RIVEN'S EYES DARTED across the pages like a man scanning battlefield terrain with every muscle in his face tightening as though each sentence clawed at him. His fingers lingered on a particular document—one that detailed, in cold, detached language, how CYGNUS extracted powers from gifted children and grafted them onto themselves. The page trembled faintly in his grip.
"You're telling me this is real?" His voice was low, almost a growl, as though the weight of disbelief pressed against his throat. "This isn't some nightmare you're still stuck in, Whit?"
I swallowed hard, clasping my hands together in my lap. "I wish it were, Blackcap" I said softly. My own voice startled me—too calm, too practiced. Like I'd been preparing for this conversation all along without realizing it. "But yeah. Everything in those files, everything Ryan and the others have told me, all of it's real. Those men you saw, the ones I call the Men in Black, they're not just hunters. They're thieves. They carve the gifts out of people like me and make them their own. They stop being human in the process. They become—"
"The Others," he muttered, repeating the word printed in bold across the file header. His lip curled, as though even saying it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He shut the folder abruptly, the snap echoing through the quiet of my room.
Hunter let out a soft whine from his place by the bed, ears flicking as if he, too, could sense the heaviness in the air. I then leaned forward.
"No that I told you all this, promise me you won't tell anyone about this. Not your commanding officers, not the other soldiers—no one. Please." My words came out sharper than I intended, nearly desperate. "If they find out I told you, if they think you're a risk—"
He raised a hand to cut me off, though his eyes never left mine. "Relax, Whit," he said, though the nickname sounded hollow compared to his usual teasing drawl. "I'm not about to run to my unit with fairy tales about monsters in suits." He rubbed his temple, shaking his head. "Hell, I don't even know if they'd believe me if I did."
I bit the inside of my cheek, frustration mixing with relief. "It's not a fairy tale, you know," I whispered. "It's my life now."
That shut him up for a beat. His eyes softened, though only barely, the way ice softens under morning sun. He glanced down at the pages again, then back at me. "And you live here now? In this place with its secrets and its rules and…" His gaze flicked toward Sebastian, perched silently on the wardrobe like a statue of judgment. "…its talking birds?"
I almost smiled, though my chest was too tight for it to reach my lips. "Yeah. This house is a shelter for people like me. People who can't just walk through town squares or sit in classrooms anymore. It's the only place we're safe."
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes burning with unasked questions. "And what about you?"
The question landed heavier than I expected. My breath caught. "What about me?"
"You're telling me all this like you've accepted it. Like you've already built yourself a new life here. But when I look at you…" He hesitated, the crease between his brows deepening. "…you don't look like someone who feels safe. You look like someone who's still running."
My throat tightened. He wasn't wrong. The shadows of my parents' faces still haunted me at night. The stench of smoke, the screams, the sight of my father collapsing—I carried them with me like iron shackles. Safety was a word I could say but not feel.
"I'm trying," I admitted, voice barely audible. "But it's not that easy, honestly. Every time I think I've found my footing, something—" I stopped, biting back the next words: something reminds me of the terrible things I tried to forget. Even here, with Riven, I couldn't say.
Before he could press me further, a sudden knock rattled the door. My whole body went rigid.
Who the hell is on the other side of the door?
"Hide," I hissed. My heart surged to my throat, pounding so loudly I swore whoever was on the other side could hear it.
Riven blinked. "What—"
"Just do it!" I urged, waving frantically toward the curtain by the wardrobe. Hunter immediately obeyed, slipping soundlessly into the shadow behind the fabric, and Riven, with a muttered curse, ducked after him.
"Who's that?" Riven peeked through the curtain.
Out of frustration, I threw a pillow over his direction to force him to hide. When I looked at the door, the knob once again rattled.
Then another sets of knock. "Alice?" A flat, familiar voice.
I exhaled sharply, forcing my features into neutrality before cracking open the door. By the time I opened it, she stood just outside the doorframe, her face the same unreadable mask as always, with dark hair falling neatly against her shoulders and a stack of books hugged to her chest.
"Ryan is looking for you," she said, tone clipped, eyes flicking past me for half a second.
I stiffened. "Fine. I'll find him," I replied, each word coated in frost.
