LINES THAT DON’T HOLD

(The City Notices)

They didn’t stay underground.

Rin insisted on moving, a rule she’d learned the hard way rather than a theory she wanted to explain.

“Stagnant residue pools,” she said, already walking. “Magic settles when you don’t.”

Akiro stumbled up the final concrete steps behind her, blinking as daylight hit his eyes too hard, too suddenly. The city roared back into existence: traffic, voices, footsteps, life continuing with cruel enthusiasm.

“We’re just… walking?” he asked, squinting.

“Yes.”

“After reality being bent.”

“Yes.”

He stopped short at the top of the stairs. Rin turned, already irritated.

Akiro gestured helplessly at everything. The people. The noise. The sheer normality of it.

“You don’t think maybe—hypothetically—we should hide? Or rest? Or scream into a pillow for a bit?”

Rin snorted. “Screaming is inefficient.”

“That’s not a no.”

She didn’t slow. He followed, heart still beating too fast, arm itching where the mark lay dormant but alert.

They emerged into a commercial district thick with afternoon traffic. Office workers spilled out of buildings. Vendors shouted. Music thumped faintly from somewhere nearby.

Akiro watched a man argue loudly into his phone about delivery delays, his face flushed with frustration. A teenager complained about the heat to her friend. A woman dragged a reluctant dog across the crosswalk while apologising to no one in particular.

None of them noticed the way the air around Akiro’s shadow wavered—just slightly—like heat rising off asphalt.

“…this feels irresponsible,” he said quietly.

Rin glanced back. “The city is built on denial. You’d be amazed at how much it ignores on purpose.”

“Must be nice,” he muttered.

They crossed the street.

Halfway through, everything shifted.

Not visible. Not immediately.

But the pressure returned.

Akiro sucked in a sharp breath as the mark burned beneath his skin—hotter than before, sharper, like it was being pressed from the inside out. His vision warped, the edges of buildings bending inward, the ground tilting like a bad camera angle.

He staggered.

“No,” Rin snapped, spinning back toward him. “Already?”

Something peeled itself away from the crowd.

At first, Akiro thought it was just another pedestrian stepping out of line. Then the man kept coming, cutting across the flow of people without being jostled, without resistance.

Tall. Lean. Dressed too lightly for the season, like the temperature was optional for him. His movements were relaxed, unhurried—predatory in their ease.

Symbols carved into his neck and hands caught the light. Not tattoos. Scars. Intentional.

And he was smiling.

“Well,” the man said pleasantly, voice smooth and confident, “you lasted longer than I expected.”

Rin swore under her breath.

Akiro’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t like the way the man looked at him.

Not like prey.

Like investment.

“Who’s your friend?” the man asked, eyes never leaving Akiro.

“Not yours,” Rin said sharply, stepping forward. “Back off, Kaito.”

So, he had a name.

Kaito tilted his head, studying Rin like an old memory. “You brought him topside already. That’s practically an invitation.”

Akiro swallowed. “Rin?”

“Stay behind me.”

Kaito chuckled softly. “You feel it too, don’t you? He’s leaking.”

Akiro did feel it.

The power inside him stirred, restless, pressing outward like it wanted to be acknowledged. It made his skin buzz, his teeth ache faintly.

“I didn’t choose this,” Akiro said suddenly.

Both looked at him.

The words surprised him—but once spoken, they stuck.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he continued, voice shaking but louder. “I didn’t sign anything. I never agreed to be hunted.”

Kaito’s smile widened—not mocking. Delighted.

“None of us did,” he said. “That’s what makes it honest.”

He took a step closer.

Reality warped.

Not violently. Casually. Like the world made room for him.

Akiro’s lungs locked.

Rin’s hand twitched, ready to draw a seal.

And something inside Akiro snapped.

He pushed.

He didn’t know how. There were no words, no gesture. Just refusal—pure and instinctive.

The magic surged.

Rougher this time. Uncontrolled.

The world bent sideways.

Streetlights flickered. The air compressed. Sound dulled, like someone had shoved cotton into the city’s ears.

People stumbled. Someone dropped a bag. A cyclist swerved and cursed.

They didn’t see why.

Akiro screamed.

Something tore free inside him.

Not emotion.

Not sensation.

Memory.

A single, sharp fragment vanished—ripped out so cleanly it left no echo.

He dropped to his knees, gasping, the pavement cold beneath his palms.

Rin slammed a glowing seal into the ground. Symbols flared, snapping the distortion shut like a door.

