Bullshit. That was all Zoey could think as White-Bullseye spoke, her drawl somehow making the words feel both too casual and too heavy.

  “You touched an unstable rift, darlin’, and that’s what caused a rebound,” White-Bullseye explained, her voice slow and steady.

  Bullshit.

  “That rebound caused a five-mile explosion,” she added, as if saying it plain would make it easier to swallow.

  “I didn’t do that!” Zoey thought furiously, clenching her fists under the covers.

  White-Bullseye’s voice softened, but the words hit harder. “Your classmates, sugar, they didn’t make it.”

  The very idea was absurd—her? She couldn’t even get through killing a mouse without sweating bullets, let alone… this.

  Her teeth ground together, her entire body trembling as her emotions surged. Heat radiated off her in waves, the temperature in the room spiking sharply. White-Bullseye stopped mid-sentence, her easy smile fading as she realized what was happening.

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down, dear,” she said, raising her hands slightly in a calming gesture.

  This wasn’t normal. What Zoey was doing—what she was radiating—was something only S-Rank and above could pull off. The way her aura wasn’t just visible but actively affecting the environment was beyond extraordinary. Reality Distortion, White-Bullseye thought to herself. And from someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing? Now that’s somethin’ to reckon with.

  Without missing a beat, White-Bullseye adjusted her own energy, releasing a controlled wave of her aura to counteract Zoey’s outburst and stabilize the room. The suffocating heat softened, the air cooling as the two energies settled into an uneasy equilibrium.

  Zoey sucked in a shaky breath, canceling her aura, then another, her fists trembling. “You’re saying I’m a mass murderer!?” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You’re saying I… I… killed Leo, Trevor, Herald, Jamie—” She choked on the names, tears streaming down her face in glistening trails.

  The tears refracted the shimmering afterimages that still lingered around her, creating a faint rainbow effect beneath her eyes. It was hauntingly beautiful, the light reflecting the grief etched across her face.

  White-Bullseye stayed silent for a moment, letting Zoey cry, her expression softer now. She knew there was no easy way to explain what had happened. “Darlin’,” she said gently, her voice steady but full of weight, “I ain’t gonna lie to ya. What happened… it’s somethin’ big. But you ain’t alone in this, y’hear? You ain’t gotta carry it all by yourself.”

  “What the fuck do you know?!” Zoey shot back, her words coming so fast they were nearly incomprehensible, even to White-Bullseye. It was like a bullet train of raw emotion, the meaning behind the words clear even if the sounds themselves blurred together.

  White-Bullseye stayed quiet for a beat, the girl’s outburst bouncing off her practiced composure. But something gnawed at her—a sense that Zoey wasn’t just difficult to understand verbally. Her aura wasn’t normal. It was fragmented, chaotic, and colorless. Normally, White-Bullseye could read a person’s aura like an open book, every shift and flicker telling her a story. But with Zoey, it was like trying to read in the dark. If it weren’t for Zoey’s emotional outbursts, she’d barely be able to piece anything together at all.

  White-Bullseye sighed, leaning back and taking her white cowboy hat off. She placed it gently on her lap, smoothing the brim with deliberate care. The action gave her a moment to think, to adjust her approach. Zoey was unique in more ways than one. She hadn’t just touched some rift; she’d come from the same rift as the creature that had emerged during the rebound.

  That connection raised a lot of questions. Was she entirely human? They had scoured her files, confirming her identity as an average teenager with no prior anomalies. She had friends, family, and a close bond with Red Gale—one of her sharper “calves,” as White-Bullseye liked to call promising younger agents. Still, the rift had changed her in ways that no one fully understood yet. She wasn’t dangerous on a aggressior basis but she would need training to handle her powers responsibly.

  White-Bullseye decided to shift gears. The broken girl sitting before her didn’t need pressure right now—she needed someone who wasn’t treating her like a problem to solve.

  “Alright, darlin’,” White-Bullseye said, her voice softer now, less formal and more grounded. “Let’s pull the reins in and get real for a second. I know you’re hurtin’. I know you’re scared. And I ain’t here to make it worse.”

