Lucia wasn’t breathing.

  Not in the literal sense—because yes, she was breathing—but in the sense that her brain couldn’t fit air inside it with how fast she was talking.

  “DID YOU SEE THAT SLASH?!” she blurted. “He moved his sword and everything went FWOOM! And those sheep were gorgeous! So soft! And the hammer! It was insane!” she told me, eyes glittering like she’d seen fireworks inside a church. “But the hammer, Mom… that was like… like…!”

  I nodded solemnly, like a responsible mother.

  Inside, it was a different story.

  “I wanted to scream too when the hammer came out.”

  My little light looked so ecstatic it made me want to squeeze her and not let go for a whole week. But I held back. I had to look like a responsible mom for my little light.

  Even if I was just as excited as she was.

  It’s not every day a god fights a full-on battle against a group of humans—clearly outmatched—and broadcasts it for everyone to watch. So yeah: damage control was required.

  It hurt to think how scared Lucia could’ve been.

  But when I got to the school, reality made me look paranoid.

  I wasn’t the only one there.

  Responsible parents seemed to be multiplying lately. A huge number of moms and dads crowded the entrance, speaking in low voices, checking their kids like fear might leave invisible cracks. Some children were still crying. Others were in that silent shock, staring at the floor with the expression of “I didn’t understand anything, but I know it was wrong.”

  When they saw me, they straightened up.

  Not out of fear.

  Out of respect.

  And that made me feel a little uncomfortable—because I was also just a mom worried about her daughter. I wasn’t some adorable deity who needed everyone beneath her to bow and worship the ground she walked on. I didn’t like it at all.

  “Morning,” I greeted, using my nicest friendly tone.

  Several people returned the greeting instantly. Some even seemed to calm down just from watching me walk by.

  The more sensitive kids eased their crying a little.

  “That’s crazy,” I thought. “Do I have some kind of superpower that calms children down? Or am I just that amazing?”

  Jokes aside, I was in a hurry. I didn’t want to chat. I wanted to see my little light.

  Turns out it wasn’t completely necessary.

  Lucia came sprinting down the inner hallway like a happy projectile, almost taking out a teacher.

  “MOM!” she yelled, and latched onto me like I was a streetlight.

  I hugged her—tight, fast—and scanned her with my eyes like I could read her soul.

  Nothing broken. Nothing weird. Nothing that needed more than a hug to fix.

  She was just adorably excited.

  “Are you okay?” I asked anyway. Because it was my job. The job of an exemplary mother.

  “Yes! It was AMAZING! That woman, Katherine, was sooo pretty! And the swordsman was sooo epic! And the big guy with the fists! And the sheep! And the commentator, Mom—the commentator was SO funny!” And she started again. Definitely not scared.

  I stared at her.

  Who did she get that from?

  No, seriously.

  Who?

  Classes were suspended. The principal stood by the entrance talking to a group of parents. Faces were tense, but there was no panic anymore. Just that strange exhaustion you get when reality reminds you it can crush you whenever it wants. Or when a bored god can show up to make it more “interesting.”

  Lucia wouldn’t stop bouncing around me making silly sounds, hands shaped like a sword, attack steps, little hops.

  “Calm down a bit, Luz. If you keep running around like that, you’ll crash into someone.”

  “Success.” It came out perfect. The exact softness and tone of a mother giving advice to her messy little girl.

  I even felt proud.

  “Sorry, Mommy!” she said—then kept spinning anyway, ignoring my gentle warning like any kid her age should.

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t help it.

  “My God…” I murmured, taking her lightly by the shoulder to guide her toward the exit. “Let’s go get something to drink. I already agreed with Grandma to meet up. We can grab something there so you can keep jumping.”

  I’d called Mom so she could come with us. Apparently Dinamo’s broadcast had caught her while she was out shopping.

  When I told her I was with Lucia, we agreed to meet at a café.

  Girls’ meetup.

  Maybe afterward we could go shopping.

  Maybe.

  If the world didn’t decide to explode again.

  The walk to the café was normal. On the outside.

  Inside, I still had that ugly mix of excitement and anger. The excitement obviously came from the incredible, mind-blowing fight I’d just witnessed—especially since it turns out my little light shares my excellent taste.

  The anger?

  Not being able to replicate anything from that fight. Especially because Rob wouldn’t let me practice alone now.

