SABLE You’re loud.
Sable grins and dissolves backward, leaving a smear of darkness that claws at Maya’s boots. It’s not brute force; it’s manipulation of potential—turning stasis into weaponry. Maya plants a foot, pivots, and launches Roo into a spinning arc through the air; Roo releases a concentrated pulse mid-flight that hits Sable like sunlight on oil.
Sable shifts, and the air cools—the shadows gather and lengthen like smoke. With a flick, she bends momentum; a commuter’s briefcase floats sideways, then drops with the force of a thrown brick.
Lights lower. The holograms blink off in succession, leaving the chevrons on their chests glowing faintly, like beacons in dusk.
Ilea nods, satisfied.
Maya smiles, precise, the plan already forming.
SABLE Impressive. You notice the little things. Most people only see the big bangs.
ILEA We adapt fast, we protect first. Then we find who benefits.