Morning came too quickly, sunlight streaming through thin curtains. Lance expected stiffness, soreness from yesterday’s run, but his body felt surprisingly fresh. Diego was already up, doing stretches that would have been impossible with normal human flexibility.

  “Ready for round two?” he asked, grinning as Lance sat up.

  They took it slower that day, maintaining a steady pace rather than pushing their limits. The conversation flowed easier too, ranging from life before the pandemic to speculation about what awaited them at Cherry Point.

  “You think there are others like us?” Diego asked as they passed the halfway point of their second day’s journey. “I mean, obviously there are—we met Briella. But how many?”

  Lance thought about Agent Garvin’s statement. I never claimed you were the strongest enhanced individual. “More than we know, probably.”

  He rolled forward on his heels, letting the new warmth in his core spread through his legs.

  “You testing something?” Diego asked.

  “Maybe.”

  His next stride stretched a foot longer than normal, making him stumble.

  “Whoa there.”

  Lance caught himself, adjusted, tried again. This time his legs moved smoother, eating up more ground with each step.

  “Since when are you faster than me?” Diego picked up his pace. “Were you holding out yesterday?”

  “New upgrade.”

  “What, like right now?”

  “Last night.” Lance tracked the arma running from his core down through his thighs into his calves like a strand of hot wire. The burn in his muscles felt different—present but manageable, like his body knew exactly how much oxygen it needed.

  Diego matched his speed, breathing harder than before. “Show-off.”

  When Lance’s foot hit a rough patch, Morphoplasm automatically reinforced his ankle. No conscious thought required. The black mass just... responded. That’s new.

  They passed abandoned farms and empty gas stations, both moving faster than any normal runner could maintain. Diego had improved too—his stride longer, and more efficient than yesterday. But the gap between them had widened.

  “Think the Enhanced Corps has stuff like this figured out? The whole evolution thing?”

  Agent Garvin and her speech appeared in his head again. “They must. Otherwise, why recruit us?”

  “To study us maybe. Like lab rats.”

  “Probably both.”

  Nine hours of running yesterday had changed them. Lance could feel it in how naturally his energy flowed now, how each system worked together instead of having to brute force them. The difference clicked into place—Energy Cycling had been like learning a new language. Energy Circulation was letting his body speak it naturally. His muscles remembered the patterns now, knew how to move arma without Lance having to calculate each step.

  So if he had to sum it up, the difference between Energy Cycling and Energy Circulation came down to Responsiveness. In other words, speed.

  And the Cherry Point waited ahead.

  Lance picked up his pace, curious how much faster he could push before his body forgot its new language. And, to his surprise, his HUD answered:

  [Energy Circulation Analysis]

  ├─Stride length: 2.7 meters

  ├─Ground contact time: 0.14 seconds

  ├─Power output: 842 watts

  └─System efficiency: 94.3%

  That’s new…

  Each step generated new metrics. The numbers kept climbing. A month ago, he would have obsessed over each decimal point, trying to optimize every variable. Now they were just background noise, like a heart beating or lungs breathing—vital signs for abilities that had become second nature.

  [WARNING: Approaching theoretical human limits]

  └─Recalculating baseline parameters...

  └─New baseline established: Enhanced physiology detected

  └─Restrictions lifted

  Lance almost laughed. Even his powers’ diagnostic system couldn’t keep up anymore. The old rules didn’t apply—they were writing new ones with every mile.

  Second Evolution Progress:

  └──Stage 2: Neural-muscular synchronization complete

  └──Optimizing cellular energy pathways...

  └───Stage 2 threshold exceeded

  └────Initiating Stage 3: Biomolecular reconstruction

  [Body Energy Integration: Stage 3]

  Second Evolution Progress:

  └─Stage 3: Biomolecular reconstruction initiated

  Stolen novel; please report.

  └─Cellular restructuring: Active

  └─Arma integration: Optimizing

  └─Evolution threshold: 0%

  Lance pulled his attention from the endless highway, reading and re-reading the system messages like it might vanish before he could understand it.

  Stage 1 had been like upgrading his body’s firmware, making everything run smoother. Stage 2 had rewired his nervous system until his muscles responded faster than thought. But Stage 3... “Biomolecular reconstruction” sounded like his cells were being rebuilt from scratch.

  He wasn’t just learning to use his powers better—his body was fundamentally changing to accommodate them.

  How many more stages are there? At what point would there be more arma than human left in him? Would he even notice when he crossed that line? He wished he could talk to Dr. Patel about all this. She’d probably have a whole whiteboard filled with diagrams by now, excitedly explaining the implications of cellular restructuring while he pretended to follow along. But he was done with BioNova, and he was flying blind through his own evolution. At least the system messages gave him some guidance, even if they raised more questions than answers.

  As the sun set again, the base appeared out of the dusk haze—a sprawl of concrete and steel behind layers of fencing, its gates stark under powerful floodlights. Rows of hangars lined the airfield, their metal sides reflecting the last sunlight. Guard towers rose at regular intervals, silhouetted against the purple sky.

