The safehouse hummed with tension. Donnie studied his trace band's updated interface—**Flame Step 54%**, **Ice Guard 39%**, **Combustion Arc 68%**—while Kael monitored the city grid. Red dots pulsed like infected wounds across the holographic map.
"Freelancers," Kael said, pointing at three clustered signals moving through the industrial district. "Worse than guild hunters. No rules. No oversight."
Donnie cracked his knuckles. "How are they tracking us?"
"Signature scans. They detect trace *activation*, not location." Kael's eyes narrowed. "Stop using abilities, and they're blind."
"Then I'll be a ghost," Donnie vowed.
---
**Twenty minutes later**, the door exploded.
Concrete shrapnel rained down as a shockwave slammed Donnie and Kael against the far wall. Dust choked the air. Through the smoke, three silhouettes advanced:
1. A woman with a glowing blue metal arm, circuitry snaking up her neck.
2. A bald man floating six inches off the ground, gravity bending around him.
3. A masked figure holding a humming black cube that warped the light.
"Donnie Reeve," the masked one intoned. "You're coming with us."
Kael stepped forward, dagger materializing in his hand. "Wrong answer."
Donnie's trace band flared.
**[TRACE ACTIVE]**
- Flame Step
- Ice Guard
- **New Trace: Metal Shift (Copied: 6%)**
He *blinked*—crossing the room in a streak of fire and frost.
---
**Chaos.**
Kael engaged the floater, becoming a shadow. His dagger lashed out—not at flesh, but at the gravity field *around* the man. Each strike sent ripples through the air, destabilizing the float.
Donnie targeted the cube-holder. Flame Step carried him behind the masked figure. He slammed a palm against the humming cube.
*CRACK.*
Sparks erupted as the device shattered. The masked hunter staggered, disoriented.
"His traces are unstable!" the metal-armed woman shouted, lunging at Donnie. Her fist glowed white-hot.
Donnie pivoted. **Metal Shift** surged through his left arm—skin flashing silver—just as the blow landed.
*CLANG.*
The impact reverberated up his bones, but he held. Pushed back. Sent a wave of fire into her chest. She crashed into the wall, metal arm sputtering.
Kael finished his foe with a single precise stab to the floater's energy core. The man dropped like a stone.
Silence. Smoke coiled in the ruins of the safehouse.
Donnie stood panting, traces flickering out. Hands shook, but he stayed upright.
---
**Aftermath**
They dragged the unconscious freelancers outside. Kael activated a sonic sweeper—a device that dissolved evidence into harmless particles. "Sixty seconds till clean slate. We need to move."
"Where?" Donnie rasped, adrenaline fading.
"Out of the city. Beyond their grids."
Donnie stared at the skyline. "We can't run forever, Kael."
Kael gripped his shoulders. "Then stop running. *Fight.* You're not a student anymore. You're a target with more potential than Blue House elites."
"And if I'm not ready?"
"*Get* ready."
---
**Edge of the World**
By dawn, they'd slipped past drone checkpoints using Kael's scramblers. The city faded behind them, replaced by rolling hills and a decaying town forgotten by guilds and governments alike.
**Neutral Zone.**
No uniforms. No cameras. Only weathered faces and hidden trace bands. Survivalists. Exiles. People who'd traded rank for freedom.
Donnie sat outside a greasy diner, steam curling from his tea. Stars here felt closer, sharper. Kael emerged, holding a burner phone.
"Someone wants to talk to you."
"Who?"
"Wouldn't say. But they knew both our names."
Donnie took the phone. "Hello?"
A calm, genderless voice answered:
"Donnie Reeve. We've watched your escape. Impressive."
"Who is this?"
"A friend. Or future enemy. Depends on your next choice."
"Why contact me?"
"Because the gate at Ridgewood wasn't the only one. More are opening. Stronger. Deeper. And your ability… *reacts* to them."
"What do you want?"
"To see if you survive."
*Click.*
---
**System Update**
As the line died, Donnie's trace band pulsed.
**[SYSTEM NOTICE]**
`New Passive Trait: World Link`
`Origin: Unknown`
`Abilities May Adapt in Unregistered Gates`
He stood. Tea forgotten. Cold certainty settled in his chest.
No more hiding.
The world had shifted.
And he would shift with it.
© Anthony Osifo 2025 – All rights reserved.