Olivia Jean-Pierre's apartment felt like a carefully curated museum exhibit - "Modern College Student, Circa 2025." The small studio held all the expected trappings: a desk with a high-end laptop, a small kitchen area, tasteful decor that spoke of someone who'd read too many minimalist lifestyle blogs. Everything perfectly normal, perfectly planned.

Celeste Rawlins moved with practiced efficiency through the eastern lot of Millridge State Park, her footsteps nearly silent on the forest floor. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path ahead. After her morning classes had finished, she'd decided to follow up on the unsettling energy readings from yesterday's reconnaissance with Erica.

The specialized isolation ward in Doyle Medical Complex was unlike any hospital room Ethan had seen before. The walls were covered with subtle geometric patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Various monitoring devices surrounded the hospital bed, some familiar and others clearly designed for paranormal patients.

The secured conference room in Kane Hall felt like a pressure cooker despite the early morning chill seeping through the reinforced windows. Sunlight filtered through ancient oak trees outside, casting dappled shadows across the polished mahogany table where Whateley's senior faculty had gathered. The room smelled of old books and fresh coffee, a deceptively normal backdrop for the extraordinary discussion about to unfold.

The blue glow of David's computer monitor illuminated his face as he stared at the Skype window, waiting for Morgan to accept his call. David had spent the last hour trying to focus on his physics homework, but his mind kept wandering to the town meeting tomorrow, the bizarre energy that he and Tony had witnessed in the park, and now Morgan's increasingly frantic messages about Melissa.

The Crystal Hall cafeteria buzzed with morning activity, sunlight streaming through the massive geodesic dome to illuminate the central arboretum. Ethan sat at what had become their regular table, surrounded by what she now hesitantly thought of as friends. A full week had passed since her dramatic teleportation incident with Kira—seven days of intensive training, gradual improvements, and subtle shifts in her relationships with everyone around her.

Ethan entered the small practice room in Laird Hall, her stomach knotting with a peculiar mix of anxiety and anticipation. The space was modest—just a square mat area surrounded by mirrored walls, with a few practice dummies and basic equipment stored along one side. Designed for individual training rather than classes, it offered the privacy she desperately needed for what was about to happen.

Ethan sat nervously in Professor Miranda Webb's Warper Theory classroom, fidgeting with the white "Pacifist" band around her wrist. The band had taken on a more complex meaning after the incident with Rex in the cafeteria yesterday. What had begun as a simple designation had become a constant reminder of just how dangerous her uncontrolled abilities could be.

Ethan sat alone at a corner table in Crystal Hall, pushing her food around her plate without much enthusiasm. The massive geodesic dome cafeteria buzzed with lunchtime activity, students of all descriptions moving between the various food stations and tables. Sunlight streamed through the transparent panels, illuminating the central fountain and tropical arboretum that gave the space its distinctive character.

Hazel's fingers danced across holographic interfaces, cycling through various local online channels. Her search pattern was methodical, filtering through social media, local news feeds, and obscure internet forums. The displays - what she would have once called cyberpunk back when such technology seemed extraordinary, but now were simply her standard work environment - shifted with each query, breaking apart and reassembling data streams in complex geometric patterns.

Ethan stared at the female school uniform spread across her bed, each piece mocking her with its inherent femininity. The Melville Cottage uniform consisted of a black pleated skirt, black feminine dress jacket, white blouse, and a dark purple necktie with three gold stripes. Black mary jane shoes completed the ensemble, arranged neatly beside the bed by someone with far more enthusiasm for this nightmare than Ethan possessed.

The clearing had been unnaturally quiet since Father's extended absence. Even Remi's growing sensitivity to earth-vibrations could not trace his movements beyond their usual territory. The mother dragon's restlessness manifested in constant, agitated movements—her massive tail carving fresh furrows into the ground as she maintained her vigilant watch over the clutch.

The Millridge College campus was bathed in the gentle glow of autumn sunshine, golden light filtering through the maple trees that lined the quad. Traci Walholme checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the weathered brick pathway. Celeste was late, which wasn't like her at all.

The pre-dawn light hung like a thin gray veil over Alex's property. Alex and Hazel moved through the covered walkway connecting the house to the equipment garage with practiced synchronicity. Each step was measured, deliberate - a habit born from years of survival in a world where the slightest miscalculation could mean death.

The gravel crunched softly beneath their feet, a sound both familiar and strange to Hazel. She'd heard countless stories about this place from the group during their time away, but this was her first time seeing it in person. Alex moved with practiced caution, his gait carefully modulated to appear normal despite the enhanced musculature beneath his clothing.

"Come on, come back," Remi whispered, pacing the clearing as Brother watched with evident concern. Her bare feet had long since toughened against the rough stone, but she kept moving more from nervous energy than any real purpose. "Just bring him back safe. Please." Speaking aloud helped maintain some connection to her humanity, even if the words were meant for no one but herself.

David sprinted toward the crosswalk, glancing at his watch with growing panic. He was cutting it close—ten minutes until his shift started at Morgan's Grocery. Mr. Morgan wasn't exactly known for his flexibility when it came to tardiness.

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual lunchtime chaos, a symphony of clattering trays, blended conversations, and the faint undertone of the kitchen staff calling orders. David navigated through the maze of tables, balancing his tray of questionable lasagna and apple juice as he spotted Tony waving from their usual corner table.

The woodworking classroom smelled of sawdust and machine oil, a scent David had come to appreciate over the semester. Unlike other classes where he felt constantly out of place, here the expectations were clear: design, measure, cut, sand, finish. A project either worked or it didn't. No social navigation required.

The Discord notification pinged as David finished his math homework, the sound a welcome interruption from polynomial equations. He clicked over to find his gaming group already deep in discussion about the recent string of disappearances in Millridge.

"I'm telling you, something weird is going on," Tony's message declared. "Three people vanishing in two weeks? That's not normal."