Brian rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off nerves. His eyes dart between you and the training readouts floating beside the wall.

“Controlled Targeting Training,” you say gently, offering him a small smile. “Single-person marking. Duration control. Emotional triggers.”

He exhales through his nose.

“Yeah. I know the checklist.”

That’s the problem.

His mutation has never been subtle. When Brian tags someone, it spreads like a reflex that people compelled to run toward or away from the marked target whether they want to or not. Automatic and instinctive. Hard to rein in.

Today, it’s just you and him.

The simulation shifts — three civilian holograms appear at the end of the street, chatting. A fourth stands alone near a storefront window.

“Single-person mark,” automatic voice reminds. “Only the one by the glass.”

Brian nods, jaw tight. He steps forward and brushes his fingers against your sleeve first.

“Tag me,” you offer quietly. “Low intensity.”

He hesitates. His power is psionic and almost invisible, but you always feel it like a subtle pressure behind the ribs when it activates. You steady yourself anyway.

He touches your wrist.

Then—

Nothing.

The three civilians don’t move. The one by the glass blinks… and begins walking slowly toward you.

Only him.

Brian’s breath stutters.

“It’s working.”

You keep your breathing even despite the magnetic pull drumming under your skin. The marked hologram keeps approaching, steps measured. The others remain unaffected and unaware. Brian’s concentration is visible, shoulders stiff, brows drawn together. His power wants to expand, to broadcast indiscriminately. You can almost see him wrestling it inward.

Seven seconds.

His hand trembles.

Nine—

The pull snaps.

The hologram freezes mid-step as Brian drops his hand, frustration flashing across his face.

“Too short,” he mutters. “I lost it."