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, her orange eyes steady as they locked onto Zoey’s tear-streaked face. “You’ve been through somethin’ big—bigger than you should’ve ever had to face. I ain’t gonna pretend I know exactly what’s goin’ on in that head of yours,” Her voice soft but steady, “but I do understand what it’s like. You ain’t the only one, darlin’. I became a Veythari the same way—through a rift rebound. And let me tell ya, it’s a wild ride, but you’re still here. And that counts for somethin’.”

  Zoey glared at her through her rainbow tears, glimmering faintly under the room’s light, her chest heaving with uneven breaths. She wasn’t ready to trust her, but something about the sincerity in White-Bullseye’s tone made her pause.

  White-Bullseye was about to continue, but Zoey cut her off. Shaking her head, exhausted. She didn’t want to hear any more. She got the gist. This happened, blah blah, rift rebound. She killed everyone. That probably also meant Savannah.

  The thought threatened to crush her, and she pushed it aside, unwilling to let it consume her just yet. “I’m sorry, Savvy, I’m so so sorry,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

  White-Bullseye’s ears perked up at the name. “Savvy? Savvy… Savannah!” Her orange eyes widened slightly as realization struck. Zoey had caught her so off guard with everything else that she’d completely forgotten to mention Red Gale’s condition.

  “She’s alive,” White-Bullseye said, her voice firm but reassuring. “Not hundred percent, but she’s hangin’ in there.”

  Zoey’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face suddenly animated. “Is she going to be ok!?”

  “Yeah,” White-Bullseye said, grinning. “She’s just recovering from her fight.”

  “Fight? I thought I blew everyone up!” Zoey’s voice cracked, panic threading through her words.

  White-Bullseye sighed, leaning back slightly. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, darlin’. Savannah fought somethin’ fierce. But it’s handled now, so don’t worry bout it.”

  Zoey listened, her jaw tightening as guilt and relief tangled in her chest. Her mind, already racing, latched onto one thought: Savannah’s alive. The weight on her chest lightened slightly, but all she could think about now was seeing her friend. She needed to see her, to make sure she was okay.

  White-Bullseye noticed the faraway look in Zoey’s eyes and decided to end things here. “Well, I’ll be goin’—”

  “I wanna see her!” Zoey interrupted, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. “Like, first thing!”

  White-Bullseye nodded, standing up and adjusting her hat as she placed it back on her head. “There’s a few things that need to be done before that,” she said casually, “you’ll be goin’ into trainin’ and enrollment soon. So be sure to get some rest and focus up. Trainin’ can be… difficult.”

  Zoey scowled, crossing her arms. “I never said I’d join whatever the hell you guys are.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  White-Bullseye chuckled as she walked toward the door. “You’ll come ’round, sugar. They always do.”

  And with that, she left the room, leaving Zoey alone with her swirling thoughts and the faint trails of her rainbow tears still glimmering in the air.

  ——

  White-Bullseye strode down the hallway with purpose, her boots clicking against the floor in a steady rhythm. On the surface, she appeared calm and collected, just as she had in the room with Zoey. But inside, her thoughts churned. That was one of the most unnerving experiences she’d had in a long time, and that was in conjunction with the creature she put down.

  Zoey knew far too much for someone who was supposed to be an ordinary teenager, and her natural ease with aura manipulation was downright unsettling. That kind of control wasn’t something a rookie should have, let alone someone who didn’t even know what aura manipulation was.

  And then there were the afterimages. White-Bullseye frowned, her orange eyes narrowing as she turned a corner. What the hell was that? She’d seen plenty of strange things during her time with the E.R.O., but nothing like the creature's lack of presence, and now Zoey’s shimmering light trails. It wasn’t just visual—it felt like they were ripples in time, as if Zoey’s body was stuck in some kind of accelerated flow.

  Her speech was another thing. White-Bullseye thought back to the rapid-fire words that tumbled out of Zoey’s mouth, so fast they were almost incomprehensible. It was so unnatural that it fueled her hypothesis that Zoey’s perception of time was out of sync with everyone else’s.

