The clinic volunteers met before the demolition test, on the morning Northstar’s offer expired.
Leah put the ledger beside the revised inventory. Eli’s settlement had paid for the immediate antibiotic order; Ruth’s appeal and the inspection fee had added a little more. The next order was still short. Leah read out the cash on hand, the supplies already received, and the amount they needed. No one counted the bakery’s future loaf as medicine or an unconfirmed pledge as cash.
Marisol studied the figures. “We can treat the patients already scheduled, but we don’t have stable funding for the following week. I still think the guild’s offer would give the nurses and its members reliable care.”
“And its policy still excludes our neighbors,” Ruth said.
“Both are true,” Tessa said. “Selene confirmed yesterday that the intake terms haven’t changed. We asked the hospital about accepting our current patients; it couldn’t promise appointments for everyone. We need to decide before the offer ends.”
Mrs. Ortega could keep the storeroom available for another month, but not cover its bills alone. Leah outlined the appeal work already under way: two businesses had agreed to discuss contributions, neither had pledged an amount, and the pharmacy would quote the next purchase once it knew the quantity. Tessa proposed continuing the limited service for the next week while checking each appointment against the stock on hand. If the next order could not be funded, they would reduce appointments and help patients seek alternatives rather than promise care they could not provide.
The volunteers voted after discussing the consequences. Marisol supported accepting Northstar’s offer; the others voted to decline under its exclusive intake terms. She asked that her concern be recorded alongside the decision and agreed to help plan the reduced schedule if it became necessary. Tessa called Selene while everyone was present and declined the current offer. Selene said Northstar would proceed with another site; she did not offer an extension.
Leah dated the decision and wrote the next review beside the inventory. Eli left for the test knowing the clinic had gained a week of work and a clear next decision, not a solution to its funding problem.
The demolition supervisor drew a line in the dirt with the end of her boot.
“This is where the exclusion area begins. No one crosses it until I say the wall is stable enough to inspect.”
Her name was Belen Ortiz. Inez had introduced her to Eli by phone, and Belen had agreed to hear the proposed test after inspecting the site herself. The wall stood alone at the edge of a cleared lot, separated from the remains of a warehouse by a wide strip of bare ground. It was scheduled for removal that afternoon. A fence surrounded the lot, and a worker named Omar stood at the gate to keep visitors out.
Eli held the notebook open while Belen checked the plan. He would use Weak-Point Sight to identify a damaged section, mark it, then strike from a position she approved. He would work in short intervals, with breaks, and stop if he felt disoriented or made an involuntary movement. Belen could stop the exercise at any time.
“What are you trying to learn?” she asked.
“Whether I can distinguish a weak section accurately, and what happens to my concentration as I repeat the work.”
“You won’t learn everything about that from this wall.”
“I know.”
“And the sight may show you a weakness without showing the direction the rest of the wall will fall.”
“I know that too.”
“Good. I want you to say it again before each strike.”
She walked him through the exit route. A clear path led diagonally away from the wall to an open area behind a concrete barrier. A second route ran toward the gate, but only if Omar confirmed it was clear. Belen pointed out the demolition controls, locked in a vehicle outside the test area. Eli would not go near them.
“What should I watch for besides you saying stop?” she asked.
“If I reach toward something that isn’t there, if I stop answering, or if I say I’m seeing an unfamiliar place.”
“Do I need to know what place?”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll call your name once. If you don’t answer, I stop the test and stay out of the fall zone until I know what the wall is doing.”
Eli appreciated that she had included her own safety. He did not want someone rushing beneath a damaged wall because he had agreed to be watched.
Belen gave him a short-handled demolition hammer. It was lighter than the tool he had used in Corvin’s gate, with a grip sized for two hands. She demonstrated how to stand clear of the section he struck and where to place his feet. He practiced the movement in empty air before approaching the wall.
The first section had a visible crack near its base. Eli used his sight for a few seconds. Thin lines appeared around the fracture, spreading into a mortar joint. He marked the point with orange chalk and stepped back.
