Peter continued to look at Jud.
Jud raised his chin a little, squinting. "What da hell you doin' over dere, boy?"
Peter wiped a bit of sweat from his temple. "Uh… movin' the energy."
Jud cocked his head. "So you felt it, yeah?"
"Yeah," Peter said, "and when I try to push it—it hits these… channels. Feels like it should go through them, but the second it does…"
He grimaced. "It hurts. Like hot, cold, and electric—all at once. I always stop there."
Jud squinted. "You talkin' 'bout yo' meridians?"
Peter nodded. "I guess. Yeah."
Jud tilted his head. "And it ain't reachin' down low?"
"No. I figured it's supposed to go there—below the belly button, right? That's what you said?"
"Yeah. Dantian," Jud said, tapping the spot with two fingers. "Right dere. Dat's where it wanna settle."
Peter wondered where he got the terms meridian and dantian from but ignored that for now.
Peter sighed. "But I never get it there. I only push it far enough to touch those inner paths, and then it fries me. So I stop. Figured I was screwing it up."
Jud scratched his chin. "Maybe not. Maybe dat's just part o' it. Pain could mean you hittin' it right—but it ain't used to you yet."
Peter gave him a look.
Jud shrugged. "Ain't no manual, cher. Could be dat's jus' how yo' body gotta do it. Might be you gotta grit it out till it breaks through."
Peter opened his mouth. "But—"
Jud cut him off with a raised hand and a sharp look.
"Look, kid," Jud said, voice flattenin' like he was settlin' into somethin' real. "T'ings 'bout to get worse 'fore dey get better. Dem animals? Dey growin'. Not just gettin' big—they gettin' sharp. Cunnin'. Like da wild got ideas now."
He stepped across the patchy lawn, boots crunchin' over dry grass and dirt. At the edge of the yard stood a thick old maple—wide trunk, bark rough and gray. Jud didn't hesitate. He squared up in front of it, rolled his shoulder once, and threw a punch hard enough to echo.
THUMP.
The tree shuddered. Jud stepped back, shakin' out his hand like he'd just flicked a bug. A dent marked the bark—fresh and deep, the kind that stuck.
Peter blinked. That wasn't a scrape. That was an impact. Bone and skin shouldn't leave marks like that.
"All dat from usin' dat energy," Jud said, glancin' down at his knuckles. "Ain't even been a goddamn month."
He turned and pointed straight at Peter's chest. "So what you reckon it gonna look like in a year, huh? What da fuck dem animals gonna be by then?"
And what da hell you think happens," he said, low and sharp now, "when folks realize dey can get strong? Not just strong—powerful. Strong like dis."
He held his hand up, curled into a fist.
"You think folks like dat gonna keep playin' nice? Naw. When somebody like dat decide he done bein' told what to do? Done followin' rules?"
He took a slow step closer, boots crunching soft in the dirt, eyes fixed on Peter.
"Peter, you a good-lookin' kid," he said, almost casually. "Got a mama back home? Sister, maybe? Probably good-lookin' too"
Peter's shoulders stiffened before he could stop it. The air suddenly felt too still.
Jud kept on, tone calm but knife-edged.
"Now picture some son of a bitch walkin' into town. Real power. Can bend rebar with his hands. He see your family. What you think he take first?"
Peter's hands curled slightly at his sides. He didn't speak.
Jud didn't blink. "You just gon' watch it happen?"
He finally stepped back, rolled his shoulders once like he was shaking the thought off. "This world? It don't care who's good. Don't care who's scared."
He looked out toward the town, jaw tight.
"You either got somethin' in you worth fearin'… or you a story someone else tell."
He let that sit before glancing back at Peter.
"Dis da new world, cher. You either climb—or get swept out wit' da rest."
Peter didn't answer, he was emotionally off-balance at this point.
He just looked—first at the bark, then at Jud, then back again. Wind rustled the long grass nearby. The air still carried that faint, greasy smell from the grill.
Jud stepped in closer, shoulder glistenin' with sweat. His shirt clung to him, dirt around the collar, that bandage still peekin' out from under the fabric.
Jud let out a slow breath and looked Peter dead in the eye.
"A'ight, look—pain? Dat's jus' how it is for you. I don't know why. Maybe it's in your blood. Maybe somethin' snapped loose when dat light hit."
He tapped his own chest with a finger, then pointed at Peter's.
"But now? You gotta choose. You push through, or you don't. 'Cause ain't nobody gon' show you no gentler way."
He took a step closer, voice low and firm.
"Maybe you die. Maybe you fuck yourself up real bad. But ask yourself—what's da alternative?"
He let the words hang there a second, eyes locked on Peter.
"Ain't no one comin'. Ain't no teacher, no savior, no step-by-step bullshit. Jus' you, hurtin', and what you decide to do next."
Jud gave the slightest nod.
"You in… or you out, cher?"
Peter stood there, still as stone, heat from the grill brushing the side of his leg.
The air smelled like wood smoke and cooked fat. Charcoal cracked gently as Jud moved around behind him, but Peter barely noticed.
His thoughts were all in one place.
That bear.
It hadn't cared about rules. Or laws. Or consequences.
It saw something in front of it—his mom—and it acted. Because it could.
That was all that mattered.
Strength. Ability. Power. That was its logic.
And Peter realized something that made his chest go tight:
What if humans started doing the same?
What if people stopped pretending right and wrong mattered, and started deciding things based on what they could get away with?
That chilled him more than anything.
He thought of his mom. Of Nicki. Of the families arriving every day, scared, desperate. Some with weapons. Some already talking about organizing, guarding, building power.
If the rules broke down, and people like that started rising?
Peter breathed deep through his nose.
He used to get up before sunrise to shoot hoops. Ran suicides until he puked. Not because anyone told him to—he wanted to go pro. He gave everything because he wanted to win.
Now?
He wanted strength again. But for something more than points on a scoreboard.
He looked at Jud, who had just tossed the grill tongs aside and was watching him with a crooked grin.
Peter squared his shoulders.
"I'm in."
Jud's smile widened. "A'ight. We workin' out at dawn," he said, tapping the grill lid with a knuckle. "I bring da meat."
Peter nodded once. His chest felt solid. Grounded.
Whatever came next, he was ready to chase it.