Àjè stood at the wide, arched window in silence. Her posture was serene, but Clara could sense the storm beneath her stillness. Words were forming, weighing heavily behind her lips.
There were thoughts she needed to translate into something digestible, something softer than the hard truth. She always did that when she knew what she had to say might wound. Clara didn't rush her; they weren't related by blood, but their bond had long transcended genetics. They had learned to read each other like music chords and rests, tension and release.
Clara sat still, her palms pressed against her thighs, watching Àjè closely.
"He bears a mark," Àjè finally said, her voice low and steady. "A mark that could endanger even us… if ever awakened. I'm certain of what I saw. He may not flaunt it, but it's there. He's hiding his true self, Clara. And this school, Greenlight - it makes it easier for him to blend in, to pretend." Her eyes remained on the outside world as if the moonlight could help her make sense of the shadows in her mind.
Clara looked down, conflicted. "But what if he doesn't know?" she asked quietly. "What if Fred is as unaware as we once were? If he's like us… cursed without a choice?"
Àjè's gaze remained fixed on the distance, but her voice answered with certainty. "He's not like us. I felt it when we shook hands. Something ancient blinked through him, twice, maybe three times. He wasn't surprised to see me. And that means he's either aware or worse… accepting of what he is. Revealing our identities to someone like that? That's a risk I'm not willing to take."
She turned from the window and walked slowly toward the velvet-covered bed at the far end of the room, where she began brushing her hair in calm, deliberate strokes. Clara rose from the piano bench and joined her, perching lightly on the edge of the bed.
"Are you absolutely sure of what you saw, Sister?" Clara asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "Because… I didn't feel anything when I looked into Fred's eyes. Nothing strange. Nothing sinister. Maybe… maybe you're wrong."
Àjè paused her brushing. "Clara," she said, more forcefully now. "Even if I'm not completely sure, I would rather be cautious than naive. Think for a second, what would he do if he found out what we are? That beneath our skin, there are scales waiting for the wrong moon to rise? Do you believe he'll hold you gently and whisper acceptance?" Her eyes narrowed. "Boys like Fred, they don't cradle danger. They destroy it."
Clara's breath caught. Her fingers curled tighter on her lap.
"You like him, don't you?" Àjè asked, reading her like a song played too often.
Clara looked up, startled. Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her gaze drifted downward again, lost in the beautiful, swirling patterns of the tiled floor.
"I see," Àjè said softly, setting down her brush. "But it's not love, Clara. Not yet. You're curious. Maybe even enchanted. But enchantment fades. He may not harm you physically, not now… but it's the emotional venom you should fear. Don't get close to him."
The warning landed like a bitter pill. Clara's heart protested, even as her mind tried to rationalize it. She didn't understand the pull she felt toward Fred, not entirely. Something about him seemed familiar, like déjà vu wrapped in newness. It wasn't just attraction; it was… something older.
Maybe even destiny.
Àjè stood, crossing to the piano. She sat gracefully and let her fingers slide into a light, cheerful tune. But as the notes unfolded, the music faltered, slowly slipping into something more fragile and haunting. She ended on a suspended minor chord that refused resolution, leaving the air uneasy.
"I guess you get the picture," she said, turning back to Clara.
Clara exhaled shakily. "I don't even know why I spoke to him first," she murmured. "It was instinctual… like I had to. His face… it won't leave my mind."
Àjè's expression turned sharp. "The most dangerous predators wear the calmest faces. Fred is not reaching for your hand; he's aiming for your soul. He wants to write your name in his death-note, Clara."
"I haven't even spent much time with him," Clara whispered. "But - "
Her words died as she looked up and caught the glow behind Àjè's irises. The green shimmer returned, subtle but unmistakable. It was always there when she felt something strongly, something that reached beyond her human restraint. Clara watched the glow fade slowly.
"Alright," Clara said at last, her voice firm but conflicted. "I'll try to stay away. But if he really is dangerous… I want to understand what he is. I want to know the truth."
"There's no need to chase the truth, Clara," Àjè snapped. "Avoid him. That's the only way to stay safe."
"But why shouldn't I look deeper? If you're wrong, and he's something else, someone innocent, then we're judging blindly."
"Because it's dangerous to dig too deep, Clara," Àjè replied. "Not every truth can be survived."
Clara's eyes watered, frustration tightening her throat. "You might be wrong about him!"
Her words rang through the room. Silence followed... so thick that even a whisper might have shattered it. Outside, only the faint honk of distant cars broke the stillness.
Àjè exhaled, her expression softening slightly. "Clara, I know I'm not your sister by blood, but we carry the same curse. That makes us kin in ways deeper than genetics. I say this not to control you, but to protect you."
Clara looked away, her hands trembling.
"Let's just… drop it," she muttered.