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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."
"Understand what?"
"That your life," he says, stepping closer until he's looming over me, "is no longer your own. It belongs to us now. To me."
His words send a chill down my spine, but I force myself to meet his gaze. "I don't belong to anyone."
His smile widens, but there's no warmth in it. "Oh, Seraphina," he murmurs, his voice like a caress and a threat all at once. "You'll find that resistance is futile in a place like this. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."
I clench my fists, anger sparking in my chest despite my fear. "You don't know anything about me."
"On the contrary," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans in, his golden-green eyes boring into mine. "I know everything."
His words hang in the air, suffocating in their weight. I want to look away, to tear my gaze from his, but I can't. He's terrifying, commanding, and yet... I can't deny there's something captivating about him, something magnetic that makes it impossible to think clearly.
"I'll be watching you," he says, his tone both a promise and a warning. Then, without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me alone with nothing but the echo of his footsteps and the suffocating realization that my nightmare is far from over.
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The door slams open again, and for a moment, I think it's Warner coming back to finish whatever twisted game he's playing. But when I glance up, I see someone else—someone entirely different.
He's tall, built lean with a kind of effortless grace that speaks to years of training. His dark hair falls in messy strands over his forehead, giving him a carefree, almost disinterested look. But when he meets my eyes, his gaze is sharp, assessing, never quite leaving mine. His uniform is starkly different from the pristine attire Warner wears. His dark jacket is practical, military in style, with angular designs that add an air of intimidation. The black fabric hugs his lean frame, the sharp lines of the outfit highlighting his athletic build.
He doesn't seem as cold as Warner, though. In fact, when he speaks, there's a certain nonchalance to his tone, something almost casual about the way he moves. It's a strange contrast to the harsh, controlled environment I've been thrust into.
"You look like a deer caught in headlights," he says with a grin that seems entirely too relaxed for my current situation. His voice is smooth, with a touch of humor buried beneath it. "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you."
I narrow my eyes, unwilling to trust him.
"I'm Kenji, Kenji Kishimoto," he says, his grin widening. "At your service. Well, sort of. I'm just the guy they send in to make sure you don't lose your mind while you're locked up in here." He pauses, studying me. "So far, it looks like you're doing a pretty good job of staying sane, huh?"
I don't respond. The tension in my body is too thick, my thoughts too scrambled. I'm still processing Warner's visit, trying to figure out what he meant by your life belongs to me.
Kenji takes a step closer, but not too close—just enough to let me know he's not a threat. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you," he continues, his tone softening slightly. "I work for Warner. That's the bad news." He shrugs as if it's not a big deal. "The good news is, I'm not like the rest of the people here. I don't enjoy seeing people suffer. You can trust me, alright?"
I tilt my head, skeptical. Trust someone who works under Warner? It's hard enough trusting anyone in this place, let alone someone who's associated with the monster himself.
Kenji seems to sense my hesitation. "Yeah, I get it. You don't know me. But, here's the thing—being locked up in a room with no one to talk to? That's torture. I've been there. So, I'm here to offer you something a little different. I'm going to get you out of this cell and into somewhere... a little more comfortable. At least, for now."
I glance around, still unsure. The room I've been stuck in feels like a cage, and yet, the thought of leaving it, stepping into the unknown, terrifies me even more. The powers I've been trying to suppress are stirring again, rising inside me like a storm waiting to break free.
Kenji sees my hesitation, and his smile softens, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "Hey, I'm not asking you to trust me right away. But if you want to get out of here, I can make that happen. You don't have to stay in this tiny box. Let me show you something better."
I want to refuse, to stay in this small, suffocating room where I at least know what to expect. But something about the way he speaks, so calm and sincere, makes me want to believe him.
"I'll go with you," I say, my voice hoarse from disuse.
Kenji gives a small nod. "Good choice. I'll try not to make it worse for you." He walks over to the door, pressing his hand against the panel beside it. The door slides open with a soft hiss, and I step out, my legs shaky from the hours of inactivity.
