By the time I was finished giving him the 'full' truth, some combination of John's injuries and mental turmoil had rendered him unconscious.

  I didn't have a healing serum to use on him. Bringing one would have been obvious, detectable cheating. Thankfully, a middle-aged couple wearing staff lanyards came to give us treatment within a few minutes, after which the victory finally felt secure in my mind.

  I was fine enough with just a strong serum, but they determined that John and the telekinetic boy we fought would go to a nearby hospital for recovery (along with a dozen other competitors). They strapped both boys into a basket-like stretcher, congratulated us for winning, and sped off casually down the mountain like carrying comatose teenagers was utterly normal.

  Because it is, I thought, to them.

  In the corner of my vision, I had noticed Alicia fidgeting more and more, seeming antsy and tense. I had a good guess as to why. When he was no longer in sight, she turned to me and asked, "What now?"

  More than likely, she'd been watching through my eyes as I ripped John to pieces. I swallowed.

  "You mean the plan with John?" I replied. "I thought we went into enough detail yesterday."

  "We didn't." She shook her head. "I know you said more than enough, but I didn't get enough. I blocked it off. I didn't want to hear or think about it anymore - even though I really should have."

  Alicia stared down the mountain toward civilization.

  "But now he knows about Jane. You can't un-tell him. Since there's no going back, I should probably acknowledge what the hell it is we're doing."

  .

  .

  .

  The day before, wanting Alicia to understand exactly what I was getting her into, I'd made an attempt at explaining the full extent of my plans for John. Past, present, and future.

  Previously, little nudges had been the extent of my actions. Briefly mentioning the possibility of transferring to Wellston as a non-violent solution to his problems at school, treating Alicia as a real human being with value so he'd feel awkward if he didn't do the same. Small, indirect things like that.

  But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted no doubts. I wanted a hundred percent guarantee that he'd help me with ability-modifying research, and that he'd be just as motivated as I was, no less.

  So I'd told him the truth, knowing full well what effect it would have on him. If my previous tactics were nudging, then this was a harsh shove (to stretch the metaphor), and successful shoving generally had a longer list of requirements.

  First, a vast knowledge disparity with your target, such that you knew how to act to push them one way or another, while they couldn't recognize what was unnatural (manipulative) behavior from you. Even better if there was a gap in intelligence or maturity, like the gap between adult and child.

  A sense of elevated importance or closeness in your target's life: the position of a family member, partner, close friend, role model… In other words, a place near to them from which you exercised your influence.

  A monopolization of new information. Not all the information they ever got, but in relation to a particularly important subject to them, so you could use influential lies and portrayals that no one else could ever call out. Or even just the timing or order with which you gave them (completely true) information.

  Finally, a large amount of time to work with, because rushing it and trying to influence someone every time you saw them was just an easy way to get caught and called out. Much more effective was an intentional exchange or gesture in one out of ten interactions, over the course of a few months…

  Some of these points bled into each other. If you were the only source of knowledge about something they cared about, they'd likely want to spend time with you. Still, satisfying all four points was difficult; for example, the classic manipulative boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse archetype typically only hit three of them.

  I had only reached two with John. We were reasonably familiar friends; he was grateful to me, admired me, we spoke a lot every day, I knew more than enough about him. But we weren't that close, after less than two months. And as he grew in strength and skill, the less he would need me, my training, my advice. (Which meant less time, ultimately, and fewer chances).

  So closeness and time were shaky. I needed to shore up these weaknesses to feel secure in my chances. Alicia had been overwhelmed, yesterday, when I'd tried (failed) to explain all of this in depth, so I had ended up phrasing it a different way:

  "We need to make sure John doesn't have anyone else to talk to," Alicia quoted presently. "That's what you said, Meili."

  We sat side-by-side on a large boulder, a leftover from the brutal fight, Alicia staring at faraway nature with her arms crossed.

  "In a way I kind of get it," she said. "If news about Jane leaks publicly, they round up everyone with information-gathering abilities, from grandparents to toddlers, and figure out that you're the source. We both die. So he probably shouldn't tell any friends, or his dad, even if the guy really deserves to know."

