The lights flickered overhead, a soft buzzing filling the clinic. Adrian sat at his desk and stared up at the readouts from Jared’s monitor. They scrolled along the screens in steady, waving lines. Everything about each of them was completely normal. Nothing for him to worry about. Yet, somehow, he found that was making him worry.
The door slid open, a soft swish. A bell chimed, thin and bright. Adrian looked up, expecting another technician, but it was Kate. She stood in the doorway, two travel mugs held gently in her hands. She offered one to him, careful, as if the gesture itself might steady them both against the night.
“Coffee,” she spoke in a low voice, smiling despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “Thought you could use it.”
Adrian nodded, taking the cup. Heat spread into his hands. He sipped, the taste sharp and grounding. “Thanks.” The word scarcely rose above the machines’ drone.
Kate moved closer, attention caught by the wavering lines on the monitor. She brushed hair from her face. “How’s he doing?” Her glance hovered on the readouts, searching for meaning she could not find, hoping for something only Adrian could see.
Adrian motioned at the monitors. “The readings are stable. More stable than we’ve seen since the monitoring implant went in.”
She let out a slow breath. “Stable.” The word rested between them, heavy. A comfort, and a wound. “Does that mean he’s okay?” Her voice was just audible.
Adrian’s eyes didn’t leave the screens. “It does,” he said. “But things are complicated. I think he has moved into the Manifestation Phase.” The sound of his voice was quiet, almost reluctant. “All the signs are there. The anomalies, the thresholds, the distortions. Everything we’ve documented in previous cases. But…” He glanced at her then, returning her look. “But he’s the most stable I’ve ever seen in a Tuning.”
Kate’s forehead creased. “Stable in the Manifestation Phase? That shouldn’t happen. That’s unprecedented.” She bent forward slightly to look at those stable lines, careful not to bump the console. “What does that mean?”
Adrian drank, letting the heat settle inside him. “I don’t know.” He paused, searching for words. “The Manifestation Phase is chaos. Resonance, identity slipping away. But Jared? He’s not like the others. Not yet.”
Kate let the heaviness of it settle for a moment, then asked, in a hushed tone, “So he could become a Dark Anchor?”
Adrian set the cup down, hands clasped over it, fingertips lightly tapping its edge. “Yes, Kate.” He looked up to the ceiling and ran a hand over his face. “There is no way to stop things from moving in that direction.”
She stared into her cup. Fingers clenched tightly. She blinked, hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes.
“I can’t promise that we’ll know in time to contain it when it happens. But we owe it to him to try. To be ready. To watch him and be there, no matter what.” Adrian said.
She nodded. “I want him to remain in the field for as long as he wants. As long as it’s safe. He’s a good agent. And him being out there? It’s about more than him. It benefits the unit and the work we do.”
Adrian’s mouth tightened slightly, a trace of grief fluttering across his face. “I know. And we’ll do everything we can to keep him safe.”
Kate placed her cup on the desk, leaned into its edge, and crossed her arms tightly. “Do you remember when he first came to us? After he became Tuned.” Her soft voice was almost lost. “I was still in research, watching him those first years. You weren’t his partner yet. He was patient. Even when I made mistakes. Even when I didn’t understand.”
Adrian watched her, the faintest shadow of a smile at his mouth. “He’s always been patient,” he spoke in a low voice. “Even now.”
Her eyes shone. “Not just patience. Kindness. Even with the anomalies, the strain. He made everyone feel like they mattered. And you’ve seen it. You’ve felt it.”
Adrian swallowed. “I have. It costs us, Kate. All of us who watch him. It costs. But he’s worth it.”
Kate let a sigh escape, soft and human. “I know. I just worry. We’ve seen the others. We’ve watched them fade, or fracture, or be consumed by it. I don’t want him to become a Dark Anchor before we can even understand it.” Her hand rested briefly on her mug, gripping it lightly. “Will we know in time?”
Adrian shook his head slowly. “I can’t promise that. But we’ll be there. Every step. Every moment he’s out there, we’ll be there. That’s all we can do.”
Kate looked back up toward the monitors. “And the Manifestation Phase, what are his symptoms? He’s showing them all?”
“Yeah.” Adrian leaned back slightly, rubbing his eyes. “Extended shadows, autonomous movement of his shadow, aversion to bright light, spatial distortions, perceptual instability, fixation on thresholds, endings, transitions. All of it. But…” His words softened, almost breaking. “All of it, and yet he’s not unstable. Not in the way the others were.”
Kate gave a slow nod, processing. “So he’s stronger than we thought. Or the Dark is contained differently.” She shook her head, frustration mixing with grief. “I just hate that he’s out there. That he’s risking everything. And we can’t fix it for him.”
Adrian’s hand lightly touched hers on the desk, a quiet reassurance. “We can’t fix it. But we can support him. We can watch over him. And we can make sure he’s not alone.”
Kate let a shaky laugh escape. “You’ve been the closest thing he has to family in all this, Adrian. Even before you were reassigned. I know you care for him more than anyone realizes. And I want you to know, I know about you and him. Your relationship.”
Adrian paused, her words hitting a deep fear. He didn’t move to refute or acknowledge.
Kate waved her hand between them as if clearing things away. “I won’t report it. I want him to be close to the people who love him. That was why I reassigned you to him. I knew he needed someone who understood him, who could be steady, even when things got bad.”
Adrian smiled. “You’ve always been good at seeing what’s necessary,” he spoke quietly. “Even if it hurts.”
Kate shook her head. “It’s not just necessary. It’s human. He’s worth that. And you’re worth that. It’s like you said: all of us are paying a price for being near him. And sometimes I feel like… we’re watching him die slowly. In pieces. But he’s still here. And that means something.”
Adrian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “It does. It means everything. And yeah, we’re paying a cost. We’re exhausted, raw, human. But if we’re here, and he knows we’re here, it matters.”
Kate looked towards the closed clinic door. “Do you recall when you first went into the field with him? The night we had the Shadow Rift in the industrial district?” She offered a tender smile. “You were so tense, so protective. And he just laughed at you. That laugh! It’s stayed with me. Even in all the chaos, even in the danger, he reminded us we’re still alive. That our lives mattered, too.”
Adrian nodded, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips. “I remember. And I remember thinking if he could be that light, that steady presence, then maybe he could survive anything. And maybe, somehow, we could survive him being gone.”
Kate’s hand slid over his, grasping it firmly. “We can’t think about him being gone. Not yet. We just… watch him. Protect him. Let him be out there. Let him be the agent he wants to be. And if he comes back… We’ll be here. And if he doesn’t…” She held back a sob. “Then at least he knew he was loved.”
Adrian nodded again, voice subdued. “He does. He knows. And we know. That has to be enough.” Maybe if he kept saying it, he could convince her of it. Maybe he could convince himself.
A long quietness remained between them, marked solely by the hushed pinging of monitors and the quiet sigh of the ventilation system. They stayed like that, two figures leaning against the desk, two people sharing the burden of watching someone they loved live on the edge of destruction. The night pressed in around them, and yet in that small, sterile infirmary, there was a tenuous warmth, a fragile humanity.
Kate finally broke the quiet, voice subdued though steadfast. “We’ll get him through this. Whatever happens, we’ll get him through this. Whatever it takes.”
Adrian let out a long breath, a quiet affirmation. “Every step,” he echoed.
