A searing heat blossomed at the point where the boy’s hand rested on his knee. He gasped. It was followed by an electric tingling that raced up his spine, stronger than any sensation he had ever experienced.
“AHHH!” he screamed, arching in his wheelchair as his legs convulsed involuntarily.
Rushing from the kitchen terrace came Clara, the boy’s mother, her cleaning rag still in hand, her face ashen. “Leo! You brat, what have you done!” she shrieked, thinking her son had somehow caused harm. “Forgive me, Mister Dominic! We will leave at once!”
Dominic raised a trembling hand. “Don’t touch it!” he commanded. The disbelief in Clara’s eyes matched Dominic’s own astonishment.
He looked down. His big toe twitched—just a millimeter—but it moved. Then his left leg jerked violently in an uncoordinated spasm, muscles awakening after years of dormancy.
“My God,” he whispered. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair until his knuckles turned white.
“Sir, be careful, you’ll fall!” Clara warned, panic threading her voice.