The holding wing always smelled the same.
Cold metal. Old magic. Disinfectant strong enough to sting the nose.
Aiden walked down the narrow corridor, boots echoing against the polished floor. On one side, a long strip of glass showed the dark outside world like a painting. On the other, reinforced doors broke the wall into numbered segments.
Cells.
"First mission, first live capture," Varrick said beside him. "You understand not every rookie gets this kind of record."
"I understand," Aiden answered.
He understood the words. He did not understand why they felt so heavy.
They had brought the Deviant in less than an hour ago. The suppression bands had held all the way from the South Sector to Central Ward. Even under the red glow of the restraints, Aiden had seen how pale the boy was, how his fingers still twitched like they were chasing lost lightning.
Now, somewhere beyond the next door, that electricity was trapped in concrete and steel.
Aiden's stomach twisted.
They stopped outside Observation Room 3.
"Your father wants you to see this," Varrick said, keying the panel. "He believes exposure will be useful."
Useful.
The door slid open.
The observation room was small and simple: a table, two chairs, a wall of one‑way glass looking into the interrogation chamber. A faint blue line marked the floor around the glass, humming with a quiet ward.
Director Hadrien Lioren stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the room beyond the glass. He didn't turn as Aiden entered.
"Sir," Aiden said.
"Come closer," his father replied. "Watch."
On the other side of the glass, the Deviant sat in a metal chair, wrists locked in red suppression cuffs bolted to the table. A faint collar ringed his neck, its light blinking in slow, steady pulses.
Without the storm around him, he looked smaller.
His jacket had been removed, leaving him in a damp, worn T‑shirt. A few faint scars crossed his forearms, pale lines under the harsh white light. His hair, now dry, stuck up in uneven waves.
His eyes, though—his eyes were the same.
Sharp. Alert. Angry.
Captain Mara sat across from him, a tablet on the table. A guard stood near the door inside the chamber, hands folded, gaze flat.
"Subject ID?" Mara asked.
The boy stared at her in silence.
"Name," she repeated.
He shrugged one shoulder. "You already have a word for me. Deviant. Isn't that enough?"
"We prefer precise data," Mara said. "Name."
He clicked his tongue. "You first."
Mara's face didn't move. "This is not a conversation, Subject—"
"Kael," he said.
Mara paused.
"Kael…?" she prompted.
"Just Kael." He gave a small, tired smile. "We don't all get two names and a clean file."
Aiden's chest tightened at the sound of it.
Kael.
His father's reflection in the glass shifted slightly. "Stubborn," the Director murmured. "Not surprising with that output level."
Aiden kept his eyes forward. "Output level, sir?"
"His energy readings reached levels we haven't recorded in a natural Electromancer in years," Hadrien said. "That kind of raw power is rare. Dangerous without guidance."
"And with guidance?" Aiden asked before he could stop himself.
"With guidance," his father said, "it can serve the city instead of tearing it apart."
In the interrogation room, Mara's questions moved on.
"Age?"
"Old enough to know you won't like the answer."
"Age," she repeated.
Kael rolled his eyes. "Twenty."
"Origin sector?"
"Why?" he asked. "Planning to send flowers to my childhood home?"
"Origin sector," Mara said again, the slightest trace of impatience seeping in.
Kael leaned back as far as the restraints allowed and smiled with no humor at all.
"South. Like half the people you drag in here. You build the grid on our backs, then call us parasites when it shocks you."
A muscle moved in Mara's jaw. "When did your powers manifest?"
"Why do you care? So you can find kids sooner next time?"
"Answer the question."
"Eleven," he said finally, eyes flicking to the side as if he could see past the walls. "Blew out a whole block of street lamps. Thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever done. My sister thought so too."
His voice softened on the last part.
"Where is your sister now?" Mara asked.
Kael's smile vanished. His fingers tightened around nothing.
"Gone," he said. "Like a lot of people who get near your vans."
Silence settled over the room for a moment.
Aiden realized his hands were clenched at his sides and forced them to relax.
Common mistakes in interrogation, his academy instructors had warned, included letting the subject control the emotional pace of the exchange. Mara didn't make that mistake. She shifted to a different angle.
