Chapter 153: Words Travel By Mouth

Roy lingered outside the school gate for a moment, watching Maddy disappear into the building with the children. The morning sun warmed the pavement, his socks were still wet, and the city felt strangely peaceful.

He exhaled, turned away from the school, and began walking back toward the main road.

London was fully awake now. Cars rolled past. People hurried along the pavements. Newspapers rustled in hands. The smell of coffee drifted from a nearby café.

Roy blended into the crowd, hands in his pockets, eyes half‑focused on the road ahead. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just walking, letting the city move around him.

Two men walked a few steps behind him, talking loudly enough that their voices carried forward.

"...I’m telling you, it’s all over the papers," one said, adjusting his coat. "Another beggar found dead near the river."

The other scoffed. "Are you sure it was a beggar? Anyway, dead? They’re always dying. Cold, sickness, whatever."

"No, not that. They’re saying someone’s doing it."

Roy’s pace didn’t change, but his ears sharpened; curiosity got the better of him.

The second man laughed under his breath. "Doing it? What, some nutter going around killing beggars?"

"That’s what they’re saying."

The man snorted. "Well... someone’s clearing the rubbish off the streets then."

Roy’s listened quietly as he walked behind them, minding his own business.

The first man chuckled. "You’re awful."

"Awful? I’m honest. They lie around everywhere. Someone’s finally doing something."

Roy didn’t turn around. He didn’t react. He didn’t even slow down.

He just kept walking, letting their voices fade behind him as they turned down another street.

But the words lingered.

Clearing the rubbish.

He didn’t like that phrasing. He didn’t like the tone. He didn’t like the casual cruelty.

He didn’t know why it bothered him, maybe because he’d been one of those "rubbish" kids once. Maybe because he knew what it felt like to be ignored, stepped over and forgotten. Maybe because he didn’t like the idea of someone hunting people who had nothing.

But he didn’t dwell on it.

He just walked until the city thinned out, until the crowds disappeared, until the noise faded into the distance. When the last person was out of sight, Roy stepped off the pavement, inhaled deeply, and let his prana lift him upward again.

The wind caught him.

He rose above the rooftops, above the morning haze, above the quiet hum of London. The city shrank beneath him as he flew back toward the outskirts, toward the cabin, toward the smell of food he suddenly realised he wanted.

He landed softly near the cabin, slipping inside long enough to grab something to eat. The warmth inside hit him immediately: voices, movement, and the smell of breakfast. He didn’t stay long.

But the weird thing was, he was catching glances from everyone there. He stepped back out into the open air, chewing quietly, letting the breeze cool his face.

Someone approached from behind. "Roy."

He turned.

Graham stood there, hands in his pockets, expression calm as always. His coat was half‑buttoned, his hair slightly messy from the morning wind.

"You busy?" Graham asked.

Roy shook his head. "Not really."

"Good." Graham nodded toward the hills behind the cabin. "Walk with me."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

He just got his food now; at least let the poor guy finish it.

Graham insisted. "Just the hills," Graham said. "Clears the head."

Roy shrugged, as he knew there was no way out of this. "Alright."

They started walking together, the grass brushing against their boots as they moved toward the rising slopes. The morning sun stretched across the fields, warming the earth, painting the hills in soft gold.

Roy didn’t know why Graham wanted to walk.

The grass brushed against their boots as Roy and Graham walked toward the hills. The morning sun stretched across the fields, warming the earth and painting the slopes in soft gold. The air was cool, crisp and quiet. The kind of quiet that made every footstep sound louder.

Graham didn’t say anything at first. He just walked, but Roy didn’t notice Graham’s eyes shift, didn’t notice the way Graham’s shoulders loosened and didn’t notice the faint smirk tugging at the corner of Graham’s mouth.

Roy matched his pace, hands in his pockets, still chewing the last bit of food he grabbed from the cabin. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Graham had a way of making silence feel intentional, like he was waiting for something or listening for something.

Then Graham’s pace shifted.

Subtle at first. A little faster. Then faster still.

Roy noticed immediately. "You’re speeding up."

Graham didn’t answer.

He kept walking, faster and faster, until the walk became a brisk stride. Roy raised an eyebrow and matched him. Graham sped up again. Roy matched him again.

