History class hadn't even started, and the war had already begun.
Not with powers. Not with fists or flame. But with eyes.
Whispers hummed under the low chatter of students settling in, shuffling into their seats like pieces on a board. It wasn't loud — no one dared to be that obvious — but it was constant.
One row near the back was already marked by dominance, a silent throne surrounding a girl in honey-gold curls and glittering earrings. Mari Vessara, heir to a trading guild that practically printed its own currency. Queen Bee. Two friends on either side, all of them pretending to not glance at him.
Elijah Marris.
The boy who had arrived three days ago without a record, a Holo-Brace, or even a file that administrators could pull up without a retina scan and two passwords.
The boy who didn't talk unless spoken to.
The boy who maybe — maybe — fought a Proctor and won.
Of course, no one really believed that.
Except Taye.
Taye had slid her seat down beside his without asking.
It wasn't a decision. It wasn't strategy.
It was curiosity — laced with gut-deep instinct.
She was dressed like she didn't care — oversized jacket zipped halfway, spark-threaded leggings that shimmered when her Lightning Rod ability flickered under the skin. She blew a bubble, popped it with a snap, and propped her cheek on her palm.
Eli just sat there.
Still.
His eyes tracked the teacher's desk. Not the girls gossiping near the walls. Not the muscleheads flexing their power on the opposite corner. Not even the two students arguing with their AI readers.
Taye tilted her head.
"You don't have a Holo-Brace," she said.
It wasn't a question. She'd noticed the second he walked in.
Elijah blinked once, glancing down at his bare wrist. "No," he said simply. "Wasn't given one."
His voice was flat, but not cold. Quiet in a way that asked for no follow-up — not to be rude, but because he didn't seem to need it.
Taye reached into her bag, rummaging past a can of voltage soda, a compressed med pen, and a stim patch pack, and pulled out a spare Holo-Brace.
Clear. Slim. Folded like a metallic ribbon.
She tossed it onto his desk.
"Catch."
He didn't catch it — just let it clatter in front of him, then picked it up like it might bite.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
She grinned. "Just don't lose it. Or you'll have to buy your own. They're, like, five hundred credits on resale."
Eli stared at it, then at her. "Why help me?"
Taye shrugged, popping another gum bubble. "I like puzzles. And I don't like people. So you're kinda perfect."
With that, she watched him gently wrap the Holo-Brace around his wrist.
There was a faint click, then a pulse — the band shifting, reacting. A glimmer of light ran across the surface as it read his genetic signature.
ID CODE GENERATED.
STUDENT: Elijah Marris
YEAR: 1
STATUS: ACTIVE
GENETIC ANOMALY: FLAGGED
FACULTY OVERRIDE PENDING
Taye blinked at the last part. "Flagged already?"
"Always am," he muttered, tone dry.
The light dimmed, the brace locked into place, and just like that, Elijah was official.
Still, the classroom didn't treat him like it.
There were 48 students in History, give or take.
Six pairs of seats in a row, four rows deep. Every desk held two, arranged in perfect symmetry. Taye sat to his right, leg swinging lazily. Mari Vessara sat at the back with her perfume-clad squad, throwing glances toward them like paper darts.
The front row was full of Higher Powers — kids with gravity fields, bio-constructs, one guy who could liquify his bones on command. The middle had Floaters, kids who hadn't been sorted yet. And the edges?
The Loners. Or the Bullied.
Whichever came first.
Eli had been placed in that category by most.
Not for his power — no one really knew it, except in rumors.
And not for anything he'd done.
Just… because.
That's how the social architecture worked in a place like this. Power didn't always mean prestige. Not when you came from nowhere, had no files, and didn't respond when people asked where you were from.
And especially not when you smiled like a ghost.
Taye knew the truth, though.
She had seen his file.
Well, a glimpse. A shadow of one.
A whisper bought through a string of private servers and proxy brokers.
Elijah Marris. Spire Inmate 001. War Deterrent.
There weren't even photos, just redacted texts and incident reports signed by military personnel.
People wanted him dead — or worse.
And he just sat there, lips curled slightly upward, like he was reading a joke only he could hear.
Emotion Induction, they called it.
A mental parasite. A gift. A disease. A living anomaly.
Some believed that was how he survived the Spire — made guards feel guilt, sorrow, shame. Made interrogators give up. Made wardens hesitate. Others said the smile was a lie, burned into his brain by trauma and drugs.
But Taye?
Taye watched him now, eyes fixed ahead, posture relaxed but not lazy, hands folded neatly on his desk.
She didn't see a manipulator.
She saw a kid.
A terrifying, untouchable, quiet kid.
And it made her sick.
The teacher finally walked in — a bald woman with mechanical joints on one arm and a voice like metal tearing silk.
"Alright, brats," she barked. "Today's history topic: The Power Collapse. Year 2062. Who started it?"
A few hands shot up.
Eli didn't move.
Taye slumped.
"Correct answer is: Everyone. Every government. Every private contractor. Every soldier. Everyone who thought they could play god and bottle it. What did we learn?"
Someone in the front row muttered, "Don't weaponize kids."
"Exactly. Points for the spine."
The teacher began her lecture, projecting holograms of burning cities, fractured continents, and failed weapon prototypes.
Eli leaned forward.
Eyes wide.
He wasn't daydreaming. Wasn't writing. Wasn't zoning out.
He was absorbing.
Taye side-eyed him.
"Really into this stuff, huh?"
Eli nodded. "History matters."
Taye scoffed. "You lived through half of it."
"Not this half."
He didn't elaborate.
Forty minutes later, the bell rang.
Most students filed out quickly — some whispering, others staring.
Taye stood, brushing gum wrappers into her bag.
"Hey," she said casually, "don't disappear after class."
"Why?"
"Because," she said, stretching, "I'm your partner now. So if you get lost or killed or kidnapped, it'll mess up my grades."
Eli blinked.
Then smiled — just a bit wider than usual.
"I'll try not to ruin your GPA."