Max couldn't sleep that night.
Not because of nightmares.
Not because of pain.
But because something inside him wouldn't stop burning.
The green flame — his curse — pulsed with every question that ran through his mind.
If his body could barely withstand this power, how could he possibly survive against a Pure Vice?
What if this was all he'd ever be — a prisoner in this place, slowly being molded into a living weapon?
Would he ever be free?
He didn't have the answer.
But the more he thought, the hotter the fire in his chest became.
Eventually, he climbed out of bed, ignoring the cold floor on his bare feet. He saw the faint glow of green in the mirror as one of his eyes flickered.
Still unstable. Still cursed.
Max wandered into the dorm's lounge — a sterile but quiet space shared by Unit Twelve. A few couches. A shelf of unread books. A fridge stocked with exactly enough rations to keep them alive.
He collapsed onto one of the sofas, lying flat, throwing his arm over his eyes.
"Am I just a weapon?" he whispered aloud, unsure if he wanted an answer.
"Yep," came a voice behind him. "We both are."
Max sat up halfway.
Ava strolled in, her oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, a protein bar hanging loosely from her fingers.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked casually, unwrapping the bar with her teeth.
Max rubbed his temple. "Do you think we'll ever be free?"
That made her pause.
She didn't look at him at first — just chewed quietly for a second, thoughtful.
Then:
"I don't know."
She sat down across from him, folding her legs under her.
"I've been here longer than the rest of you. Long enough to know there are a lot of things they don't tell us. But I also know one thing — this place doesn't want you to believe in freedom. You gotta fight for it. Tear it outta their hands."
Max stared at her.
Her tone wasn't angry.
Just tired. Real.
"I believe killing a Pure Vice is possible," she added. "But we'd have to get hella strong to pull it off. Like… suicidal levels of strong."
The flame inside Max flickered again — this time, it didn't burn.
It waited.
Like it was listening.
"...You said you've been here the longest," Max said after a pause. "So tell me — how come the world doesn't know about this?"
Ava blinked at him. Then let out a dry chuckle.
"Yeah. Good question."
Max leaned forward. "I mean… Vices, Virtues, this whole facility — how the hell is it all hidden? No news coverage, no whispers online… nothing?"
A new voice joined in.
"Maybe they cover it up with something else."
Samira stepped into the room, her long hair swaying slightly with each step.
She didn't look tired. She looked like she hadn't even tried to sleep.
She reached for the miniature fridge — grabbing a drink.
"Military accidents. Environmental disasters. 'Gas leaks.' Take your pick. Humanity believes what's convenient. The government probably works with the Virtues to keep it all quiet."
Ava raised a brow. "You're saying the world's just okay with people disappearing?"
Samira gave a cold smile. "They don't know they're disappearing. That's the point."
Max looked between the two girls.
"So… we're ghosts."
"Not even," Samira gave a sassy grin. "We're shadows. And shadows don't get remembered."
Max stood up and walked to the far side of the room. He placed a hand against the wall, staring at nothing.
"There has to be a way out," he muttered. "Some way to leave this place."
The room went quiet.
Ava and Samira exchanged a glance.
Then Ava said it, like it was a fact — not a guess, not a hope.
"There is. They told me once."
Max turned. "How?"
Ava looked him dead in the eyes with a tired grin.
"To leave... we have to kill our Pure Vices."
Max knew that but the green flame inside Max's chest suddenly flared. He staggered slightly, catching himself on the wall.
Kill our Pure Vices.
That was the price of freedom.
He looked at the other girls — at Ava's tired grin, at Samira's unflinching calm — and for the first time since he arrived...
He didn't feel entirely alone.
But the fire inside him?
It burned hotter than ever.
One Week passed after that night.
Max hit the floor hard. Again.
His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his chin. His arms shook, his muscles were sore, and every inch of his body screamed to stop.
"Get up," Kaz barked, standing over him. "Control means nothing if you can't stay standing."
Max forced himself back up.
He could still feel the fire coiled inside his chest — waiting to break out. But now, he could keep it from leaking out through his skin. Mostly.
In the training room, the lights buzzed overhead. Scorch marks painted the walls from Kaz's earlier drills. Mira's illusions flickered from another corner. The room felt alive with heat, pain, and effort.
Max slammed his fist into a sandbag.
Flames burst from his knuckles — not wild, but focused. His hand didn't burn this time.
It only hurt a little.
Progress.
During that week, something had shifted in him.
The fear hadn't vanished, but it had been buried beneath something sharper.
Determination.
He woke up early. Trained until exhaustion. Learned how to ground the fire when it surged. Ava taught him breathing techniques. Kaz showed him how to counterattack even while holding power back.
And every night, after the others fell asleep, he stood alone in the lounge…
Staring at his reflection.
One eye green.
One eye human.
"I'm going to get out of here," he told his reflection.
Not a whisper. Not a hope. A promise.
"I'm going to kill the one who cursed me."
Behind his words, the green flame inside him pulsed once — not in pain.
But in agreement.