They met at Mr. Morandi's restaurant during the afternoon lull. Privacy, Lina had insisted - not Jason's compromised apartment, not anywhere public. Just the three of them at a corner table, away from the windows, with a clear view to the kitchen door and the entrance. Mr. Morandi thought they were "studying together" and left them alone with coffee and the occasional plate of food.

  Milo and Lina were already deep in discussion when Jason arrived, fresh notes spread out before them - a chaotic blend of handwriting and sketches from yesterday's planning session.

  " - not sustainable," Milo was saying, scratching his head. "If Jason pushes to Orange every time, he's not going to last."

  Lina tapped her pen against her notebook. "We adjust the plan. Build in more recovery time. Focus on - " She looked up as Jason slid into the booth. "Morning. Coffee?"

  "Please." Jason slumped against the worn vinyl, rubbing his temples. The headache from yesterday's practice hadn't fully faded.

  On the table sat Lina's water bottle and a small metal teapot Mr. Morandi had brought out - ordinary stainless steel, but Jason could feel it now. The faint harmonic potential, the way it might carry RAE's voice, if she could learn to use it.

  "Safety first," Lina said, pulling a pen from behind her ear and sliding a cup of coffee toward him. "Before we do anything weird today, we establish baselines. Real ones."

  "Agreed," Milo said, flipping to a clean page in his notebook. "RAE - can you hear us?"

  Yes, RAE said in Jason's mind. I can sense them through your perception.

  "She can hear you," Jason relayed. "Through me. She senses you through my perception of you."

  Lina jumped slightly, as if she'd half-expected something more dramatic. Milo made a note. "Okay, that's... less unsettling than I expected, actually. But still weird."

  Jason managed a small smile despite his headache. "We need to establish what I can safely do. And more importantly, what I can't."

  The atmosphere had the tense quality of a first day at a job where mistakes could be fatal. Everyone knew this mattered.

  "Start with capacity," Lina said, her pen poised. "How much can you sense? How far? How long?"

  Jason closed his eyes, reaching out with his sense. "The restaurant is clear. I can feel the building's structure. The resonance of people - Mr. Morandi in the kitchen, a couple walking past outside. Just their presence, not details. Maybe... thirty meters? Forty?"

  "And for how long?"

  "Passively? All day, I think. It's like peripheral vision - I'm aware without focusing. But if I try to examine something specifically..." He focused on the teapot, feeling its harmonic signature. A minute passed. Then two. The ache behind his eyes sharpened. "Maybe five minutes before it starts to hurt."

  "And with RAE's help?" Milo asked, taking notes.

  "Longer. She can filter out noise, help me focus more efficiently. It's less draining than doing it alone, but it still costs me. Still draws on my Invest, just... slower."

  Lina wrote that down carefully. "Okay. So passive awareness: essentially free. Active examination alone: expensive and tiring. Active examination with RAE: less expensive, but not free. What about shaping? Making things happen?"

  Jason thought back to his practice sessions. "Small things. The crack in the mug. Smoothing rough edges. Stabilizing patterns. Nothing big. Nothing dramatic."

  "How small is small?"

  Jason looked around, spotted Milo's stack of papers on the table. He focused, felt the slight disorder in how they lay. Gently - so gently - he encouraged them to align.

  The stack straightened. Barely a millimeter, but noticeable.

  Lina's eyes widened. "Did you just - "

  "Yeah," he winced, pressing his palm to his temple.

  "Red?" Lina asked immediately, her voice sharp.

  "Not yet, but close. Yellow on its way to orange. It's manageable."

  "Okay, new rule," Milo said, writing quickly. "We need a formal scale. Green for fine. Yellow for uncomfortable. Red for stop everything immediately."

  "And Orange?" Lina suggested. "For 'this is getting bad but not critical yet'?"

  "Good." Milo added it to his notes. "Green, Yellow, Orange, Red. Clear progression."

  I propose we also establish Invest limits, RAE said in Jason's mind.

  "RAE wants to talk about Invest limits," Jason relayed. "She says my natural capacity isn't high. With her help, I can exceed it temporarily, but there are consequences."

  "What kind of consequences?" Lina asked, leaning forward.

  Jason listened, then translated: "Headaches. Nosebleeds. In severe cases, temporary cognitive impairment or loss of consciousness. She says she won't permit me to reach those extremes."

