The storm hammered against my cruiser so hard it sounded like fists slamming metal. Water exploded across the windshield in violent waves, thick enough to blur brake lights into red smears and turn freeway flares into glowing orange ghosts. My wipers fought like they were dying.

And losing.

I leaned forward behind the wheel, jaw tight, fingers locked around the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

Eight years with Pasadena PD taught me rain brought out the worst in people.

Drunks.

Speed freaks.

Domestics.

Panic.

But that night felt wrong in a way I couldn't explain.

The entire freeway looked alive.

Cars hydroplaned across lanes. Horns screamed endlessly through the storm. Somewhere ahead, metal crashed against metal, followed by distant shouting swallowed by thunder. Traffic crawled around a fresh pileup near the shoulder while hazard lights blinked through the rain like dying heartbeats.

Then my radio crackled.

"Unit Twelve, silver sedan weaving eastbound near mile marker thirty-two. Possible DUI."

I grabbed the mic immediately.

"Copy that."

Two lanes over, headlights jerked violently through the storm.

Silver Honda Civic.

Swerving hard.

Not sloppy drunk drifting either.

Panicked.

Desperate.

"Got you," I muttered.

I flipped on the lights.

Red and blue strobes exploded across the rainstorm while the siren ripped through the freeway noise. The Honda hesitated before finally veering toward the shoulder, tires crunching gravel and water.

I angled the cruiser behind it automatically.

Tactical positioning.

Muscle memory.

Thunder cracked overhead hard enough to shake the frame of the car.

Inside the sedan, the driver kept looking back over his shoulder.

Not at me.

In the backseat.

My hand drifted toward my holster instinctively.

Something about him screamed fear.

Not guilt.

Fear.

I killed the siren and stepped out into the storm.

Instant regret.

Rain hit like needles, soaking through my uniform within seconds. Cold water slid down my neck while ozone burned sharply in the back of my throat. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the freeway in violent white bursts.

I approached slowly.

One hand near the holster.

Other gripping my flashlight.

Tap tap tap.

I knocked on the driver's window.

"License and registration," I said sharply. "You know why I pulled you over?"

The window rolled down halfway.

Mid-thirties.

Sweating despite the cold.

Eyes darting everywhere except at me.

"Slick roads, officer," he said too quickly. "Just trying to get home."

I swept the flashlight through the car.

Fast food wrappers.

Energy drinks.

Cellphone.

Normal.

Then the backseat.

Black duffel bag.

Half-zipped.

Something metallic glinted inside.

Wires.

Steel casings.

Pulsing blue lights.

My stomach tightened.

"What's in the bag?"

The guy froze.

"Gym equipment."

Lie.

Instant lie.

His hand twitched toward the gearshift.

Every instinct in my body screamed at once.

"Hands where I can see them," I barked. "Now."

He panicked.

His right hand dove toward the glovebox.

I moved instantly.

Yanked the door open.

Grabbed his arm.

But the sudden movement tipped the duffel bag sideways.

The zipper split open completely.

And the thing inside woke up.

Beeping dragged me back first.

Slow.

Rhythmic.

Hospital monitors.

Then came the pain.

My chest felt like somebody had driven a truck through it and left the engine running inside my ribs. Every breath burned. Fluorescent lights stabbed into my eyes while rain hammered against the hospital windows hard enough to sound like gunfire.

I blinked hard.

White ceiling.

Machines.

IV drip.

Hospital.

Right.

The freeway.

The Honda.

The blue light.

"Easy."

Sarge Halloway's voice.

I turned my head slowly and found him sitting beside the bed, elbows on his knees, coffee untouched in his hand. He looked exhausted. Tie loosened. Eyes bloodshot. Like he'd been there awhile.

The second he saw me awake, relief flashed across his face before the usual hardass captain mask snapped back into place.

"You scared the hell outta us, Varela."

My throat felt raw.

"What happened?"

"You got hit by some kind of experimental device during a traffic stop." He leaned back slightly. "EMTs thought your heart stopped twice in the ambulance."

I frowned.

Didn't feel dead.

Felt...

wrong.

