The sky cracks.

Not lightning.

Not thunder.

A tear.

You both look up as something splits the clouds—dark and burning and wrong, streaking across the narrow strip of sky above the alley.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh, that’s—no, I don’t like that,” you breathe.

“You shouldn’t,” he says.

Another crack. Louder. Closer.

The air compresses violently, like it’s being crushed inward.

Instinct kicks in—you step back—

And something falls.

Fast.

Too fast.

A jagged, glowing shard of something—not metal, not stone—screams down from the broken sky, aimed straight for him.

You don’t think.

“Hey—!”

You lunge forward.

Your hands hit his chest, shoving him back—

And in the same second—

Pain explodes through your side.

You don’t even register the impact at first. Just the force. The sound. The sudden, brutal heat tearing through you as the shard slams into your shoulder and throws you off your feet.

The world tilts.

You hit the ground hard.

“…Ow,” you wheeze, because apparently that’s your contribution to near-death experiences.

For a moment, everything goes quiet.

Too quiet.

Then—

“You’re an idiot.”

His voice, sharp and right above you.

You blink up at him, vision swimming. “…Rude.”

“You ran into it.”

“I was aiming for you, actually,” you manage, wincing as you try to push yourself up. “You’re welcome.”

His expression is… not grateful.

If anything, he looks more annoyed.

“Why would you do that?”

“Basic human decency?” you offer weakly. “Heroic impulse? Terrible decision-making skills?”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “And somehow you still seemed… worth not getting impaled.”

That does something.

Not much.

But something.

Another crack splits the sky.

Closer.

The shard embedded in your shoulder suddenly burns.

Not painful.

Not exactly.

Just—

Alive.

You freeze.

“…Okay,” you whisper. “That’s new.”

The glow spreads.

Faint at first. Then brighter. Crawling under your skin like liquid light, branching out from the wound in thin, glowing lines.

“What did you—” he starts, but stops abruptly.

Because your hand—

Is glowing.

“…Oh,” you say, staring at it. “Oh, that’s—”

The air around you shifts.

Not like before.

This is different.

This is… responding.

The pressure bends, curls inward toward you, like something unseen just noticed your existence for the first time.

“I don’t—” you laugh weakly. “I don’t think this is normal.”

“No,” he says, voice lower now. Tense. Focused. “It’s not.”

You try to sit up again.

This time, something moves with you.

The air snaps.

A pulse—sharp, invisible—bursts outward from your body.

And suddenly—

Everything nearby slams back.

The trash bin crashes into the wall. Loose debris scatters. Even him—he staggers a step, caught off guard for the first time since you met him.

You freeze.

“…Did I just—”

“Yes.”

“—do that?”

“Yes.”

You stare at your hands.

Still glowing faintly.

Still trembling.

“…Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, cool. Sure. I get stabbed by sky debris and now I’m—what—magical?”

“Not magical,” he mutters.

“Great,” you shoot back. “That’s somehow worse.”

Then— he chuckled.