"The letter arrived on a morning that felt ordinary enough to be cruel."
It was sitting on the kitchen table when Jules entered the room, its white envelope uncreased, his name laboriously written in block letters. Not typed, not printed, written. And it was this which first sent a shiver of foreboding down his stomach.
Again, Ruby had already opened hers.
She was standing near the counter, hair catching the sunlight, eyes darting across the page. She adjusted her stance as she read, slight changes, ones Jules had learned to recognize. A straightening of the shoulders. A stillness, an indication that her full attention had focused.
Their mother saw her.
Jules observed both of them.
He picked up his own letter.
It was heavier than it should have been. Or maybe his hands were simply shaking.
"Open it," said his mother, not unkindly.
He did.
The words had been polite. Carefully selected. Soft around the edges.
*Assessment complete
*Developmental trajectory pending.*
Further observation recommended.
Jules read it twice before it sank in.
There was no time. No place. No academy crest at the top of the page.
No invitation.
Ruby lowered the letter.
"Well?" she asked, not smug, just curious. Jules swallowed. "They want to… watch me more."
Their mother reached for Ruby's letter. She skimmed it once, then again more slowly. For a moment, something like relief crossed her face.
"I start preparations right now," she told him.
Ruby smiled. Small, controlled—but real.
Jules folded his letter back into its envelope.
It just happened that way. No shouting. No arguing. Just a silent handling of futures.
The evaluation center was nothing like Jules had envisioned.
No grand hall, no banners, just white walls, low ceilings, and rooms that smelled faintly of metal and disinfectant. He sat on a padded bench while people with tablets walked past him without a glance.
Ruby was taken first.
"Standard separation," someone said, already moving her down the hall.
Ruby looked back once. Once. Jules raised his hand, but she was gone.
He waited.
Minutes dilated. Then longer.
Finally, a man with weary eyes summoned his name.
The tests were simple. Way too simple.
Grip strength. Reflexives. Endurance markers that Jules had honed his entire life. He pressed harder than he ever had, lungs screaming, vision narrowing, and the numbers barely changed.
At one moment, a woman frowned at the screen.
"Did you feel anything strange just now?" she asked.
Jules hesitated.
He imagined frost on glass. Cracks in stone. His mother's hand hovering inches over his chest.
"No," he said.
She nodded and made a note anyway.
But when it was over, nobody told him he had failed.
They just thanked him for his time.
Ruby entered the room a little later, looking bright and alert, her energy surrounding her in a way that Jules sensed now. Her mother stood up as soon as she saw her.
Jules stood too, a half-step behind.
A man approached them, smiling professionally.
"Your daughter is a young girl with exceptional potential," said the man. "She will start introductory integration within a month."
"And my son?" their mother asked.
The man stopped. But only just.
"We recommend continued home development," he said. "His metrics don't indicate instant risk—but also not readiness."
Jules waited for someone to argue.
No one did.
The ride home was quiet.
Ruby sat and stared out the window, her fingers moving as if she were drawing shapes in the air. Jules watched as the city sped by and wondered how many other kids were being brought to something he wasn't allowed to see.
That night, unable to sleep, he stayed awake long after the house grew quiet.
From his room, he could hear his mother and Ruby talking in low voices. Plans. Schedules. Adjust
A future being assembled.
Jules rolled over onto his side, burying his face in the pillow.
Something moved in the darkness, not inside him, but around him. The air was heavy, like before a storm. He held his breath without realizing it.
The walls creaked for a moment.
Then it passed.
Jules breathed slowly.
No one came to check on him.
Next morning, Ruby departed early.
She hugged him suddenly and clumsily at the door. "I'll tell you what it's like."
Jules nodded. "Yeah
He watched her walk away with their mother, and the distance between them was filled with ease and naturalness, as though it had been meant to be.
The door closed.
The house settled.
Jules was alone in the silence and realized, finally, that this had nothing to do with power being late.
It was about being considered unnecessary.
And somehow, deep within the depths of that moment of grasping, something vast and patient took note and waited.