Now the map in her head pulsed toward the river. Under the bridge, a strange blue light bubbled like a question. Mara’s feet took her there, moving almost of their own accord. The river, normally a dark artery, had become a stage: a slender figure crouched on the railing, one boot over empty air, hair whipping toward a frozen current of water. She recognized the profile—an activist who’d organized a rooftop garden two blocks from Mara’s building, someone who’d once given her a packet of basil seeds with a grin. Mara’s chest tightened. The urge to step in and pull the figure to safety was immediate.
She paused micro-moments—an anchor line here, a toppled ladder there—but she also paused patients in a hospital, doctors mid-surgery to reposition equipment, a supply truck at a bridge to inch it into the right sequence for offloading. The band’s field grew warm until it felt volcanic. The map in her head opened wide and demanded she act on an unprecedented scale. She reached for a larger pause at the base of the main floodgate. The field pushed back with a violence she had not known the alloy contained. The band’s resistance locked into her like teeth.
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I'm trapped in this moment, unsure of how to escape. But I'm determined to make the most of it. I'll keep exploring, keep discovering, and keep wondering about the lives of those around me.
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