"Ahh!" I twisted, a moan escaping my lips. The pain was unbearable.
"Easy, my little girl! You're hurt! The doctor's on his way!" she said quickly, glancing back. The doctor appeared at the door just then.
He knocked, and she opened it for him. I straightened up as he walked in and began examining me.
"Marvelous," he muttered, eyes on my back. "You're healing fast. The wound on your front is still fresh, but your back... I'd say it healed the moment you unleashed your power." He smiled, then handed a leaf to Mrs. Leonardo. "You know what needs the most healing now," he added, hinting at more than just physical wounds.
Everything still ached. I felt drained, my legs barely steady when I stood. She brewed tea using the leaves he gave. "Such pretty golden leaves," she murmured, then handed me the cup. I drank without hesitation.
"These helped me too," she said softly. "I was drugged… by…" Her voice faltered, and she bit her lip.
I met her eyes, and a tear slipped down my cheek. "We had a black sheep within these walls… and we couldn't see him. I… didn't see him." My hands trembled as she gently held them. "Why is it always me?"
I finished the tea, hoping it would heal something deeper, but the truth hit harder than the warmth in my chest—wounds can heal, but destruction isn't so easily undone.
"Excuse me," I muttered, standing with a shaky breath. I rushed out, avoiding the eyes of the other students, heading straight for the rooftop.
It looked exactly like it did in my dream. The fence, the vines—everything was just as I'd seen it. Everything… except Dorian. He wasn't there. And just like in the dream, I broke down in tears.
"Hey, are you alright?" The voice caught me off guard. I turned and saw Tristan sitting on the bench. "Sorry if I startled you," he said, lowering his head.
I wiped my tears and forced a smile. "I just got out of prison, and I still can't believe I'm free," I said, offering a vague excuse.
"Believe me, I get it." He nodded, sensing I wasn't ready to share more.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked, shifting the conversation.
"Waiting for Shawn. He said he'd bring me some proper clothes so I can leave."
"You're not staying?" I asked, surprised.
He let out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "I've got to go see my uncle. And… I'm a little old for school."
I gave a slow nod. "Where's Shawn now?"
"He went to the medical wing. Liam's getting checked out. He'll be back with the clothes."
That's when I realized—I hadn't visited Liam yet.
----
Liam lay in the medical bay, resting. When he woke, he saw Cris standing at the window, her expression tense. The doctor stood nearby, mid-conversation. "The bullet passed through his lungs. He's healing quickly. Nothing to worry about—he's a phoenix, after all," he said with a shrug before leaving.
Liam coughed, drawing Cris's attention. She rushed over just as he tried to sit up, placing her hands on his shoulders to steady him. "Rest," she whispered.
He gave in and looked up at her, noticing the glassiness in her eyes. "What is it?"
"Never do that again… please," she whispered, voice trembling.
Something in him softened. He smiled gently, reaching up to brush away her tear. Their eyes locked, and neither of them looked away. Without realizing it, she leaned in. He met her halfway.
The kiss was tender, filled with everything they hadn't said. He pulled her closer, his hand cradling her back, her breath catching against his lips. It was sweet and aching, as if time itself had stopped to let them feel the weight of almost losing each other.
They didn't see Shawn.
He was only a few steps from the doorway, frozen in place, watching them through the glass.
His heart sank, but he didn't say a word. Instead of making a scene, he quietly turned away, choosing to let them have that moment. Liam was recovering, and they were friends now. That mattered more than anything.
I rushed downstairs, apologizing mid-stride. "I'm so sorry, I need to go!" But before heading to the medical wing, I slipped into the bathroom to pull myself together.
I splashed water over my face, again and again. That's when I felt it—a strange itch near the wound. I lifted my shirt and saw it: the cut was shrinking. A thin smear of blood circled it, but it was healing. I rinsed it gently. The itch deepened, and the wound tightened even more.
Then I looked up—and froze. Strands of my hair were turning cold, bluish white. I blinked, splashed more water to wake myself up, but the mirror didn't lie. The color was crawling out through the roots; it wasn't completely blue yet, but now streaked with white. It even looked longer, not by much—an inch, maybe two—but enough to notice.
It felt like a dream, but my pulse said otherwise.
I rushed out of the bathroom and nearly collided with Shawn on the stairs.
"Hey," he greeted, walking down with Tristan beside him. Tristan had changed into a simple V-neck, he had black curly hair and sharp features.
Somehow, it made him look sharper, more sure of himself. He was clearly ready to leave.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" I asked.
He smiled—and in that smile was my answer.
"I'd never belong here. Besides, my uncle needs me," he said with a shrug.
"I don't belong here either," Shawn muttered. "I'm not special."
Tristan paused. He placed a firm hand on Shawn's shoulder, locking eyes with him.
"Believe me, you are. You just haven't seen it yet." And with that, he walked away.
