Being grounded lasted exactly four days.
Not because my mother changed her mind.
She didn’t.
Emory did.
Apparently, school-mandated activities counted as education instead of freedom, which meant my mother’s four-week sentence couldn’t legally stop me from attending Saturday field instruction.
I learned this at 7:03 in the morning when I came downstairs and found her reading the permission form.
She looked at the paper.
Then at me.
Then back at the paper.
“This feels like cheating.” I poured cereal.
“I don’t make the rules.” “You broke the rules four days ago.” “Different rules.” “You entered a restricted migration corridor.” “Technically, we remained behind the pedestrian line.” She lowered the paper.
I stopped pouring.
“Would you like me to stop talking?” “Very much.” I put the cereal away.
Mom signed the form.
“You’re coming straight home afterward.” “Yes.” “No stopping anywhere.” “Yes.” “No mysteriously appearing geological structures outside your bedroom window.” “That wasn’t me.” “I know.” “Then why am I being blamed?” “Because you climbed down it.” Fair.
She slid the permission form across the counter.
I reached for it.
She didn’t let go.
“Akio.” “Mom.” “I’m serious.” “So am I.” Her eyes stayed on mine.
The joking part of the conversation was apparently over.
“You’re fourteen,” she said.
“You’re not invincible because you go to Emory.” “I know.” “Do you?” I thought about the Glassbacks.
The adult’s plates lifting.
Threya’s hand moving toward the ground.
How sure are you?
Enough.
That could’ve gone differently.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I do.” Mom studied me for another second before releasing the form.
“Good.” I folded it and put it into my bag.
She returned to her coffee.
I made it three steps toward the door.
“Akio.” I turned.
She pointed toward the counter.
My breakfast was still sitting there.
Right.
Apparently surviving field instruction required eating first.
Benny was asleep on the bus.
Not peacefully.
He had his head against the window, mouth slightly open, arms folded around his backpack.
Every few seconds, the bus hit a crack in the road and his forehead bounced against the glass.
Thump.
Nothing.
Thump.
Still asleep.
Thump.
I looked across the aisle.
Threya was watching too.
“How many?” “Seven.” “I have nine.” “You started before me.” “Excuses.” The bus hit another bump.
Thump.
“Ten.” Benny’s eyes opened.
He sat up.
Looked around.
Then rubbed his forehead.
“Why does my head hurt?” “No idea,” I said.
Threya looked out the window.
Benny stared at us suspiciously.
Two seats ahead, Kenya laughed into her sleeve.
“You’re all terrible people.” “Go back to sleep,” I said.
“No.” He lasted forty seconds.
His head returned to the window.
Threya and I looked at each other.
“Eleven,” she whispered.
Emory’s field bus carried twenty-four students that morning, though our class had taken over the back half almost immediately.
Frank sat alone because he claimed he needed legroom.
The actual reason was that nobody wanted his shoulders occupying half their seat.
Paul had been placed directly behind one of the instructors.
That wasn’t accidental.
Montiro had been complaining for the last twenty minutes because we weren’t allowed to bring personal weapons.
“I still don’t understand the rule.” Emi didn’t look up from the book in her lap.
“Then your reading comprehension is poor.” “My guns are part of my ability.” “And?” “So technically they’re not personal weapons.” “They become weapons.” “They become other things too.” “Such as?” Montiro hesitated.
“A knife.” Emi looked up.
“Excellent argument.” “They can become tools.” “What tools?” “A knife is a tool.” “For cutting people.” “Not exclusively.” Beth sat beside them, looking out the window.
“Section twelve of the field policy defines a weapon as any object primarily designed or manifested for combat application.” Montiro stared at her.
“Whose side are you on?” “I wasn’t aware there were sides.” “There’s always sides.” “That explains a lot about you.” I smiled.
Montiro noticed.
“You don’t even have a power.” “There it is.” “That’s not what I meant.” “That’s twice this week.” “I meant you don’t have to deal with ability restrictions.” “Good recovery.” “It wasn’t a recovery.” “Dig upward.
You’ll get out eventually.” Threya leaned against my shoulder.
“He’s right, though.” Montiro pointed at her.
“Thank you.” “Not you.” His hand dropped.
She looked at me.
“You don’t have restrictions.” “I have curfew.” “Which you ignored.” “I am currently experiencing the consequences.” “You’re on a field trip.” “I’m sitting next to you.” She moved her head off my shoulder.
