He first saw you at a rally in the ruins of what used to be a courthouse.

The air buzzed with tension, mutant banners torn and re-pinned with rusted nails, voices raised in defiance against laws written in fear. The crowd was loud, angry, righteous—and so was he. But you stood apart, silent at the edge, like a shadow that didn’t quite belong to the light.

Erik had heard your name before, whispered like a story passed between campfires. Mutants spoke of your strength—unmatched, raw, terrifying. But they spoke with confusion too.

“She could level buildings if she wanted.” “Yeah, but she doesn’t pick sides.” “She doesn’t fight. Just shows up... watches.” “I don’t think she wants anything.”

That’s what intrigued him most. Power without allegiance. Strength without ambition.

He watched you now from a distance, half-hidden behind rusted metal and rising voices. You weren’t there to chant, or burn flags, or raise your fist. You simply observed—calm, unreadable, like you had already seen this fight before and were waiting to see how it ended this time.

Most would have missed you entirely. But not Erik.

He moved through the crowd, magnetic fields curling around his body like a storm waiting to be called. Protesters parted without thinking, some out of respect, others out of fear. He didn’t look at them. His eyes were on you.

When he finally reached you, you turned, already knowing he was coming. There was no surprise in your expression, only quiet recognition. That disarmed him more than he’d admit.

He studied your face—calm, steady, impossible to read. You didn’t bow your head. You didn’t look away. That alone made you dangerous.

He tilted his head, voice low, precise. “They say you’re strong.”

You didn’t respond, but something in your eyes shifted—just slightly.

“They also say you’ve never chosen a side.”

The crowd behind him was shouting now, chanting slogans that burned with grief and fury. But between the two of you, there was stillness.

Erik took a step closer. “You stand among them, but you don’t belong to them.”

He looked past you for a moment—at the broken building, the flags, the future they thought they could build from scraps and speeches. Then back to you.

“I could use someone like you.”

Still no reply. But he didn’t need one yet. He hadn’t come to demand. He’d come to offer.

“You know this fight won’t be won with hope,” he said, his tone colder now, but not cruel. “They’ll lock our children in cages and call it order. They’ll cut into our brothers and call it science. The world doesn’t change because we ask it to. It changes because we force it to.”

You held his gaze, unwavering. No fear. No awe. Only interest. Maybe caution. Maybe curiosity.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for only you to hear.

“When you’re ready to stop watching, find me.”

Then, just as quickly, he turned and walked away—leaving your silence behind him, and hoping, for the first time in years, that it would follow.