We hurried through the corridor; my heartbeat pounded like a war drum.
Something in the air whispered that today would not conclude in silence. The sun was high, but the air felt thick and heavy—like the moments before a storm, when even silence holds its breath.
We stepped out of the car at the same time and made our way toward the principal's office. Sierra entered first, likely to update him on what had happened—or what was about to happen. Dylan and I waited outside.
A loud male voice rang out in the hallway: "One representative from each subject, report to my office. Immediately!"
My brow furrowed. Pressure spiked in my chest. What did the other subjects have to do with this? I thought it only concerned the supernatural teachers.
"And here I thought I'd get a day off from you," Oliver said behind me.
I turned, rolling my eyes. "I was hoping someone else would be responsible enough to—"
"To what? You think this is your doing?" He stepped closer. His eyes carried the scars Jace had left behind—maybe not on his body, but definitely in his confidence. "What, do you need my attention that much?"
His voice was sharp, biting. But in his eyes… There was pain. A flicker of something bruised. Like he wasn't just attacking—he was bleeding, too. He clenched his jaw, swallowing words that were already choking him from within.
His words hit like a cold slap—the kind that leaves no mark, only a shiver running down your spine.
"Keep dreaming," I smirked, but it faded in an instant. "Are you okay?" I asked in a whisper.
A dark bruise shadowed his mouth, another beneath his left eye. He opened his mouth to answer, but Dylan came to my side.
"Oh, so this is the infamous Oliver I keep hearing about?"
"The one and only," Oliver replied with a smile that hoped you had heard good things.
But the smile didn't reach his eyes. He swallowed hard, something tightening inside. For a second, his hand trembled near his leg—then stilled.
Sierra emerged and motioned us in. Dylan stepped back, letting me enter first.
Oliver pushed past, brushing me as if there wasn't enough space. Every cell in my body recoiled—as if my skin recognized something my heart wasn't ready to admit.
The hallway opened into a dim office, its walls a faded mustard yellow. The air carried a subtle scent of old books. At the far end sat a teacup stained with rings, as if it had been there for years. A tower of yellowed books leaned beside it—the home of someone who hadn't left in a long time.
Only now did I grasp the school's actual size. Finding the small sign that read "Principal" took almost thirty minutes.
Sierra knocked. "It's Sierra. I brought my students. May I come in?"
A deep voice replied, "Yes."
She let me go first.
Three teachers sat around a dark wooden desk. A heavy silence hung in the air. They stared at me—all except the principal, who was busy with papers.
I felt exposed. Examined. One teacher cleared his throat. Another toyed with his pen. The third held my gaze for a long second… then looked away, embarrassed—or hesitant.
The lighting was dull. Old lamps buzzed above, as if they too felt the room's weight.
The principal had thinning blue hair receding at the hairline. His ears pointed like a Golubin's. His face was human; his skin was a grayish hue. Short and stocky—almost a gnome.
He finally looked up. "Are you Amelia?" he asked in a flat, uninterested voice.
He doesn't even remember me? What kind of principal doesn't care about his students?
"Let's keep this brief. My name is Olsor. I'm a Golubin. We've met a few times. I hear you had a vision about the school. Tell me what you saw so we can stop it."
"Uh… yes…" I closed my eyes, reaching for focus.
And then—I saw him again.
Jace stood there. That same piercing gaze I knew. But this time… he felt like family. Like my future. That scared me more than anything. It wasn't just Jace; my heart didn't know if it should be him.
We were arguing—about something important. I couldn't make out what. And yet, in the chaos, he and his family… They looked like they loved me. Like I belonged to them.
A deep voice echoed, demanding we all gather somewhere—a place I won't name because it feels dangerous. All the students with magic are at risk—and they are the majority here.
We ran. And we saw them—ten figures. Eight soldiers, armed. Two who stood apart—a couple.
And among their faces… my family. And strangers. Too many.
The vision cleared. The room returned. My heart raced, still echoing with what I'd seen. With every breath, it felt like I'd left a piece of myself behind—trapped where future and fear blur into one.
Silence thickened.
"If this happens, we'll have to evacuate the school," one teacher murmured, pale.
"We can't rely on feelings alone," said another, though his voice trembled.
The third stood, came to me, and said, "I believe you. I think it's time we start listening to what we've been avoiding confronting."
But one teacher was missing—Oliver.
Behind him… wings—fae wings. His skin shimmered with red-orange gills, like a fish. His hair looked short and damp, dripping from those gills.
A lingering shadow from the vision? Or was Oliver beginning to change—right in front of me?
A shiver crawled through me.
"Did the vision give any clue when this might happen? Or who those people were?" Oliver asked, doubt—maybe hurt—threading his voice.
I shook my head, then said, "I know it sounds strange… but Jace—he was there. And this wasn't a normal vision. It felt like my future—our future—was already entangled."
"He was there… your boyfriend?" one teacher asked, mockery in his tone. Oliver gave a short laugh—no amusement in it, only a bandage over an old wound.
His words stung. Maybe, to him, it was safer to hurt me than to tell the truth.
The principal tapped the desk. "Enough. Now isn't the time for hostility."
But it felt like he was trying to tame a storm without facing it.
The teacher at the side went tense. No one else dared to speak.
I stepped forward and drew a breath. "I have a name—Amilia. And I'm not a little girl. I'm a 275-year-old angel. I've seen more than most could survive. My pain doesn't fit inside report cards."
"Oh, really? If you're an angel, maybe the skies have changed. You look more like a demon who fell—every wing shattering on the way down."
His words stabbed like glass—quiet, cruel, and unbearable. Not just pain—shame. Like everyone has heard, judged, and believed it.
The principal slammed the desk. "That's enough." His voice was firm now. He turned to me. "You're right, Amilia. We do need to monitor him. I'm assigning you that task. If you see any supernatural signs in him, bring him here. And I expect you and Oliver to work together. He's your teacher. He'll help you reconnect with who you are."
My eyes widened. "There's no way I'm continuing to study with him. He tortures me."
"Great. Complain to the principal like a little girl," Oliver muttered, struggling for breath. He looked away, lips pressed thin.
"There's no point in arguing. This is my school, and I make the decisions," Olsor cut in.
I snapped my mouth shut, turned, and slammed the door.
In the corridor, my pulse still thundered. I wouldn't cry. Not in front of them. Not now.
Footsteps. A familiar scent—though there hadn't been any rain.
Oliver stood beside me, gazing out at the landscape. He looked at me a second too long—as if he wanted to speak but couldn't. Then he turned and walked away.
I climbed into the car with Dylan. Sierra was already inside. We drove home.
But the real fight wasn't between them—it was inside me.
The sun had set. Everything looked the same—except for me. Inside, nothing felt the same anymore.
I'm no longer sure who I am. With him, the lines always blur—between the girl I am and the girl I'm afraid of becoming.
And if there's anything angelic left in me, perhaps it's the human part that still tethers me to him. Maybe it isn't just a connection. Maybe it's a wound—aching for someone to heal it.
Maybe, more than anything, I want someone to see me even as I'm breaking.
Maybe… I need someone to tell me it's okay.