Like static lived under my skin now.

"How long was I out?"

"About six hours."

Six.

Jesus.

I tried sitting up immediately.

Big mistake.

Pain exploded through my spine and chest hard enough to blur my vision. Machines beside me started beeping faster.

"Whoa, whoa—easy," Halloway barked, standing quickly. "Lie back down."

"There was a suspect," I rasped. "Where is he?"

"In custody."

"Anybody hurt?"

"Jacob."

The tone stopped me.

Not captain-to-officer.

Friend-to-friend.

"You almost died tonight."

Rain cracked against the windows behind him while thunder rolled somewhere over Pasadena.

But underneath the storm...

I felt something else.

Movement.

Tiny vibrations crawling through the room.

The hum of electricity inside the walls.

Heartbeats in nearby rooms.

Every sound sharper than before.

Like my senses had been ripped open.

Halloway noticed my expression tighten.

"Doctors are still trying to figure out what happened to you."

I looked down at my hand resting on the blanket.

Static danced faintly across my fingertips.

Tiny blue sparks.

Gone instantly.

My pulse jumped.

Halloway didn't notice.

"You're staying here tonight," he continued firmly. "Mandatory recovery. Psych eval tomorrow. IA already wants statements."

"No."

His brow furrowed immediately.

"No?"

I forced myself upright again despite the pain.

"There's still calls out there."

"Not your problem right now."

"It's always my problem."

"Jacob—"

"Storm's getting worse," I interrupted. "Freeway's probably a disaster already."

Halloway stepped closer.

"You can barely sit upright."

"I'm fine."

Lie.

Complete lie.

The room tilted slightly as I swung my legs off the bed.

The second my feet touched the floor, something strange happened.

The metal tray near the sink rattled violently.

I froze.

Halloway looked toward it instinctively.

The tray lifted an inch off the counter.

My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

Then it crashed back down loudly.

Silence.

Halloway stared at the tray.

Then at me.

"...You see that?"

I swallowed slowly.

"Probably the storm."

Neither of us believed that.

A nurse walked past the doorway outside and her clipboard suddenly tipped sideways midair before correcting itself unnaturally.

My stomach tightened.

Every object in the room suddenly felt connected to me somehow.

Like invisible threads.

I could feel the IV stand vibrating.

The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

The kinetic pressure of rain slamming glass outside.

Too much.

Way too much.

Halloway stepped forward carefully now.

"Jake."

I looked at him.

For a second, I saw something on his face I'd never seen before.

Fear.

Not for himself.

For me.

"You need to stay put," he said quietly. "Whatever that thing did to you... this isn't normal."

Another pulse surged beneath my skin.

Warm.

Electric.

Alive.

Somewhere outside, lightning struck nearby.

And I felt it.

Not heard.

Felt.

The energy rippled through the city like a living thing, and my body answered it instinctively.

The heart monitor beside me flatlined for half a second before exploding back into rapid beeps.

Halloway cursed under his breath.

"Jesus Christ..."

I stood fully despite the pain.

The room seemed smaller suddenly.

Compressed.

Every object humming around me.

Every heartbeat nearby loud enough to track.

"I can still work," I muttered.

"Absolutely not."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

His voice hardened instantly.

"You are not walking onto the streets looking like this."

"Looking like what?"

He hesitated.

That scared me more than anything.

Finally he said quietly:

"Like something changed."

The words hung in the room.

Heavy.

Outside, thunder shook the windows again.

I looked down at my hands.

Tiny currents shimmered faintly beneath the skin before vanishing.

Then came something worse.

A flash.

Fast.

Violent.

Me standing on a rooftop years older.

Gray in my hair.

Eyes glowing faintly.

An entire city beneath me.

Oakhaven.

Neon skyline.

Rain pouring endlessly.

And me—

floating above it like some kind of goddamn guardian.

The vision vanished instantly.

I stumbled slightly.

Halloway caught my arm before I hit the floor.

"Jacob."

I looked up at him breathing hard.

"There are people out there who need help," I whispered.

He held my shoulder tighter.

"And right now," he said carefully, "you might be one of them."