Jace walked away, rushing, as if escaping from me. I tried to catch up—but the bell rang. I stopped, with no choice left. I already knew what that meant—another lesson with Oliver.
I hurried forward, vision blurred, and collided with a student.
"Wow, I didn't know you could be that cruel," came a hurt voice.
Confused, I turned—and saw him: a boy, maybe twelve years old. Tears welled in his eyes; the pain wounded his expression to the core.
My heart clenched. My pulse raced like a machine crashing into a wall.
"I'm sorry," I said as I reached out to help him up.
He wiped his tears. I pulled a candy from my bag, holding it out with care.
"Here… this might help a little."
Skinny, small, lost—how does a child this young survive in a school like this? For a moment, I saw myself in him: a girl no one ever stopped to ask if she was okay. The one who fell got back up and pretended that nothing had happened.
And then—a hand seized my arm.
"What are you doing?"
I turned—Oliver. His voice cracked like ice. "This is class, not the nurse's office. If you want to help him, give him directions. You're not moving from here."
That same coldness. That same control.
"Who are you to decide?" I shot back. "Besides, I'm new, remember? I don't even know where the nurse's office is."
I brushed past him, irritation burning in my chest.
When I returned, he was already at the gym entrance, waiting. He stepped forward and gripped my arm with both hands—tight and painful.
"When I speak, you listen. Is that clear?"
His fingers dug into my skin. But I didn't back down. I stared at him, unblinking. Let him see—I wasn't broken.
"I'm not your property. And I'm not an object for your lessons."
He let go—but not with his eyes. A deliberate smile crept across his lips. His gaze was unsteady, his fingers stiff—as if even he hadn't expected himself to push this far.
Maybe he believed pain was the truth. That if I didn't fall apart, I wouldn't grow stronger.
But who draws that line? What is the difference between a teacher and a tormentor—when both claim it's for my own good?
He lingered, almost hesitant. His eyes searching—for approval? For control? Then he pulled an invisible trigger.
My vision blurred, as if I had opened my eyes in boiling water.
I froze, rubbing them—useless. The world smeared into a haze. My clothes clung heavily to my skin.
The walls trembled. A rotten stench filled my lungs—stagnant water, decayed, and suffocating.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Too fast. Too loud.
"What—" My voice was hoarse, broken. I grabbed my water bottle, desperate. Nothing helped.
"What did you do?"
"I…" he paused. "I created a water bubble around your face." His words were steady, but his eyes cracked. "It's blocking your airways."
A flick of his hand—and water began to rise inside the bubble.
"If you want it to stop, you need to do two things."
I collapsed to my knees, my lungs burning.
"One—listen, and do exactly what I say. Because I'm your teacher." He crouched, smiling. "Two—use your power. This is a threshold lesson."
His smile vanished. His eyes froze.
The water stung my skin like knives. My cheeks burned.
I tried the spell again. Nothing. My lungs shrieked for air. My vision darkened.
And I remembered—death had been this close before. Not by an enemy. By my own collapsing body.
Now it was him. Pushing me to the edge, testing how far I'd break.
Maybe it wasn't a lesson. Maybe it was cruelty dressed as training.
Was he sure I wouldn't die? Or was he gambling on it?
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Is this really the extent of your desire to kill me? What will you do with my body, Oliver? Bury me next to your failures?"
Then—nothing. Black.
Hands pressed hard against my chest. Warm breath brushed against my lips.
Air sliced into me—burning, cutting, alive.
I gasped, dazed. Not a kiss. But my body trembled as if it couldn't tell the difference.
Oliver hovered over me. His eyes were a storm: concern, anger, fear—and something else.
His hand trembled. His gaze softened—then froze again.
"What the hell am I doing…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know why I pushed it so far…"
A silence stretched. Then: "Maybe because the last time I showed mercy—it ended worse."
He stood, face shuttered, as if nothing had happened. "Don't die on me in the third lesson."
I should have feared him. I should have hated him.
But in that moment… I only wanted him to stay.
I hated him. I craved him. And I hated myself for it.