When Quiet Becomes Loud

The first mistake was thinking visibility announced itself.

It didn’t.

It slipped in quietly, wearing the shape of coincidence.

Aiden noticed it in fragments at first—too many familiar faces on streets that should have been random, glances held a second too long, conversations that stalled when he passed. The city hadn’t turned hostile. Not yet. But it had started recognizing him, and recognition was the most dangerous phase of attention.

He stood near the loft window, watching dusk fold itself over the river. Neon lights flickered on below, reflecting against dark water like fractured stars.

“They’re talking,” he said quietly.

Dante looked up from where he was sealing a blind patch along the far wall.

“About us?”

“About something,” Aiden replied. “But we’re the constant.”

The bond pulsed—unease threaded with certainty.

Dante joined him at the window.

“Talk doesn’t matter,” Dante said. “Not until it turns directional.”

Aiden exhaled slowly.

“It already has.”

That night, the message ar