The air was thick, still, with the faint smell of stone, dust, and wire. One dim light buzzed above, casting pale rings over the cold concrete floor.
Kai stood at the center, unmoving.
His eyes were open but distant, focused inward—locked onto a memory from moments ago. Evan’s voice still echoed in his mind.
“I don’t want to be like Marcus or Darren. I want speed. Real speed. I want to be the first one to move when something goes wrong. I want to be faster than anyone.”
That had been enough.
Now Evan stood across the room, hoodie loose, arms slightly tense at his sides.
“You sure about this?” Kai asked.
Evan gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Kai gestured to the chair under the light. Evan sat without another word.
Kai closed his eyes.
A breath in.
A breath out.
And then, silence.
Kai’s body remained perfectly still, but something inside him shifted—unmoored from the physical. He slipped free.
The world dulled. The hum of electricity faded. Even the air seemed to slow.
Kai hovered just outside himself, the space filling with the now-familiar haze of slow time. Smoke curled at the edges of his vision like thought given shape.
He turned toward Evan, seated in the center of this frozen room, and began.
Speed.
That was what Evan wanted—not just fast feet, but speed at the edge of instinct. Speed that defied warning. Speed that beat the first sound of danger.
Kai imagined it.
He imagined Evan blinking and disappearing.
He imagined Evan outrunning sound.
But he didn’t stop there.
Kai knew now—vivid wasn’t enough. Desire wasn’t enough. The body had to remain. The result had to be logical.
So he imagined Evan the same.
Same height. Same build. Same shoes.
And after the sprint—he imagined Evan breathing steady. No blood. No torn muscle. Just balance. Like his body had always been like this.
He held that memory—not a wish, but a blueprint. A snapshot of a moment yet to come.
Then—
Snap.
Kai returned.
The air rushed into his lungs.
His eyes opened.
Evan was still sitting.
For half a second… nothing happened.
Evan twitched.
Kai’s eyes sharpened.
Evan’s head tilted sharply to the side, a sharp breath escaping his lips.
“Kai…?”
His body jerked.
Then again.
Suddenly, his legs buckled—and he collapsed to one knee, hand slapping the floor to stop himself.
“Evan?”
No answer.
Kai rushed forward—half-reaching, half-hesitating. His mind raced. He hadn’t imagined anything harmful—he had accounted for structure, for balance. But Evan’s body was reacting otherwise.
Evan fell onto his side. His muscles spasmed violently, his back arching, fingers digging into the concrete floor.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“Evan—stay with me,” Kai said, kneeling next to him.
Evan’s face twisted—not in pain exactly, but like his body was trying to wake up from something it didn’t understand.
Kai’s stomach dropped.
He couldn’t see what was happening inside. He couldn’t see the shifts.
But inside Evan’s body—change had begun.
Muscle fibers restructured themselves with finer coils, wrapping tighter and closer, forming dense cords of fast-twitch tissue. The kind used by cheetahs and peregrines—explosive and coiled like a spring.
His tendons thickened—not bulky, but braced. Reinforced at the insertion points along his joints to absorb recoil.
His Achilles tendons, in particular, lengthened slightly—just enough to store kinetic energy like a loaded slingshot before releasing it in an instant.
His heart rate spiked, then leveled—rewiring subtly to maintain equilibrium under sudden strain.
His eyes, behind closed lids, flickered rapidly. Brain activity surged—synapses firing in rapid succession to process motion faster than human perception could register.
Kai could feel the tension building like a storm.
Then—
It stopped.
Evan’s body stilled.
His breathing steadied.
And then—his eyes snapped open.
He blinked once. Twice.
Kai didn’t move.
“Evan?” he said quietly.
Evan turned his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “I’m… here.”
“You okay?”
Evan took a breath, flexed his fingers, then sat up slowly. “Yeah. I think so. No pain. Just… a weird tightness in my chest, and this lightness in my limbs. Like I’ve been stretching for an hour.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed, still watching him carefully. “You sure you feel stable?”
