Slow Down By Loose Ends Novels & Stories

I asked quietly. “Yeah,” Spencer said, voice low. “He’s slowing down.” Valeria looked up at us. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing yet,” I said, but my stomach was already twisting. Nicholas had noticed too. He was standing straighter now, hands out of his pockets, watching every move Aiden made. Aiden kept playing, kept trying. But the sharpness was fading. His movements were a little heavier. Like his legs were starting to argue with him. Then in the sixty-second minute he made a run down the left channel. Good burst at first. Then he pulled up sharp. Hand went straight to his chest. He shook his head like he was annoyed at himself and tried to keep moving, but it was obvious something wasn’t right.

"Just breathe through it." I took a shaky breath, then another. Slowly, the sharp pain began to dull into something more manageable, still uncomfortable, still there, but not quite as overwhelming. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay, you can... you can move. Slowly. Very slowly. Like you're defusing a bomb slowly."

Something that matched how things had been. It didn’t. “Keep it brief.” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t what I was expecting either. My hand stilled for a moment before I realized it had. I hadn’t even finished the gesture yet. I adjusted. Almost immediately. Shortened what I was saying. Cut out what didn’t matter. Reduced it to something quicker, something easier to process. I hadn’t planned to do that. I just… did. My fingers moved again, more carefully this time, more aware of how long it was taking.

More than anything. Sophia leaned back slightly. “So what now?” Dominic looked at her. “We don’t rush into doing it again.” Immediate. Certain. Sophia nodded. “Agreed.” Sophia thought for a moment. “That didn’t fix anything.” Dominic nodded. “No.” She added— “But it didn’t break us either.” That was important. Dominic reached for her hand. “We take this slow.” Sophia squeezed his hand. “And we don’t let this become a distraction from what we actually need to fix.”

Indeed, rushing could result in people being killed, or even worse, it could cause us to be discovered before we had completed our objective. Selene took a while to reply. She sat by the window, looking out over the rain falling on the training yard, across the drive, and beyond the tree line where the pyre had once been, now only partly visible behind sheets of grey water, and recalled Cassius's warning in the corridor, Delphine's smile as they were drinking wine, and Kaelan's voice in the garden as he spoke to a stranger about a debt that he believed no one would ever be able to collect. "Perhaps we don't have to rush to finish," she said at last, "maybe what we need is to finish more inte

“Just follow me.” She extended her hands. When his fingers brushed hers, the thread opened between them, and for a moment, she could feel him: the fear, the loneliness, and the fierce will to survive. His energy was jagged, like glass shards, but beneath it was a strange, fluid strength. “Slow down,” she said softly, guiding him. “Match my pace.” The sharp edges began to smooth. Around the circle, similar exchanges were happening. Antonella and Kira worked together, Kira’s time-slowing aura softening Antonella’s volatile fire. Jonas paired with Mike, sound waves weaving around solid strength.

I scoff, shaking my head. “It won’t. I know it won’t. They can’t hear us much less smell us from all the way out…” she trails off, the sounds of heavy paws headed quickly in our direction. “Damnit.”

× Dixie × Everything feels slow at first, like I’m crawling my way up from the bottom of some endless ocean. Really slow. My limbs are heavy, my head’s pounding, and every sound around me is muffled, like cotton has been stuffed into my ears. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, or when the increasing chaos in the air started to calm down, but it eventually does as something shifts subtle at first, like a crack splintering in glass.

Another strike. Closer. Stronger. It’s learning too. Adjusting. Mirroring me. That’s bad. Really bad. Because if it adapts faster— I lose. And if I lose— I don’t just die. I become that. “No!” I push harder. Faster. Breaking rhythm. Breaking pattern. Unpredictable. And for the first time— it hesitates. Just a second. Just enough. I strike. Precise. Targeted. It stumbles back.

Isn't he? Telling jokes to ease tension. Sharing amusing stories to keep the mood light. Harmless things. Right? I let out a slow breath, but it emerges shaky, betraying the knot in my chest. I shake my head once, sharply—like I can knock the thoughts loose like autumn leaves. Like I can make them stop echoing in the hollow spaces between my ribs.