“What does the mark mean?” Belen asked.
“It shows where I see concentrated strain. It doesn’t tell me the whole direction of the fall.”
She examined the wall from outside the marked area. “I expect a small piece to break away if you strike there. It could take more. Your exit is behind you and left.”
Eli set his feet, raised the hammer, and struck. The head landed on the mark. A piece of mortar broke free, followed by two small stones. They fell within the area Belen had expected.
“Back,” she said.
He followed the exit route without turning his back on the wall. The remaining section stood still. Belen waited, then allowed him to approach from the side for a closer look.
“The struck area was weaker than the surrounding material,” she said. “That doesn’t prove every line you see corresponds to the same thing. Record what happened.”
Eli wrote the time, the brief use of the ability, the strike location, and the size of the fall. His hands were steady. He felt no pull toward another place.
They rested for ten minutes. Omar brought water and asked whether the test was finished. Belen explained that they would decide after checking the next section. Omar returned to the gate and moved a delivery driver away from the fence.
The second section showed no obvious crack from the front. Eli used his sight and saw a narrow line running behind a surface layer. He marked it. Belen checked both sides of the wall and found a corresponding separation in the mortar at the rear.
“That gives us a physical reason to inspect it,” she said. “Where do you expect the loose material to go?”
“Down and away from the mark, but I can’t predict the whole fall.”
“Don’t say what you expect unless you have a basis. Show me the support.”
Eli pointed out the intact section beneath the line and the loose edge above it. Belen adjusted his position two steps to the left. He struck once. The surface layer cracked, and a larger piece slid down against the wall rather than falling outward.
They waited before approaching. The piece remained balanced at an angle. Belen used a long tool from the safe side to pull it down after confirming the area was clear.
“Your mark found a weak area,” she said. “The way it moved wasn’t what you predicted.”
“I was guessing from the shape.”
“Then write that.”
He did. The distinction mattered because the result could otherwise look cleaner on the page than it had been. He had found strain; he had not controlled every movement that followed.
By the third interval, the hammer felt heavier. Eli had slept well and eaten breakfast, but the repeated concentration and controlled swings were taking more out of him than he expected. He stretched his shoulders during the break and checked the notebook. No unfamiliar room had appeared. His eyes still ached slightly.
“Do you want to continue?” Belen asked.
“I think one more section.”
“Why?”
“To see whether the sight changes when I’m tired.”
“Does it need a strike?”
He considered. “Not necessarily.”
“Then observe first. We decide about striking afterward.”
He approached a section near the center. The previous work had changed the wall: loose pieces lay at its base, and the remaining supports carried weight differently. Belen had marked a fresh boundary around the affected area. Eli stayed outside it and focused on an exposed joint.
The lines appeared clearly. He could see a bright fracture climbing from the base and a fainter one branching toward the top. There was no blur, no unfamiliar room, and no sudden feeling that belonged to someone else. The sight seemed as precise as it had at the beginning.
“My vision is clear,” he said.
“How are your arms?”
“Tired.”
“Your grip?”
He opened and closed his hands. “Still good.”
“That’s your assessment. Test it with the hammer away from the wall.”
He lifted the tool, held it at the intended angle, and lowered it. His forearms trembled slightly. He noticed the tremor and decided it was minor. Belen saw it too.
“We can stop here,” she said.
“I’d like one controlled strike. If my grip changes, I stop.”
She checked the wall again. The section was scheduled for demolition, the area remained clear, and the exit route had not changed. She gave permission for one strike from the marked position, then stepped behind the barrier.
Eli placed the orange mark at the lower fracture. He reminded himself that seeing the line did not tell him the direction of every falling piece. He raised the hammer.
The sight was still clear. His arms were not as quick as they had been. The head landed several inches to the right of the mark, on the edge of an adjoining stone.
The impact jolted the hammer sideways. A crack ran upward through the joint. The stone he had meant to hit stayed in place while the section beside it shifted outward.
