I step out of Marcus’s building, the cold air slapping me. It’s refreshing, in a way—a momentary jolt to the system, dragging me back to reality. But it’s not enough to clear my head. The conversation with Marcus replays in my mind, looping over and over. You’re not the only one who can do it. The words settle like a weight on my shoulders. I thought I was unique, untouchable. That belief is gone now, replaced by something far darker.

As I walk, the city around me feels different. The lights blur, and the faces seem distant. I used to walk these streets and feel in control. Now? Now it feels like I’m being watched. Marcus’s cryptic warning gnaws at me. They’ve noticed you. You’ve been making waves.

But who the hell are they?

I need to get out of my head for a while, but I can’t shut it off. The silence, the resistance, the sudden sense that I’m no longer at the top of the food chain—all of it collides in a chaotic storm that won’t let me think straight. I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling my phone vibrate—a new text message. I don’t want to look, but curiosity gets the better of me.

It’s from Marcus.

You’re being watched. I suggest you start paying attention.

I stare at the screen, my pulse quickening. Watched. The word digs in like a thorn. I look up, scanning the street, and the people passing by. Nothing seems out of place. Everything is just as it should be—just as normal as before.

But it doesn’t feel normal anymore.

I put the phone away and quickened my pace, weaving through the crowd. My apartment is close, and right now, that’s the only place that feels safe. If Marcus is right, if someone’s really watching me, I need to figure out what I’m dealing with. But I don’t plan on waiting for them to make the first move. I’ve got a few tricks of my own.

* * * *

The apartment door closes behind me with a familiar creak, but it doesn’t comfort me like it used to. The place feels too quiet, too exposed. I lock the door, throw the deadbolt, and head straight for the windows. I stand there for a long moment, just watching, waiting for some sign of the threat Marcus warned me about.

But there’s nothing.

I pull back the blinds, then step away, the tension in my muscles refusing to ease. My head is still pounding from the earlier strain, but I don’t have time to rest. I sit at my desk, powering on my laptop. The screen hums to life, casting a dull glow over the room. I haven’t had to do any real digging in a long time—normally, I’d just pull what I need from someone’s mind. But right now, the usual methods aren’t enough. There’s something bigger going on, and I need to find out what it is before it’s too late.

I type in a few names, starting with Marcus. No public records, no social media accounts. Not surprising. Marcus has always kept himself off the grid, always one step ahead of anyone trying to trace him.

Next, I search for any reports of unusual activity—anything that might hint at others with powers like mine. But the web is vast, and there’s too much noise to sift through. Conspiracy theories, blog posts about mind control, whispers of government experiments. Nothing concrete. Nothing useful.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I sit back, rubbing my temples, frustration building. Marcus is right—there’s a bigger game being played, and I’m stumbling through it blind. I can feel it, the pieces shifting beneath the surface, but I can’t see the full picture yet.

A knock at the door breaks my concentration.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My heart pounds as I stand, moving slowly toward the door. Another knock, this one louder, more urgent.

I glance through the peephole. A woman stands there, her hood pulled low over her face. She looks nervous, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds.

I hesitate. There’s something off about this. But the curiosity gnaws at me.

I open the door a crack.

"Who are you?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

She glances around again, then leans in closer, her voice a whisper. "I don’t have much time. You need to listen. They’re coming for you."

My blood runs cold. "Who’s coming?"

She doesn’t answer, just pushes her way inside and closes the door behind her, locking it with trembling hands. I back up, keeping my distance. She pulls down her hood, revealing sharp eyes and a tense expression.

"I know what you can do," she says, her voice low. "And I know they’re after you because of it."

I narrow my eyes, suspicion prickling at the edges of my mind. "How do you know about me?"

She shakes her head. "There’s no time for that. We need to move. Now."

I cross my arms, keeping my voice steady. "I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are and what’s going on."

She hesitates, her eyes darting toward the window. "You’re not the only one, Jonah. There are more like you. And they’re hunting us down."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. More people like me? I knew it was possible—Marcus hinted as much—but hearing it out loud feels different. It feels real.

"Who’s hunting us?" I ask, my voice tight.

She takes a deep breath, her hands still trembling. "There’s an organization. They’ve been tracking people like you—like us—for years. They don’t want us out in the open. They want control."

"Control?" The word tastes bitter in my mouth. I’ve spent my life being the one in control, the one pulling the strings. The idea that someone else could be pulling mine makes my skin crawl.

She nods. "They use people like us to do their dirty work. But if you don’t fall in line… they make you disappear."

A chill runs down my spine. "And you’re saying they’re coming for me."

She locks eyes with me, her voice deadly serious. "They already are."

I take a step back, trying to process everything. It all feels like too much, like the world I’ve built for myself is crumbling faster than I can catch it. If what she’s saying is true, then I’m already in danger. But the question is—how far am I willing to go to survive?

* * * *

We move through the back streets of the city, keeping to the shadows. The woman—who still hasn’t told me her name—leads the way, her movements quick and deliberate. Every now and then, she glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the dark for signs of pursuit.

"Where are we going?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"Somewhere safe," she replies, her tone clipped.

I grit my teeth, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. I don’t like being in the dark, but right now, I don’t have much of a choice.

As we turn a corner, she stops suddenly, her hand shooting out to stop me. I freeze, my pulse quickening.

"Stay quiet," she whispers.

I follow her gaze, my eyes landing on a group of men standing at the far end of the alley. They’re dressed in dark suits, their faces hidden in the shadows. One of them pulls out a phone, speaking in low tones to someone on the other end.

My gut tightens. Something about them feels wrong, off.

"They’re here," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "We need to move."

Without another word, we slip back into the shadows, the cold night air biting at my skin. My mind races, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. For the first time in my life, I’m not the one in control.

And that terrifies me.