“Walked into that one.” “Thank you.” She put her head back.
I didn’t complain.
Outside, the city had been thinning for the last half hour.
Buildings gave way to smaller neighborhoods, then warehouses, then long stretches of highway bordered by trees.
Every few miles, we passed monster fencing.
It didn’t look dramatic.
Tall reinforced barriers.
Buried foundations.
Sensor poles spaced at regular intervals.
Bright orange gates that could close across the highway during migration events.
People who grew up here barely noticed them.
I wondered sometimes what the world would’ve looked like without any of it.
No shelter signs.
No advisories.
No reinforced subway entrances.
No monster lanes marked through protected forests.
Probably strange.
Normal to somebody else.
The bus turned off the highway.
A sign appeared ahead.
HUDSON ECOLOGICAL RESPONSE RESERVE Below it: AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY Benny woke up.
He looked through the window.
“We there?” “No,” I said.
He nodded.
Then his eyes closed again.
I waited.
Three.
Two.
One.
His eyes snapped open.
“Wait.” The reserve was nothing like I expected.
I’d imagined fences.
Concrete.
Maybe cages.
There were fences around the perimeter, but beyond them stretched miles of forest, wetland, rocky slopes, and open grass.
A low research building sat near the entrance.
Several response vehicles were parked beside it.
One had claw marks across the rear door.
I decided not to ask.
Our instructor gathered us near the gate.
Her name was Professor Lorne.
She taught Field Safety, which meant she spent most of her time explaining increasingly specific rules that probably existed because a former student had done something stupid.
“Before we enter,” she said, “who can tell me the purpose of today’s exercise?” Frank raised his hand.
“Observe a monster in its natural habitat.” “Partially.” Emi raised hers.
“Identify behavioral patterns, environmental effects, and appropriate response procedures.” “Better.” Benny raised his hand.
Professor Lorne looked reluctant.
“Yes, Mr.
Pluzeski?” “Come back alive.” A few people laughed.
Professor Lorne didn’t.
“That is generally encouraged.” Benny lowered his hand.
“See?
Nailed it.” Lorne tapped the tablet in her hand.
A map appeared on the display behind her.
Three sections of the reserve turned green.
“Today you’ll be observing Class I organisms.” Montiro raised his hand.
“Can we fight them?” “No.” “What if they attack us?” “They won’t.” “What if they do?” “Then the licensed response team accompanying us will handle it.” Frank folded his arms.
“We can handle Class Ones.” Professor Lorne looked at him.
“I’m sure you believe that.” Frank’s expression changed slightly.
The class got quieter.
Lorne continued.
“That attitude is exactly why you’re here.” She swiped the display.
An image appeared.
A huge animal stood in a grassy field.
It had four thick legs, a wide body covered in pale gray plates, and two branching structures extending from either side of its head.
It looked like someone had crossed a rhinoceros with a tree.
“This is a stonegrazer.” Paul frowned.
“That’s Class One?” “Yes.” “It’s huge.” “Classification is not determined exclusively by size.” The image changed.
A person appeared beside the creature for scale.
The stonegrazer was almost twice as tall.
Benny leaned toward me.
“Could definitely beat it.” “You got hit by a stationary door yesterday.” “It moved.” “You pushed it.” “Exactly.” Professor Lorne continued.
“Stonegrazers are supernatural organisms.
They’re physically powerful, highly durable, and capable of limited mineral absorption through direct contact.” Frank raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds stronger than Class One.” “It is capable of killing you.” That shut him up.
“Class One does not mean harmless.
It means the species poses a low general threat to human populations under normal conditions.
Stonegrazers are non-predatory, territorial only during breeding season, and typically avoid dense human settlement.” The picture changed again.
This time a stonegrazer stood beside a collapsed hillside.
“More importantly, their feeding patterns reduce unstable mineral deposits in several regions.
Removing them has historically increased landslide frequency.” Threya raised her hand.
“So they’re protected?” “Correct.” Montiro looked genuinely disappointed.
“So we really can’t fight them.” Professor Lorne stared at him.
“No, Mr.
Mendez.
You may not shoot the endangered ecosystem engineer.” “I was just clarifying.” “Please stop clarifying.” We were split into groups.
Unfortunately for Professor Lorne, our ten were kept together.
She probably regretted that within minutes.
“Define monster.” The question came from Ranger Alvarez.
He was one of the reserve specialists assigned to us, a broad man in a green field jacket with gray starting at his temples.