  She looked at me, judging. "But that's not what you really meant. I already know that."

  "Right," I said honestly.

  I felt myself reflexively reach for sugarcoated words, but I forced myself to be blunt.

  "The idea is for John to be obsessed," I explained. "Yes, obviously, we should make sure knowledge doesn't reach anyone else. But I also want his mother's situation to be all he thinks about, all he wants to talk about, more than fighting or ability growth or anything else. When he speaks with people who don't know the truth, who aren't you or me, I want it to feel pointless, or frustrating, or even painful. This way, we're the only ones left to talk to. This way, we monopolize his time and ability - that's what I meant."

  "...And we do this how?"

  "I already got the ball rolling, didn't I? By making sure that he'd start blaming his mother's abandonment for every shitty thing that happened in his life. Now that he knows that it was The Authorities fault, he'll probably get obsessed, and all we need to do is keep him that way."

  A look of realization crossed Alicia's face.

  "So we keep him updated," she muttered. Show him pictures, videos, files - keep Jane perpetually at the top of his mind. It's only 'natural.' She's his mom, and he deserves to know everything we do."

  "But we'll run out of low-hanging information," I finished. "He'll be left without updates. He'll get antsy, want to know more, want to talk to Jane or even try to rescue her. He'll eventually ask us if he can be a 'true' member of our project, if he can be just as involved as we are, and we'll accept. Because we need the help, for one, but also because we don't want him to do anything risky on his own. Because we care for him as friends."

  It would be, on the outside, an entirely normal sequence of events. John would take the initiative and make a decision, when the choice had never really existed, when all of it was fully prearranged. He'd come to Wellston High, where I would be the only person he knew at a new school – and from then on we'd be stuck together, inseparably, with the same plans, same enemies, and same goals.

  Alicia looked at me, understanding with clear sadness and fear, and her shoulders began to shake.

  "I- I don't know if I can do this anymore, Meili. Seraphina was one thing, spying on all these people... But you know this is really messed up, don't you?"

  I never said it wasn't, I thought.

  "I won't even be able to look at him tomorrow. We're deciding the whole direction of his life!"

  Are we the ones who turned his mother into lab supplies?

  "Playing God's just an expression, you know? But we're actually, really doing it - like he's a doll you swap the parts of. And not just a dinky little hat or plastic glove, but the fucking bits inside his head!"

  You knew it would have to be something along these lines. You've known a whole month.

  These were all valid responses, but 'valid' wouldn't do anything for us, I could see that. She was breaking down. I suppressed myself, my dread at her objecting now that we were finally making progress, and hugged her with one arm.

  She buried her moist, sticky face in the crook of my neck. I patted her on the back rhythmically, waiting silently for her to calm down.

  If I had never taken his life's steering wheel and cranked it, John would have ended up in an awful place. New Boston had broken him in canon, down into a horrid self-hatred – to the extent that he'd decided to be a cripple at Wellston High as a way to self-punish and atone. So I felt that this case was complicated, as compared to the uncontroversially terrible things that I had done.

  But Alicia would never know this. And I couldn't tell her, because that would entail letting my future knowledge leak out into the world, which I would forever refuse to do.

  The mental burden should have been mine, not hers. I felt guilty.

  "At - at first I didn't care what you did with him," Alica muttered after a minute. "The moment he learned I was a low-tier, he started acting like I was a fruit fly hovering around you."

  She breathed a shuddering exhale. "So of course I thought, 'Fuck him.' I didn't care about his late bloomer sob story, didn't care he'd been a cripple. You could have used him like a stupid blood bag and I wouldn't have cared."

  "So what's changed, then?" I asked.

  She groaned, shaking her head. "You'll say it's stupid. It's just - he's actually being kind of nice, now. And cool, and interesting. If I had first met him like this…"

  I looked away so I could wince.

