Andres woke up light?headed from lack of sleep. It’s almost noon, he thought, and I’m feeling drained. He staggered into the kitchen, made a quick breakfast, and stuffed his face with Cuban bread, cheese, and guava paste while planning out his Saturday.

  I think it’s time I look into Chad. Last night Marcel was terrifying… it’ll be a while before I mess with him again. But Chad? I’m tired of his ass and his boys messing with me every day. I gotta get them off my back.

  He grabbed another chunk of Cuban bread and a giant glass of milk, then headed back to his room. He needed more practice time. After checking the lock on his bedroom door and making sure the blinds were closed, he sat on the edge of his sofa bed and thought about what he needed to do to deal with Chad.

  I need eyes on him. I need to know what he’s doing. I have to find a way to get him out of my life.

  Still exhausted, he closed the sofa bed into couch mode. Why make a bed when you can just fold it away? With more room to work, Andres reached for the shadow beneath his desk. He shaped the darkness in his hand like clay, making sure the shadow stayed linked to its source.

  How do I keep my eyes on Chad?

  Unconsciously, the darkness in his hands formed into a round, baseball?sized eye.

  Great. I can make an eye… but now what?

  He thought back to how he checked distances before skipping through shadows. Maybe I can see through shadows. But how?

  He pushed the eye under the desk, keeping it tethered, and concentrated. The eye turned toward him. Startled, he lost the connection, and the eye melted back into the shadow. He quickly refocused, re?established the tether, and anchored it beneath the desk.

  Andres stood and opened the shades. Sunlight flooded the room, and he shielded his eyes before glancing under the desk. The eye was still there in the shadow.

  I wonder what happens if light gets under there now that it’s anchored.

  He grabbed a small mirror from the bathroom and angled sunlight beneath the desk. The eye faded instantly, blinking out of existence.

  “Crap,” he muttered. What a waste of time. If the sun touches anything made of shadow, it just melts.

  He returned the mirror, then glanced under the desk again.

  “What the—?” The eye had reformed.

  He realized the light only temporarily erased the shadow eye. Once the light moved, the shadow—and the eye—returned. His mind raced. He could make semi?permanent shadows.

  He created and tethered several more eyes around the room, some in obvious, unshaded areas, anchoring each one to a nearby shadow source. Then he opened the blinds. Any eye hit by sunlight faded, but the ones in darker corners remained. He checked his watch—almost a minute.

  He closed the blinds. All the eyes reformed.

  He opened the blinds again, this time for five minutes. When he closed them, the eyes instantly returned.

  Hell yeah. I can make them stay where I need them. But how do I make them see for me?

  He shut the blinds and focused on the first eye he created. At first, he felt nothing—no sense of connection.

  Am I doing something wrong?

  He closed his eyes and concentrated harder. Nothing.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Why isn’t this working? Why can’t I see anything? Maybe it’s not the right source.

  He disconnected from the eye under the desk and created a new one directly from his own shadow. Using his own energy, he reached for it—

  A blast of bright light slammed into his mind. Andres staggered and collapsed face?first onto the floor, passing out.

  Five minutes later, he groaned and pushed himself upright. “Man… I have a massive headache.” He grabbed the remaining Cuban bread, devoured it, and sat on the couch.

  What the hell just happened? One second everything’s fine, then—bam—straight to the brain. What did I do wrong?

  Thinking back, he realized the eye had been facing the light. When he connected to it, he got a full blast of brightness straight into his mind.

  Let’s try this again. Carefully.

  He grabbed an old soccer trophy and placed it in front of the light source. Then he created another eye from his own shadow and tethered it beneath the desk, making sure it faced away from the light.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated. Slowly, the eye under the desk opened, and he could see from its perspective. When he rotated the eye toward himself, the strange angle made him dizzy and nauseous. He forced the feeling down and closed the eye. Darkness. Better than passing out.

  He opened it again, slowly, adjusting until his brain accepted the perspective. When he dropped the connection, his vision snapped back to normal.

  He repeated the process with the other tethered eyes around the room. In the darkest corner, he gained instant vision from the shadow eye. Switching to another eye shifted his perspective again.

  Finally, he disabled all the eyes and returned to normal sight. He grabbed his notebook and wrote:

  Tethered eye + my source shadow = remote vision.

  One more test. He tethered a new eye directly to his own shadow at his feet. Concentrating, his vision shifted to a view from the floor. He released it and returned to normal.

  The clock read 3 p.m. He needed to head to the bodega for more bread and a couple of drinks.

  He opened the shades, grabbed his keys, and left the apartment. On the street, he checked that no one was watching, stepped into a deep shadow, and pulled the darkness around himself. After a few seconds, he focused on the eye under the desk.