Evan gave a small nod, testing his grip on the ground, his legs. “Yeah. Just a little off. But nothing bad.”
Kai stood, dusted off his hands. “Alright. Then there’s one way to know for sure.”
Evan looked at him.
“Try running,” Kai said.
Evan grinned, pushed himself to his feet, and turned toward the staircase.
He took off—normal speed.
The sound of his shoes tapped against the stone floor like any other jog.
He turned back, confused. “That… felt the same.”
Kai frowned, stepping forward. “Try again.”
Evan did.
Still normal.
He came to a stop and looked at Kai. “Did it not work?”
Kai’s mind raced. The vision had been clear—he was sure of it. The structure, the movement, the recovery—it was all part of the memory. So why—
Clang.
The sharp thud of metal hitting metal snapped both their heads toward the wall.
One of the enhanced rats had flung itself again into the roof of its cage—but this time, the impact had left a visible dent.
The cage rattled, one of the locks barely holding.
“Crap,” Evan said, already moving toward it. “We should cover that—”
In the same breath—
He was gone.
In a flash—blink-fast—Evan was at the table. He grabbed a second cage with one hand, spun, blurred—
And slammed it down on top of the dented one.
Thunk.
Silence.
The rat hissed and dropped back down inside its cell, now doubly contained.
Kai stood frozen, one foot still raised mid-step.
His jaw opened slightly. “Evan…”
Evan’s eyes were wide. His chest rose and fell.
“What—” he looked down at his hands, back at the cage. “What the hell just happened?”
Kai walked over, slow.
“I moved before you even finished the thought,” he said quietly.
Evan shook his head. “I didn’t even mean to. I just thought—‘cover it’—and I was already holding the cage.”
He looked at his fingers again. His breathing steady, but awe creeping into his voice.
“It’s like… I skipped time.”
Kai gave him the faintest grin, nodding.
“It worked.”
Evan laughed once, stunned. “Holy hell, Kai…”
They both turned back to the cage.
The rat inside was pacing again—angry, but contained.
And Evan?
He was still staring at his own hands like he’d just borrowed someone else’s body.
The metallic clang from the cages had faded, but the moment lingered like static in the air.
Kai didn’t speak right away. He was thinking.
Why hadn’t it worked before? The enhancement was there—he saw it. Evan had just blurred across the room to stop the rat. But when asked to run earlier, he’d moved like he always did—normal speed, no shift.
That inconsistency gnawed at Kai.
He stepped closer, glancing once at Evan, then back to the staircase.
“Try again,” Kai said, voice low but direct. “Go to the stairs.”
Evan didn’t hesitate this time. He crouched a little, focused forward, and took off.
Nothing.
Regular speed.
Same tapping footsteps. Same posture. Same run.
Evan turned back, frustrated. “Still nothing.”
Kai’s brow tightened. Why?
What was missing?
He closed his eyes, replaying the earlier moment in his head. Evan didn’t move fast because he intended to. He moved fast because he reacted. He hadn’t thought about running. He’d thought about stopping the rat.
That was it.
“Wait,” Kai said, lifting his hand. “I think I get it.”
Evan raised an eyebrow.
“You’re thinking about the running. Like the motion itself. But when you moved before, you weren’t thinking about the action—you were thinking about the goal. You thought, ‘I need to cover the cage’—and your body moved to make that happen.”
Evan tilted his head, absorbing it.
“So don’t think about your feet, or your knees, or speed,” Kai continued. “Think about where you want to be.”
Evan turned to face it again. His gaze fixed on the lowest step.
He crouched slightly, more instinctive this time.
“Just arrive there,” Kai said.
Evan’s weight shifted.
A blink later—
He was there.
He didn’t stumble. He didn’t slide. He just—arrived.
His eyes went wide as he turned slowly to face Kai. “It worked.”
Evan laughed once, this time with pure exhilaration.
Kai stepped forward. “You’re not faster because you’re forcing speed. You’re faster because your mindknows where to go before your body does.”
Evan grinned, then turned back to the stairway—eyes gleaming.