  Truthfully, I had known that she'd started to like him. Not just in the sense that he was crucial to our plans, but as a person on his own. John was driven, growing incredibly strong… and yet he'd started treating her more-or-less respectfully, approaching real friendliness.

  Likely because of his father (or because he'd once been at the very bottom himself), he could display a kind of social consciousness that other high-ranking high schoolers never did. He would make comments and witty quips that drew from the low-tier experience, which Alicia massively enjoyed. I hadn't seen him treat a waiter/waitress with blatant disrespect in over two weeks – and while he had pursued violent revenge against the students at his school, he also seemed genuinely eager for a fresh start, away from their mutually brutal history.

  For my past life's standards, these were low bars to clear. For my new standards, for Alicia, he was soaring.

  "Without me treating him how I have," I pointed out, "or like a 'doll,' the person you're starting to appreciate wouldn't exist. You would absolutely despise him."

  She looked at me bitterly.

  "I know that," she said. "Of course. But I still think I want to quit."

  .

  .

  .

  There was much more to say, after that revelation, but after some tense silence we remembered that we still had to get back down to collect our prize. Alicia made a pained face as her eyes traced paths down the mountain, and she glanced at me, embarrassed.

  It hit me. She was exhausted.

  I was, too, but at least I had my ability's body enhancement to lean on. Of course, she didn't want to flat-out say something like: 'my tired, un-enhanced legs will gain sentience and rebel if I make them walk anymore, so please carry me back like you're a horse…'

  I huffed wryly and morphed my claws into a human-sized basket.

  Ten minutes of ability-enhanced travel later, I stood under a plain white tent, signing some final consent forms and glancing at our prize while Alicia waited outside. To my slight surprise, the man overseeing the battle event was the same elderly high-tier receptionist who'd given me my upgraded access card.

  When he saw me, he grinned with recognition and started speaking in a familiar, friendly way: something about how much of a go-getter I was, how he liked the way I took advantage of every chance I got.

  I was distracted. Obviously. The words were background noise almost as much as the cicada chirping. I defaulted to nods, smiles, and agreements, regaining my focus only once he placed a see-through jar of twenty dark-orange candies in my hands.

  "There are plenty of strong, talented young people," he said. "Most of them don't know how to use what they've been given." He let go of the jar and looked at me appreciatively. "I can see it's not like that with you."

  I smiled down at the candies.

  "Thank you, but I don't think I'm all that different from the rest of my group," I lied. "Anyway, I'm really looking forward to trying these."

  "About that…" He chuckled. "This is technically confidential, but they messed up the orange taste. It's closer to burnt sweat and fake sweetener. Of course, the candies still heal you perfectly."

  I blinked. "You've tried one?"

  "Half of one, and I had to win a coinflip. They're being quite stingy…" He waved me off. "Regardless, we're all done here. Go enjoy your weekend, young lady."

  I quickly exchanged goodbye pleasantries and left, though I couldn't help my slightly robotic walk. My hands shook slightly as I pressed them against the glass jar. When I flipped a tent flap and stepped into open air, the afternoon sun made the candies glisten like chunks of polished amber.

  Alicia was waiting where I'd left her. I snuck up behind her and set the jar of candies on her crossed arms. She yelped, fumbling a little before stabilizing it, then spun to glare at me.

  A second later, she realized. "Meili? Is this…"

  Pandora's box, neat and nicely-packaged between her hands.

  "One-billionth of a 9.1's aura," I whispered. "Very yummy. Tastes less like oranges and more like burnt sweat."

  "Seriously?"

  "That's what he told me."

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  She made a disgusted face and started walking. We started trekking through half-wild forest to the nearest road, making forced comments about stupid, unimportant things, but eventually lapsed into thoughtful silence. Alicia, especially, couldn't budge her eyes from the jar – to the point she missed a wild pine shrub and stumbled on it.

  Having known ahead of time that we'd be packing precious cargo, I had scheduled a private car to wait for us half a mile away. When we spotted our ride in the distance, a large pickup truck parked off to the side of the road, I stopped and held her back.

  "I want to make my case," I said. "So I don't end up blurting it to our driver fifteen minutes from now."

