Unbind me

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

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The walk back to my room feels longer than it should. My legs are heavy, my mind swimming in a sea of thoughts that refuse to settle. Kenji stays close but unusually quiet. The silence between us is unsettling, but I can't bring myself to break it.

When we reach my door, Kenji scans his ID card, and the lock clicks open. He gestures for me to step inside. I hesitate for a moment, glancing at him. His face is unreadable, but there's something softer in his eyes, something almost like concern.

"You did good in there," he says finally, his voice low.

I don't respond. The words feel empty, like they're meant to soothe a wound that hasn't even been acknowledged.

Once inside, I sit on the edge of the bed, the thin mattress creaking under my weight. Kenji lingers in the doorway, watching me like he's waiting for something. When I don't say anything, he sighs and leans against the frame.

"You need to rest," he says. "Today was... a lot."

I nod absently, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. "Is he always like that?" I ask softly, not daring to say Warner's name.

Kenji's expression hardens for a moment, but he quickly masks it with a shrug. "Warner's... complicated. He's got his reasons for everything he does. Doesn't mean they make sense to the rest of us."

I look up at him, searching for answers he seems reluctant to give. "What does he want from me?"

Kenji hesitates, his jaw tightening. "That's something only he knows. But trust me when I say he's not someone who does things without a plan. You're part of it now, whether you like it or not."

A shiver runs down my spine. "And you? What's your part in all this?"

Kenji gives me a small, humorless smile. "I'm just a guy trying to survive. Same as you."

That answer feels like a lie, but I don't press him. Instead, I nod again, and Kenji steps back into the hallway. "Get some sleep, Seraphina," he says before the door slides shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in on me. I glance at the bookshelf, still empty, and the camera in the corner, its tiny red light ominous in the dimness. My fingers itch with the memory of the power I unleashed in the training room, the way it hummed and roared through me like it had a mind of its own.

I stand and begin pacing, the restless energy in my body refusing to settle. My gaze flickers to the window, where the faint glow of daylight filters through. The outside world feels impossibly far away, a place I'm not sure I'll ever reach again.

But then my eyes land on the mattress, and my heart skips. The file.

I move quickly, lifting the corner of the mattress and pulling out the stolen file. The pages feel heavier now, weighted with the secrets they hold. I flip through them again, my eyes skimming over the cold, clinical words that describe Juliette's abilities, her past, her nightmares.

And then I see it. A single line, buried in the middle of a report, that sends a chill down my spine.

"Subject J may not be the only one."

I stare at the words, my mind racing. The implications are too big, too terrifying to fully grasp.

The buzzing starts again, faint and insistent, but this time it's not just the camera. It's inside me, a low thrum of energy that refuses to be ignored. My powers, still simmering beneath the surface, feel more present than ever, like they're waiting for me to acknowledge them.