Good acting

That night, he sat at his desk, textbooks open but untouched.

His mind was racing again, faster than he could write. Equations solved themselves in his head. Historical dates aligned like constellations. Literary analysis unfolded in paragraphs before he even started typing.

Was this what Agent Maris had tried to do? Had the device unlocked something? Boosted something already inside him?

He remembered the light—the hum—the strange flicker of pain behind his eyes.

And her face. Cold. Intent. Calculating.

She hadn't come to protect him.

She had come to test him.

And now something inside him had changed.

Tuesday morning brought rain. Grey skies. Slick sidewalks.

But Kyle walked to school with a strange confidence in his step. Not arrogance—just clarity. Awareness. A quiet rhythm in his mind that didn't falter.

Classes blurred by. Lessons came and went like second nature. Teachers smiled when he answered, impressed by his sudden insight. Students whispered, some suspicious, some curious.

Even Lucas kept his distance.

Girls still flirted. Still passed him notes. Still tried to catch his eye.

He ignored them all.

Because now, none of it mattered. Not the games. Not the gossip. Not the empty glances or half-smiles. He could see through it all.

And in the spaces between the words and faces, something darker lingered—like a shadow on the edge of thought.

After the final bell, he stepped into the hallway, letting the tide of students pass around him. A familiar chill ran down his spine.

He looked up.

There, across the hall.

Agent Maris. Again.

Dressed in a charcoal coat. Hair pinned back. Eyes locked on his.

But this time, Kyle didn't freeze. He didn't flinch.

He looked right back.

She didn't move. Neither did he.

And then she nodded—barely noticeable.

Acknowledgment. Or challenge.

And vanished down the hall.

Kyle stood there for a moment, breathing slowly.

His mind was a machine now.

But whose machine had he become?

Kyle stood beneath the overhang near the gym, watching the drizzle bead along the railing, pretending to check his phone. In truth, he wasn't reading anything. His eyes, now honed like a hawk's, were fixed on the figure that had just emerged from the parking lot's far edge.

Agent Maris.

The name alone curled in his mind like smoke from an old fire—dangerous, strange, half-familiar. She didn't belong in a place like this. Her tailored coat and sharply pinned hair made her stand out among the shuffling teenagers, the backpacks and half-zipped hoodies. But most wouldn't notice her. Not unless they were looking.

Kyle was.

He waited. Not because he was afraid, but because instinct told him to move with purpose. Like a game of chess, every second mattered. Every false move might give him away.

So he tucked the phone into his pocket and pushed off the railing, moving casually, not too fast, not too slow. He slipped around the far side of the gym building, circling toward the back loading area where the janitors usually smoked and tossed out cardboard.

Maris turned the corner just seconds before he did. Perfect. He kept his steps soft. Not silent, but natural. He was just another student who happened to be walking the same way. Just a kid with no reason to be watched.

The moment he rounded the edge of the building, she was already leaning against the concrete wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Kyle," she said, voice flat as ever.

He blinked as if surprised. "Oh—hi. You're that woman from the grocery store, right?"

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Do you remember that day?"

He tilted his head, brow furrowing with practiced confusion. "I mean… sort of? There was an accident or something, right? The fire? I don't remember much."

A pause.

He could feel her gaze scanning him like a scanner reading barcodes—looking not just at him, but through him. Measuring his hesitation. Weighing his tone. Trying to find the cracks.

"Do you remember the man you bumped into? The one in the aisle?" she asked.

Kyle shrugged, his expression open and easy. "Vaguely. He looked weird, I think? Metal something on his face?"

She nodded slowly. "And what happened after that?"

Kyle scratched his head. "I dunno. I think I passed out? Maybe from the smoke. Someone said I hit my head. I was at home the next day, though. No hospital."

Maris didn't react immediately. Just watched him, still and silent.

And that silence told Kyle everything he needed to know.

She wasn't here to confront him. She was here to test him.

Not his strength.

Not his speed.

His memory.

She wanted to know if he remembered. If whatever she had done—whatever that flash of light had triggered—had worked.

And he was making her believe it hadn't.

Perfect.

Maris shifted her stance, arms still crossed but weight leaning slightly to one side now—subtle, almost imperceptible. To anyone else, it might look casual. But Kyle had started to notice those tiny cues, the ones buried in body language and habit. She was adjusting. Recalculating. Trying a different angle.

"You lost consciousness," she said at last. "When you woke up, did you feel… strange?"

Kyle let the silence stretch just long enough to feel natural, like a boy fishing through his fuzzy memory. Then he offered a lopsided smile.

"Kind of? Headache mostly. My dad said I was out for a couple hours. Felt like I'd had a weird dream. But that was it."

Maris didn't smile. She didn't nod. But something in her jaw relaxed.

So she had been afraid. Afraid he'd remember everything.

Good.

He decided to press a little. Not too much.

"Were you with emergency services or something?" he asked, feigning polite curiosity. "I think I remember your voice when I woke up."

That caught her off guard—barely, but Kyle saw the flicker. She recovered quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I was nearby when it happened," she said carefully. "I stayed until paramedics arrived. Just wanted to make sure everyone was okay."

Kyle nodded, pretending to accept that. He shifted his backpack, glanced toward the side door of the gym, like he had somewhere to be. It gave her an opening.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well," she said, her voice softer now. "No recurring symptoms? No flashes? Nightmares?"

He laughed a little. "You make it sound like I got abducted by aliens."

Maris didn't laugh. Her expression held, unreadable.

Kyle shrugged again. "Nah. Just glad school's back to normal. Mostly."

It was subtle, but he could tell she was done. Satisfied—if not entirely convinced. She straightened, pulled a phone from her coat, glanced at the screen.

"Well, if anything unusual does come up," she said, tone slipping into something official, "headaches, blackouts—anything you can't explain—I'd like you to talk to someone. A school counselor, maybe. Or…"

"Or you?" Kyle asked.

Maris hesitated.

"If needed," she said, nodding once.

And with that, she stepped around him and walked off without another word.

Kyle stood there a moment longer, watching the place she'd disappeared. His fingers twitched at his side, but he kept his breathing steady. The rain had picked up, soft and cold against his skin. The fog had thickened, but his mind was sharp—crystal clear.

She had no idea what had changed inside him. No idea that her questions weren't chasing an empty memory. They were confirming something that had bloomed into full, dangerous life.

But he couldn't let her see it. Not yet.

He turned and pushed open the gym door. There was one more thing he needed to know—one more test he had to run.

If his mind had changed, maybe his body had too.