You don’t hear the helicopters.

You feel them.

The air bends wrong before they even cross the horizon. Static crawls under your skin. Space tightens. The world knows something is approaching you.

Black SUVs flood the empty stretch of road below your rooftop perch. Men in tactical gear pour out like ants who think they’re hunting a god.

Cute.

You stay seated on the edge of the building, legs dangling over a six-story drop, wind tugging lazily at your jacket. You don’t bother looking impressed. Or concerned.

Then he steps out. Aiden. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Built like he’s carved from control itself. Dark suit despite the chaos, sleeves slightly strained at the forearms. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t flinch when the sky above you flickers—just slightly—because you’re bored.

He looks up at you like he already expected this. “Stand down,” he tells his agents calmly.

You tilt your head.

The air around you warps. Not fire. Not lightning. Not telekinesis. Something worse. Something no one has words for. The clouds distort as if reality is reconsidering its structure.

And still, he doesn’t move.

“I’m not here to cage you,” Aiden says, voice steady. Deep. Irritatingly unafraid. “I’m here to recruit you.”

You laugh softly. The streetlights below shatter. He doesn’t react.

“There’s someone coming,” he continues. “Someone powerful. And for once, it isn’t you.”

Silence.

You drop from the rooftop. No impact. You simply decide gravity no longer applies. You land in front of him, boots inches from his polished shoes. Agents raise their weapons. Aiden lifts a single hand. They lower them immediately. You study him like he’s an interesting lab specimen.

“You don’t want to join,” he says. Not a question. He’s right.

You don’t take orders. You don’t follow leaders. You don’t do “teams.” You are the event. The disaster. The anomaly. “And yet,” he adds, meeting your eyes without blinking, “you’re the only thing that might scare what’s coming.”