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, and for a heartbeat I was sure she could hear Riven's shallow breaths behind the curtain. But she said nothing—of course she didn't. Instead, she gave the slightest nod and turned on her heel, her footsteps fading down the hall. When she left, I closed the door with more force than necessary, leaning against it with my palms sweaty. My whole body sagged with relief.
From behind the curtain, Riven's voice came in a low whisper. "Who was that?"
I exhaled, dragging my hands down my face. "Harriet," I muttered, the name leaving a sour taste in my mouth. "Just someone who makes things complicated."
Riven emerged, brushing the curtain aside, Hunter trotting loyally after him. He cocked an eyebrow, an amused spark returning to his expression. "Complicated, huh? That's one way to put it."
I shot him a look. "Don't."
"Alright, alright," he said, hands raised in mock surrender. Then, softer: "You want me gone now, don't you?"
The weight in his tone tugged at something inside me. I hated how much I did want him gone—because every second he lingered here, the risk grew—but I also hated the hollow ache the thought of his leaving brought. I kind of wanted him to stay, though.
"Yeah, Blackcap," I whispered finally, my voice cracking. "Not because I want to, but because I have to. If anyone else finds you here—"
He studied me, lips pressed in a thin line, then nodded once. No teasing this time. No sarcasm. Just understanding.
"Alright," he said.
He crossed to the window, gently pushing it open. Cool air spilled into the room while carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. He swung a leg over the sill, Hunter leaping gracefully out ahead of him. Before climbing down, he glanced back at me, eyes unreadable.
"Don't break, Whit," he said softly.
And then he was gone.
The room fell into silence once more, broken only by the faint rustle of Sebastian's wings. I let out a long, trembling breath, pressing a hand to my chest where my heart still pounded.
"Don't break," I repeated under my breath. "Easier said than done."
***
The hallway smelled faintly of wood polish and old parchment, the kind of scent that clung to the walls of Willowmere as though the house itself breathed history. My shoes clicked lightly on the stone floor with my mind heavy with the conversation I had just left behind. Riven's face still lingered in my memory, shadowed by disbelief and confusion, and Harriet's ever-watchful eyes still burned in the back of my head. My chest felt like it was being pulled in two directions at once—one toward secrecy, the other toward truth.
I wasn't looking where I was going, not really. My eyes were on the floor, following the cracks between the stones as though they could lead me out of my own thoughts. Which was why the collision felt like an earthquake. I stumbled back hard, the world tilting, and before I could hit the ground a pair of strong hands caught me.
"Whoa, easy there," a familiar voice said.
For a moment, I didn't breathe. The grip around my arms steadied me, and as I looked up I saw that it was Dwight.
It was like being flung backward in time, to days I had tried to bury under the weight of fire and loss. The hallway blurred at the edges and suddenly I was back on a high school field, the autumn sun pouring over him like he was made for the light. His football uniform had clung to him, pads and all, and I remembered the roar of the crowd, the easy way he had moved, the way my chest had squeezed just watching him laugh with friends who never once looked my way. He was untouchable then—someone I admired from afar, someone I wanted to notice me, someone who never did. Now, though, he was here, his hand still wrapped around mine, and his eyes searching mine with quiet concern.
"You okay?" he asked. His voice was deeper than I remembered, roughened by exhaustion maybe, but it still carried that quiet steadiness that once made me believe everything was possible if only he stood beside me.
I blinked rapidly, forcing myself back into the present. The memory shattered, replaced by the dimly lit corridor and the silence that followed his question. My hand tightened unconsciously in his, and for a heartbeat too long, I didn't let go.
"I—I'm fine," I said quickly, pulling my hand away as though his touch had burned me. A small smile flickered across my lips, more reflex than sincerity. "Just not watching where I was going."
Dwight gave a crooked smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Some things don't change, huh? You used to walk through the halls like you were too busy rewriting history in your head."
The comment caught me off guard. He remembered that? The way I used to carry notebooks everywhere, scribbling down essays and speeches, dreaming of being someone who mattered. My chest tightened, not with fondness but with a strange ache.
"I guess some things don't," I murmured.
Silence stretched for a moment. It felt like the kind of silence where a thousand unspoken things pressed against the air, begging to be acknowledged but never finding a way out.