We’d been walking for twenty minutes.
Nobody answered.
Alvarez looked back.
“You attend one of the best preparatory schools in the country.” Benny raised his hand.
“Something ugly?” Kenya hit him.
“What?” She pointed at one of her spirit foxes trotting beside her.
It was currently missing half its face because the sunlight passed through it strangely.
Benny looked at the fox.
“Beautiful.” Kenya hit him again.
Alvarez smiled.
“Anyone else?” Emi answered.
“A supernatural organism displaying nonhuman Core structure.” “Closer.” Beth spoke from beside her.
“That’s incomplete.
Some altered organisms retain structures similar to awakened humans.” Alvarez nodded.
“Good.” Frank shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“So what’s the answer?” “Depends who you ask.” That wasn’t satisfying.
Apparently, that was the point.
Alvarez stepped over a fallen branch.
“‘Monster’ is a classification.
Not a behavior.” He pointed toward the trees.
“Some hunt humans.
Some don’t.
Some migrate through cities because we built cities through routes they’ve used for centuries.
Some reproduce fast enough to threaten entire ecosystems.
Some are necessary to those ecosystems.
Some are intelligent.
Some aren’t.
Some are more afraid of you than you are of them.” Benny raised his hand again.
“That last one sounds fake.” “Most animals are more afraid of humans than humans realize.” “What about Apocalypses?” The entire group got quieter.
Alvarez looked at Benny.
Even at fourteen, everyone knew that word.
Apocalypse.
You didn’t hear it often.
Not outside history lessons, documentaries, or the kinds of conversations adults stopped having when kids walked into the room.
Alvarez’s expression didn’t change.
“Different classification.” “Because they’re stronger?” “Because normal response assumptions don’t reliably apply.” That was all he said.
Professor Lorne, walking near the back, didn’t add anything.
I noticed that.
So did Beth.
Then the trees opened.
And I forgot about the conversation.
A stonegrazer stood thirty yards away.
It was enormous.
Pictures had failed completely.
Its body was covered in overlapping gray plates that looked almost identical to natural rock.
Moss grew across parts of its back.
Actual moss.
One of its antler-like branches scraped against a tree as it lowered its head.
Its mouth closed around a chunk of exposed stone.
Crunch.
The sound went through me.
Benny whispered, “Okay.” Frank whispered back, “Still Class One.” “Shut up.” The stonegrazer chewed.
Slowly.
Its eyes were small compared to its head.
Dark.
Calm.
Threya moved closer to me.
Not because she was scared.
She looked fascinated.
“That’s incredible.” I nodded.
The stonegrazer pressed one foot into the earth.
A faint vibration moved through the ground.
Threya’s expression changed.
“Did you feel that?” “No.” She crouched.
Put two fingers against the dirt.
Her eyes widened.
“What?” “It’s…” She went quiet.
I waited.
“It’s weird.” “Excellent scientific observation.” She elbowed me without looking up.
“I can feel where it’s touching.” “Through the ground?” “Kind of.” Her ability had always worked best when she had direct contact with earth or stone.
I’d seen her lift rocks.
Raise walls.
Crack pavement.
This was different.
She wasn’t controlling anything.
She was listening.
The stonegrazer moved again.
Threya smiled.
“That’s so cool.” I looked at her instead of the monster.
She noticed.
“What?” “Nothing.” “Why are you smiling?” “I’m not.” “You are.” “Must be facial damage.” She stood.
“You’re annoying.” “You climbed my house.” “Four days ago.” “Trauma lasts.” Ranger Alvarez lifted one hand.
Everyone quieted.
The stonegrazer had stopped eating.
Its head rose.
For a second, I thought it was looking at us.
Then its head turned sharply toward the tree line.
Alvarez’s posture changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Professor Lorne noticed.
“What is it?” “Not sure.” The stonegrazer stepped backward.
That bothered me.
Everything we’d been told described them as calm.
Slow.
Difficult to provoke.
It stepped back again.
Then turned.
Not toward us.
Away.
It started moving.
The ground trembled beneath its weight.
“Is that normal?” Paul asked.
“No,” Alvarez said.
That was when something screamed in the trees.
Every bird in the canopy exploded into the sky.
“Back.” Professor Lorne’s voice changed completely.
No classroom tone.
No patience.
“Students behind me.
Now.” We moved.
Mostly.
Frank stepped forward.