  How was I supposed to slip past his radar?

  While I was distracted—thinking up absolutely genius ways to bypass the insects and the surveillance of my overprotective uncle—something unexpected happened with my little light.

  She bumped into a soldier.

  A private police officer for the mayor. Neat uniform, posture that screamed I exist to keep the peace, young face. Pretty average, but he had the look of a decent guy.

  He crouched instantly.

  “I’m sorry, young damsel! Are you alright?”

  Lucia started apologizing. Even though she was hyper and excitable, she was still a very polite little girl. Obviously she got that from me.

  “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I—I didn’t see—”

  He smiled kindly. But my chest tightened—blurry memories surfaced.

  He helped her up gently and patted her hair.

  A simple gesture. Clearly a good man who felt bad for bumping into a distracted kid. But he touched what was mine.

  I didn’t see it as normal.

  I saw a hand on my daughter.

  I saw a stranger touching my little light.

  I saw an unknown man touching what was absolutely mine.

  I saw fire.

  And my body reacted before my brain did.

  By the time I realized, my paper was already out.

  A thin white whip, edged like blades, looped around the guard’s neck. It drew a few drops of blood—and stripped him of courage.

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  I lifted him.

  Effortlessly, ready to decapitate him for even thinking he could touch something that was mine with those filthy hands.

  His feet kicked uselessly in the air.

  His eyes went wide.

  Lucia froze, mouth open.

  The air went still.

  I only heard my own pulse and one horrible thought:

  “Ugh. I almost killed him.”

  I let him go as fast as I could.

  He hit the ground, coughed, grabbed his neck, and sucked in air like he was drowning.

  I raised my hands like that could erase what I’d done.

  “I’M SORRY!” I said—too loud. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was reflex. I—I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

  The guard stared at me like I was a white nightmare. He probably wouldn’t sleep well tonight.

  Nearby, two of his colleagues stepped forward, hesitated, and stopped—like their training told them getting in between was a bad idea. That, and my reputation.

  I grabbed Lucia’s hand.

  Hard.

  Too hard.

  I noticed and loosened immediately.

  “Let’s go,” I told her, not looking at her yet.

  “Mommy…” Lucia whispered, confused, but obedient.

  We walked away fast.

  Behind us, the guard was still on the ground, breathing like he’d been born again.

  And me?

  I felt like a monster.

  Not because of what I did.

  Because of how easily it happened.

  “I have to control myself,” I thought. “I have to control myself for real. I can’t attack innocent people just because.”

  It didn’t take long to reach the café. I tried to forget what happened like a stain on a shirt.

  Mom was already waiting at a table.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  A man sat with her. Different uniform. Better quality. Better posture. More serious face. The type who doesn’t smile because he doesn’t need to.

  He looked higher-ranked.

  Lucia looked at him the way you look at a statue—curious, with a little fear.

  I tensed without meaning to.

  “Please don’t be the guard’s boss. That wouldn’t be great right now.”

  “Mom!” I said as I arrived. “Are you okay? Who is he?”

  Mom stood immediately and hugged me like I was still eleven.

  “Hi, sweetheart! I see you’re alright. And you brought our little sunshine.”

  Lucia turned red as a tomato.

  “Grandma…”

  Mom squeezed her against her chest and kissed her forehead with a tenderness that always dismantled me. Lucia hugged back, delighted.

  The man stood politely.

  Close enough not to be rude, but not invading personal space. Exactly the right distance.

  “Greetings, Miss Paper. It’s an honor to meet such a distinguished warrior. Allow me to introduce myself: I am the vice-captain of the forces that maintain order in this city—José Hawkwood.”

  He extended his hand.

  I looked at it like it was a trap.

  Not because he seemed like a bad person.

  Because I don’t like strangers I can’t kill. But I also didn’t like strangers I could kill if I snapped. And fire-users—those I’d kill with pleasure.

  Still, I shook his hand. Two seconds. I didn’t want to look rude to a man who hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Yeah. Good to see you too, I guess.”

  Mom shot me a look that said Paper, don’t be feral.

  I pretended not to see it.

  José smiled faintly, like he understood I was an animal forced into being domesticated. Not a blank sheet.

  “Your mother has spoken a great deal about you,” he continued. “And about your current role in certain matters.”

  “Certain matters.”

  Uh-huh.

  There it was.

