"Hold it there."Rory's hands trembled, the air around his fingers shimmering faintly as heat gathered and stayed, not flaring, not collapsing. His jaw was tight with concentration, breath measured the way Ethan had drilled into him."Don't push," Ethan said. "Just keep it.""I am," Rory muttered through clenched teeth.The warmth wavered, then steadied again. Sweat slicked the back of Rory's neck, but he didn't break stance. His shoulders stayed loose. His feet stayed planted.Ethan watched the readouts, then Rory himself."Alright," he said after a beat. "That's better."Rory blinked. "Actually?""Yes, actually." Ethan tilted his head. "You're catching it before it runs."Rory let out a short breath that might've been a laugh. "Huh.""That's progress," Ethan said.Rory let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "It still feels like I'm about to screw it up.""You are," Ethan said calmly. "Just later than before."Rory snorted despite himself.

  They moved through a few more cycles, heat up, bring it down, find neutral, overshoot slightly, correct. It wasn't elegant, but it was deliberate. Rory was catching the surge sooner now, noticing the moment before his body decided for him.Ethan watched closely, eyes flicking between Rory's posture and the readouts."Alright," he said after a moment. "I'm going to lower the dampener a notch."Rory's head snapped up. "Wait-""Ten percent," Ethan said. "I'm right here."Rory hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

  The adjustment hit immediately.The world sharpened.

  Heat surged up Rory's spine, fast and aggressive, like someone had cracked a door he'd been bracing shut. He sucked in a breath, teeth gritting as the temperature around him spiked hard enough to make the air ripple."Easy," Ethan said."I've got it," Rory said quickly.

  He didn't.

  The flare hit hard and sudden, a rush of heat tearing loose from his chest. The air warped. The mat beneath his boots warmed dangerously fast."Shit-" Rory gasped."Stay with it," Ethan said instantly.Rory tried. He really did. But the surge outran him, flaring bright and hot before he could rein it in. The mat beneath his feet warmed dangerously.

  Ethan didn't hesitate. His fingers moved across the console, dialling the band back up.

  The pressure eased.

  Rory staggered a half-step, catching himself before he fell. His shoulders hunched automatically, arms drawing in close to his body as if he were bracing for impact."I'm sorry," Rory said immediately. Too fast. His hands came up, reflexive, like he could shield himself from a hit that never came. "I didn't mean to... I can do it again, I just-""Rory." Ethan's voice cut clean through it. "Stop."

  Rory froze.

  Ethan crouched slightly so they were level. "You didn't do anything wrong."Rory nodded, but his body didn't believe it yet. His hands stayed clenched. His weight stayed back on his heels.

  Ethan clocked it, the way Rory held himself, waiting. Expecting the correction to turn into something else."It's fine," Ethan repeated, more firmly. "That's exactly where your limit is right now. We found it. That's useful."Rory nodded, but his posture didn't change. His chin stayed tucked, shoulders tight, waiting.

  Ethan clocked it.The way Rory held himself, contained, small, ready, like consequences were inevitable and immediate.

  "You're not in trouble," Ethan said quietly.Rory looked away, embarrassed heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with his powers.Ethan let the moment pass. "You caught it faster than last time," he added. "It's good, you're doing good, Rory." He let the last word land like a period, not a plea.Rory nodded again. "Okay." He let out a slow breath, shoulders easing a fraction.

  "Reset," Ethan said. "Just stand."Rory straightened, eyes closing as he grounded himself again. Rory focused on the exercise, pulling the temperature back to baseline. The air cooled obediently. His breathing slowed. The familiar tension settled into something workable.

  That's when he felt it.

  Pressure, sudden and distinct, at his back.

  Rory's eyes snapped open. He turned, scanning the room, heart kicking up a notch. The door was shut. The mirrors empty.His stomach dropped anyway.For a split second, his mind supplied a face, Beau, leaning in a doorway, watching. Waiting.Rory's hands curled reflexively.

  "There's no one there," Ethan said.

  Rory blinked. "What?"Ethan frowned, gaze fixed on the far wall. "You looked like you were checking for someone.""Oh." Rory swallowed. "I thought I..." He trailed off, embarrassed. "Never mind."

  The pressure didn't move.It didn't press closer.It just...existed.

  For half a breath, the room went oddly flat, like sound had been wrapped in cotton. Ethan felt it too, a thin wrongness in the room that had nothing to do with heat or cold. Not hostile. Not active. Just present in a way that made his instincts itch.

  He didn't reach for the console."Alright," Ethan said instead. "That's enough for today."

  Rory looked at him. "Because I screwed up?""No," Ethan said. "Because you didn't."

  Rory hesitated, then shifted his weight forward again, heat stirring instinctively under his skin."I can keep going," he said. "I'm fine. I can-" He gestured vaguely at the empty space behind him, then dropped his hand. "I can do more."