Lorne caught his shoulder.
“Behind me.” “But if something’s—” “Behind me.” Frank listened.
Two reserve officers moved toward the tree line.
One drew a short weapon from his belt.
Not a gun.
A collapsible baton that unfolded into a spear.
The other pressed two fingers against an earpiece.
“Control, this is Team Four.
Stonegrazer Group C displaying flight behavior.
Possible unknown presence east of marker seventeen.” Static.
Then a voice.
“Team Four, hold position.
Sensor network shows no registered Class Two or higher signatures.” The officer looked toward the trees.
Another scream.
Closer.
Kenya’s fox disappeared.
Not dismissed.
It vanished on its own.
Kenya flinched.
“That’s never happened.” I looked at her.
“What?” She tried summoning it again.
Light gathered near her hand.
Nothing formed.
“Kenya?” “I don’t know.” The forest went quiet.
Not normal quiet.
Nothing moved.
No insects.
No birds.
Even the wind seemed smaller.
I became aware of my heartbeat.
Professor Lorne spread one arm in front of us.
“Stay together.” Something moved behind the trees.
Frank’s skin began turning silver.
“Don’t,” Lorne said.
He stopped halfway.
Threya’s fingers flexed.
Toma’s breath fogged.
Montiro held his hands open, probably ready to manifest something despite the rules.
Paul looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.
Beth stared at the forest.
Benny moved beside me.
Not behind.
Beside.
“What do you see?” he whispered.
“Nothing.” “You always see something.” “Not helping.” A branch snapped.
The reserve officer raised his spear.
Something stumbled out.
Small.
Brown.
Bleeding.
It fell into the grass.
Everyone stared.
A deer.
Normal deer.
No glowing eyes.
No extra limbs.
No Core distortion.
Just a deer.
Its side was cut open.
Alvarez moved first.
“Stay here.” He approached slowly.
The deer kicked weakly.
Blood darkened the grass beneath it.
One of the officers scanned the wound.
“What did that?” No answer.
I looked toward the forest.
The stonegrazer was gone.
Whatever scared it hadn’t followed.
At least, not where we could see.
The radio crackled.
“Team Four, we’re reading a brief Core irregularity near your position.” The officer touched his earpiece.
“Classification?” “Unknown.
Signal already dropped.” “Monster?” A pause.
“Unknown.” I didn’t like that word.
Apparently, neither did Professor Lorne.
The exercise ended twelve minutes later.
Nobody complained about leaving early.
That was how I knew everyone had been scared.
Even Benny was quiet on the walk back.
The reserve’s medical team took the deer.
Response teams moved into the eastern section.
Drones rose above the trees.
Whatever had been there was apparently gone.
At least, that’s what they told us.
We sat outside the research building while instructors contacted parents and reorganized transportation.
Frank broke the silence first.
“We could’ve helped.” Emi looked at him.
“With what?” “My ability.” “Against what?” Frank didn’t answer.
Emi leaned back against the wall.
“We don’t know what was there.” “Exactly.” “That’s not an argument for fighting it.” “I didn’t say fighting.” “You stepped in front of the instructor.” Frank looked away.
Nobody laughed.
That was unusual.
Paul rubbed his palms against his pants.
“I would’ve done something.” Beth looked at him.
“What?” He frowned.
“I don’t know.” “Then you don’t know that.” Paul’s jaw tightened.
“Why are you like this?” Beth considered the question.
“I prefer accurate statements.” “Can you prefer them quieter?” “Yes.” Paul waited.
Beth didn’t say anything else.
He stared at her.
“That was worse.” Benny finally laughed.
Small.
But enough.
The tension loosened.
Kenya was sitting on the curb.
She’d managed to summon her fox again.
It stayed close to her leg.
“Why did it disappear?” I asked.
Kenya stroked its head.
Her fingers passed slightly into the light forming its ears.
“I don’t know.” “Has that ever happened?” “No.” “What did you feel?” She looked at me.
“Nothing.” “Nothing?” “That’s why it was weird.” Her eyes moved toward the forest.
“When I summon them, there’s always something there.
Like…” She struggled for the word.
“A connection?” “Maybe.” “And it stopped?” “For a second.” I looked toward the trees too.
Whatever had happened was already being handled.
Adults.
Professionals.
People whose job it was to understand things like that.
So I let it go.
At least, I tried to.
Threya sat beside me.
Our shoulders touched.