I cleared my throat, stepping back. "I should go. Ryan's waiting for me."
His expression shifted, something unreadable flashing across it before he nodded. "Right. Of course." His hand lingered at his side, as if he hadn't quite decided whether to reach out again. "Be careful, Alice."
I turned before my heart could betray me, forcing myself down the hall with measured steps. But his voice, his presence, clung to me like the memory of sunlight on my skin.
Why now? Why did my chest still flutter when I knew better? Dwight had never been mine, never even looked at me the way I once foolishly looked at him. And yet the ache was still there, like an old wound that never fully healed.
'Don't be ridiculous, Alic,' I told myself sternly. 'You don't have time for this. Not now. Not ever.'
By the time I reached Ryan's office, my pulse had slowed but my mind had not. The door stood slightly ajar, and as I approached, it creaked open further. When it did, the same girl with a monotonous look on her face emerged, causing me to furrow my brows.
Her arms were crossed, a book still in her hand, her expression unreadable as always. She glanced at me briefly—no smile, no greeting—just a flicker of acknowledgment before she slipped past. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something, to let that knowing tone of hers cut through me like it always did. But she didn't. She only walked away, her presence as sharp and suffocating as ever, even when she said nothing at all.
I pushed the thought of her aside and stepped into Ryan's office.
The moment I entered, I noticed the room was dim, lit by the faint glow of a lamp on the desk. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink. I was about to call the headmaster's name when Ryan stood behind the desk, his hands tucked in his pockets, and his gaze steady as it rose to meet mine. Beside him, Eleanor sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap.
"Hello, Alice," Ryan said.
I obeyed, shutting the door behind me. "You asked for me?"
Ryan leaned back, his expression tightening. "Yeah. I mean, there's something you need to know."
Me?
The way he said it set my nerves on edge. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
"It's only a matter of time before the threat reaches us here, Alice. And I'm just worried about everybody here."
My stomach twisted. "The Others," I said, the word tasting bitter.
He nodded grimly. "Yes. Their reach grows every day. And while many here are still in training, barely learning to control what they've been given…" He paused, glancing briefly toward the door Harriet had just exited. "…only one has the power and discipline strong enough to fight them if they come knocking."
I didn't need him to say her name. The moment he did, my chest tightened like a fist. Harriet. Always Harriet.
I tried to mask my bitterness, but my voice betrayed me. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be her?"
Ryan's gaze flicked to me sharply, but he didn't call me out. He didn't need to. The air itself seemed to scold me for letting envy show.
Eleanor shifted slightly, her hands pressing gently against her stomach. It was then that I noticed the way she moved. The gesture pulled my gaze downward, and the truth struck me before Ryan even spoke.
"Even Eleanor and I are not safe, Alice," Ryan said softly. His voice lost its edge for the first time. "And I'm afraid about the baby we're expecting."
My heart thudded, the word echoing in my head like a bell. Expecting?
The weight of everything in the room shifted in an instant. My gaze flicked between Ryan and Eleanor, her eyes lowered, with her hands resting protectively over the life growing inside her. And something in me splintered—not from envy this time, but from fear. Because if the Others came… if this house fell… it wasn't just the gifted they would destroy. It was innocence itself.
The air in Ryan's office felt heavy, like the walls themselves were aware of the conversation about to unfold. I sat stiffly in the chair across from him, my palms pressed tightly against my knees as though holding myself in place would keep me from unraveling. Eleanor lingered nearby. It wasn't until Ryan reached down into his desk drawer that I noticed the subtle shift in his posture—the kind of shift that warned me something monumental was coming.
When he placed it on the desk, my eyes went straight to it. A necklace. Silver, fine in detail, the kind of delicate craftsmanship that felt too intentional to be just decoration. But what struck me wasn't the design—it was the way it seemed to hum, as if the thing itself was breathing. From my chair, I could almost feel it in the air, a faint vibration brushing against my skin, the kind of presence you don't hear so much as sense. The tiny hairs on my arms lifted, betraying me. The pendant at its center wasn't a gemstone, not really. It was clearer than that, like a shard of crystal smoothed into glass, and inside… light pulsed faintly, alive and patient, as though something trapped within was waiting to be noticed.
Ryan's tone dropped, steady but edged with something heavier. "This was taken from one of the Others."