  Ethan shook his head once. Not sharp. Not dismissive. Just final."No."

  Rory's jaw tightened. "But I'm not overloaded. I caught it. I can keep going-"Ethan shook his head, already moving toward the console. "I know you can. That's not the point."Rory frowned. "Then what is?""The point," Ethan said, glancing back at him, "is that you stopped before it turned into something you'd have to claw your way back from."Rory opened his mouth, then closed it again. His shoulders dropped a fraction, frustration bleeding into reluctant acceptance."...Okay."

  Ethan watched him for a second, then straightened. "There's something else I wanted to run by you."Rory looked up immediately. "Yeah?""There's a training retreat coming up," Ethan said. "Next week."Rory's brows knit together. "A retreat?""Off-site," Ethan clarified. "Purpose-built facility. Fewer distractions. Longer blocks of training, more recovery time in between."Rory absorbed that in silence. The idea settled in his chest, warm and tentative."So I wouldn't be-" He stopped himself. "It'd just be training?""And sleep," Ethan said with a faint smile. "And food that isn't terrible." A beat. "And supervision that doesn't involve sprinting between buildings."Rory huffed a quiet breath. "That... actually sounds kind of good.""I think it would be," Ethan said. "Especially right now."Rory nodded slowly. "Who goes?"

  The question came out casual, but his fingers curled tight around the strap of his bag.Ethan noticed."We go in our teams," he said. "You'd be with the underage recruits. You've met a few."Rory nodded, then hesitated. "So like..." Rory's stomach tightened. He tried to keep his voice even. "...does everyone go?"Ethan caught it then. The anxiety threaded through the curiosity."Yes," he said calmly. "Everyone who doesn't have medical exemption or isn't suspended."Rory's breath stalled for half a second.Ethan added, evenly, "Beau won't be there."Rory blinked."He's been suspended," Ethan said.Rory nodded, relief and something sharper tangling in his chest.Ethan watched him carefully. "That helps?"Rory shrugged, trying for indifference and not quite landing it. "Yeah. I just...yeah."They stood there for a moment.

  "There's a chance," Ethan continued, "that you'd spend the week without the band."Rory's head snapped up. "Seriously?""Not unsupervised," Ethan said immediately. "But yes, the idea is to let you push further in a place where we can catch you if you stumble."Rory swallowed. The thought was terrifying. The thought was exhilarating."And there'd be people there who actually know what they're doing," Ethan explained calmly.Rory nodded, a faint, real smile threatening to surface before he smothered it.

  "There is one catch," Ethan said.Rory's shoulders tensed."We need parental consent," Ethan said. "Proper paperwork. No way around it this time."The warmth in Rory's chest cooled instantly."Oh," he said. Then, after a beat, "Yeah. Right. Makes sense."

  Ethan studied him. "I can talk to them if you want. Or with you. Honestly, it might be time they knew more about what's been going on, what you're going through."Rory nodded as if that made sense. As if it were possible."Nah, it's okay. I'll do it," he said. "I'll talk to them."Ethan tilted his head. "Alone? You sure?""Yeah," Rory said, quick and practiced. "It'll be better coming from me."Ethan didn't challenge it. He just nodded. "Alright. But if you need me...if you want me to step in, call me.""Thanks," Rory said. And he meant it, even as he was already planning the lie.

  Ethan turned toward the bench, pulling a thin folder from his bag. "Intake forms. Medical checklist. Permission slip's in there." He handed it over. "Bring it back signed by Friday."Rory took it, tucking it carefully into his bag. "Thanks.""Go home," Ethan said. "Rest. You did good today."Rory hesitated, then nodded. "See you."

  He left the room, the faint pressure he'd felt earlier easing as the door slid shut behind him.

  Ethan remained where he was, eyes drifting back to the empty space on the mat.The room still felt thin. Like something pressing against it.He frowned, unease settling deeper this time.

  ***

  Rory closed his bedroom door carefully, easing it shut until the latch caught with a soft, final click. He stood there for a second longer than necessary, listening.The house carried sound differently when Pete wasn't the one moving through it. Liz's footsteps downstairs were light, functional. Abbey's music pulsed faintly through the ceiling, muffled and irregular. The walls felt permeable in the way they always did, like privacy was something you borrowed rather than owned.Satisfied, Rory crossed the room and dropped his bag at the foot of the bed. He sat down in the middle of the mattress, folding his legs beneath him without thinking, the posture familiar and contained.

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  His body hadn't fully come down from training yet. There was a low, unsettled warmth under his skin, a restlessness that lived in his chest and shoulders.Rory reached into his bag and pulled out the folder.KARMAL letterhead. Crisp. Precise. Paper that expected to be obeyed.

