Morning arrived quietly, wrapped in the soft chill of dew and golden sunlight. Fairhaven stirred awake around them as Hazel, Alex, and Stel walked side by side down the narrow tree-lined sidewalk.

  Students passed them in small clusters, the occasional skateboard ccked across pavement, and someone on a nearby porch strummed a zy guitar riff that floated into the breeze.

  Hazel walked in the middle, her pace unhurried, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her dark wool coat. Her presence drew the usual quiet gnces—some admiring, some cautious—but she ignored them all with practiced ease.

  Stel, beside her, yawned behind her hand. “Remind me why we don’t just teleport?”

  Alex chuckled. “If I could do that, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Hazel tilted her head. “You’d still be here.”

  Stel smiled, nudging her lightly. “That’s unfair. You’re too sure of yourself this early.”

  Hazel’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes glinted faintly with amusement. “Confidence is easier when you’re walking beside someone eating strawberry cereal out of a mug.”

  Stel groaned. “I was te, okay?”

  Alex sipped her coffee and added breezily, “You’re always te.”

  “I’m going to trip you,” Stel muttered.

  They reached the main pza, where the science and administration wings branched off. The group naturally slowed.

  “I’ll meet you both ter,” Hazel said, voice soft as ever. “I have something to take care of.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “Anything important?”

  Hazel produced a folded note from her coat pocket. “Doctor’s note.”

  “For what?”

  “Administrative leave.”

  Stel blinked. “You’re leaving?”

  “Temporarily,” Hazel said. “Verity needs a few things from me. Health documentation. Assessments.”

  Alex gave a short nod, unsurprised. “You’re coming back?”

  Hazel didn’t answer directly. “Of course.”

  Stel gave her a faint, worried look but nodded. “Okay. Just text us after?”

  Hazel smiled gently. “Always.”

  They parted there—Alex and Stel disappearing into the heart of campus while Hazel turned toward the gss-paneled admin building. The marble floor echoed softly under her boots as she stepped inside, moving with quiet purpose.

  Behind the desk, a clerk looked up at her and blinked as if needing a second to pce her. Hazel didn’t flinch from the attention.

  “Can I help you?”

  Hazel offered the folded document. “I need to file temporary leave, effective today. Doctor’s authorization is included.”

  The woman unfolded it carefully, eyes scanning the neat signature at the bottom: Verity Langford.

  Hazel stood still as stone, poised as ever, waiting.

  The clerk scanned the note again, fingers moving slowly across her keyboard as she entered Hazel’s information into the system.

  The room was quiet save for the soft tapping of keys and the distant murmur of conversation from elsewhere in the building.

  Hazel waited without shifting, hands folded in front of her, her expression unreadable. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a muted glow on her pale blouse, making the gold in her eyes seem just a little sharper.

  Finally, the clerk looked up. “You’re all set. Leave begins today and will be logged as medically recommended. You’ll receive an update from the registrar regarding course adjustments by the end of the week.”

  “Thank you,” Hazel replied softly, and turned without further comment.

  She exited the building with her usual fluid grace, the gss doors parting soundlessly as she stepped back into the crisp air.

  The morning had matured into a pleasant te hour, sunlight filtering gently through the rows of elms lining the sidewalks.

  Hazel walked toward the main gate.

  Waiting just beyond it was a silver sedan—sleek, unmarked, windows tinted. It blended in easily with the faculty lot, but Hazel recognized it the moment she saw it. The driver’s side window rolled down as she approached.

  Verity sat behind the wheel, dressed in her typical understated professionalism: a ste-gray blouse, bck scks, and her dark hair pulled back in a simple twist. Her eyes met Hazel’s through the gss with a look that was equal parts tired and resolute.

  “Right on time,” she said.

  Hazel opened the rear door and slid in smoothly. In the front passenger seat, Mariah gnced back, offering a faint nod.

  Her curls were pinned up today, her outfit sharp and efficient—like she was trying to prove she wasn’t rattled by anything.

  In the backseat beside Hazel, Celine gave a small smile, soft but genuine. She wore a zip-up hoodie and jeans, her posture neat but nervous, hands resting quietly in her p.