  "But she could?" Lina pressed, her protective instincts flaring.

  Theoretically, RAE said. But I am designed with safeguards. I cannot override his wellbeing even if he asked me to.

  Jason repeated this. Lina looked at him directly. "Is that true?"

  "As far as I can tell, yes. She's stopped me before, even when I wanted to keep going."

  "Hm." Lina didn't look entirely convinced, but she wrote it down. "Okay. So capacity is limited. What about recovery time?"

  "If I push to Yellow," Jason said, "I need maybe fifteen minutes rest. If I hit Orange, an hour. Red would be... longer. RAE says several hours minimum, possibly a day."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Then we don't hit Red," Milo said firmly. "Ever. That's the whole point of having the signal. Red stops. No exceptions."

  Jason nodded. The phrase had weight. Rules that could save his life.

  They spent the next hours establishing more boundaries. How long Jason could maintain a whisper-channel to RAE (all day, if he stayed hydrated and ate properly). How much Invest different types of shaping required (passive observation: almost none; active manipulation: significant). What carriers RAE could use effectively (metal and ceramic: good; wood and fabric: possible but inefficient; water: unpredictable).

  By the time they finished, they had three pages of notes. Milo photographed each page with his phone, then Lina took the papers to the kitchen where Mr. Morandi let her burn them in the prep sink - one of her ideas, born from too much time around people who didn't trust digital records.

  "Okay," Lina said, returning and sliding back into the booth. "Now we try something else."

  Jason looked at her warily. "Try what?"

  "Direct communication. We've been filtering everything through you for the past few hours. That's slow, and it's exhausting for you. Can RAE speak directly? Through a carrier?"

  Jason glanced at the teapot, then at RAE in his mind. Can you?

  I... believe so, RAE said, uncertainty in her voice. The theory is sound. Resonance projection through a harmonic medium. But I have never attempted it since my fragmentation.

  "She thinks she can," Jason said aloud. "But she's never tried. Not since... before."

  "Then let's try," Lina said. "What's the worst that happens? It doesn't work and we keep translating?"

  Milo leaned forward. "What does she need?"

  A carrier with clear resonance, RAE said. Metal or ceramic. Something that can hold and shape vibration without too much distortion.

  "The teapot," Jason said, pointing. "Metal, simple structure. RAE, try that."

  He felt RAE's attention shift, reaching outward through him, extending beyond the boundary of his own perception. It was strange - like watching someone learn to use a prosthetic limb, uncertain and careful.

  The teapot trembled slightly.

  Then it hissed - not the sound of heating water, but something more deliberate. A controlled vibration that shaped itself, clumsily at first, into a single word: "Yes."

  Lina jumped. Milo's eyes went wide. Jason felt a spike of Invest drain and his headache flared - Yellow edging hard toward Orange.

  "Holy shit," Milo breathed.

  The teapot spoke again, RAE's voice stronger now, more confident: "This is... functional. Inefficient, but functional."

  "Okay," Lina said, recovering quickly. "That's... that's good. But Jason - how are you?"

  Jason pressed his palm to his temple. "Orange. It costs more than I expected."

  "Because I am still learning," the teapot said, "Each projection requires Jason to maintain the connection. As I become more practiced, the efficiency should improve."

  Milo made rapid notes. "So it works, but it's expensive. We should stop for today, let Jason recover."

  "Agreed," Jason said, starting to lean back.

  "Or," Lina said, her pen hovering over her notebook, "we test one more thing now, while you're already tired. Better to know your limits when we're safe than discover them in the field."

  Jason looked at her, uncertain. "What do you want to test?"

  "Multiple carriers. If RAE can only speak through one object at a time, that limits our operational flexibility. If she can speak to me and Milo separately, simultaneously, that changes things."

  She is correct, RAE said through the teapot, thoughtful. Though I suspect it will be significantly more demanding.

  "RAE agrees," Jason said. "But she thinks it'll cost a lot more."

  "Which is exactly why we should test it now," Lina pressed. "Controlled environment. We already know single-carrier works. Let's see what happens when we push."

  Jason looked at Milo, who shrugged. "She's right. If we're going to work as a team, we need to know what happens when you're not at full capacity. But Jason - it's your call. You're the one who'll feel it."

  Jason took a breath. "Okay. But we go slow. RAE just learned this five minutes ago."

