prologue
The first thing she remembered was the quiet. Not the soft, peaceful kind of quiet, but the hollow kind that clung to the corners of the classroom, pressing against her like a weight. It had been there since she was young. Everyone's eyes were on her—or, more accurately, ignoring her—and it hurt just the same.
She kept her head down, notebook open, pretending to focus on notes she would never review. Whispered laughter snaked around her like smoke, curling into her ears, reminding her that she didn't belong. Not really. Not anywhere.
Her power was dangerous. Rare. Coveted. And she could never tell. but there were always hazards. like the boy she had once looked up to, the one who had chosen the world over her—status over family. Every time he walked past, his smile didn't reach his eyes, and she felt it like a knife, a cold contrast to the lively, caring boy he used to be.
Some days, the loneliness was just… too heavy. She buried herself in the one thing she could control: the dreams of others. At night, she slipped through the fragile borders of sleep, weaving illusions that no one would ever suspect were hers. It was the only time she felt powerful.
But in a world where power is priority, one who must keep their power hidden might as well be powerless.
. . .
Her back slammed against the lockers as his fist connected with her ribs. Sharp pain shot through her, radiating through her body. She should fight back. She couldn't. One wrong move, one flicker of her power, and no one in this hallway would leave unscathed.
"I don't think you-" she gritted her teeth, trying to explain. "do you know who I am?"
"Shut up!" he snapped, shoving her again. "You think you can mess with my girl? You're gonna pay for that."
Her vision blurred as his fist connected with her jaw, and the panic coiling inside her threatened to spill over. Every instinct screamed to fight back, to lash out—but she had to stay in control.
Then she saw him. Malcolm. Luke's old best friend. The one she had looked up to for years. They had been inseparable, Luke, Malcolm, and Sebastian, with Ivy as their shadow. He walked by as if she didn't exist, eyes forward, hands in his pockets, leaving her entirely alone. Her fists clenched with anger—not for the boy who was beating her up, but at the blatant ignorance from Malcolm.
"Mal- ugh!" She was cut off as the boys fist connected her stomach, knocking the air out of her.
Luke appeared just a heartbeat later, stepping between her and the bully. "Enough," he said, voice low and controlled, his arm raised to throw a punch if he didn't back down.
Her gaze flicked to him, grateful yet angry. His eyes found hers, silently commanding: Hold it in. Don't lose control.
She forced herself to breathe, to push back the storm threatening to break free. Luke had her back—for now.
But Malcolm had left her to fight alone, and the sting of that rejection hit harder than any punch from that weakling. The anger, the isolation, the longing for someone to believe in her—it simmered inside her, waiting.
Luke released the bully with a firm shove, sending him stumbling backward. The boy shot her one last venomous glare before melting into the crowd of whispering students.
"You okay?" Luke asked, his voice quieter now, almost gentle—but the weight in it made her heart clench.
She nodded, though the trembling in her hands betrayed her. "I… I'm fine," she whispered, not trusting her control.
Luke's eyes lingered on her, scanning for any sign of the storm inside her. The power she hid—so rare, so dangerous—was like a live wire beneath her skin. One spark, and she could lose control completely. And she knew Luke understood that better than anyone.
"Why didn't you tell me she was messing with you?" he said softly, shaking his head. "You know I can't always protect you if you push people like that."
She looked up, her expression angry. "I didn't- I mean, I don't need you to fight my battles" she murmured. She thought of Malcolm walking past, indifferent, and her chest tightened. How could someone she'd admired so much ignore her like that?
But she felt more alone than ever. The truth was, no one really knew her. The only people she'd ever fully trusted were either dead or distant, except for her brother and Sebastian. If anyone knew, they'd see her for what she was: a weapon, a danger, someone to fear.
Her stomach churned with anger and frustration. She hated that she had to hide. She hated that people like Malcolm could walk away and leave her to fend for herself. She hated the power she could never show, the one thing that made her extraordinary, because it made her untouchable—and untouchable meant lonely.
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as Luke's hand rested gently on her shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here before this gets worse."
As they walked down the hall, whispers following them like shadows, she couldn't stop her mind from drifting. To dreams. To the power that had saved her from herself more times than she could count. To the way it could change everything—if only she let it.
And somewhere deep inside, she felt a dark, thrilling pull. A temptation she knew she should resist, but couldn't help imagining: what it would feel like if no one could ever hurt her again.