  Verity shifted into gear. “Everyone ready?”

  There were no objections. The car pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic with the kind of quiet precision Hazel had come to associate with Verity herself.

  None of them spoke for a while.

  But they all knew where they were going—and why.

  The drive took them beyond the edge of the city, past the clutter of student traffic and office buildings, into a quieter, less developed stretch of nd.

  Trees pressed in closer to the road, and fencing lined the perimeter of a long-forgotten training facility—once used by emergency services, now repurposed for discreet necessity.

  Verity pulled up to a side gate and tapped a code into a weathered keypad. The metal groaned as it slid open.

  Gravel crunched under the tires as the car rolled into a lot surrounded by concrete walls, bnk save for an old emblem half-faded by time.

  They parked beside a warehouse-style structure—tall, industrial, and cold-looking. Hazel stepped out first, taking in the building with a slow, silent gnce.

  Verity emerged and came around to the front. “This pce hasn’t seen official use in years. No one watches it anymore.”

  “I can see why,” Mariah muttered as she stepped out. “Creepy in broad daylight.”

  Celine followed quietly, her sneakers crunching over gravel. She clutched her sleeves, but kept pace.

  Verity led them toward the entrance. Inside, the air was cooler, dry and faintly metallic. The walls were high and lined with steel beams, the floor smooth concrete.

  Portable partitions divided the space into sections—some with mats and free weights, others with equipment Hazel didn’t immediately recognize.

  A rge monitor had been wheeled into one corner, along with a station of biometric readers and tablets. Verity tapped a few keys as the lights overhead hummed to life.

  “We’re doing this by category,” she said without looking up. “Strength, speed, reflexes, sensory acuity. I’m not comparing you against each other. I’m establishing your baselines.”

  Mariah folded her arms. “For what? To make a file for us?”

  Verity looked over her shoulder. “To give you leverage when someone eventually asks how dangerous you are.”

  Celine shifted, quiet.

  Hazel stepped forward, her expression calm. “Let’s begin.”

  Verity turned fully to face them, clipboard in hand. “We’ll rotate. Hazel, you’re up first.”

  Mariah raised a brow. “Should’ve guessed.”

  Hazel didn’t react. She was already pulling her coat off, folding it neatly and ying it over a bench.

  As Verity began hooking up the biometric monitors and calling out instructions, the air in the warehouse shifted—less like an old training ground and more like a proving ground.

  Quiet, clinical, and heavy with the understanding that whatever they were measuring… it wasn’t quite human anymore.

  Hazel stood in the center of the marked space, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, the biometric monitor gently pulsing at her wrist.

  The warehouse lights cast a muted halo around her as she faced a tall apparatus loaded with custom-engineered resistance weights. It didn’t look like something from a gym—it looked more like a prototype, all steel ptes, tension cables, and digital strain gauges.

  Verity stood at the console a few meters away, tablet in hand. “Start with the primary lift bar. Apply pressure upward and hold for five seconds. Then slowly release.”

  Hazel approached the bar, which was locked into a vertical track. It was weighted to over four hundred pounds—well beyond the average threshold for even trained athletes.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  Her hands closed around the bar. Then, with a clean, silent movement, she lifted it.

  No grunt. No strain in her arms or jaw. Just smooth motion, as though the metal were hollow.

  The monitor beside Verity began spitting out data in real time. Numbers flickered upward. Load resistance. Peak force. Muscle response.

  Celine stared, lips parted faintly. Mariah said nothing, but her arms had dropped from their folded posture, attention fixed.

  “Five seconds,” Verity called. “Release.”

  Hazel lowered the bar slowly, smoothly, and stepped back.

  Verity barely gnced up. “Again. Same weight. Lifting from a dead start, one motion.”

  Hazel complied without question. The lift was fwless. More than that—it was efficient. No wasted movement, no shaking. Like she was simply resetting something, not defying human biomechanics.

  Verity murmured to herself as she typed into the tablet. “That’s almost 2.2 times the maximum resistance we’ve recorded in any viral-adjacent muscur adaptation.”

