El avoided Calder for two days.
She didn’t answer his messages. She didn’t meet him after school. She didn’t go near the park or the street where her past still lived like a shadow.
But avoiding him didn’t stop the pressure.
It followed her everywhere — a constant hum beneath her ribs, a quiet throb behind her heartbeat, a whisper in the back of her mind.
The world was listening.
And it didn’t care that she wanted silence.
The Breaking Point
It happened on a Tuesday morning.
El was walking to class when she heard laughter behind her — sharp, cruel, familiar. A group of students stood near the lockers, whispering and snickering. She didn’t know what they were saying, but she knew it was about her.
She felt the first spike of emotion — embarrassment, then anger, then something hotter.
She kept walking.
But one of the boys stepped into her path.
“Hey,” he said, smirking. “You okay? You look—”
El didn’t hear the rest.
Her pulse thudded. Her chest tightened. The world leaned.
Stop, she thought desperately. Stop, stop, stop—
But the pressure surged anyway.
And then—
“El.”
She froze.
Calder stood at the end of the hallway, watching her with an expression she couldn’t read — not calm, not curious, but tense. Focused. Alert.
He stepped toward her.
“El,” he said again, voice low. “Don’t.”
Her breath shook. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re about to.”
The boy in front of her laughed. “What’s wrong? You gonna cry?”
El’s vision blurred.
Her heartbeat hammered.
The wish formed before she could stop it.
I want him to understand fear.
Calder inhaled sharply.
“El—”
But it was too late.
The Ripple
Across town, a man driving a delivery van suddenly felt a jolt of panic — sharp, irrational, overwhelming. His hands tightened on the wheel. His foot slammed the brake. The van skidded sideways, tires screaming.
The boy’s older brother — riding his motorbike behind the van — swerved violently to avoid the crash. He lost control, the bike fishtailing across the road before slamming into a fence.
He wasn’t killed.
But he was hurt.
Badly.
The Hallway
El didn’t know any of this yet.
But she felt it.
The release. The exhale. The terrible, hollow satisfaction.
Her breath caught.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no—”
Calder reached her in three strides, grabbing her shoulders.
“El,” he said sharply, “look at me.”
She did.
His eyes were wide — not with fear, but with something worse.
Recognition.
“You wished for something,” he said. “And it didn’t hit him. It hit someone else.”
El’s stomach twisted violently. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Calder said. “But your power doesn’t care what you mean. It cares what you feel.”
Her knees weakened.
Calder steadied her, his grip firm but not harsh.
“El,” he whispered, “you have to understand something. Your wishes don’t just ripple outward. They look for the quickest path.”
Her voice trembled. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Calder said, “that if the person you want harmed isn’t close enough… the world finds someone who is.”
El felt sick.
Her pulse thudded painfully.
The hallway around them blurred.
Calder lowered his voice even further.
“And the more emotional you are,” he said, “the stronger the ripple. The wider the reach. The less control you have.”
El shook her head. “I don’t want this.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want anyone hurt.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t want—”
“El.”
Calder’s voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp.
“This is why you need me.”
Her breath hitched.
Calder continued, his tone calm, steady, terrifyingly certain.
“You can’t control this alone. You’re too powerful. Too emotional. Too reactive.”
El flinched.
Calder leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I can help you. I can anchor you. I can keep the world from twisting every time you feel something.”
El stared at him, heart pounding, mind spiraling.
She didn’t know if he was right.
She didn’t know if he was lying.
She didn’t know if he was helping her…
…or binding her.
But she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Her wish had gone too far.
And Calder wasn’t afraid of that.
He was waiting for it.
ns216.73.216.176da2
and then Add to home screen.