By the time Samaye turned fifteen, he had learned something important about his father.

  The man was respected—but never trusted.

  In government halls, his name carried weight. When riots threatened to spiral, when ability users clashed with civilians, when negotiations collapsed into anger, he was called in. Not because he was powerful—but because he was fair.

  Too fair.

  “He’s the chain that keeps both sides from tearing each other apart,” people said.

  Chains, however, were meant to be pulled.

  Inside headquarters, Samaye’s father stood alone more often than not.

  Meetings ended in silence when he spoke. Eyes shifted away. Smiles stiffened.

  “You’re asking us to give up control,” one official snapped during a closed-door session. “Ability users are assets. Dangerous ones. We can’t afford sentimentality.”

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  “They’re people,” his father replied calmly. “And people don’t stay stable when treated like weapons.”

  A murmur passed through the room.

  Another voice cut in, colder. “Idealism doesn’t maintain order.”

  “No,” his father said. “But fear doesn’t either. It only delays collapse.”

  The room went quiet.

  The argument ended the way it always did—not with agreement, but with resentment.

  After that meeting, calls stopped coming as often. Files arrived later. Decisions were made without him.

  His morality had become inconvenient.

  ---

  At home, none of this showed.

  Samaye’s life was simple—school, friends, dinner together, quiet evenings. He still hadn’t awakened. No strange sensations. No sudden resonance. Nothing that made the news.

  To the world, he was ordinary.

  To his parents, that was a blessing.

  “Power isn’t proof of worth,” his father told him one night as they walked together. “Never let anyone convince you otherwise.”

  Samaye believed him.

  Why wouldn’t he?

  His family was happy. Safe. Loved by neighbors who greeted them warmly. The world outside might be unstable, but their home felt untouched by it.

  That was the illusion.

  ---

  In offices far away, conversations took a different tone.

  “He won’t cooperate,” one official said quietly.

  “He won’t bend,” another replied.

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then he becomes an obstacle.”

  There were many ways to remove an obstacle.

  Some didn’t leave paperwork behind.

  ---

  Samaye didn’t notice the change immediately.

  He didn’t notice the unfamiliar vehicles parked too long near their street.

  Didn’t notice how his father lingered before leaving for work.

  Didn’t notice how his mother checked the locks twice that night.

  He laughed with Arjun. He joked with Meera. He talked about exams, about dreams, about nothing that mattered in the end.

  The world still felt normal.

  But somewhere in the dark, decisions had already been made.

  And once made, they could not be undone.