A few hours later, he heard the faint jingle of keys at the door. He rushed into the living room, grabbed a cloth, and pretended to clean. He didn't want them to see him idle. They never liked that. As always, Ada came in first. But this time, she didn't stop to mock him. No sarcastic comment, no cruel smile. She walked past him quickly and went upstairs. Max frowned. Something was off. Then he felt it. A strange, tight feeling in his chest. Not his own. It crept in quietly, like a whisper he couldn't quite hear. Fear. He froze for a second. Why would she be afraid? A faint draft slipped through the hallway, carrying the cool air from an open window somewhere upstairs. The house was too quiet. It usually wasn't like this. Max moved slowly up the stairs, his hand brushing the wall for balance. The feeling in his chest hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown sharper. Tighter. Not his. Fear. It pulsed faintly, like something alive. By the time he reached Ada's door, the air felt heavier. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked.
"Hey… Ada. Can we talk?"There was a pause. He could hear movement inside. Something quick. Restless.
"What do you want from me, creep?" Her voice was sharp, but thinner than usual. It didn't match the words.
"I just want to understand what's wrong." Silence again. The window at the end of the hallway creaked slightly as the wind pushed against it. A curtain shifted, letting in a thin strip of pale light that stretched across the floor between them. Max stared at the door. Then, slowly, it opened…just a little. Ada stood behind it, her fingers tight around the edge. She didn't look angry. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on him as he might move too fast. The feeling hit him again. Stronger. It pressed into his head this time, not just his chest.
"Don't look at him. Dad said he's dangerous. What if he knows?"
Max stiffened. His breath caught. Those weren't his thoughts. He took a small step forward. Did he have schizophrenia?
"What's going on with you?" he asked, quieter now. "You've been acting weird."
"Nothing…" she said quickly. The pressure snapped. It wasn't loud. It wasn't sudden. It just… broke. Max went still. The fear was everywhere now. Not just around him. Inside his head. Sharp, Loud, Tangled, and underneath it. She was afraid of him. His expression didn't change. But something shifted. He should have stepped back. He didn't.
"Stop this bullshit," he said quietly. Ada froze. Her fingers tightened around the door. Max's gaze didn't leave her. For a second, nothing happened. Then her face changed. The fear spiked so suddenly that it made his head throb. The hallway felt smaller now. The air is heavier. Even the sound of the curtain brushing against the wall seemed too loud.
"Why are you scared of me?" Max asked.
"I'm not," she said immediately. But her voice shook. Max didn't respond. He just watched her. Waited. The silence stretched. Ada's eyes flickered past him, toward the stairs, like she expected someone to come up at any moment.
"They just said…" she started, then stopped. Max took another step closer.
"Said what?" Her grip on the door loosened slightly. Her shoulders dropped, just a little.
"That you're not like us." The words came out shorter this time. Max felt it again. Not just fear now. Confusion. Doubt.
"Not like you how?" he asked, wondering what she meant, because he was sure he looked like every other human he saw. Maybe his eyes were weird, having different colors, but it wasn't noticeable unless they looked closely. Normally they're semed like light brown, but one of them was hazelish, maybe a little yellow. Ada swallowed nervously as she fidgeted with her jingly bracelets.
"That you can…" She hesitated, her eyes locking onto his now. "That you can get inside people's heads." The pressure in his mind pulsed again.
"That you don't need to touch them," she rushed. "That you can make them…" She stopped, breathing unevenly.
"Make them what?" Max asked.
"Do things," she whispered. The wind pushed harder against the open window. The curtain lifted, then fell again, brushing softly against the wall. Ada's voice kept going, faster now, like she couldn't stop it.
"They said your kind started the war, that you can't be trusted. That you pretend to be normal until you…" She shook her head. "Until you hurt people." Max didn't move. Didn't speak. Inside, something twisted.
"They said you don't feel things as we do," she added, quieter now. "That you just… act as you do." That one lingered. Longer than the others. Was he a sociopath? Max's jaw tightened slightly. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Ada took a small step back.
"That's why they lock you up," she said quickly. "It's not… It's not punishment." She looked at him again. Not with anger. Not even with hatred. Just fear.
"It's for safety." The words settled between them. Max stood there, still, the echoes of her thoughts brushing against his mind. Fear. Fear of him. He felt it clearly now. Understood it. And somewhere beneath everything else, he didn't hate the feeling of power. He felt guilty for the poor girl for a moment before remembering how she treated him all these years…a twisted thought formed in the darkest corner of his mind. Maybe fear was a reason to be respected. He watched her leave her room without another word.
For a moment, he just stood there. The room felt wrong. Not in the way the cage did. Not harsh or empty. This was something else. Softer, warmer. The air didn't bite at his skin. It moved gently, slipping in through a half-open window across the room. The curtain shifted with it, rising and falling in slow, quiet breaths. Max's eyes moved across the space. There were colors everywhere. Not dull, not grey. Bright, careless. Toys were scattered across the floor, some pushed into corners, others left in the middle like they had been dropped and forgotten. A small shelf leaned against the wall, filled with books and things he didn't recognize. A blanket lay crumpled on the bed, soft-looking, uneven. Nothing was in order. No one had forced it to be. He took a step forward. The floor didn't echo the way the cage did. It didn't remind him he was there. He stopped near one of the toys. Something small, made of plastic. Bright, useless. He stared at it longer than he meant to. His hand lifted slightly. Then paused. Something held him back. He wasn't told not to touch it. No one was watching. Still his fingers curled back slowly, like the movement itself was wrong. Max lowered his hand. The silence pressed in, but not the same silence he knew. This one wasn't empty. It felt full. Like something was waiting to be noticed. His chest tightened. It wasn't a new feeling. He had known anger. Hunger. The dull, heavy weight that came from long days and longer nights. But this was sharper. Unsteady. His gaze shifted again, slower now. The bed, the window, the toys. All of it sat there, untouched by him. Like it belonged to a life that had nothing to do with his. For a brief second, something flickered in his mind. Not a clear memory just a feeling. Something he couldn't quite reach. He stilled, tried to hold onto it, it slipped away. Max exhaled quietly, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. His eyes dropped back to the floor. The same toy was still there. Unmoved, unwanted. He looked at it for a long time. Then, without thinking too much about it, he nudged it slightly with his foot. It rolled a short distance and stopped. That was all. Max watched it, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. The room stayed the same. Quiet, warm. Still not his. After a moment, he turned away. But the feeling didn't leave.