  Lance and Diego approached the gate. A sign listed “FPCON BRAVO+” in bright orange letters, and Diego squinted at it.

  “What’s FPCON?”

  “Force Protection Condition. Military’s threat level system.”

  “Nerd. How do you even know that?”

  “ROTC.”

  “Of course you did ROTC.”

  Two MPs emerged from the guard shack, M4s held at low ready. Their faces transformed from bored to alert as Lance and Diego got closer.

  “That’s far enough. State your business.”

  “We’re here for the Enhanced Corps selection,” Lance said.

  “Back gate for that. This is the main entrance—authorized personnel only.”

  “Right, Agent Garvin mentioned—”

  “Then you know where to go. Back up slowly, hands visible.”

  They retreated, the MPs watching until they were well clear of the gate.

  “Race you there?”

  Before Lance could answer, Diego took off at enhanced speed.

  Lance exploded forward. Wind whipped his face. His HUD flashed: [Speed: 39.7 MPH]. He couldn’t break 40. Didn’t matter. He still passed The Beast in seconds.

  Diego’s “Hey!” faded behind him, lost in the rush of air. His feet skimmed the ground between strides.

  The back gate appeared ahead. Lance slowed to a walk as he reached the sign: “WELCOME TO MCAS CHERRY POINT” in bold letters, with “ENHANCED CORPS SCREENING CENTER” newly added below.

  Diego caught up, breathing hard. “When did you get another speed upgrade? That’s just not fair, man.”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Bullshit. Your upgrades are broken.”

  “Says the guy who couldn’t walk last week.”

  “Low blow.” Diego bent over, hands on his knees. “Give me a minute. Pretty sure my lungs are trying to escape.”

  Other figures were converging on the entrance—some arriving by car, others on foot like them. All moving with the same purposeful grace that marked them as enhanced. A black autonomous vehicle pulled up to the main gate. Two people climbed out. They didn’t walk to the entrance—they floated.

  “Well,” Diego said, clapping Lance on the shoulder, “guess this is it.”

  Lance could only nod as a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows near the gate. Agent Garvin, looking exactly as she had yesterday morning, not a hair out of place.

  They approached and so did she.

  “Gentlemen,” Garvin said, her expression unreadable. “I see you decided to take the scenic route.”

  Behind her, the floodlights stretched dark shapes along the pavement, and in those shadows, something moved. Something that made Lance’s senses scream in warning.

  They weren’t the only ones who’d come to be tested.

  However, after running a hundred and sixty miles, quite frankly, Lance couldn’t bring himself to care about whatever lurked in those shadows.

  “You’re checked in.” Garvin gestured toward the entrance. “Building One, Room 201. The MPs will show you where.”

  Lance and Diego exchanged a look.

  “Get some rest. Tomorrow starts early, and it’s going to be a long day.”

  The MPs flanked them as they crossed into the base. Their worn running shoes padded silently across the gravel while spotlights blazed overhead like artificial suns.

  A man passed them in the dark, his skin reflecting the light like polished copper scales. Behind him walked another whose breath came out in visible puffs despite the relatively warm night, wisps of vapor trailing from her lips like ethereal smoke.

  Building One loomed ahead—three stories of weathered brick and steel doors. The stairwell amplified every footfall as they climbed to the second floor.

  Room 201’s door glided open over the carpeted floor to reveal standard military quarters: two metal bunk beds, four footlockers, and a window overlooking the compound. On each bed lay a stack of supplies—gray PT uniforms, white socks, running shoes, toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, deodorant.

  Steam filled the small bathroom as they took turns showering. The hot water felt like heaven after two days of running.

  “Mind if I take the bottom bunk?”

  Lance looked up from sorting through his supplies. “Any particular reason?”

  “I move around too much. Those top bunks don’t have rails—I’d definitely fall.”

  “I can take the top.”

  “Perfect. And with your pain nullification, you won’t even feel it when you crash face-first into the floor.”

  “Jackass.” Lance threw a sock at Diego’s head.

  Diego caught it without looking. “Love you too, bro.”

  Lance settled into the top bunk’s thin mattress, yet somehow the exhaustion from running halfway across North Carolina made it feel softer than his bed at home.

  Somewhere in the darkness beyond their window, a helicopter’s blades thumped against the night sky. Diego’s half-finished sentence trailed off into soft snores.

  The door clicked open an hour later. Lance kept his breathing steady as two figures slipped in. One had geometric tattoos that gleamed under the bathroom’s fluorescent glow, spreading across his neck like digital blocks. The other wore his dreads tied up with what looked like copper wire. They moved carefully through the dark room, unpacking their bags in near silence until the one with the tattoos banged his foot on the bed frame.

  “Shit,” he whispered, though Diego didn’t even stir.

  They used only the bathroom light to get ready for bed, speaking in hushed tones about tomorrow’s evaluation. Lance stayed awake until their breathing evened out, old habits dying hard. But something about how they’d tried to avoid waking anyone made him think that maybe, for once, his paranoia was unnecessary.

  His eyes grew heavy, then closed. The long road was over.