The scream lingered longer than it should have.

  Kael woke with it echoing in his chest, but the room was quiet. Still. The early morning light painted the walls in faint gray and gold. No voices. No flickering mirrors. No spirals.

  Just breath.

  Just now.

  He sat up slowly, scanning the room like it might shift again. It didn’t. The world held.

  For the first time in days, his thoughts didn’t whisper back at him.

  Downstairs, life was moving.

  Micah hummed some chaotic tune between bites of cereal. Harlin tapped at a datapad with a mug of something strong-smelling in one hand. Annabelle moved through the kitchen with calm precision, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

  Kael stepped in quietly. The moment they saw him, something subtle shifted in the room.

  Not pity. Not curiosity.

  Just awareness.

  “Morning,” Harlin said.

  Kael nodded. “Hey.”

  Annabelle handed him a mug. “You look better.”

  “I feel… different,” he admitted.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Micah raised a brow. “Different how?”

  Kael opened his mouth, closed it again. Shrugged.

  Annabelle smiled, faint but genuine. “You will.”

  Dinner came with warmth and laughter.

  Harlin cooked something heavy. Something good. The table was crowded with food and low light. In the center, a decorative stone bowl sat untouched, dark slate shot through with faint mineral veins.

  Kael sat quietly. Still adjusting. Still unsure if yesterday had really happened or if it had all been another trick of the mind. Another echo.

  Micah launched into a rant about cafeteria justice. Harlin played along with dramatic objections. Annabelle laughed behind her hand.

  Kael smiled.

  Then reached for his glass.

  The bowl moved.

  Not slid. Not tilted.

  It shifted.

  A ripple pulsed through the stone, bending its edge into a perfect spiral. Seamless. Silent.

  Micah stopped.

  Harlin stared.

  Annabelle was already watching Kael.

  Kael froze, eyes locked on the bowl. His hand hovered an inch away. He hadn’t touched it.

  The ripple smoothed. The bowl stilled.

  The room didn’t breathe.

  Then Harlin spoke. “That was stone.”

  Micah: “That was you.”

  Annabelle, quietly: “Kael. You awakened.”

  Kael blinked. “No. I didn’t—I didn’t do anything.”

  His voice cracked.

  Harlin crossed his arms, smiling faintly. “First time’s never clean. It chooses you.”

  Micah whooped, full volume. “Kael, you legend! You’re in now!”

  Kael stood up fast. Chair scraping behind him.

  “That was me,” he said. Like he didn’t believe it. Like he was trying the words on.

  “I did that.”

  Laughter broke out of him, unfiltered. A raw, shaking sound.

  He covered his mouth. Then uncovered it, too amazed to hide.

  “I have an Imprint,” he whispered.

  Annabelle stood. Walked over.

  Wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.

  Kael hugged her back, tight. Anchored.

  He closed his eyes, and for a second, everything in the world held.

  No noise.

  No fear.

  Just gravity.

  That night, Kael lay in bed, hands resting open beside him. Palms soft against the blanket.

  He didn’t know what would happen next.

  But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of it.

  Far beneath the house, something deep in the stone shifted.

  Slow. Silent.

  Listening.