  "Agreed," the teapot said, RAE's voice careful. "Two simultaneous channels will be significantly more demanding than one."

  "Lina, you'll need your own carrier," Jason said. "Something that vibrates well. Metal or ceramic."

  Lina picked up her water bottle - stainless steel, battered from years of use. "This?"

  "Should work." Jason held out his hand. "May I?"

  She handed it over. Jason felt the bottle's resonance, the way it held its shape, the slight imperfections in the steel. Then, carefully, he established the connection - not just examining the bottle, but offering it to RAE as a second anchor point.

  The Invest cost was immediate and sharp. His headache spiked from Orange toward Red.

  "Jason?" Lina's voice, concerned.

  "I'm okay," he managed. "Just... give her a second."

  The bottle hummed. Faintly at first - much weaker than the teapot had been. Then stronger, stabilizing. Lina's name, in RAE's careful voice: "Lina Morandi."

  But the teapot had gone silent.

  "I can only maintain one clearly," RAE said through the bottle, frustration evident. "The Invest cost for Jason to sustain two simultaneous channels is currently prohibitive. I must choose between clarity or quantity."

  Lina snatched the bottle back, eyes wide. "Holy shit."

  "Language," Milo muttered, though he was grinning.

  "She just - the bottle just - " Lina held it closer. "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes," the bottle said. "Though I am reading your resonance more than your words. Your emotional state is clear. Skeptical but curious. Protective of Jason."

  Lina's cheeks colored slightly. "Yeah, well. Someone has to be."

  "Agreed," RAE said, and there was approval in her voice. "Your instinct to question is valuable. Do not lose it."

  Jason winced, the Red-level headache pounding. "Okay, that's enough for today."

  "Red?" Lina asked immediately, setting the bottle down.

  "Very close to it." Jason slumped back in the booth. "RAE, can you let go of the bottle?"

  The humming stopped. The pressure in Jason's head eased slightly, dropping back to Orange.

  "So," Milo said, making rapid notes. "Single carrier: demanding but sustainable. Multiple carriers simultaneously: currently beyond capacity. We'll need to work up to that."

  They spent the next hour experimenting more carefully - but conservatively. After a fifteen-minute break with water and food, Jason felt steady enough to continue. They resumed carrier projection, but only through the single teapot, and only in short bursts.

  Testing practical limits. How long could RAE maintain the connection once established? (Indefinitely, it seemed, as long as Jason didn't move too far away.) What happened if the carrier moved? (The connection held, but became harder to maintain - like holding a thread that someone kept tugging.) How far could Jason be from an active carrier before the strain became unbearable?

  That last question required actual testing. Jason stood, walked toward the kitchen door while RAE maintained her voice through the teapot on the table.

  Five meters: manageable. Seven meters: uncomfortable. Ten meters: the connection stretched thin, Jason's headache spiking sharply.

  "Red?" Lina called out, watching him closely.

  "Orange," Jason said, returning quickly to the table. The pressure eased as he sat back down. "Ten meters is the practical limit. Beyond that, it gets bad fast."

  Milo made careful notes. By the end, even with breaks, Jason's head was pounding - Orange territory again - and they called a stop.

  "Okay," Milo said, helping Jason lean back against the booth. "That's enough for today. We learned what we needed to learn."

  "Which is?" Jason asked, accepting the water Lina handed him.

  "That this can work," Milo said. "But it's not effortless. It costs. And we need to be smart about when and how we use it."

  Lina leaned forward across the table, her dark eyes searching Jason's face. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Just need to rest."

  "Then rest. We'll come back tomorrow. Same time. More practice." She stood, pulled on her jacket. "But Jason? This was good. You did good."

  The words hit harder than he expected. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

  After they left, Jason sat in the quiet booth for a few more minutes. Mr. Morandi brought him a plate of pasta - "You look pale, eat" - and didn't ask questions.

  That went well, RAE said quietly through the teapot still sitting on the table.

  Yeah. Kinda.

  Lina doesn't fully trust me yet.

  Can you blame her?

  No. Her caution is appropriate. I am an unknown variable in your life. She wants to protect you.

  She's a good friend.

  Yes. Do not take that for granted.

  Jason smiled. I don't ... I won't.

  He ate slowly, the headache receding with food and rest. The teapot sat on the table, ordinary and silent. The restaurant hummed with its familiar rhythms.

  Everything looked so normal. But nothing would ever be normal again.