  His vision jumped to the under?desk view.

  Holy shit. It works.

  Without thinking, he shifted to the eye at his feet. It was still tethered, still active. Switching back to normal vision, he continued to the bodega, bought another loaf of Cuban bread and a couple of soft drinks.

  Tonight, we’re setting up a few of these around the neighborhood.

  Andres wants to head home quickly he steps into the shadows and hides checking the area as he exits the bodega. Andres skips to the nearest shadow staying hidden, skipping through the shadows down the street until he gets to his block. Stepping into the shadow of the huge mango tree by the park Andres looks around before stepping out into the open. Andres pulls his hoodie over his head, puts his head down and walks to the apartment just down the street. Getting inside he notices her purse on the counter his grandma is back but she’s in shower it’s her normal weekend deal. Gets her hair done her feet done her nails done and she goes dancing with all her girlfriends she won’t be back til late tonight. Gently closing the door Andres gets comfortable on the sofa and quickly falls asleep.

  Andres startled awake when he heard his grandma close and lock the apartment door on her way out. He checked his watch—almost 7:15 p.m. He headed into the kitchen to grab some Cuban bread. On the counter, where his keys usually sat, was a quick note from his grandma and a five?dollar bill.

  “Oye, mijo. Ve a buscarte algo de cenar esta noche. Saldré con las chicas hasta tarde. No me esperes despierto.”

  Basically: Hey boy, go get yourself some dinner tonight. I’ll be out with the girls late. Don’t wait up.

  Perfect. I’ve got stuff to do tonight.

  Andres showered quickly and changed into his night clothes. Before all this shadow stuff started, he used to spend his nights painting graffiti around the neighborhood—not that ugly tagging, but real art. A few paint spatters stained the cuffs of his hoodie, but he thought they made him look cooler.

  Tonight I need to map out where I’m going to set up my little eyes around the neighborhood. I need to see if there’s a distance limit… and how many I can manage at once.

  He climbed up to the apartment roof and scanned the area to make sure he was alone. After a quick but thorough sweep, he posted up on top of the stairwell structure—the highest point nearby. Sensing the deepest shadows around the building, he began forming eyes and tethering them right there in front of the stairwell.

  He jumped down and headed to the northwest corner, re?tethering one of the eyes beneath the fire escape, which was almost always in shadow. He circled the building, re?tethering eyes as he went, always searching for the best vantage points. After placing each eye, he did a quick visibility check and adjusted its angle before moving on.

  So far, just my apartment complex has twenty?two eyes.

  The building was an old art?deco style, four stories tall, twenty?five apartments per floor. Realizing he’d gone overboard, Andres reduced the total number of eyes to twelve—enough to cover all access points and stairwells. There was no elevator in the building, so stairwells mattered. He added two extra eyes: one at the apartment entrance and another outside his bedroom window.

  By the time he finished, it was almost 10 p.m.

  Andres shadow?skipped to the huge mango tree at the park across the street. Wrapped in darkness, he stayed hidden while checking the street. He set another eye at the base of the mango tree before skipping to the next location.

  He made his way to Domino Park on Calle Ocho and 15th Avenue, stopped by one of the markets for a drink, then headed over to La Carreta to buy dinner from Enrique. In 1986, five dollars could get you two Jupi?as and a medianoche and still leave you with change.

  Everywhere Andres went, he placed an eye and did a quick visual check. Eventually, he found a spot near Domino Park to sit and cycled through all the views. That’s when he realized he’d overdone it—he had almost fifty eyes scattered throughout the neighborhood.

  After checking a few, he decided to sever a bunch of them, reducing the number to thirty. As he cut the connections, he felt the strain on his body ease.

  Okay… looks like fifty is my limit before I feel the drain.

  He headed toward Sedano’s Market and began setting up more eyes. He skipped up to the roof on the southwest corner. The lower wall facing the street was a perfect canvas—anyone driving by would see it. He chalked out a quick outline and checked the time. Fifteen minutes had passed.

  It was almost midnight when the exhaustion hit him. The strain from all the eyes, all the skipping, all the jumping—it crashed down on him at once. Drained, he looked back at the wall with a silent promise that he’d finish his art another night.

  He sat on the dark side of the Sedano’s roof, watching traffic flow by. He grabbed his drink and sandwich and wrote in his journal:

  Hard limit: 50 eyes. Constant drain—too much.

  After finishing his food, he bagged the trash and took it with him when he skipped down from the roof. Covering himself in shadow caused the least drain, so he walked home while severing all the unnecessary eyes.

  By the time he reached his apartment, he’d reduced the total to twelve. No strain. He could easily sustain twelve eyes—for now.