“Fine,” Alek spat, his irritation evident in his tone.
I held my breath as Mila slowly turned her back to him—shoulders stiff, fists clenched at her sides. Then, with careful, deliberate movements, she lifted her shirt.
The marks were impossible to mistake.
Angry, red slashes crisscrossed her back—fresh, raw, vicious. The kind of wounds that hadn’t been there long. The kind still bleeding at the edges.
I gasped and clutched my hand over my mouth. Whoever was responsible for them, must’ve done so in the twenty-four hours prior to this moment.
Alek’s lack of response was unnerving, and the quiet stretched too long.
Mila finally lowered her shirt, but didn’t turn around.
Then his voice came, hoarse now, barely more than a command. “Pull up again.”
Without a word, Mila complied. I could see the discomfort and confusion clear on her face, but she did as she was told.
Alek’s energy burst outward—a deep, midnight-purple haze tinged with black, curling through the air like smoke.
The moment it reached her, Mila stilled. Her breath caught, and then her entire body softened, as if something inside her had unclenched. The tension she’d been holding—shoulders, jaw, fists—melted all at once.
Alek said nothing at first, only watched the wounds vanish beneath the haze. Then, finally: “Okay.” His spoke quieter now, still strained, but without the edge.
Mila turned to face him.
“It’s gone,” Alek said, dry and flat. Then turned and walked away.
She stood there, stunned. One hand slipped under her shirt, her fingers tracing the skin that should’ve still been torn open. Her face shifted—shock, disbelief, and then unmistakable relief at the absence of pain.
I watched as Mila turned her wrist, revealing a beautifully crafted golden watch. It looked luxurious, with intricate engravings spiraling around the edges, the metal catching the light just enough to hint at its value.
But as I looked closer, I noticed there was no typical watch face—only a smooth surface, subtly pulsing with faint, almost imperceptible lights.
A weird watch from the future?
Mila’s eyes were clouded with confusion as she studied it closely. After a moment, she looked up, meeting only with the oppressive darkness of the ruins she found herself in. She slowly followed Alek out the building but kept her distance from him.
“Let’s move out,” Stephen ordered, then softly pushed me toward the exit.
Walking outside again, I trailed after the men, trying to piece together what I’d seen.
“Do you understand what happened?” Stephen asked me as we walked through Cyclos’s streets.
I nodded, though the full significance of it was still eluding me. “This girl was clearly the victim of abuse, and the guy healed her.”
Stephen’s expression grew serious, a deep frown appearing. “Yes, but did you notice what Mila checked after she was healed?”
“The golden watch?” I replied, puzzled.
“It is not a watch, Emma,” Stephen said, his voice carrying a note of urgency. “It is a sensor. In the future, every human will carry one. This device will detect and register all instances of translation within its vicinity.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So humans will be able to track translation?”
He sighed deeply. “Yes, but it’s not only tracking. When we will have turned over our LiaPrisms to the humans, we will have done so to reassure them we wouldn’t use translation to harm them. We never foresaw they might turn the technology against us.”
“Against us?” I whispered. “Against us how?”
“I’ll show you. We’re going to follow Alek and Mila six months from now in what used to be New York.”