"I was going to see Liam. Want to come with me?" I asked as soon as Tristan walked away.
"No, don't… not yet," Shawn said quickly. Then his expression shifted, growing distant. "I went there and they were… You know, they…"
He trailed off, unable to finish. I tilted my head, confused. "They were what?"
He stared at the ground, and then I understood. "Oh. That's… new," I said, unsure how to react. But he looked hurt, not angry—just quietly devastated. My expression softened. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, stepping forward to hug him. He let me, and I gently patted his back.
Wanting to shift the mood, I pulled away and lifted a few strands of my hair. "Look what just happened."
As I'd hoped, it caught his attention. His eyes widened, and the sadness eased. "This looks so cool," he said, reaching out to touch the streaks.
"In my family, everyone has golden or orangish highlights—except me and…" I paused, realizing I'd circled right back to what hurt him. I pressed my lips together.
He met my gaze with tears that sparkled but didn't fall. Then he rolled his eyes and chuckled. "He's my friend. I'm glad he's healing."
He slung an arm over my shoulders as we walked toward the main hall. "So, tell me more about your hair. If your whole family has those colors, why are yours different? Did it happen because of that… ice circle thing you did?"
"It sounds crazy, but I was in the bathroom washing my face when I felt this tingling on my wound—like it was stretching and itching."
He nodded knowingly. "We all know that feeling."
"I realized the doctor didn't apply anything after removing the bullet, so I checked the wound. It was shrinking! I tried washing the blood around it, and it kept shrinking. Then I looked up at my reflection—and saw my hair turning blue. It happened right in front of me!" I explained, and he listened, mouth slightly open in shock.
"That's… awesome!" he said as we kept walking.
"Join me for a drink?" he offered, flashing a smile.
I nodded. It felt like the right way to cope. We were both nursing broken hearts. At least now, I wasn't facing it alone—and I was grateful for that.
At the table, people started coming up to us—girls and guys, too many to count. Some asked for autographs, some took selfies. I glanced at Shawn, unsure, but he gave me a small nod. So, I signed.
But as the crowd pressed in, I started to feel smothered. Sensing it instantly, Shawn stepped in. "Give the lady some space!" he said firmly, making the group scatter. Finally, I could breathe again.
We'd been sitting for a while, half-finished drinks in front of us, when Shawn spoke up. "You seem distracted."
I gave a small nod, but his look—gentle, knowing, almost parental—made it impossible to dodge the truth.
"I… I'm glad I'm back," I admitted. "But… I can't stop thinking about Don."
I looked away. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
He gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes—and I did. I tried to hold it in, I really did, but the tears still came. "He was right there, so close… and I couldn't see him for what he was." I rolled my eyes, hoping the motion would chase away the tears, but nothing worked this time.
"I know," he said quietly. "I mean, look at me. I've known him longer than you did… and I couldn't see it either."
"Do you think… maybe he was being used?" I asked, my voice unsteady. For a moment, I thought I was just looking for excuses—but Shawn nodded.
We let the question hang for a while, then chose to let it go. I owed him something, too. "I'm sorry about Cris… and my brother." I should've been happy for them—my brother and my closest friend—but I knew how much it had cost Shawn.
He let out a dry laugh. "If this mess taught me anything, it's that I'm never falling in love again." His voice went flat.
"Neither am I," I said quickly, placing my hand over his.
"You know what?" He looked straight into my eyes. "We could be great buddies. Actually, I pledge my loyalty to you—our queen of frost." He chuckled, then grew serious. "I promise I'll be there for you, always."
I smiled and gave him the same promise in return. He was right—we both felt lighter, like something heavy had finally lifted.
"Let's make it last longer!" We clinked our bottles together. "To never fall in love again!" we cheered, laughing.
We spent hours at the bar and ended up so drunk that it was hard to stay on our feet. Still, I managed to help Shawn to his room as he mumbled, "So you are basically saying that you are a crossbreed!". I guided him inside and eased him onto the bed. As I turned to leave, a pillow slipped off the couch. I bent to pick it up, but I lost balance and stumbled, falling right onto the couch. I tried to get up, but I was too exhausted and too drunk. Before I could try again, sleep took over.
Two hearts had broken that night—but somehow, two others found their way toward each other.
In Cris's room, Liam lay beside her, gently tracing her palm, studying every line like it held a secret. "I like your hands," he whispered with a smile. She blushed.
"You don't have to wear those gloves anymore," Cris said softly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Not with me."
He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I need them… especially around you. I've been through hell, Cris. And now I've found peace in you. I'm not ready to risk losing it." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You must be tired. Get some rest."
He slipped out of her bed and buttoned up his shirt.
The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep—including me. For the first time in forever, I slept like a baby.
Until I heard someone calling my name.
I didn't open my eyes. I was afraid—afraid that when I did, I'd be back in the tank again. And I was too tired to face it. I stayed still, eyes closed, until someone shook me awake.