He stepped out onto the street, the noise of the city pressing softly at his back.
Somewhere above, an ad-drone buzzed through the haze, cutting lines through light. Below, a tram passed, its windows flickering with newsfeeds and flickers of old icons.
In a storefront to his left, a cracked piece of glass caught the light just so.
In it, something looked back.
Just for a second—no more.
A helmeted figure, standing in a place that didn’t exist. Its horns were jagged, asymmetric—curved like broken metal grown wrong.
Green light leaked from the sockets where eyes should’ve been.
Not a glow. A flow. Like the helm was bleeding resonance.
And then it was gone.
Gaius didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
The glass showed only the city now.
But the weight of the stare lingered. Like something had marked him. Like it had been waiting for that moment—not to threaten.
To confirm.
He lit a smoke with steady hands.
And this time, he didn’t pretend it was nothing.
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