"You created a street‑wide surge tonight," she said. "You could have shut down medical grids, transport lanes, even life support systems. Do you understand how many lives you risked?"
Kael laughed once, sharp.
"You talk about lives," he said softly. "You ever been in a building when your teams come through? Lives don't seem to bother you then."
"You are avoiding the question."
"I'm answering all of them," Kael replied. "Just not the way you like."
Mara's fingers tapped the tablet, logging his responses. "Your control is poor. You spike under emotional stress. That makes you a threat to civilians."
"Or maybe," Kael said, leaning forward as far as the cuffs let him, "maybe I never got the training your shiny agents get, because the second we spark, you slap collars on us and call us defective."
His gaze flicked up to the glass.
Right at Aiden.
He shouldn't have been able to see him. The glass was one‑way, shielded, reinforced.
But for a second, Aiden felt like Kael was looking straight through it.
Through him.
"Some of us," Kael said quietly, "weren't born in towers."
Aiden's breath hitched.
"Observation rooms are for analysis, not reaction," his father said, eyes still on the scene. "Keep your focus, Aiden."
"Yes, sir."
He forced his face into stillness.
Inside the chamber, Mara moved on.
"Why were you in that alley?" she asked. "Your power surge was not random. It registered as a triggered response. What were you reacting to?"
Kael's jaw set.
"Answer, and your processing may be faster," Mara added. "Refuse, and you will spend longer in holding."
Kael gave her a look that said he believed none of that.
"I was leaving," he said. "That's all."
"Leaving what?"
"Does it matter?" His eyes flashed. "You're not interested in why. Just in how much you can cut out and reuse."
"We are interested in patterns," Mara said. "In threats."
"I wasn't a threat until you showed up," he shot back. "I wasn't hurting anyone."
"You disrupted the city grid."
"The city grid," he repeated slowly. "Do you hear yourself?"
Mara's calm cracked. "You pushed your abilities far beyond safe levels. You could have killed yourself."
"Better me than someone in your labs," Kael said, voice suddenly flat.
Aiden felt the words like a physical blow.
Labs.
He had seen those wings, once, from a distance. Training facilities, his instructors had called them. Containment research. Necessary sacrifices.
He swallowed.
"His file will be transferred to the Research Division," Hadrien said. "With that power rating, the Board will want a full evaluation. If he survives the tests, he may be…repurposed."
Aiden forced himself to ask, "And if he doesn't survive, sir?"
"Then his data will still be useful," his father replied. "Nothing is wasted."
Cold slid down Aiden's spine.
In the chamber, Mara stood.
"That's enough for tonight," she said. "We'll continue once the medics have stabilized your readings."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You already have what you want. Power levels. Trigger patterns. You don't need anything else."
"Oh, we'll need much more," Mara said. "But we have time. You're not going anywhere."
She nodded to the guard, then left the room.
The guard stepped forward to check Kael's restraints.
For a few seconds, the boy sat very still.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head and stared at the glass again.
At the people he couldn't see.
At Aiden.
"You're watching, aren't you?" he said softly.
The guard frowned. "Who are you talking to?"
Kael didn't answer him.
His eyes stayed on the glass.
Aiden's heart hammered. He knew Kael couldn't actually see him, and yet it felt like he could. It felt like the entire weight of the boy's attention pushed through the barrier.
"This is where your training will be valuable," Hadrien said calmly. "You saw his field behavior. You felt the surge. Your perspective will help refine the new control protocols."
"Control protocols," Aiden repeated.
"That's why I had you brought here," his father said. "You did well tonight. You held your ground under direct contact. You saw the cost of instability. Let it remind you why our work is necessary."
Necessary.
Out there, down in the streets, people whispered different words for it.
Aiden kept his face neutral. "Yes, sir."
Hadrien touched the panel. The glass darkened until the interrogation room was nothing but a hazy outline.
"Come," he said. "We have reports to finalize."
He left without looking back.
Aiden stayed a heartbeat longer, staring at the dark glass.
In his mind, he could still see Kael in that chair, hands trembling, eyes bright with stubborn fire. He could still feel the lightning on his shield. The way his own power had tried to answer.
This isn't over, that look had said.
"I know," Aiden whispered, too low for anyone to hear.
Then he turned away and followed his father out of the room.