  Mom and José were negotiating something. An arrangement.

  What kind? I didn’t know. But the tone was very much adults discussing things they don’t want to say in front of the child.

  Lucia, of course, was distracted, staring at the menu of sweet things.

  “Can I get hot chocolate with whipped cream?” she asked, eyes huge.

  “Yes, Luz,” I said quickly. “But you eat it slowly.”

  “Yes!”

  “Success!” Super Mom still has it.

  Mom touched Lucia’s hair again, like she needed to confirm she was real, that she was safe.

  I stood there for a second, watching the scene.

  And a thought stabbed me.

  “I want to be hugged like that too. It’s not fair my little light gets all the hugs.”

  But I didn’t say it.

  I’m a responsible mom.

  Right?

  José cleared his throat gently.

  “I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel in such a touching reunion,” he said, polite. “So I’ll take my leave.”

  He inclined his head toward Mom.

  “Goodbye, María. I hope we can continue discussing the agreement later.”

  Then he looked at me.

  “Goodbye, Paper. And you as well, little Lucia. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Lucia, mouth full of excitement, waved a tiny hand.

  “Goodbye, sir.”

  Mom smiled.

  “See you soon, old man.”

  I frowned.

  “Mom.”

  She ignored me with Olympic ease. As always.

  José let out a small laugh, like the nickname wasn’t new.

  “See you soon, then.”

  He left.

  I followed him with my eyes until he went out the door.

  I didn’t do anything.

  But my mind wouldn’t stop.

  “An agreement? What agreement?”

  Mom sat back down, happy, like nothing happened.

  Then came the tenderness attack.

  Again.

  But this time, when she finished with Lucia—

  Mom looked at me.

  With those eyes that always see too much, right after seeing nothing.

  “You’re tense,” she said, blunt. “What happened?”

  Lucia climbed onto her chair, kicking her legs, happy, and ordered her chocolate like nothing else existed in the universe except chocolaty joy. I was jealous.

  I breathed.

  Adjusted my coat.

  And answered with the calmest voice I could manufacture:

  “I almost killed a guard for touching her hair.”

  Mom blinked once.

  Then sighed. Yesterday’s memories were probably dancing in her head.

  “Paper…” she said, soft but firm. “I get it. But if you keep going like that, you’re going to hurt someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I know,” I muttered, staring at the table. “I know. It just happened. I can’t help it when I see fire.”

  Mom reached out and touched my fingers, trying to pour that endless love and safety into me—the kind that always managed to clear the darkness out of my head.

  “Breathe,” she ordered, like I was still a little girl. Which I’m not.

  But I obeyed. I took a few breaths, calming my heart down from turning everything into paper.

  I looked toward my little light, making silly noises with her straw.

  “Mommy,” Lucia said suddenly, “can you make a hammer too?”

  I choked on air.

  “What?”

  “Like the god Dinamo’s,” she explained, as if it were obvious. “A really big hammer. That goes BOOM.”

  Mom chuckled quietly.

  I got serious.

  “No, Luz. I don’t make hammers. They’re extremely slow and impractical in a fight. Though they can be useful for defense.”

  Lucia puffed her cheeks, disappointed.

  “And a sheep?”

  “I can. But what does that do for me in battle?”

  “And a sword?”

  “Yes. Those are useful.”

  I managed to calm down while my little light kept peppering me with every request that passed through that tiny head.

  “That’s why you’re my little light, Lucia. You always bring me peace when I need it.”

  I stared at Hakotane without blinking.

  With a monster like that in front of you, “careful” was a ridiculous word. There was no such thing as careful enough. He sat like the world was a living room, and in his hand he held a green drink he’d “created” from nothing. He sipped it with that theatrical arrogance people use when they want to look cool—even when they could erase a continent by accident.

  He offered me some.

  “Want some?”

  I refused without even bothering to smell it.

  I preferred having absolutely nothing to do with this guy. With The Liar. Though some would say The Joker fit him better.

  Because his joke was always reality.

  He was a beast. A prodigy—one of the few born in history. Being born at Rank 7 was already a privilege that would make you stand out forever. An absurdly vast output of energy, a quality very few could look at head-on without feeling ashamed. But what was truly terrifying was his conceptual ability.

  Reality control. At will.

  Nobody knew whether he had a pure concept or not. Deep down, it didn’t matter. His control was so precise that the debate was little more than academics wasting breath.