“I can already tell—I’m going to love this.”
Somewhere far from the blinking lights and concrete walls, another piece of the story was quietly shifting into place.
The noise of traffic faded behind thick canopies of trees and the streetlamps cast a golden glow on ivy-covered walls — two sleek black cars glided through a wrought-iron gate that had opened as if expecting them.
Beyond the gate stretched a cobblestone driveway, curving gently through a garden that looked like something lifted from a painting. Lavender bushes lined the edges, their soft purple blooms catching the light from discreet ground lamps. Tall oak trees stood like silent sentinels along the path, their leaves rustling in the evening breeze. The scent of rain-soaked earth mingled with the sweetness of blooming jasmine.
The estate itself sat at the heart of it all — a grand structure of pale stone and dark wood accents, with wide terraces and tall, arched windows that glowed faintly from within. Climbing vines embraced the corners of the building, weaving up toward a red-tiled roof crowned by a small balcony. Ornate lanterns flanked the entrance, casting dancing shadows across the carved double doors.
The engines of the vehicles purred low before falling silent.
Then — with a soft, deliberate click — one of the rear doors opened.
And Mr. Grayson stepped out, the polished heel of his shoe touching down onto the cobblestone.
He straightened his jacket, took in the familiar sight of his estate with a breath, then moved toward the wide steps where the doorman was already waiting.
The doorman, dressed in a pressed black uniform, offered a polite bow.
“Welcome home, sir.”
“Thank you, Alan,” Mr. Grayson said, stepping past him and into the cool, high-ceilinged foyer.
The scent of rosemary and something slow-cooked drifted through the air.
From the other end of the hall, the soft clink of silverware echoed.
He followed the sound.
The living room was warm, lit by a chandelier and the flicker of a fireplace. A small dining table had been set near the tall windows.
His daughter sat there, one hand resting on her cheek, the other lazily stirring pasta on her plate. Her hair was loose, hoodie too big, socks mismatched.
A world away from the silent guards and tailored suits.
“Dad,” she said, barely looking up but smiling anyway. “You’re late.”
Mr. Grayson chuckled. “You always say that.”
“Because you always are.”
He stepped into the room, tugging at his cufflinks. “How was your day?”
“Boring. School’s school,” she said. “Chemistry makes no sense, and my teacher hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he said.
“She does. She gave me that smile teachers use when they’re plotting your academic downfall.”
He laughed again — a real one this time — and walked to her, resting a hand briefly on her head.
Her fork paused.
“You okay?” she asked, looking up now.
His face softened. “Yeah.”
The chef appeared from the kitchen archway, apron still on, carrying a small bowl of something steaming.
“Would you like a plate, sir?” he asked.
Mr. Grayson hesitated, then shook his head. “No, thank you. Not tonight.”
The chef nodded, turned back to the kitchen.
Mr. Grayson touched his daughter’s shoulder lightly. “Finish your dinner. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
She gave him a mock salute, mouth full of spaghetti.
He left the room quietly, the light fading behind him.
Upstairs, his bedroom door clicked shut behind him.
No music. No distractions.
Just the hush of carpeted floors and the heavy stillness that always greeted him here.
He loosened his tie. Sat at the edge of his desk. Let out a slow, exhausted sigh.
Then — his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He almost didn’t answer.
But something in him — something instinctive — told him to.
He pressed it to his ear.
“Hello?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then a voice came through.
He couldn’t place the accent. Couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman. The voice was altered — too smooth, too digital.
But the words cut clean.
“I’m watching you.”
A pause.
“You’ll pay for everything you’ve done.”
Mr. Grayson straightened in his chair.
His eyes narrowed.
“Who is this?”
No answer.
Just the dead click of a call that ended too fast.
The phone dropped slightly in his hand, but his eyes stayed sharp, fixed on the screen.
If you’re enjoying the story, please consider dropping a follow, leaving a rating, or writing a quick review — it really helps more than you know!
And hey… maybe a comment too? I read every single one.
Thanks for being here — seriously.