I found myself leaning forward before I even thought about it, my eyes locked on the necklace. The Others. The word alone made my stomach knot. Those men in black suits. Those selfish husks who used to be human. They weren't just thieves—they stole what was never theirs, tore gifts out of people like ripping pages from a book, and twisting them into weapons.
"What does it do?" I asked, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be.
Ryan turned the necklace in his hand, the crystal catching the dim light and scattering it across the desk. His expression was tight, almost wary, as if part of him still struggled to accept what he was holding.
"When I try studying it, I noticed that it doesn't just store energy," he said quietly. "It strengthens it. Replicates it. Whoever wears this can take on the gift of the one who gave it up."
The words settled like a weight in the air. My chest tightened. Inherit a gift—just like that? The thought made me both uneasy and strangely in awe, as though I were staring at something that shouldn't exist.
The words sank in slowly, like stones dropping into the deepest parts of me. Replicates. Inherits. It wasn't just a trinket.
My throat went dry. "So you're saying that if someone gifted placed their energy in that thing… anyone could wear it? Anyone could use it?"
Ryan nodded once, grave. "Yeah."
The necklace seemed to hum louder the longer I stared at it, a low, insistent thrum that made my chest feel tight. Almost like it knew we were talking about it. Eleanor shifted in her seat, her hand brushing over her stomach in a gesture so unconscious it made my throat catch. My eyes followed her hand before I forced myself to look back at Ryan, though the weight of both the necklace and that simple motion lingered heavy in my mind.
"I plan for our child to wear it," he added.
For a second, I could only stare at him, my mind tripping over the words he had just spoken. My chest tightened, heat crawling up my neck, and I let out a laugh that came out thinner, shakier than I meant it to. Because… what did Ryan just say?
"Your… child?" I managed, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
Ryan's expression softened, but there was no hesitation in his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "Alice, this world isn't safe—not for any of us, and especially not for the ones who haven't even had the chance to live in it yet." His gaze flicked to Eleanor, who was sitting so still, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. Then his eyes came back to me, steady and serious. "If something happens to me, or to Eleanor… I need to know our child has a chance. That they'll have something to defend themselves with. And this necklace"—he turned it slightly, the faint light in the crystal pulsing like a heartbeat—"might be their only safeguard."
I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. My eyes were locked on the pendant, the way it glowed faintly in the dim light, as though it held not just power but promise. And yet… promise for who?
My thoughts spun, bitter and barbed, each one cutting deeper than the last. Harriet would probably help him with this plan. She'd tilt her chin in that calm, knowing way, nodding solemnly as though she had already seen the wisdom in it long before the rest of us. She'd be the one Ryan trusted to help someday, the one to pass down her perfect discipline, her control, her strength. Of course she would. She always was. Always the one who rose above, who was marked as capable, reliable, exceptional.
And me? I was the one sitting here, staring at this strange, humming capsule of power, asked to understand but never to carry it. Never to be trusted with it.
I pressed my lips together until they hurt. "And… if the Others come for it?" I asked at last, my voice tighter than I meant.
"They won't," Ryan said, so certain it almost sounded like faith. I envied that steadiness. "They don't know I have it. I took it from a scientist I've been tracking down ever since I saw how he and the rest of CYGNUS were working together. And I am sure they won't—not unless someone tells them I have it."
The word settled on me like a stone.
Eleanor's voice then broke through the silence. "It won't just protect our child, Alice," she said, her hand still resting against her stomach. "It will give them a chance to grow up. To have a life."
Her words hit harder than I expected, like a fist pressed to my ribs. The thing my parents had stolen from them. The thing so many of us were already clawing to hold onto. And yet here was this unborn child—already wrapped in hope, already safeguarded by plans and promises I'd never been given. Their future was already being carved out, protected by an impossible relic that hummed softly in the air between us.
My throat tightened. My eyes stung. And it wasn't just awe, or fear. It was something uglier. Resentment.
Still, I swallowed it back. I forced myself to nod, to play the part of someone steady. My voice scraped out, fragile and subdued. "I… understand."
Ryan's eyes lingered on me longer than I liked, as if he could peel back the mask and see the storm underneath. I dropped my gaze quickly, afraid of what he might read in me if I didn't.