The Academy’s evening bell rang at precisely four-thirty, releasing a tide of students into the corridors.
Zayden was gathering his things when Natasha fell into step beside him, her expression thoughtful.
“Can we stop by the library?” she asked.
“To look into Professor Richard’s question.”
Zayden shook his head, offering her a brief, apologetic look.
“I have somewhere to be. I’ll look into it later.”
The original Zayden had already worked through most of the Academy’s library, he reminded himself as he walked away.
Whatever answer Professor Richard was fishing for, it almost certainly wasn’t sitting on those shelves.
More importantly, he had the CSF to deal with — and that couldn’t wait.
He made his way toward the main gate, but slowed when he spotted a familiar figure standing near the entrance.
The man from the botanical garden.
He was deep in conversation with Professor Richard, their voices low and unhurried.
Zayden kept his pace steady, intending to slip past with a simple nod, but Professor Richard caught his eye and brightened.
“Zayden — perfect timing. Come, meet someone.”
He stopped, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.
“This is Elos Park,” the Professor said, gesturing to the man beside him with a kind of quiet pride.
“A researcher.
And —” he turned to Elos with a smile — “this is Zayden Everhart.
My sharpest student.”
Elos Park was somewhere in his mid-thirties, with calm, attentive eyes and the unhurried bearing of someone who spent more time thinking than talking.
He extended a hand.
“Nice to meet you, Zayden.”
“Likewise, sir.” Zayden shook it.
Professor Richard chuckled.
“Honestly, Elos, at his age? You two are remarkably alike. Same appetite for knowledge, same instincts — just different people.”
“That’s a high compliment,” Elos said, studying Zayden with what felt like genuine curiosity.
“Thank you, sir.” Zayden glanced toward the gate.
“I don’t mean to be rude — I genuinely appreciate it — but I’m running a little late. I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Of course, of course.” Professor Richard waved him off warmly.
“Go. But I’m still expecting an answer, Everhart. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t.” Zayden gave them both a respectful nod.
“Goodbye, sir. Goodbye, Mr. Park.”
He turned and walked through the gate.
Behind him, he caught the faint murmur of Elos Park’s voice, low and deliberate, saying something to the Professor.
Zayden didn’t slow down.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t his business — not right now.
The streets of Amber City swallowed him immediately.
Merchants called out from either side of the road, the smell of spiced food and fresh produce thick in the air, and people moved in dense, unhurried crowds that had no particular interest in making way for anyone.
Near the crossroads, a street musician coaxed something low and mournful from a battered violin, his case open at his feet and mostly ignored.
Zayden wove through the press of bodies with practiced patience, ducking past a loaded cart and sidestepping a cluster of children before finally breaking free into the quieter lanes beyond.
A few minutes’ walk brought him to the CSF office.
It was an unmistakable building — a grey triangular ceiling that caught the last light of the afternoon, off-white walls weathered to the colour of old paper, and a medieval-style door in the same iron grey as the stonework.
A handful of officers stood at the entrance, their postures alert, their eyes moving across the street in slow, habitual sweeps.
Zayden approached the nearest one.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Officer Manher Steve.”
The officer’s gaze sharpened.
“What’s your business with Officer Steve?”
Before Zayden could answer, the door behind the man swung open.
“Zayden.” Manher Steve stepped out, already looking unsurprised.
“Right on time. I was starting to wonder.”
Something in the officer’s tone made the others nearby take a quiet, instinctive step back, clearing the way without being asked.
Manher gestured toward the door.
“Come inside. We’ll talk in my office.”
The interior of the CSF building had the particular energy of a place that had been under pressure for a long time and had simply decided to live with it.
Officers moved between desks with quick, purposeful strides.
Voices were clipped and efficient.
The air felt denser here, heavier — the kind of atmosphere that accumulated when too many serious things happened in too small a space.
Zayden followed Manher through the main floor, keeping pace as the officer led him down a short corridor and pushed open a door at the end.
The office was small.
The upper half of the walls was glass, the lower half dark wood, with thin black stripes of trim bridging the two.
Papers were everywhere — stacked on the desk, spread across a side table, pinned in uneven clusters on the wall.
Manher caught Zayden’s expression and raised a hand.
“Don’t say anything. I know.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Zayden said mildly.
“Busy.” Manher dropped into the chair behind the desk.
“It’s been a busy week. Sit down.”
Zayden sat, settling into the chair across from him.
Manher folded his hands on the desk and got straight to it.
“I’ve been thinking about how to handle your situation. Given everything — the Awakening, the timeline, the risks — I think we need to keep you within our observation for at least four months. Possibly as long as a year.”
Zayden blinked.
“Because the first stage after an Awakening is unpredictable.” Manher’s voice was matter-of-fact, not unkind.
“We need to confirm you can actually manage your ability — that it’s responding to you, not the other way around. And more urgently, we need to monitor for mutation. It’s not uncommon in the early period.”
Mutation.
Zayden filed the word away carefully.
“Understood. What does the monitoring involve?”
“Daily meditation and physical training — non-negotiable. And a rotation with the Night Patrol. We’ve had a spike in incidents lately. Badge holders are significantly less stable after dark, and we’re spread thin.” He paused.
“You’d be paired with a senior patrol officer, of course.”
“I have my final exams coming up,” Zayden said.
Not that I’m worried about them, he added privately.
With everything the original Zayden absorbed over the years, clearing those exams would be almost effortless.
But there’s no reason to let anyone know that.
He let a small furrow appear in his brow — just enough to look appropriately stressed.
Manher nodded slowly.
“We can work around your schedule. What does your day look like?”
Zayden thought it through.
“I could come in directly after Academy — one to two hours, most days. For the night shifts, I’d need to start late. After two in the morning should be manageable. My family won’t notice if I’m careful.”
Manher considered that, then nodded.
“That’s within what we can arrange. It’s not ideal, but it works. We start tomorrow — come in after your classes.”
“Understood.” Zayden hesitated, then decided to press forward.
“There’s something else. Yesterday — the plant overgrowth, near the city’s edge. Professor Richard brought it up as a challenge today. He knows the answer, but he’s not telling.”
The change in Manher’s face was immediate.
The easy, administrative calm vanished, replaced by something much more guarded.
He leaned forward slowly.
“You’re asking because you think you can find the answer.”
“I’m asking because I think it might be connected to something important.”
Manher was quiet for a long moment, his eyes steady on Zayden’s face.
Then he spoke, and his voice had dropped into a register that carried the weight of a serious warning.
“If you find it — if you actually manage to figure out what caused — you don’t tell anyone.” He held Zayden’s gaze.
“Not your classmates. Not Natasha. Not even Professor Richard.”
Zayden kept his expression neutral.
“Why?”
Manher’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Because some answers are more dangerous than the questions.”
Not every important character announces themselves.
Elos Park certainly didn’t.
And Zayden’s smartest move this chapter wasn’t answering a question — it was knowing exactly which emotions to fake.
Chapter 18 is coming.
Stay sharp.