  She pursed her lips, hesitating, but ultimately nodded her assent. I took a calming breath.

  "Suppose you see a parent hitting their kid in the street," I said. "You have two options. For one, you can step in and stop it temporarily, but it's likely that the parent will escalate their abuse as a result, later, when you're not around to interfere. Or you can ignore it, and therefore do nothing about the violence occurring right in front of you."

  I paused. "Is there a right thing to do?"

  She thought for a while, then answered, "I guess it depends on how likely. If you're a hundred percent certain that interfering will only make things worse for the kid, then obviously you shouldn't."

  I nodded in agreement.

  "I feel the same," I said, "but I also think there's a point where there's no real answer. And that's what I'm saying, right now. I don't think what I'm doing is right - but I also think there are times when the right thing to do doesn't exist. I don't get a sick thrill, or any joy, stealing control from someone's life, but sometimes you have to pick something from all the wrong options you have."

  She seemed thoughtful at that. I went quiet, trying to figure out how to express my thinking.

  "For me," I continued, "option one is to forget everything and give it all up. No Aurology research or ability modification. Or spying, or manipulation, or attempts to undermine The Authorities. I would have never come to New Boston in the first place. Instead I'd do what all the smart and mature people in my life think I should do: keep my head down, grow to god-tier, then take over Wellston City Hospital in my early thirties. Maybe I'd even be able to change some things there. Remove the level tax, or give better doctors promotions instead of just higher-level ones; it'd make my mom really happy."

  Alicia looked at me, blinking, and shook her head with a huff. "It's still insane to me that your level is high enough for things like that," she said. "But why not, I guess? Why not choose it? "

  It was an understandable question. Especially from Alicia, with her background. There was a perfectly good, successful life right in front of me, and all I had to do was walk up and take it – a position of power from which I could influence a lot. So why not?

  "Because there are ten times more god-tiers than there are stars in the sky," I replied. "Because I'm an unknown, faraway dwarf star while someone else is the sun. If I make a standard impact for my level, if I don't go to extremes other people won't, then whatever good I do will be a tiny blink that fades away."

  I placed a hand on the jar of orange-colored (but not flavored) candies in her arms.

  "Right now, you're holding twenty candies that give a second ability when eaten. I can stand ten feet from the woman they come from, so long as it's eight AM to eight PM on a workday, and her son is going to help us with our research. We're not that far. We're closer than we have any right to be. If we get good enough at enhancement, we enhance a Time Manipulation user. We can go back in time and understand exactly how this world began."

  "Do the same for Reality Manipulation," I said, more intensely, "and we transform it all into something better."

  We'd been avoiding mentioning aloud that this was possible. Explicitly escalating the stakes when we were already stressed was a hard thing to do.

  But we had both already known.

  "So yes." I grabbed her arm, struggling to control my voice. "I'll treat people like tools. I'll convince a god-tier to put her weak son up for adoption. I'll fool my favorite author into thinking I'm a good person, laugh at a joke whose entire punchline is an elite-tier getting raped, and tell so many lies that I have to keep notes on who thinks what. This is the option I chose, because it's the only chance I have to actually do something - and even if the probability is small, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try everything I could."

  I was done, but I wasn't out of breath; even in my rant I had kept my ability active to watch for anyone hiding in the vegetation. (There was nobody). Alicia was still staring at me, obviously unbalanced but otherwise hard to read.

  "I knew your mindset's been getting extreme, Meili, but God," she muttered.

  She shook her head before her eyes widened. "And - and you're not quite good enough at speaking to come up with that star thing on the spot," she realized. "How much of that was pre-rehearsed, like with Seraphina?"

  So she can tell after all.

  "At least half of it," I answered honestly. "The same was true when we first saw each other again and I asked you for your help."

  If that helps you decide whether to leave or stay.

  We were silent for a while; of course I wanted her to stay. But people didn't say things like 'I think I might quit' unless they thought they were more likely than not to go ahead with it. Knowing Alicia, specifically, she wouldn't have even mentioned quitting unless she was right on the cusp of walking away.

