He stood there, leaning against one of the pillars—far too calm, as if nothing had happened. His expression was empty, lifeless. Not even his eyelids moved. No regrets. No remorse.
"Are you stupid?!" I snapped, storming toward him with sharp, quick steps. "I could've died, Oliver. What if I hadn't made it out? What if I couldn't? You call that a lesson?!"
I reached out to shove him—but he caught my hands before I could. They trembled, caught between the cold that clung to me and the anger burning inside. My heart was still pounding like I was underwater. My mouth wanted to scream, but something inside choked me.
Let me go.
"I'll let go when you stop acting like a little girl," he said sharply. But his eyes weren't harsh. They weren't cold. They were… worried. Almost sad.
I knew he didn't mean to kill me. But it didn't matter.
How dare he call me that—after what he did? After he almost—
I tried to hide it. The pain. The fear. The humiliation.
He released me. I spun around and stormed off toward the parking lot. He watched me leave. He didn't try to stop me.
I wasn't looking for guidance. Or answers. Or people. Just escape.
I wanted to run—run from the energy boiling inside me. Burn it off through my muscles.
I ran. The forest flew past—trees, leaves, and animals scattering from the noise I made.
My heart pounded like a war drum. When I reached a clearing, I stopped. A deep breath—and again.
Three screams.
Something ancient and raw burst out of me. The birds fled. Even the silence recoiled, afraid of the sound that tore from my lungs.
The echo of that scream still hovers between the trees.
I sat by the stream. The water reflected me—but not who I was. Pale face. Tangled hair. Tired eyes. Who even is that?
Minutes passed—maybe more. The pain sank into me like a black hole, pulling every thought beyond reach. The more I thought about him, the more it spread.
Then I heard footsteps—but I wasn't startled. They were too familiar.
"Hey," came a soft voice behind me—one I'd always known.
I turned—and saw Jace.
I shouldn't have been surprised. He always seemed to sense when I was breaking.
"Hey," I replied, quickly wiping tears from my eyes.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, but before I could finish, he stepped closer.
"I thought something had happened to you… You made the world feel like it had collapsed."
"The forest's right next to my house," he added, sitting beside me. "And I heard you."
His voice was soft. Real. His eyes searched for mine.
"You want to talk about it?"
How was I supposed to tell him my supernatural teacher almost drowned me to see if I'd grow wings?
"Um…" I took a deep breath.
He saw my hesitation.
"You don't have to," he said quickly. "We can talk about something else. Or not talk at all."
The slight smile on my lips was genuine, even if it was sad. "It's okay."
I turned my gaze to the stream. "I just found out my teacher is… an idiot."
I looked at him. "I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to survive this year. And there's no other teacher."
"Maybe try talking to him?" he offered. "Sometimes that helps."
I nodded, then whispered, "Thanks. For being here. For being kind."
He just smiled. No words. He understood—there was nothing to say, only to be.
"My heart hurt," he whispered, almost to himself. "Like something cracked inside me the moment I felt you breaking."
Something in me cracked with him—even though I didn't know what it meant.
Time slipped away. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of blue and purple. The silence settled with my breath.
I stood. "I need to go back."
I reached out a hand—he rose.
We hugged.
It was a quiet hug. Gentle. No questions. Just presence.
"You okay?" he whispered. His words draped over me like a blanket. His warmth seeped through my shirt.
The words stuck in my throat. I forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."
I walked straight through the forest until I found the house.
Inside, I climbed to my room, slipped on headphones, and only then dared to reach for the colors.
The brush trembled in my hand—but I painted.
Anger, pain, and disappointment turned into lines and colors.
I painted black wings stretched over a frozen lake. The ice cracked—but did not shatter. Only one eye peeked through the surface—mine.
The colors cleansed me from within. Each movement of the brush felt like breathing again.
The wings weren't pure. They weren't clear. But they were powerful in their suffering. They weren't an invitation—they were mine.
After about two hours, I turned toward the bed.
And she was there.
Lina.
I pulled off my headphones immediately. My brows furrowed. I… didn't remember giving her my address.
"Hey… How long have you been here?"
"Since you finished half the painting," she replied with a smile, her eyes locked on the canvas.
"That was half an hour ago. Why didn't you say anything?"
I walked over and sat down across from her on the floor.
"It felt weird that you didn't answer messages, so I tried that location you sent me once…" she admitted.
For a moment, I thought it was a good idea.
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I was just… in lessons with Oliver."
"Is this your house?" she asked curiously. "It's… quiet here."
What happens here?
"I heard those lessons are… intense." She raised an eyebrow.
"Tough" was too soft a word. I took a deep breath, like I was trying to release something that refused to let go.
"He's… torturous. And he gets on my nerves every time."
"I heard he's not gentle with anyone," she said.
I sighed. "I'm trying. Sometimes I manage to tap into the elemental powers."
She smiled. "And how's he?"
I hesitated. That was the first real question. How is he?
"Sometimes it feels like he's a completely different person every day."
"Why?" She chuckled.
"Because one day he's kind and caring. Another—sour. And then… angry. That's how he is in class, too. Inconsistent."
Maybe it wasn't personal. Maybe someone taught him to wear a mask.
She nodded. I sank back into silence for another moment.
If I forgive him, what does that say about me?
Maybe… he's not the only one shifting. Maybe I am, too.
And for the first time, I didn't run from the pain. I turned it into wings.