The light of the morning sun filtered through the dusty attic windows, casting long shadows over the cluttered room where Arlen sat. His fingers brushed over the spine of his leather-bound journal, but his mind drifted elsewhere—back to another rooftop, another time.
Growing up in the orphanage had been an exercise in survival. Arlen had learned early on that the world didn't care for strays, whether human or animal. But it wasn't all bad. He had Cal and Mira, and together they had carved out a semblance of family amidst the chaos.
Mira had been the one who always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. He remembered the nights she spent patching up his scrapes after he climbed one fence too many, her scolding softened by the warmth in her voice. Cal, on the other hand, was the scrappy, wide-eyed kid who followed Arlen everywhere, eager to learn and even quicker to defend him.
And then there were the animals. While other kids chased after soccer balls, Arlen had been the strange boy sitting in the corner with a raven perched on his shoulder or a mouse nestled in his pocket. The other children had mocked him at first, but when he started using his abilities to find lost items—or sneak them out of the kitchen—they quickly learned the value of his unique skill.
But the orphanage was a memory now, and the family they had built had splintered as life pulled them in different directions. Mira worked as a waitress while secretly saving up to become a social worker. Cal, still loyal, had refused to leave Arlen's side. Together, they had built his information brokerage from the ground up.
Arlen shook his head, pulling himself back to the present. He couldn't afford to dwell on the past—not when there are mysteries waiting to be solved.
Victor Hale's name sat at the top of the list scrawled in his journal, but it was the words written beneath it that held his focus: Atmospheric anomaly.
The pulse he had felt the day before still lingered in his mind, like the faint ringing of a distant bell. He had tried reaching out again that morning, letting his senses drift through the city, but the animals were still uneasy. Even now, the sparrow on the windowsill twitched nervously, its small head jerking from side to side.
Arlen flipped his journal shut and stood, grabbing his coat. It was time to move.
The first step in tracking Victor Hale was to revisit the café where the handoff had occurred. Arlen blended into the city's crowds with practiced ease, his slight frame and nondescript clothing allowing him to slip unnoticed through the bustling streets.
When he reached the café, he sent a pigeon to perch on the awning, its sharp eyes scanning the inside of the building. The staff bustled about, oblivious to his presence. But it wasn't the café itself that interested him—it was the alley behind it.
As Arlen crouched near the dumpster, he noticed faint scuff marks on the pavement, as though something heavy had been dragged. He closed his eyes and reached out, letting the memory of the alley's small denizens wash over him.
A rat's memory flickered in his mind, disjointed and chaotic. Through its perspective, he saw the black case being loaded into the trunk of a sleek car. The man who had received the case climbed in moments later, his face partially obscured by the collar of his coat.
Arlen's lips pressed into a thin line. He needed to know more.
By late afternoon, Arlen found himself outside one of Victor Hale's properties—a gleaming office building that towered over the surrounding area. This was where Hale's empire operated, and if there were answers to be found, they would definitely be here.
A trio of crows circled overhead, their sharp cries echoing through the air. Arlen sent one of them swooping down toward an open window on the third floor. It landed on the sill, its beady eyes scanning the office inside.
Victor Hale sat at his desk, speaking in hushed tones into his phone. Arlen focused, letting the crow's vision merge with his own.
"...too risky," Hale was saying, his voice tense. "If the mana spikes again, we're all in trouble."
Mana. The word shocked Arlen. It wasn't a term you heard in everyday conversation.
"What about the case?" the person on the other end of the line asked, their voice muffled but urgent.
"It's secure," Hale replied. "But if this continues, no amount of security will be enough."
The call ended abruptly, and Hale leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Arlen pulled back, severing the connection before the crow could be spotted.
That evening, back in his attic, Arlen spread out everything he had gathered. The memories of the animals, the words he had overheard, and the growing unease among the city's creatures all pointed to something bigger is occurring in the background
He was still piecing it together when Mira knocked on his door again. This time, her expression was grim.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" she asked, her voice low.
Arlen nodded, gesturing for her to sit. "It's like the city's holding its breath."
"It's not just the city," she said, pulling out her phone. She swiped through several photos, each one showing reports of strange phenomena—wild animals behaving erratically, weather patterns shifting unexpectedly, and, in one case, a streetlight exploding without warning.
"This isn't normal," she continued. "And if Victor Hale or his associates know something…"
Arlen exhaled slowly. "I know, this could be even more dangerous than we thought."
For the first time since his abilities had awakened, Arlen felt like he was getting involved with something he couldn't fully comprehend.