  I sighed. I realized, belatedly, that listing off my 'top five things to feel most guilty about' was probably counterproductive. But was I giving her extra, unneeded truth because I instinctively felt that she deserved to make an informed decision? Or was even this a cynical strategy, to demonstrate what I had sacrificed, to make myself seem raw and genuine by including unflattering facts? Alicia was trying to figure that out, probably, but even I hardly knew.

  As both our minds spun round and round, I felt the sounds of wildlife grow sharp and alive with detail. Insect wings thrummed gently against the air, and a light wind curved past leaves and brushed hair over my eyes.

  Fifty miles away was a city of millions, of which not one person had a single clue about my plan. There was a whole planet, beyond, but only two of eight billion knew what was to come.

  "I'll stay," Alicia finally said. "But if we succeed, Meili, let's make a world where you never felt like you had to do any of this."

  She carried the candies to the car.

  ***Beautiful***

  "I'm glad you're awake. Are you recovering fine, John?"

  "..."

  "Right. I can go out and get you some non-hospital food, if that helps?"

  "…Thanks."

  .

  .

  .

  "I've done some more digging into your mother, you know. I found some research notes, a few photos of-"

  "-Shoot. I'm sorry. If you'd rather not see, I can just not send-"

  "No. I want to see them."

  .

  .

  .

  "What the hell? Why is she- are they not fucking feeding her?"

  "I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry."

  "Don't. You're just an intern. I know it's not your fault."

  .

  .

  .

  "Just so you know, Meili, my dad probably thinks something's up. He pointed out that I'm acting weirdly."

  "You didn't tell him, did you?"

  "No. But it's been getting really hard to hide it. Are you sure I can't-"

  "He deserves to know. But he doesn't deserve to have his life in danger."

  .

  .

  .

  "The candies work, Meili. The entire flow of your aura is different now, like you have a whole second channeling system."

  "That's unexpected. Well, at least I didn't have to cut myself to see if they do anything."

  "...Oh, shit. So you do it like that."

  "Do what?"

  "I think I just figured out how I can copy two abilities at once."

  .

  .

  .

  "Meili? Have you found anything new? It's been four days."

  "One of the weekly observation journals added a new entry. That's it."

  "Really? But just a week ago, there was-"

  "There was low-hanging fruit. But Alicia and I are just two people. And the file system is a massive, unorganized mess."

  .

  .

  .

  "I want to do more."

  "As in?"

  "I want to join for real, Meili. I want access to their system, and I want to do more, at least as much as Alicia is."

  "… Well, I'd love that. We really, really need you. But I don't want you to regret it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's a lot, you know? I mean, you probably won't have much time for fighting or practice for a while."

  "…That's fine."

  ***Beautiful***

  One of John's oldest memories was of his six-year-old self, riding the New Boston Metro with his father.

  The train had been part of a brand-new line: modern with cushy seats, shiny with fresh white paint, and also intensely crowded. It had been built due to popular demand.

  On that day, the upper layer of seats had been empty, not that this was very surprising. The upper seats were only for high-tiers and their guests, a tiny percent of the population, and high-tiers all had their own cars to commute with. Still, six-year-old John had only recently learned that the upper seats were for high-tiers, and only recently learned that his absent mother was a high-tier, that he was a high-tier's son.

  At six, John had been eager to show off his thinking, to combine the facts together. He'd been pressed harshly against his father's leg in the crowd of passengers. When he tapped his father on the waist, William bent down to hear him, and John pointed upward at the higher layer of seats.

  "Dad? Did we ever sit up there when mom lived with us?"

  The next part he remembered very clearly. Until that point, he had never seen his father in real pain. Six-year-old John thought he had seen it, but then William's face twisted, made him realize he'd been wrong, that any suffering before this had been false or somehow lesser.

  "Not once," his father said. "Your Mother was never that kind of person."

  .

  .

  .

