The next day, after class, I spent hours practicing. There was something wrong with my anger—it was slipping out of control. Only relentless training seemed to hold it back. I was getting better at defending, sharper with the sword. And you know why?
Because every time I gripped the hilt, I remembered the day I trained with Dorian. That feeling.
There's nothing more dangerous than the hatred born for the one you once loved. You show them your soft spots, and they stab you right there. When they break your trust, it doesn't just hurt—it poisons everything. You stop trusting anyone. Not even your own shadow.
Now, every time I lift my sword—no matter who's training me—all I see is his face. All I want to cut is his throat. All I want to rip out are his lies.
"Zinnia, are you going to kill me?" a voice rang through the fog of rage.
The smoke cleared. Andy was beneath me, ribs crushed under my knee, my palm pressed hard to his throat, and my blade just grazing his skin.
I recoiled, threw the sword aside.
His voice came through, breathless but firm. "That anger of yours? Use it against enemies. But if you turn it on your friends… you'll lose people. And regret it."
"You're not my friend." I turned away, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"Okay, fair. Brutal… but fair," he said. "Still—does being your trainer mean I deserve to die by your hand?"
That actually made me smile.
I looked at him. "Look, Andy… I'm always thankful for everything you've done. I am what I am because of your effort, and I truly appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to face so many problems because of me. I'll try my best to work on my anger." I meant every word.
He bowed slightly, hand over his chest, a smile forming with that familiar glint in his eyes. I knew he'd had a crush on me since the day I arrived—but I had no intention of returning those feelings. And I didn't think I needed to explain why.
As I stepped out of the room, I realized everyone was staring at me. At first, I didn't understand why—until it hit me. What I'd done. Branden had forgiven me, but the memory still lingered. Seeing his face reminded me I hadn't talked to Robin about Cris yet. And something else had been bothering me since last night.
I broke into a run toward the canteen, hoping Robin would be there. I spotted her with her group. She looked distracted, stirring the ice in her glass with a straw, lost in thought. When her eyes met mine, I signaled her with two fingers to follow me.
She did.
In the backyard, we sat on a bench. She waited for me to speak.
"I have two things to talk to you about. There's someone pretending to be you. It even looks like you—but I don't know what it is." My words clearly alarmed her.
Then I told her everything about the night Cris disappeared, and about Obscure.
"But there's one thing I am confident about, they said, they saw your argue with Maddie, but you were in the tree!" I breathed, "We don't know how we'll find her," I said, tense.
"It's a she?" she asked. I nodded.
She fell silent, thinking. Then suddenly, she sat upright, her eyes wide, and stood up.
"Is everything alright?" I asked.
She paced three times, then turned to me.
"Give me two days. I'll get back to you."
She didn't wait for a reply—just left me standing there.
That day was the hardest. Every small thing felt like a trigger. I was seconds away from snapping.
"Where is Shawn?" I muttered and went looking for him.
After half an hour, I found him on the balcony, deep in thought.
"I've been looking for you everywhere. Where were you?" I asked, catching my breath. "Is everything alright?"
"As if you even care," he said, turning away.
"Why would you say that?" I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged it off and stepped aside.
"Miss Jasmine came to me. Complaining about you. Talking about your suspension."
I was too stunned to speak at first.
"She shouldn't be troubling you," I finally said. "Let me talk to her."
I clenched my fists and turned to leave—then I heard him yell.
"No, Zinnia! Can't you see? You are the only thing of hers, Cris left for me! I'm your friend. I've been trying to prove that since the day Cris…"
He stopped. The pain in his eyes was something I'd never seen before.
"If something's wrong, come to me. Talk to me. But… do I even matter to you, Zinnia?"
"Of course you do." I held his shoulders as he stared at the ground.
"Maybe it's time we both accept the reality that Cris… is gone."
He brushed my hands off and walked away.
"What did you say?" I stared at him, tears welling up as a familiar rage began to rise. I followed him down the stairs, not realizing how fast he was moving—he was scared of me.
"What did you say?" I shouted as we reached the swimming pool.
"I'm only trying to tell you the truth. Maybe it's best if you just accept it!" he snapped, backing away to the other side. Then he yelled, stammering, "And maybe it would've never happened if your brother hadn't touched her!"
My breath grew heavy, my fingers cracking. Shawn's eyes locked on my hands—he knew what was coming. I lunged at him, but he kept running around the pool, taunting me, his last words echoing in my head.
"If I can't have her, I won't let anyone have her either!"
Something was suddenly in my hand—I didn't know what it was, just that I had to throw it at his throat to shut him up.
So I did. He ducked.
Again, something formed in my hand. I threw it. He dodged. I kept going, again and again.
"Zinnia! You did it!" he laughed.
"What?" My ears rang.
"I said you did it, girl!" he repeated.
"I don't understand?" But then it hit me—he was making me angry on purpose.
I stopped. Water droplets curled up my palm, forming a delicate icicle. My eyes widened. I willed it to melt, and it obeyed. Lifting both palms to my face, arms stretched toward the pool, I watched the water rise—drawn to me like a fountain. As I focused, it froze midair. When I stepped back, lowering my arms, I realized: two frozen wings hovered before me.
"I'm so proud of you," Shawn said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
Tears filled my eyes. I threw my arms around him, holding on tight. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't see you were just trying to help."
Above us, students watched from the balcony. Dozens of them.
"This is what friends are for," he said, patting my back.
I pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "Was any of it real?"
He smiled. "Only Miss Jasmine's visit and what she told me. I was standing here, trying to figure out how to help. Then I remembered how you reacted when that jerk shot Liam. I came up with the idea in five minutes. And then you showed up."
I actually appreciated the plan. Still, I asked, "So... she's really going to suspend me?"
Miss Jasmine was in class now, surrounded by students. But I knew what I had to do. I walked in, uninvited, holding a bowl full of water.
No one had ever told me what to focus on. But when Shawn pushed me—and those wings of ice burst to life—I felt something awaken. A passion for the beauty of my power. And with that fire in my heart, I placed the bowl gently on Miss Jasmine's desk.
Everyone, including her, was staring at me—and I didn't care. I let the passion rise within as I gently moved my fingers, like playing an invisible flute. The water in the bowl responded, lifting into the air, parting into six streams that twisted into the shape of a flower. I didn't blink. My eyes stayed locked on hers as the flower froze into a delicate ice sculpture.
A quiet smile of satisfaction formed on her lips. It was as if she had finally unearthed the treasure she had long been searching for. Still, most of the credit—at least seventy percent—belonged to Shawn. Whatever he did that day made a difference. For the first time, I felt a little less afraid, like the pain I had carried wasn't wasted. I had found myself, and for once, I was happy.
Something else strange happened that day. I'm still not sure whether to feel excited or weird about it—but we got new uniforms. And honestly? They looked amazing.
The girls wore sleek black suits, almost like catsuits, with dark gold piping running from the ribs down into a "V" shape at the center. A black zipper ran up the front, and just below the collar sat a gem that changed color depending on the wearer's power. Each shoulder carried a drop-shaped design with two curved lines stretching out and meeting in the middle. The pants were plain but sharp—just black.
The boys' uniforms were white with black piping, mostly around the shoulders, shaped like vines. They also had gems, but smaller—yet still served the same purpose.
I could be wrong, but I think Shawn was genuinely happy about them. It made sense. Ever since Cris left, he'd talk to me constantly about superheroes, especially their costumes, pretending it was to distract me. But looking at him that day, I realized it wasn't me who needed the distraction—it was him. He was the one excited about the outfits. Not me.