  When our eyes met, a drop of sweat ran down my forehead. Not because I was weak. Because I was realistic.

  My hands trembled slightly. I clenched them until my knuckles went white. My aura flared on reflex, like an alarm that triggers itself.

  I wasn’t sure I’d win if we fought.

  But I wasn’t going to allow myself to lose, either.

  He smiled.

  That smile that said I know what you’re thinking—and I also know what you’ll think next.

  I remembered one of his most famous feats. Not the most destructive.

  The dumbest.

  And because of that—the most dangerous.

  He altered reality so that anyone below the quality of a Rank 8 believed spoons were used like knives, and knives like spoons.

  Not only that—he changed history to fit the joke.

  It was a disaster. People cooking with weapons, soldiers trying to eat with blades, accidents everywhere. A dozen Rank 8s stood in front of him demanding he fix it.

  Hakotane looked at them like they were performing a mediocre play.

  “Make me.”

  Nobody dared.

  It wasn’t until the Pope himself appeared—with his entire entourage and symbolic apparatus—that Hakotane backed off. Not even he would face the full power the Church could bring to bear.

  But the way he “fixed” his prank was just as messed up as the prank itself.

  He rewound that entire day like nothing had happened.

  A smudge. A snap. History rewritten.

  Absurd.

  For this and much more, he earned the title.

  While I relived those kinds of things—the kind that teach you real power doesn’t need to shout—Hakotane moved.

  He came closer.

  Fast. I barely saw it.

  I prepared to attack.

  But it wasn’t him.

  He was still sitting.

  What approached me was a copy.

  And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was what came next.

  He distorted reality so I could see both him and the copy at the same time—from different angles—as if my perception had two cameras running.

  One began walking around me, calm, enjoying my tension.

  The other stayed seated, sipping his green drink like he was watching a show.

  And I could see the one circling even when he was behind me, like he was in front of me.

  Not exactly comforting.

  “Why so nervous, Roberto?” said the one circling me, pretending to be hurt. “Aren’t we friends?”

  The one on the chair kept drinking, hiding his smile behind the glass.

  I didn’t play along.

  “Answer my question.”

  My voice came out dry. No patience. No courtesy.

  I didn’t care about his stupidity. I just wanted to know why he was here.

  The one circling put on a dramatic gesture, clutching his chest.

  “Oh, that hurts. What would your niece say if she saw how you treat your friends?”

  He said it casually. Like he didn’t know exactly which button he’d just pressed.

  My aura detonated.

  Not “rose.” Not “grew.” Detonated. A dense black pressure that sliced the air. I’m sure it reached the distant town even from kilometers away.

  The seated Hakotane shifted back a little. The sheer force of my aura shattered everything. Reality snapped back to what it had been—no chairs, no copies.

  Silence.

  I stared at him with a threat that had nothing to do with his stupid games.

  “Don’t bring her into this.”

  He lifted both hands, exaggerated, in surrender.

  “Alright, alright. I was just playing. You forgive me?”

  I exhaled—not in relief. In exhaustion.

  “This guy is unbearable.”

  “Talk.”

  All my good mood from the morning was gone.

  Hakotane laughed genuinely, like I was a lovable character in his comedy, and created another chair to sit in—now facing me.

  He settled in. Crossed one leg. Took another sip.

  “Relax. I’ll tell you everything.”

  His tone was far too relaxed for someone who’d just manipulated my senses like a toy.

  “Where do I start? Let’s see…”

  He made thinking gestures. Slow. On purpose. Testing my patience—he probably liked playing with fire.

  I didn’t move.

  I didn’t give him a single millimeter.

  Then he snapped his fingers.

  “Got it! Well… turns out I met this poor unfortunate soul…”

  He said it with fake solemnity.

  “…whom I decided to be kind to, and guide with all my appreciation and consideration—this poor boy and…”

  He kept talking. Embellishing. Performing. Enjoying the sound of his own voice.

  And the longer I listened, the more surprised I became.

  But not only because of what he said.

  Because of what was arriving at the exact same time.

  Information.

  Data.

  Messages from my networks—my vermin, my eyes scattered across the world. Voices that weren’t voices, but still screamed inside my skull:

  All of them pointed to two important things.

  The Southern Tribes.

  And the most alarming of all—

  The Child of Perdition.