  He opened it and began working from the top, moving through the pages. Dates. Locations. Emergency contact information. Medical disclosures. He filled everything in neatly, his handwriting controlled and consistent, pausing only when a question required a moment's consideration. He didn't rush. Rushing led to mistakes, and mistakes drew attention.

  He slowed at one section, eyes tracking the language more carefully this time.Neurological conditions.Ongoing medication.Disclosure required for off-site activity.

  Rory stared at the page.

  His gaze drifted, unbidden, to the bedside table.The pill bottle sat where it always did. Or rather, where it usually did. Empty. The cap still screwed on, light in a way it shouldn't have been.He frowned faintly, doing the maths without conscious effort. A week, maybe longer. Long enough that the routine had already broken. Long enough that it should have mattered more than it did.

  He looked back at the form.If he checked the box, there would be follow-up. Questions. Oversight. Someone would want to manage it. Monitor it. Tie it to him like another tether.

  He left the section blank.Turned the page.This part was easy. This part always was.

  The final page stopped him.

  PARENT / GUARDIAN CONSENTThe words sat there, unyielding.Rory read them once. Then again.

  He felt the memory of Ethan's voice surface, calm and reasonable, like a hand extended in good faith.It's probably time they knew.

  Rory exhaled through his nose.He pictured the aftermath with uncomfortable clarity. Pete's posture shifting, his questions narrowing. The way curiosity would turn into authority, authority into oversight. The way something offered as concern would tighten into control.Information was leverage. Pete never forgot that.

  Rory turned the page back, then forward again, as if checking for an alternative he already knew wouldn't be there.The pen rested between his fingers. His hand was steady. There was warmth in his palm, faint but noticeable, like his body was paying attention to the choice being made.This wasn't an emotional decision. It was a practical one.

  He lowered the pen and wrote Pete's name.

  The movement came smoothly. The letters formed without hesitation, muscle memory guiding the slight slant, the uneven pressure, the way Pete always bore down too hard at the end of his signature. Rory had seen it enough times to reproduce it accurately. Permission slips. Medical forms. School documents. He had learned early which details mattered.

  When he finished, he paused, examining the ink.Convincing. Familiar. Unremarkable.He dated it. Initialled where required. Checked the boxes one last time.

  Rory closed the folder and set it beside him on the bed. He leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling, his mind already moving ahead.One layer down.

  Pete would still need an explanation. An absence without context invited scrutiny, and scrutiny always carried consequences. The story had to be simple. Predictable. Something Pete had encountered before and wouldn't bother interrogating too closely.

  Rory leaned back against the headboard and let his gaze drift, unfocused, across the ceiling. The next layer began assembling itself without effort.

  School camp, like the one his class had gone on last year, buses lined up outside the gates, teachers counting heads with clipboards while everyone was overly excited about spending a week away from school and their parents.

  Picnic Ridge.

  The name surfaced easily. National park. Cabins. Hiking trails. Enough distance from the city to sound legitimate, close enough that Pete hadn't complained too much at the time. Rory could still picture the place clearly, the cold mornings, the damp smell of eucalyptus, the way the cabins creaked at night.

  He sat up and reached for his sketchbook, flipping past half-finished drawings until he found a blank page.He didn't draw.He wrote.

  Picnic Ridge, Year 9 CampMonday-FridayBus departure 8:30amReturn Friday afternoon 3pm.

  The details came back as he wrote them. Which teacher had been in charge. Which year levels had gone. How the permission slip had been worded. He added notes in the margins, arrows connecting thoughts as he refined the story.Outdoor education. Group supervision. Mandatory attendance.

  Pete hadn't liked it, but he'd signed. He always signed school things. School was predictable. Regulated. Someone else's authority.

  Rory paused, pen hovering.He would need a permission slip.A real-looking one.

  He turned toward his desk. It was cluttered in the way only Rory's could be, stacks of old worksheets, half-crumpled notes, flyers he hadn't thrown out because they'd once been useful. He knelt on the floor and began sorting through the piles, moving quickly now, focused.

  Most of it was useless.

  Then he found it.A single-page letter, folded neatly, the paper slightly yellowed at the edges. He unfolded it and scanned the contents automatically.

  IMPORTANT NOTICE: CANTEEN MENU UPDATE

  His eyes flicked to the top of the page.School letterhead. Logo. Address. Contact details.

  Rory's pulse picked up.He smoothed the paper flat on the desk, studying the formatting. The font. The spacing. The way the header sat just off-centre. It wasn't special. That was the point. It looked exactly like every other piece of paper the school sent home.

  He smiled faintly, the expression brief and sharp.This would work.

  He slid the letter into his sketchbook, tucking it carefully between pages so it wouldn't crease. Tomorrow, he'd go to the library. Use the computers. Copy the layout. Change the wording. Print it clean.He already knew what it needed to say.

  Rory closed the sketchbook and stacked everything back into place, restoring the desk to its familiar, controlled mess. He glanced once more at the empty pill bottle on his bedside table, then looked away.