Then Graham broke into a run.

Roy blinked. "Oh, we’re running now?"

Graham didn’t respond; he just kept going, sprinting up the hill with surprising speed. Roy smirked and ran after him, the wind whipping past his ears as the grass blurred beneath his feet.

Graham reached the halfway point, stopped abruptly, and tapped Roy’s shoulder.

"IT."

Then he vanished.

Not disappeared. Moved. With speed Roy hadn’t seen from him before. A blur of motion, a shockwave of displaced air, a streak of force cutting across the hill.

Roy’s eyes widened. "Oh, you’re playing IT?"

Graham’s voice echoed from near the top of the slope. "Catch up."

Roy grinned. "Alright then."

He pushed off the ground.

Not fully. Not even close to fully. Just a fraction, a tiny fraction, of what he could actually do. But even that fraction sent him forward like a bullet.

The grass tore beneath his feet while the wind roared past him. The hill blurred.

He appeared behind Graham in an instant and tapped his shoulder. "IT."

Graham froze.

Not in fear, in realisation.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest spark of understanding flickering behind them. "That wasn’t your normal speed."

Roy shrugged casually. "You ran first."

Graham froze, then he smirked and vanished again. This time Roy moved sideways, cutting across the hill with a speed that made the air ripple. Graham chased him, boots pounding against the earth, the two of them weaving between patches of tall grass like hunters in a field.

Graham darted left. Roy cut right. Graham slid down a slope. Roy leapt over it.

Graham tapped Roy’s back mid‑stride. "IT."

Roy spun, laughing. "You’re fast."

Graham shrugged mid‑run with a wide smile, teasing Roy. "You’re slow."

Roy grinned. "Alright. Let’s see."

He pushed harder.

Just a little more.

The world blurred and became mosaic art piece in their little game of it.

He appeared in front of Graham and tapped his chest lightly. "IT."

Graham skidded to a stop, boots digging into the dirt. His eyes widened not in fear, but in recognition.

He didn’t say anything.

Roy disappeared right in front of him as he said it; Graham chased him, both of them moving at speeds that would’ve looked impossible to anyone watching. The hill became a battlefield of motion: grass bending, dirt scattering, wind splitting around them.

Roy ducked under Graham’s arm. Graham pivoted behind him. Graham tapped Roy’s shoulder. Roy tapped Graham’s back. Graham sprinted up the hill. Roy cut across the slope and intercepted him.

"IT."

Graham laughed, genuinely laughed; he was breathless and exhilarated. Roy vanished again, moving with a burst of speed that cracked the air. Graham followed, pushing just a little more, just enough to catch him.

Graham tapped Roy’s shoulder with a force that wasn’t normal – not too strong, but strong enough to make Roy stumble half a step.

Graham stopped.

Roy froze.

The wind quieted.

Graham didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just stared at Roy with that calm, analytical gaze, the one that made people feel like he was reading their thoughts. ℯ

"You held back," Graham said quietly with a growing smile.

Roy didn’t answer.

"You held back in the tournament," Graham continued. "I knew it. I knew my intuition wasn’t wrong."

Roy exhaled slowly. "Graham..."

"You’re stronger than you let people see."

Roy looked away. "It’s not a big deal."

"It is," Graham said. "Because you didn’t just hold back. You hid it."

Roy’s jaw tightened.

Graham stepped closer. "I wonder why?"

Roy knew he was found out; there was no point in lying, there’s no point dodging the question. The worst part was he was a Celestial Watch Commander... Out of everyone, the one to be caught by was him...

He looked at the grass beneath his feet, then at the horizon, then finally at Graham. "I was paid to lose."

Graham didn’t react with shock. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t judge.

He just nodded once, like he had expected that answer. "Who paid you?"

Roy shook his head. "Doesn’t matter."

Graham studied him for a moment, then turned and started walking again. "Come on."

Roy followed.

They climbed the last stretch of the hill together, the wind brushing against their coats, the sun warming their backs. The top of the hill opened into a wide view of fields stretching endlessly, the cabin small in the distance, the sky vast and blue above them.

Graham stopped at the peak.

Roy stood beside him.

The wind was stronger up here, carrying the scent of grass and earth and distant smoke from London.