must test further.

He paused, tapping the edge of the pen against his chin.

Gabriel wasn’t sure why he was writing it down. Maybe to reclaim a sense of order, something solid to anchor the chaos. Leonardo Ricci was like a storm—sudden, hot, unpredictable. And Gabriel had always been taught that the best way to face a storm was to prepare for it.

He frowned and scribbled a small note beside the entry:

Avoid solo proximity if possible. Monitor resonance drift.

With a sigh, he leaned back and looked out the window.

The world beyond had changed again.

The ruined landscape stretched endlessly: twisted remnants of fences, sunken buildings, blackened stone ridges streaked with rust. Dust clouds rose like ghosts over distant hills. But what caught Gabriel’s eye wasn’t the desolation—it was something stranger.

The same crumbled observation tower passed the window twice. Identical cracks. Same tilt. Same collapsed scaffold at its base.

He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again.

It was gone.

A trick of the eye. Maybe. Or—

His gaze dropped to the edge of the window, where faint static buzzed against the reinforced glass. A warping of light. Like the air itself had... glitched.

Gabriel didn’t move. Just pressed his palm flat against the glass.

His reflection stared back at him—pale, tense, eyes shadowed with unease.

He whispered, almost to himself, “I’m ready for this. I have to be.”