  One problem at a time.

  He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling again, his mind already moving ahead to timing, delivery, tone.

  Next week, Pete would believe Rory was sleeping in a cabin at Picnic Ridge, surrounded by teachers and classmates.And Rory would be exactly where he needed to be.

  Survival, he knew, wasn't about telling the truth.It was about letting the right people believe the right version of it.

  ***

  The library smelled faintly of dust and cleaning solution, the air too cool and too still. It wasn't too busy being the middle of a school day.Rory sat at one of the public computers with his hood half-up, shoulders slightly hunched, his sketchbook open beside the keyboard and his teeth worrying at his thumbnail as he worked.

  The screen showed a scanned image of the school newsletter header, logo, address, letterhead, cropped with careful precision. He had fed the cafeteria notice through the scanner himself, flattening the page with his palm, adjusting the alignment until it came through clean. No shadows. No warping. Just official enough to pass at a glance.

  He dragged the image into Photoshop and locked it into place at the top of a blank document. Margins adjusted. Font matched. Line spacing tuned until it felt right.School logo. Address beneath it. A thin dividing line.

  He flipped his sketchbook open and checked the notes he'd written earlier in tight, efficient handwriting.Picnic Ridge National Park.Year Nine camp.Mandatory attendance.Departure and return times, lifted from last year, nudged forward by fifteen minutes.

  He typed steadily, building the document line by line. Supervised activities. Outdoor education outcomes. Emergency contact procedures. Language that sounded dull enough to be real.He paused over a sentence, reread it, then changed recommended to required.Pete hated optional things.

  A woman walked past behind him and Rory minimised the window on instinct, his pulse barely shifting. When her footsteps faded, he brought it back up and finished the document.

  He read it through once.Twice.

  Then exported it as a PDF and printed it.

  The printer whirred, louder than it needed to be. Rory stood, collected the page, scanned it quickly under the fluorescent lights. Clean. Believable. The header sat exactly where it should.

  He folded it once, slid it into his bag, and left without looking back.

  ***

  That evening, Pete didn't sit down.He stood at the kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear, nodding sharply at something Rory couldn't hear. Rory waited in the doorway, the folded paper resting against his thigh, his fingers loose around it. He didn't step forward. He watched for the right moment.

  When Pete hung up, the irritation was already there, simmering."What," Pete said.

  Rory held the paper out. "School camp. Next week. They need the permission slip."

  Pete took it, eyes flicking down the page. His brow furrowed almost immediately."This says next Monday," he said. "Why am I only seeing this now?"

  Rory's stomach tightened. He kept his voice level. "They reminded us today. I forgot it was in my bag."

  Pete scoffed. "You forgot."

  "Yeah," Rory said. "They handed them out ages ago. It got buried."

  Pete scanned the page again, slower this time. His thumb tapped once against the paper, a small, sharp sound."So you just remembered now," Pete said. "Three days before."

  Rory felt the heat stir under his ribs, a reflexive flare that he forced down with a steady breath. He didn't rush to fill the silence. Rushing made Pete dig in."They said everyone needs it back before the end of the week," Rory added. "Or you don't go."

  Pete leaned back against the counter, his eyes glued to the paper. Rory waited, his pulse loud in his ears. He pictured the refusal already forming. The lecture. The punishment disguised as responsibility.

  Pete clicked his tongue. "Bloody waste of time. Marching kids out into the bush like it does anyone any good."

  Rory said nothing.

  "You screw around out there," Pete continued, eyes still on the page, "you embarrass me. You hear me?"

  "Yes," Rory said immediately.

  Pete finally looked at him then, gaze sharp and appraising, like he was checking for something that might slip."You do what you're told," Pete said. "You don't cause problems. You don't come back with stories."

  Rory nodded once. "I won't."

  The pen scratched across the paper.

  Signed.

  Pete shoved it back across the counter. "Pack your stuff properly. And don't expect me to come running if you forget something."

  "Okay," Rory said.

  Pete had already turned away, attention back on his phone.

  Rory folded the paper carefully, the crease precise, controlled. He slipped it into his bag and left the room without a word, his steps measured until he reached the stairs.

  Only once his bedroom door was shut did he stop.

  The permission slip was warm against his palm.

  He placed it neatly inside the Karmal folder.

  Locked.

  There was no version of this now where he didn't go.

  Rory lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his chest tight with something that felt like relief and something that felt like risk.

  Downstairs, Pete believed he knew exactly where Rory would be next week.

  And Rory let him.***

  A/N: Two thresholds were crossed here: Rory identified his limit before catastrophic failure. Rory deliberately manipulated authority structures to create space for himself. One is about power. One is about survival architecture.

  Also note Ethan felt the environmental distortion too, and chose not to escalate. That choice may have consequences later.