  Almost a decade later, fifteen-year-old John rode the same subway line, now grayer and fraying from age. The difference was that he sat in the upper layer this time. He had just finished attending an official ceremony, where an Authority Agent congratulated him for becoming a high-tier, and now he was heading back to Meili's apartment.

  It was still only the middle of August; Meili had been right about his growth all along.

  He knew how young and unordinary he looked, sitting up high, alone. In the crowd below, three girls were pointing up not-so-subtly, whispering to each other phrases of admiration or surprise. There were many more people watching him; who could blame them? 5.0 by fifteen meant at least 6.0 by seventeen, and who could say where his ceiling was, where he'd end up by twenty?

  Their admiration felt nice. A month ago, he would have felt unbearably satisfied, kicked his feet out in his reclined chair, and waved down at them. The three girls were all attractive, enough that it would have been satisfying to see them freak out. A sense of happy deservedness would have washed through him, for finally enjoying the fruit of his long struggle, for overcoming his shitty start in life.

  But it wasn't a month ago, and things were different. He didn't acknowledge them at all.

  Instead he pulled out his phone, scrolling through the large collection of stolen research files that Meili had (securely and carefully) sent to him, which he'd recently started adding to himself.

  There were three new ones, the only ones he hadn't read. Authority-backed researchers were against giving files informative or useful names, apparently, so he picked one at random.

  …Although subject Jane Doe has an ability level of 9.1, staff should not be intimidated from working with her as they would with any other subject, given that she has not shown any signs of rebelliousness for over a decade. There is only a single caveat to the above. In the rare event of a conversation, be particularly careful with any mention of her former husband and son.

  …As a final reminder, the subject is considered to be completely irreplaceable. In accordance with orders from The Authorities, the subject's mainline clan is unavailable without exception, making Jane Doe's capabilities singularly unique.

  Note, as of year eight of subject's tenure: Whether as a result of solitary confinement or necessary procedures, the subject appears to be developing an abnormal mental condition. The symptoms include apparent difficulties with thinking and speaking, as well as slow/impeded comprehension of others' words.

  Note, as of year twelve of subject's tenure: We now believe that the subject's teenage son, full name John Henry Doe, might eventually serve as a potential replacement if necessary. The previous consensus on J.H.D. was that his cripple ancestry would keep him from reaching the required level. His recent rapid growth (3.0 to 5.0) suggests we may have been too hasty in excluding him… we await further information from The Authorities before making a conclusive judgement.

  Most of the memo(?) (report?) was familiar to him. Enough that he was desensitized, and he didn't get uncontrollably heated as he had in the past. Then he read to the end, and John sucked a cold breath of air in through his teeth. Meili had warned him that The Authorities knew about him, and other documents confirmed this, but the last sentence went even further by implying that they were monitoring him, constantly watching.

  He looked down at the other passengers; people were still pointing up at him and whispering. Suddenly, broadcasting himself at the center of attention seemed like an odd choice, so he decided to move down to the floor.

  Some older part of him chafed, dissatisfied with the missed chance to enjoy his newfound superiority… he pushed it away, climbed down, and took his place by a handrail just like everyone else. His old desires had been simple (rising up the hierarchy, taking revenge), but now he had priorities beyond helping his self-esteem.

  'Your Mother was never that kind of person.'

  It turned out that people were still constantly glancing at him, even after he climbed down, so maybe it didn't even matter.

  As a compromise, when his stop was coming, John turned and met eyes with the blonde girl who'd snuck thirty-or-so glances at him.

  "Sorry!" The girl hurriedly looked away. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

  "I'm not angry," he said with a grin. "I just thought you were about to ask for an autograph or something. I would totally give you one if you want. All I'd need is a pen."

  .

  .

  .

  "Looks like Mr. Celebrity's back," Alicia laughed when he let himself in.

  She and Meili were on the oversized leather couch in the living room, lying across from each other, with their legs interwoven in the kind of friendship-gesturing sense they sometimes had. He still didn't fully understand it.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" He shrugged his shoes off.