  Hazel stepped back again. “Is that good?”

  “It’s terrifying,” Verity replied without looking up. “Next test.”

  She gestured toward a rger ptform with sealed crates lined along a track.

  “These simute uneven mass. Each crate is weighted between 300 and 700 pounds. Drag them one at a time across the marked distance. Don’t lift—pull.”

  Hazel stepped forward, examined the first crate, then took the rope handles in hand.

  She pulled.

  The metal screeched slightly at first… then slid. Smooth, continuous movement. She didn’t rush. She didn’t bor. She simply moved.

  By the second crate, she had adjusted her grip. By the third, her steps had become a rhythm.

  Celine watched in stunned silence. Mariah’s brows had lowered slightly—focused, curious.

  When Hazel finished and returned to her starting position, her breathing hadn’t changed. Her heartbeat, Verity noted, remained at five bpm.

  Verity finally looked up. “You make it look effortless.”

  Hazel adjusted her cuffs and met her gaze evenly. “I’m not trying to impress you.”

  “No,” Verity said softly, “but you should know—you just did.”

  Verity tapped a few keys on the tablet, logging Hazel’s final metrics before turning toward the others. “Mariah, you’re next.”

  Mariah stepped forward without hesitation, already tying her curls back into a tight knot. She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the bench beside Hazel’s. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the lifting apparatus—then to Hazel.

  “No offense,” she said as she rolled her shoulders, “but I’m not letting you set the curve.”

  Hazel gave her the faintest, approving nod. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Mariah approached the bar and squared her stance, fingers flexing once before gripping the metal.

  Verity didn’t even need to call the command.

  Mariah lifted.

  There was more aggression in her motion than Hazel’s grace—more force, less quiet—but the result was the same. The weight rose cleanly, her arms steady and sure, her back perfectly aligned.

  The monitor beeped. Resistance confirmed. Hold time accurate. Readings matched Hazel’s almost identically.

  “Hold… release,” Verity instructed.

  Mariah set the bar down and let out a slow breath—not from strain, but habit.

  “Crates next,” Verity said, gesturing.

  Mariah rolled her neck once, stepped over, and hooked her fingers under the first handle. Her pull was less cautious than Hazel’s—less practiced, more like someone used to physicality—but the crate slid across the ptform all the same. Fast. Controlled.

  By the second crate, she had developed her own rhythm. Her jaw was set, her breath even. Her readings climbed—but never spiked.

  Celine’s eyes were wide.

  “Third crate,” Verity called.

  Mariah pulled it in one smooth, dragging arc, then released the handle and stood upright, wiping her palms on her jeans.

  “Same resting heart rate,” Verity said, checking the screen. “Identical output. Same regenerative muscle bance.”

  Mariah stepped back toward the others, casting a gnce at Hazel. “Guess you’re not special after all.”

  Hazel didn’t bristle. “I told you I wasn’t.”

  Verity looked to the st of them. “Celine?”

  Celine swallowed but nodded. She rose and moved forward with deliberate steps. “Okay. Okay.”

  She removed her hoodie slowly and passed it to Verity without being asked. Her arms were less defined, her posture more hesitant—but she didn’t waver.

  At the lift bar, she paused.

  “Take your time,” Verity said. “We’re just measuring capacity, not performance under pressure.”

  Celine nodded, exhaled… and pulled.

  The bar lifted. It wasn’t fast, but it was steady. Her arms trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from nervous energy. Still, she held the weight the full five seconds and lowered it with care.

  The readings fshed green.

  Verity blinked once. “Same output.”

  Hazel watched, expression unreadable.

  The crate pulls went simirly. A little slower, a little more deliberate, but the results were the same. Not one of them gged behind. The virus had done more than transform them—it had made them equals.

  When Celine returned to the others, she looked dazed. “I didn’t think I could do that.”

  “You can,” Hazel said quietly. “You did.”

  Verity logged the final entry and looked up. “Now that we’ve confirmed the baseline, we’ll move on to reflexes. After a short break.”

  She gnced toward the steel door leading deeper into the testing area.

  “You’ve passed the first test. All of you.”