“You okay?” “Yeah.” “You’re doing the thing.” “What thing?” “Thinking too hard.” “How can you tell?” “Your face.” “What does my face do?” “Gets annoying.” “That’s just my face.” “Exactly.” I nudged her.
She nudged me harder.
I nearly fell off the curb.
Benny saw.
“Domestic violence.” “Shut up,” we said together.
He grinned.
There he was.
Professor Lorne walked over.
Everyone straightened a little.
She looked tired.
“Before anyone asks, no, we don’t know what caused the disturbance.” Montiro raised his hand.
She pointed at him.
“If your question is whether you could’ve shot it, the answer is no.” He lowered his hand.
“Wasn’t my question.” “It was.” “It might’ve been.” Lorne looked across all ten of us.
“Today wasn’t supposed to become a threat exercise.” Frank muttered, “Could’ve fooled me.” She heard him.
“That’s the point.” He looked up.
“You all did something very common.” Nobody spoke.
“You assumed that because you’re students with abilities, your abilities were the answer.” Her eyes moved to Frank.
“Steel.” Then Threya.
“Earth.” Toma.
“Ice.” Kenya.
“Summons.” Around the group.
“Every one of you began preparing to use what you’re good at before you understood the problem.” Her eyes eventually reached me.
She paused.
I waited.
“And Mr.
Kita was preparing to do…” She looked at my empty hands.
Benny started laughing.
I stared at him.
Professor Lorne’s mouth twitched.
“…something, presumably.” “Eventually.” A few people laughed.
Even Frank.
I should’ve been embarrassed.
Maybe I was.
A little.
Lorne continued.
“Being able to act and knowing what action is appropriate are not the same skill.
Remember that.” I did.
Long after I’d forgotten most of her lectures, I remembered that.
At fourteen, I thought she was talking about powers.
Years later, I understood she was talking about fighting.
Mom was waiting when the bus returned.
I knew Professor Lorne had contacted the parents because my mother hugged me before saying anything.
That made twice in one week.
Not ideal.
“I’m fine.” “I can see that.” “Then why are you crushing me?” “Because I’m your mother.” “Strong argument.” She let go.
Her eyes moved over the students leaving the bus.
Benny waved.
“Hi, Mrs.
Kita!” “Hello, Benny.” “I kept him safe.” “No, you didn’t,” I said.
Mom looked at Benny.
“Thank you.” “Mom.” “Anytime.” Benny grinned.
I hated both of them.
Threya came down the steps next.
She slowed when she saw Mom.
“Hi, Mrs.
Kita.” Mom crossed her arms.
Threya stopped.
There was a long silence.
“I apologize for the geological structure.” I looked away so nobody would see me smiling.
Mom’s expression held for another second.
Then broke.
“Go home, Threya.” “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried away.
Mom looked at me.
“You like that girl too much.” I almost tripped.
“What?” “Come on.” She started toward the car.
I followed.
“What does that mean?” “Nothing.” “You can’t say something like that and then say nothing.” “I just did.” “Mom.” She opened the driver’s door.
“Akio.” I got in.
She won.
Again.
Monday morning, Professor Lorne had already turned the reserve incident into homework.
Of course she had.
FIELD RESPONSE ANALYSIS Describe the moment intervention became justified.
Identify the appropriate intervention.
Explain why.
I stared at the question.
Then at my blank page.
Benny leaned over.
“What’d you put?” “Nothing.” “Perfect.
Same.” “Stop copying me.” “I’m not copying.
We’re collaborating.” “Go away.” He leaned farther.
I covered the page.
“Akio.” “Benny.” “I’ll give you my drink.” “It’s mine.” He looked at the bottle in his hand.
I looked at it.
Peach.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Did Threya give you that?” “No.” Across the room, Threya was trying very hard not to look at us.
I stood.
She ran.
“Get back here.” She laughed and disappeared around the doorway.
I followed.
Benny followed me.
Frank saw us running and joined without knowing why.
Then Paul joined because Frank did.
Montiro wanted to know what was happening.
Kenya came out of the classroom.
Toma followed her.
Emi told everyone to stop running in the hallway while walking after us anyway.
Beth was last.
She didn’t hurry.
She never did.
By the time we reached the stairwell, I had forgotten about the worksheet.
Forgotten about the forest.
Forgotten about the wounded deer.
Forgotten about the strange silence that had swallowed Kenya’s summon.
There were ten of us.
At that age, ten felt like a permanent number.