  "It means she's been spying on you," Meili said, defending herself once Alicia started kicking her for 'tattling.' "I didn't see, but -ouch! She says you were trying really desperately to get someone to ask for your autograph."

  "So you were being creepy again, Alicia." The delayed realization reached him, and he blinked. "Wait, what? That is like… the opposite of what happened. The girl dug through her whole backpack for a pen just so I could sign her notebook. I almost missed my stop!"

  Meili made a shrug of neutrality. Alicia wormed herself off the couch.

  "That's not what I saw." She grinned. "Usually, it's the person who wants the autograph who asks first, isn't it? That girl seemed more scared or intimidated than anything."

  Alicia mimed a detective monicle for the brilliant deduction.

  "If I were actually that scary," he shot back, "then you wouldn't be abusing my privacy all the time."

  "Well… you have that Aura Vision passive now, so I was really just trying to see if I could piggyback off your vision to use it." She didn't sound guilty at all. "And it seems to work, so."

  "Uh-huh." That's actually really good news.

  "Anyway, don't think I won't tell her what you were doing on the metro, John." Alicia turned to Meili. "He was sitting there brooding on the upper level, staring out the windows into nothing, trying way too hard to look mysterious. Then he moved down a few stops early just to get even more attention. He definitely wanted someone to approach him."

  Meili was laughing, and she made her 'is this true?' face at him. Alicia was clearly using her to provoke him, knowing that Meili's impression of him mattered way more to him than hers did.

  Still, he explained. "…Not really. I got down because I remembered something my dad said, how she never rode in the upper level."

  He paused. "My mom, I mean."

  The two girls' expressions shifted to serious ones in an instant. All semblance of humor flickered out like candlelight.

  "I'm fine," he muttered.

  He wasn't over it yet, no matter how hard he tried to act normal and casual about his mother, and the three of them knew it. He was still full of anger toward The Authorities, for what they'd done.

  "Hey," Meili said softly. "You're officially a high-tier now." She got close to him, interlacing her hands with his. "That's something to celebrate, no matter what, right?"

  He said nothing. She smiled sadly in recognition.

  "Right. Well. Now that you have your Aura Vision passive, we can try something. You know how I mentioned a plan to make contact with your mom?"

  John nodded as he listened, not at her but at the floor, and curled his nails into his palms.

  He was constantly seeing aura now, like how Meili's aura was a murky crimson. The reddish mist curved in sparse layers through her body until it turned into a dense, swirling cyclone at her hands. It felt odd to be constantly doing something so obviously superhuman, without even having to activate his ability – a sign of just how much things had changed.

  Three months ago, his problems and goals had been so straightforward. He'd been too weak, so he'd desperately wanted to be stronger… the simplicity of it was appealing enough that he almost wished he could go back. But the truth was that his mother had been just as much a slave back then, and the only difference was that he'd been blissfully unaware.

  Wasn't it better, that his mother had been forced to leave? That she'd wanted to stay, that she hadn't abandoned them for their weakness? He wished he could feel that way, but no. Not after he'd seen the pictures. And as with anyone who'd kicked his life down to hell and chained it there, he wanted payback more than anything, but against The Authorities it would never happen.

  They were a fact of life, as fundamental as the earth's orbit of the sun. So his revenge felt miserably impossible, like trying to get revenge against gravity: no matter what level he reached, it'd never change that things fell down to earth.

  "…I think your control is good enough to try it, John," Meili was saying. "At the very least, you should be able to form simple letters like an 'I.'"

  He nodded. Even if revenge or rescue were out of reach, he still wanted to talk. Meili's plan was to have him use controlled aura movements to spell out words, which his mother would see with her aura vision, and then hopefully respond with her own. This way, their communication would be perfectly silent, and with enough subtlety any aura-imaging cameras would only see natural fluctuations.

  "It's a good idea." John uncurled his fists, straightening himself. "Hard for me to get in there, but I know I can copy invisibility."

  He flexed his aura, letting the monstrous force within him flow with wild motion, then clamped it down into a single compressed stream.

  "Okay," he said, determined. "Guess I'll start with the word 'hi.'"