The hall is packed. Wood-paneled walls stained from decades of popcorn spills and civic debate. The smell of stale coffee, damp coats, and urgency. People murmur, children fidget, an old man snores in the back. I taste tension.
Calvin Hobbes strides to the podium. His hair is slicked back, his suit crisply destroyed by fluorescent lights, his tie too bright. He holds a microphone like a preacher clutching faith, but his eyes—those eyes—look feverish tonight.
“Walnut Falls!” he bellows. “We stand at a turning point. This town is more than farmland and backroads. More thantrout streams and library quiet. It is a nexus—untapped cosmic power. Energy is all around us! Hidden beneath our feet. Waiting!”
There’s a ripple of applause. Nervous. Confused. People leaning in. Some nodding as if someone’s finally articulated what they’ve always suspected.
My recorder clicks softly—plastic against wood. Sirens in my mind warn me this is bad.
Kursk’s fist tightens at his side. I glance at him. His jaw is set. Eyes sharp behind his illusion.
Calvin lifts his hands. “With our new smart-reactors—garden-variety generators are yesterday! We’ll harvest what lies beneath: the ley lines, the Veil’s faults. Walnut Falls will power not just itself—but the region, the state! We will becomelegend!”
A tumble of murmurs. Some people look hopeful. Others look scared. I grip the recorder tighter. Something in Calvin’s voice shakes—a tremor, like a faultline in his words.
His hand twitches.
Calvin’s brow tightens. Sweat beading at his hairline. The electricity in the room flickers—the lights overhead dim, flicker green for a moment, then of course snap back.
He flushes red. A bead of sweat traces a path down his temple.
I lean toward Kursk. “Is that?—?”
He murmurs under his breath: “The infection deepens.”
My blood runs cold.
“Wh-what’s wrong with him?” I whisper.
Kursk doesn’t answer. He’s staring at Calvin like he’s expecting claws to erupt from his sleeves.
From the audience, someone coughs loudly. “Mr. Hobbes—to what cost, exactly? Are we talking life, land, animals… souls?”
Calvin waves a hand as though swatting away a fly. “Cost is progress. Trade-offs are inevitable!”
His eyes flick—glow. Just so faintly, but enough that my stomach drops. Green, a sick light. Not human.
I snap the recorder in my hand. Every nerve in me screams to get up, walk out, warn everyone. But I stay. Because I have to record this. Because Kursk’s eyes, he is in trouble. And so is the town.
After the meeting ends in chaos—some applause, some booing, some folks yelling about smart homes and loss of land.
“Kursk,” I whisper as soon as I see him. “Did you see his eyes?”
He nods, tugging at the talisman around his neck.
“He’s using the spear’s power,” I say. “You told me that possibility. But this… this is more than that. He’s been pulling from it—tethering his reactor, hooking into something he cannot control.”
Kursk breathes low. “He feeds on fear. On corruption. And now he does not care if we all see it.”
I shudder. “We have to do something.”
He nods. “But if he suspects, the law shields him. His power, his standing. They will protect him.”
I glance around the empty hall. Flickering lights overhead. Chairs knocked askew. A half-eaten coffee on a table.
“He can’t be allowed to spread this,” I say.
He looks at me, golden eyes soft with something that’s not war. Something that’s maybe hope, or longing. Or both. “Nor should you be left unarmed in this.”
