Unbind me

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Seraphina Sterling
"my life was never about living, it was always about surviving"

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I don't know how much time has passed. Minutes? Hours? It's impossible to tell in this place. The room has no clock, no windows, no sound apart from the faint buzz of the fluorescent light overhead. I've lost count of how many times I've gone over every possible escape scenario in my mind, each one more hopeless than the last.

When the door finally opens, I almost don't react. My body is too exhausted, too worn down by the weight of waiting. But the moment he steps inside, my senses snap to attention.

He moves with purpose, every step deliberate, the sound of his polished shoes clicking against the floor unnervingly calm. His presence fills the room, heavy and consuming. I force myself to look up at him, and my breath catches in my throat.

The man is... striking. His features are so sharp they could cut glass—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and pale, almost porcelain-like skin that seems to glow under the harsh light. His golden-green eyes are piercing, intense in a way that makes it impossible to look away. They seem to see through me, stripping away my defenses with a single glance. His blond hair is immaculate, perfectly styled as if not even the chaos of this world could ruffle it.

There isn't a single detail out of place. He's clean, composed, pristine in a way that feels almost unnatural in a world as broken as this one.

He closes the door behind him without a word, the soft click echoing like a gunshot in the silence. I sit frozen, unsure whether to speak, whether to stand, whether to breathe.

"Who are you?" The question escapes my lips before I can stop it, my voice barely above a whisper.

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but the suggestion of one. He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I'm an experiment, a puzzle he's already halfway to solving.

"I am Aaron Warner," he says, his voice smooth, almost melodic, yet carrying an undercurrent of steel. The way he says his name is like a declaration, like it should mean something to me, though it doesn't.

"And you are," he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Seraphina, yes?"

The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. It's too familiar, too deliberate, like he's been saying it in his head for days, rolling it over his tongue until it lost all meaning.

"What do you want?" I ask, forcing my voice to steady even though every part of me is trembling.

He steps closer, and the room seems to shrink around him. "You're an interesting one," he says, ignoring my question entirely. His tone is casual, conversational, but there's a sharpness beneath it, a blade hidden in silk. "I've read your file. Your abilities."

My stomach drops. "My... abilities?"

His smile sharpens, his golden-green eyes glinting like a predator's. "Oh, yes. The things you can do. The things you've done. Fascinating, really. Though it seems you've been trying very hard to suppress them. I wonder," he pauses, leaning in ever so slightly, "what you might be capable of if you stopped holding back."

I recoil instinctively, my chair scraping against the floor as I try to put distance between us. His expression doesn't change, but I swear I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"You didn't answer my question," I say, gripping the edge of the chair to keep myself grounded. "What do you want?"

Warner straightens, clasping his hands behind his back in a movement so smooth it seems rehearsed. "What I want," he says slowly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, "is for you to listen. To understand."