“Back!” Belen shouted.
Eli dropped the hammer and took the planned route. A slab fell where he had been standing. Smaller stones bounced across the dirt, one reaching the edge of the marked exclusion area. He stopped behind the concrete barrier, breathing hard.
The wall continued to settle. Belen held up a hand to keep Omar at the gate. Dust drifted over the fallen slab. After a full minute without movement, she approached from the side with a long inspection tool and checked the remaining section. She did not allow Eli back in.
“Any pain?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did the room appear?”
“No.”
“Did the line move?”
“No. I hit the wrong place.”
She looked at his hands. “Why?”
“My arms were tired. I saw the tremor and decided it didn’t matter.”
“That’s the result, then.”
Eli wanted to argue that one missed strike could happen to anyone. It could. That was precisely why the clear line in his vision was not enough. He had treated the ability’s clarity as evidence that his body could carry out the action he intended.
Belen retrieved the hammer only after she was satisfied the wall had stopped moving. Its handle was dusty but undamaged. She handed it to Omar to put away.
“I won’t authorize another attempt today,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“You looked as if you were.”
He had been. A clean strike on a fourth section might have made the missed one feel like an exception. It would not have changed the slab that had fallen across his former position.
They reviewed the log together outside the barrier. Eli recorded the three uses, the breaks, the visible tremor, Belen’s offer to stop, his choice to continue, and the missed strike. He did not write that the sight had failed. It had remained clear; his execution had failed.
“What would you change?” Belen asked.
“Longer rest before physical work. Stop when my grip trembles, not when I decide the tremor is severe enough. Separate observation from striking.”
“And in a gate?”
“I can’t assume I’ll have this much space or a supervisor watching. I’d tell the team when I’m tired and ask someone else to act if they’re better positioned.”
“Someone else still needs to understand the risk. A mark isn’t an order to hit.”
He added that. Belen signed only to confirm that she had observed the test, not to certify his ability. He thanked her for making the distinction.
At the gate, Omar asked whether the wall had surprised him.
“The fall did,” Eli said. “The warning was there before it.”
Omar asked whether Belen would include the test in the demolition log. Eli said she had recorded the time and the altered condition of the wall. The crew would inspect it again before bringing in machinery. The failed strike did not end their work; it gave them one more change to account for before they continued.
Omar looked toward the remaining stone. “We get used to hands doing what they did an hour ago. Then we ask them to do it again under a heavier load.”
Eli wrote that in his own words after leaving, without attributing it as a technical rule. He also noted that the controlled lot had offered advantages a dungeon would not: an exclusion area, a known wall, a supervisor, and an exit already cleared. The test could guide his choices; it could not guarantee safety elsewhere.
He walked back to the clinic by the longer route, giving his arms time to settle. At the corner, he saw Ruth standing near the side door with a bucket and a stiff brush. She was looking at the wall rather than washing it.
Black paint crossed the bricks beside the clinic sign.
Eli could read the first word from the pavement. He moved closer and saw the rest.
FRAUD. HE STEALS TALENTS.
Ruth looked at him. “I was about to clean it, but Tessa asked me to wait.”
The words were crude and uneven. A line of paint had run down through the second sentence. Someone entering the clinic would have to pass directly beside them.
Eli reached for the brush. Ruth held it back.
“She said to photograph it first,” she said. “She’s getting her phone.”
He looked toward the street. People passed the corner, some glancing at the wall and some not. He wanted to find whoever had painted it before the message reached anyone else. The brush would remove the letters, but it would not tell him who had written them or what they knew.
Tessa came out with her phone. She photographed the wall from several distances, including the clinic sign and the pavement beneath it. Then she asked Ruth when she had first seen the paint.
“Ten minutes ago,” Ruth said. “It wasn’t there when I arrived this morning.”
Tessa wrote the times down. Eli stood beside the bucket, looking at the accusation that had appeared while he was testing how carefully he could use the ability he had not explained to the neighborhood.