The basement of The Corner Plate smelled of damp concrete, old copper, and the comforting, lingering scent of roasted coffee from the floor above. It was a far cry from the sterile, holographic Aura-Chambers of West Corp. There were no sensors here, no safety paddings—just raw space and heavy metal.
"This is it?" Maya asked, her voice echoing off the low stone ceiling.
"The West Corp gym teaches you how to be a UMA in a lab," John said, tossing his hoodie onto a stack of crates. He looked at the rows of rusted iron I-beams and heavy engine blocks he’d dragged into the center of the room. "The Lewis Method teaches you how to be a UMA in the real world. No tech. No distractions. Just you and the weight."
He walked over to a massive, three-hundred-pound steel beam resting on two sawhorses. "Cassie wants to use you as a battery. She wants you to push. I want you to pull."
"Pull?" Maya frowned.
"Think back to the freezer," John said, stepping close. He took her hands, his palms warm and rough. "You didn't blast the heat away; you anchored the cold. I want you to treat your energy like a magnetic tether. Don't push against the world, Maya. Grab onto it."
He pointed at the I-beam. "Lift it. Not with your hands. Use your energy to latch onto the iron and pull it toward you."
Maya took a breath, closing her eyes. She reached out with her Cybergerm, but instead of the jagged sparks she used at school, she focused on the "weld" sensation. She imagined thin, unbreakable threads of purple light stretching from her fingertips and hooking into the molecular structure of the beam.
Vroom...
The purple light didn't explode; it hummed, deep and resonant. The beam groaned, the iron vibrating against the wood.
"It’s... it’s heavy," Maya gasped, her knees shaking.
"I’m right here," John whispered, stepping behind her. He didn't lift the beam for her, but he placed his hands on her waist, his steady strength acting as a physical anchor for her body. "Don't fight the weight. Become the center of it. You're the anchor, Maya. The world moves around you."
With a sudden, sharp intake of air, Maya shifted her frequency. The threads of light thickened into solid tethers. With a slow, graceful movement, she pulled her hands upward.
The three-hundred-pound beam rose silently into the air. No sparks. No short-circuits. Just a perfect, stable hover.
"I'm doing it," Maya breathed, her eyes flying open. "John, I'm actually holding it!"
"You're doing more than holding it," John laughed, his eyes shining with pride. "You're controlling it. That’s something Cassie can't do. She can move the air, but you can move the foundation."
They trained late into the night. Under the dim yellow light of a single hanging bulb, John pushed her to tether multiple objects at once, spinning them in a slow, controlled orbit around her. He acted as her coach, her cheerleader, and her shield, catching her whenever her focus slipped and she stumbled.
In the quiet of the basement, the pressure of the "Representative" title faded away. There was no Legacy to live up to here, and no bullies to fear. There was only the steady hum of the purple light and the boy who believed in her when no one else did.
"You're ready, Maya," John said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of his hand as they finally finished. "When you walk onto that stage tomorrow, remember this basement. Remember that you aren't just a girl with a power. You're the girl who held up the world in a kitchen cellar."
Maya looked at her hands, which were glowing with a soft, disciplined indigo light. She felt stronger than she ever had at West Corp. But as she leaned her head against John’s shoulder, a single, cold shiver ran down her spine—a reminder that while she had found her anchor, the storm was already at the door.29Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKma5zmIHCf
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