  As she walked, White-Bullseye scanned her memory for any signs of tampering. Maybe a Judicator? The thought sent a chill down her spine. Judicators—Veythari who had gone rogue and used their powers for destruction and chaos—were always a possibility in strange cases like this. But no, there were no signs of Judicator influence. If there had been, she would have sensed it. Plus all the major cults were silent. Probably just as confused as they were.

  Her mind drifted back to the rift itself. Rifts don’t just spawn outta nowhere, she thought grimly. They took time to form, sometimes weeks or months, and the E.R.O. 's scanners and drones were designed to pick up on even the faintest traces of a developing rift. But this one? Nothing. No warning, no detection—it just appeared.

  And if a rift had truly spawned in that suddenly, Zoey shouldn’t have survived it. The sheer force of an uncontained rebound should have obliterated her on the spot. Instead, she walked out of it changed. That alone raised more questions than answers.

  White-Bullseye shook her head, trying to focus as she approached the elevator. She pressed the button and stood silently, the faint hum of the hallways bustle filling the air as she waited. This was turning into a bigger mess than she anticipated.

  The doors slid open, and she stepped inside, her fingers brushing the brim of her hat as she punched in the code for the top floor. As the elevator began its smooth ascent, she exhaled deeply. She definitely had to deliver this in person before she left to Echo-9. The situation there was handled so she wasn’t in a hurry.

  She arrived at the top floor of Arrow-13, her boots clicking purposefully against the polished floor as she approached the imposing double doors ahead. The doors were massive, crafted from dark ironwood with two intricately engraved iron lions facing each other, their eyes fierce and unyielding. The lions seemed almost alive, as if they were silently guarding the space beyond.

  White-Bullseye reached the doors and didn’t hesitate. She raised her hand and knocked loudly, the sound echoing down the short hallway.

  “Come in,” a deep, calm voice called from inside.

  She pushed the doors open and stepped into the office, the tension from her earlier conversation with Zoey still lingering in her mind. She adjusted her hat slightly as she crossed the threshold.

  The moment she stepped into the office, immediately met with the thick, familiar smell of smoke. The room was dimly lit, the light from a single overhead lamp struggling to cut through the swirling haze that filled the air. The walls, lined with dark wood paneling, gave the office a heavy, imposing feel. Papers, coins, and an assortment of strange trinkets were scattered across the large mahogany desk at the center of the room.

  Through the haze, the commander of Arrow-13, Iyana Portfield sat with her usual air of authority. Her short, wolfly dark grey hair and tailored white shirt, neatly unbuttoned at the collar, was sharp and professional, though it gave her an air of relaxed confidence rather than stiffness. Gold accents traced the edges of her black uniform, which was draped loosely over her shoulders. A pair of black slacks completed the look, tailored perfectly to her lean frame, and her polished black boots rested casually on the desk’s edge. A cigarette burned steadily between her fingers, trailing thin ribbons of smoke into the already hazy room.

  Iyana’s piercing dark orange eyes lifted from the papers she’d been writing on, locking onto White-Bullseye as she approached. She set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, the light catching the gold hoop earrings that swung faintly as she moved. Her intense gaze, cutting through the smoky atmosphere.

  “Well,” Iyana said, her voice low and smooth, gesturing with the cigarette in her hand, “looks like you’ve got somethin’ worth my time.”

  White-Bullseye walked up to the desk without hesitation, her usual swagger intact. She casually perched herself on the edge of Iyana’s desk, her hat tilted slightly as she leaned forward, holding out a hand for the cigarette.

  Iyana chuckled softly, shaking her head but obliging. “You’re as bold as ever,” she remarked, handing it over.

  White-Bullseye took it with a nod, inhaling deeply before exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the already hazy room. Meanwhile, Iyana, unfazed, reached across her cluttered desk and grabbed another cigarette. With a quick flick of her finger, she sparked it up, leaning back in her chair and waiting patiently as White took a moment for herself.

  The silence stretched just long enough for the two of them to share the quiet comfort before delving into this mess. Once White finished her mini session, she turned to Iyana, her orange eyes serious now.

