“Touch me.”
Her expression shifts. Not offended. Concerned. “What’s happening to you?”
“Nothing.” The lie tastes metallic.
A distant crack of thunder rolls from the far ridge. One that isn’t forecasted. One that’s moving too fast.
Josephine looks toward the range. “That wasn’t there five minutes ago.”
I don’t answer. Because I know she could never understand. Don’t know if I can either.
By the timeI reach the Grange hall, the storm has formed over the eastern ridge in a tight, low-bellied mass. Localized and deliberate.
Mags is already there. She stands outside the building, hands clasped loosely at her waist, eyes lifted toward the cloud formation.
She doesn’t look surprised. She looks like she’s measuring something. “You felt it,” she says without turning.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How long between proximity and response?”
“Shorter than yesterday.”
“How much shorter?”
I hesitate. “Immediate.”
She nods once. No dramatics. No panic. “Did you stabilize?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I don’t answer fast enough.
Her gaze shifts to me then. Sharp. Quiet. “Did you stabilize alone?”
The silence stretches.Control isn’t immunity. It just delays consequence.
“No,” I say finally. The word feels like a confession.
Mags studies my face. “And when distance returned?”
“Escalation.”
“Physical cost?”
“Sternum. Head.”
She nods slowly. “Timing is accelerating.”
I already know this, but hearing it out loud makes it sound more… final. “Yes, ma’am.”
She steps closer. Low voice now. “No more solo containment.”
My jaw tightens. “I can manage.”
“That’s what you said at sixteen.”
