Chapter 3: The Woman on the Road
The boy walked like a ghost.
Bare feet scraping over cracked pavement, arms stiff at his sides, sleeves stiff with blood. His shirt hung unevenly from one shoulder, soaked to the threads. Every step left a smudge. A memory. A breadcrumb trail in red.
No one stopped him.
People glanced and looked away. The kind of look adults give to roadkill or lost dogs — that automatic flinch of guilt mixed with discomfort. He didn't belong on this side of the barrier. He didn't belong out here at all.
The sun had risen too brightly for a day like this.
Heat baked off the stonewalks of District 8. Banners flapped weakly from lampposts — recruitment posters for the Hero Academy, all brilliant colors and smiling faces. One showed Captain Virex, hand outstretched, eyes noble.
Hernan walked past it without blinking.
The city didn't recognize him.
Didn't remember the address where gods bled and mothers screamed.
Everything felt muffled. Distant.
Even the sirens in the background were fading.