EL did not arrest. He did not judge. He intercepted . If a knife was raised, EL’s arm would dissolve into a swarm of glowing blue motes, reform around the blade, and drain its kinetic energy before it could fall. If a heart was about to fail, EL would be there—not to heal, but to wrap the body in a cocoon of stabilizing current, keeping synapses firing until medics arrived. He could sense a pressure drop in a hydraulic pipe three sectors away and seal it with a thought. He could detect a child’s fear-spike from a mile off and arrive before the first tear fell.
It was a boy.
The boy laughed—a dry, broken sound. “Then your parameters are wrong.”
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