The pressure was released all at once.

Kaito stepped back, laughing softly, eyes bright.

“Oh,” he said. “That was beautiful.”

“You’re insane,” Rin spat.

“Free,” Kaito corrected. “And he should be too.”

He looked at Akiro one last time.

“We’ll see you again.”

Then he was gone—dissolving into the crowd as if he’d never existed.

The city resumed.

Someone complained loudly about almost tripping. A car honked. A woman laughed.

Akiro stayed on the ground, shaking.

“I forgot something,” he whispered.

Rin knelt beside him, hands steady but face tight. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he said, tears blurring his vision. “I just—there’s a hole. Something’s missing.”

She closed her eyes.

“That’s how it starts.”

The seals hummed softly in the walls, steady and controlled, but everything else felt wrong. The room was too empty. Not abandoned—emptied. As if whatever life once existed, it had been carefully removed rather than lost.

He stared at the darkened window, watching his own faint reflection hover in the glass.

It didn’t move when he blinked.

“…Rin,” he said.

“Yes.”

“My reflection lagged.”

She shifted beside him. “By how much?”

“I don’t know. A second. Less. Enough that I noticed.”

“That means the mark is still active.”

“I’m not using it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. “Activity doesn’t require intent anymore. It just requires existence.”

Akiro pressed his forehead into his knees. “That’s deeply unfair.”

“Yes.”

He breathed out slowly, trying to ground himself. The floor felt solid. Cold. Real. Those things mattered.

“Tell me something normal about you,” he said suddenly.

Rin paused.

“…What?”

“Anything,” he said. “Something that has nothing to do with magic, or Wardens, or Unbound, or contracts that eat people.”

She was quiet, long enough that he thought she might refuse.

“I hate public transport,” she said finally.

Akiro blinked. “That’s it?”

“It’s crowded. Loud. Everyone pretends not to see each other. It’s dishonest.”

He huffed a weak laugh. “You fight reality fractures for a living, but buses are where you draw the line.”

“I don’t fight them for a living,” she corrected. “And yes.”

That helped. Just a little.

He shifted his weight, joints aching. “Do you ever regret it.”

“Regret what?”

“Getting involved.”

Rin didn’t answer immediately.

“When I don’t,” she said slowly, “it means someone else paid instead.”

Akiro absorbed that. “So, you stay.”

“Yes.”

“…Even knowing what it costs.”

She looked at him then, really looked. “Especially because I know.”

The mark pulsed faintly, as it approved of the honesty.

Akiro frowned. “Does it always do that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to.”

Rin’s mouth twitched. “Neither did anyone else.”

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Cracks ran through it like a map of somewhere he’d never been.

“Kaito knew you,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You said his name like you were angry.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

She exhaled. “Because he used to sound like you.”

Akiro turned his head sharply. “Like me?”

“He asked questions, too much for his own good,” Rin continued. “He didn’t want power. He wanted explanations. Safety. Time.”

“And then.”

“And then he decided the cost was unacceptable.”

Akiro swallowed. “Then joined the Unbound.”

“He didn’t join them,” she said. “He helped create what they are now.”

That sat heavily between them.

“He looked…fine,” Akiro said. “Physically.”

Rin nodded. “That’s the lie. Magic eats away your inside first.”

Akiro flexed his fingers. “Is that what’s happening to me?”

“…...Not yet.”

Sighs.

“You’re still reacting,” she said. “Still resisting. Still human about it.”

“And?”

“That won’t last.”

Akiro closed his eyes. “How do you know when it’s gone too far?”

“When you stop asking that question.”

Silence returned, thicker this time.

After a while, Akiro spoke again. “If I disappear…will anyone notice?”

“Yes,” Rin said immediately.

He opened his eyes. “Who?”

“Me...”

That wasn’t what he’d expected.

“…Oh.”

She looked away. “Don’t read into it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

He smiled faintly. “Probably.”

The seals hummed louder for a moment, then settled.

Outside the apartment, something moved—carefully, deliberately—testing boundaries it could not yet cross.

Akiro shivered.

“Rin?”

“Yes.”

“If I become like them—like Kaito—”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

She turned back to him, eyes sharp. “I know you haven’t stopped being afraid.”

“That’s your metric?”

“It’s a good one.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I’m terrified.”

“Good,” she said. “Hold onto that.”

The mark pulsed again.

This time—softer.

Like an agreement.

And far beneath the city, something ancient adjusted its attention—just slightly—toward the boy who hadn’t broken yet.