I try to convince myself that everything's fine—but deep down, I already know: everything is about to fall apart. Jace isn't the same. Something in him is broken. And he… he's alone.
I reached the school in seconds. The principal was already waiting outside—with Oliver. And then I saw them: Jace and Allison's parents, standing together. Worried. Afraid. Their eyes searched for answers—and landed on me.
That's when I understood: I wasn't just here for him. They were here because of me, too. Maybe you should understand what happened. Maybe to find someone to blame.
Every glance felt like a silent accusation. It spread through the air like smoke—slow and suffocating.
I walked toward them with the principal, but what I really wanted was something else. I just wanted to see Jace. No—I needed to see him.
"We don't know what happened!" His father's voice cracked as the words spilled out. Something in it felt too familiar—like I'd heard it before. Not as a parent's voice, but as a commander's. His smile was too stiff, too small. Half a lie. Behind it… a secret pressed too close, prickling against my skin.
His mother spoke next, barely audible. "We just want to see him," she whispered, raw. "Just to know he's okay."
The principal nodded. "Amelia will go first. I will update you afterward."
I swallowed hard. I wasn't ready for what I would see. I feared it would be the end—yet it was only the beginning.
I opened the door. And there he was—Jace. Wounded. He was imprisoned in a cage.
My heart dropped.
The bars gleamed too cleanly—punishment disguised as care. The flickering light revealed a scar that hadn't healed.
He said nothing. He didn't even look at me. I stepped closer, slowly. "Jace…" My voice barely rose above a whisper. He didn't react.
"I'm here," I said, my voice cracking. "I shouldn't have run." My hands pressed against the cold bars, trembling. "I don't know how to explain what happened… but everything I did—it was because I was scared of losing you."
Finally, he turned. His eyes were full of pain. "You don't understand," he whispered. "I'm not me anymore." He closed his eyes. "I wake in the night and don't recognize myself. Do you get what that means? To hear voices that aren't yours? To smell fear—and realize it's your own?"
Tears welled in my eyes. "I do understand. Maybe more than you think."
He looked at me—for the first time. But his gaze was dim and lost. I didn't recognize him anymore.
"Go," he said. "Please."
I swallowed the sob that was rising in my throat. Stepped back. I then turned and started running.
I didn't know where I was going. Just… away. I wanted to escape from the pain—the confusion. From myself.
My legs carried me to the one place that still felt real—the studio. There, the colors remembered me better than I remembered myself.
I approached the painting. Something stirred inside me. The colors began to shift, to move, to dance like a memory begging to be heard. It felt as if the painting had not originated from me but rather flowed through me.
How hadn't I seen it before? I'd finished this days ago. And now—I understand.
A breath caught inside me. The world began to dissolve.
A vision opened. My pulse quickened.
It had been there all along—calling me. It was calling me through the lines. Through the memory. Through everything I'd tried to ignore.
If I didn't act now, it would vanish like everything else that mattered.
The present was the only moment I had. The world hushed briefly to awaken me.
And I saw it. Truly saw it.
Even though I was sure, I trembled. I trembled not only because of the vision but also due to my solitude in experiencing it.
I turned to leave, crossing the hallway. My heart beat like a warning bell. I nearly collided with Oliver. He had just come in.
He stopped beside me. "What happened?" he asked.
"I need to go," I said.
"Now."
"You're not in a state to—"
"I am." I met his gaze. "They're there. I can feel it."
"Amilia—"
I froze. For a moment, I wanted to remember what it felt like to be normal. I wanted to remember what it felt like to be normal, not a weapon. This wasn't a vision. He was just a girl, nothing more.
His eyes were confused but steady. He didn't stop me. And I didn't stop myself.
After everything I'd seen, I just needed someone to be there. Just once. I would rather not fight alone.
I kissed him. My hand brushed his cheek—soft, barely there.
It wasn't how I loved. It was how I held myself together. I maintained my composure, or at least attempted to.
His gaze stayed locked on mine. Not confused—deep.
I wanted to understand. But even as I felt warmth wrap around me, I trembled harder inside.
My throat tightened. My hands shook. My heart ached.
When we pulled away, there was no heat left—only quiet confusion.
I'd lost another piece of myself. Not to him. To the uncertainty.
I had taken a moment of pain and wrapped it in something that looked like intimacy—but felt hollow.
He looked at me with quiet eyes, as if afraid to ask whether this was a beginning—or an escape. He didn't push. He didn't pull. He just stayed.
Something cracked in him—and then calmed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. Barely audible.
I love Jace. So why did I run to someone else's arms?
It wasn't a kiss of desire. But it wasn't only escape either. It was truth rising beneath the noise. And fear is growing with it.
I'll try to choose.
At the door, I paused. I whispered, "I know where she is. I don't know how—but I know."