  She began recounting her encounter with Zoey, describing every detail of the girl’s unsettling abilities—the reality distortion, the fragmented unreadable aura, being able to understand aura and the bizarre afterimages that lingered in her wake. Her tone was measured, but there was a weight behind her words that even Iyana couldn’t ignore.

  Iyana nodded slowly, taking another drag from her cigarette as White spoke. “I just got the report from Echo-9… seems like their special crewmate woke up as well…. As you probably know, Crucible handled it,” she said, her voice calm but thoughtful, “And now ours woke up too? That’s… interestin’.”

  She tapped the ash from her cigarette into a black ceramic ashtray on the desk, her dark orange eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the information. “Reality distortion from someone who just awakened is somethin’ else. A creature doing both manifestation and black magic. This situation got layers, doesn’t it?”

  White-Bullseye nodded, her expression grim. “Layers is one way to put it. Whatever is goin’ on, it ain’t somethin’ we’ve seen before, at least not all at once. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s already been through the wringer.”

  Iyana leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the desk. The smoke swirled lazily around her, “So, what’s your take? A prodigy, or somethin’ worse?”

  White-Bullseye exhaled another puff of smoke, her gaze distant. “Don’t know yet. But she’s dangerous—whether she means to be or not.”

  Iyana leaned back in her chair, twirling her cigarette between her fingers, her expression thoughtful. “So, we lock her up?” she said flatly, making an “O” with the smoke trailing from her lips before blowing another one through it. “I don’t have time to play babysitter, White. We’ve finally got a decent haul of Veythari comin’ through—finally a strong crew that’s worth the effort. If you think she’s dangerous, we’ll send her up to Southern—”

  “No, no,” White-Bullseye interrupted, holding up a hand. “She’s dangerous, yeah, but she ain’t dangerous. At least, not in the way you’re thinkin’. We’ll put her through the usual process, sure, but she might not need the full course. Just have someone keep an eye on her while she’s interminglin’ with the other operatives.” She thought for a moment. “He might be available, ask for him to monitor her.”

  Iyana tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, her dark orange eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ll send in a request. And we’re sure she’s not a spy?”

  White-Bullseye shook her head. “No chance. She’s as normal as they come, or at least she was before all this. Red would’ve picked up on somethin’ if she was a Judicator or a Ghoul. Hell, we would’ve noticed by now—she’s been under observation long enough.”

  Iyana raised an eyebrow, blowing another smoke ring as she spoke. “What about Apostles? Think one of the Lords had a hand in this?”

  White tilted her hat back slightly, her expression thoughtful, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “Nah,” she drawled. “That herd I took out? Just a bunch o’ wild Demurges runnin’ together, most likely sniffin’ out the black magic and whatever them chains were about. Add to that, Red was givin’ off a heap o’ Mani, so reckon that played a part too.”

  She shifted in her position on the desk facing Iyana more directly, adjusting her hat again. “Ain’t no demons in the ranks, no Apostles leadin’ the charge neither. All five Lords stayed quiet as a graveyard. Only time they stirred was when that creature pulled out that black hole, and even then, all they did was hunker down and get defensive.”

  Her gaze sharpened slightly, the lightest hint of curiosity flickering behind her casual tone. “Reckon it wasn’t their show this time. But that don’t mean it ain’t worth keepin’ an eye on ‘em.”

  Iyana nodded slowly, taking it all in. “I see,” she said, her tone low and measured. “Then we’ll proceed as planned. But let me make one thing clear.” She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk, her dark orange eyes sharp and unyielding. “If she starts actin’ up, puttin’ my ship in jeopardy…” Her gaze hardened, and the room seemed to grow heavier. “I won’t hesitate to put her down.”

  White-Bullseye gave a small nod. “Fair enough,” she said simply. “But I don’t reckon it’ll get to that point. If Red trusted her…then I do too.”

  The two women locked eyes for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in the smoky haze between them. Iyana broke the silence with a sharp exhale, flicking ash into the tray. “Let’s hope you’re right, White.”