We move down the narrow corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I notice how different this place feels from the asylum—the air is somehow colder, heavier with the weight of secrets. It's a maze of hallways and steel doors, all leading to places I have no interest in seeing.
Kenji doesn't speak much as we walk, but there's a strange ease about him. He seems unaffected by the sterile, oppressive environment around us. It's almost like he's been here long enough to know how to live in it without being consumed by it.
After a few minutes, we reach another door—this one larger, more ornate than the others. When Kenji opens it, I step into a room that immediately feels less like a prison and more like... a holding cell, at least. There's a bed, a small desk, and a chair by the window. It's still bare, but it's warmer than the cold metal room I've just left. The walls are painted a soft, neutral color, and there's a window—small, but a window nonetheless. It doesn't lead anywhere, but it's something.
Kenji steps aside, allowing me to enter. "This is your new home for now," he says with a shrug. "Not too bad, right? I can bring you some food, whatever you need. You just let me know."
I glance around the room, still unsure how to feel. It's certainly better than the small, dim cell I was in before. But that doesn't mean I trust it.
"What's going to happen to me?" I ask, my voice quiet.
Kenji looks at me, his expression unreadable. "That's something you'll have to ask Warner." He pauses before adding, "But don't worry. I'll be here. If you need someone to talk to, I'm your guy. Just don't get any funny ideas about escaping, okay?"
I look at him, still uncertain, but for the first time since I arrived, I feel like there might be a sliver of hope. A tiny crack in the darkness where someone might actually care.
"Thanks," I say quietly, though I still don't know if I can trust him.
Kenji smirks, the corners of his lips curling up in a teasing grin. "No problem. But hey, if you need help with anything, just remember: I'm not your enemy."
As he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I'm left alone with my thoughts again, the weight of this new reality pressing down on me. Something tells me this is just the beginning. The calm before the storm.
And I'm not sure if I'm ready for what comes next.
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The door clicks shut behind Kenji as he leaves me in the room alone. The sudden silence feels almost suffocating, and I can feel my thoughts rushing back to the one thing I can't seem to escape: Juliette.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my legs curled underneath me, staring out of the small window. The world beyond is gray and cold, the sky a blur of storm clouds that seem endless. But even though I can't see much, I feel the weight of the world outside press against me. Somewhere out there, Juliette is still trapped in this nightmare, just like me. I have no idea where she is now or what's happening to her, but I can't shake the thought that she's just as lost and scared as I am.
My heart aches for her. She's been through so much, and even though we've barely spoken, I feel a connection to her. We both understand the kind of pain that comes with being locked away, isolated, and forgotten. I wonder if she's okay... if she's even still alive.
The thought causes a chill to run down my spine, and I quickly shake my head to push the worry away. I need to focus on the present, on what's happening to me right now. I can't afford to fall apart.
That's when the door opens again, and Kenji steps back inside, this time carrying a tray with food and a bottle of water. The smell of the food hits me immediately, and I realize how hungry I truly am. My stomach growls involuntarily, a sharp reminder of how long I've gone without anything resembling a decent meal.
Kenji sets the tray down on the small table near the window. "Here," he says casually, as if we're old friends. "I figured you could use something a little better than whatever they give you in this place. You don't have to thank me." He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. "But, y'know, you probably should."
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. It's a fleeting, weak smile, but it's the first time today I've felt something close to normal. "Thanks," I say, sitting up straighter.
I look at the food—there's a slice of something resembling meat, a pile of rice, and a small portion of vegetables. It doesn't look like much, but it looks real—like actual food, not the tasteless slop I've grown used to in the asylum. The water is clean, clear, and free from the contaminants I'm sure I drank in the asylum.
I can't remember the last time I had anything like this. In the asylum, water was scarce. They rationed it like it was a luxury, and food was barely edible. I had to rely on the small scraps I could find in my cell to get by. Now, here in this room, the simple act of being given something decent to eat feels like a small act of kindness in a world that's been nothing but cruel.
I reach for the water first, my hands trembling slightly as I unscrew the cap. The cool liquid feels like heaven as it slides down my throat. For the first time in a long while, I'm able to drink my fill.
Kenji watches me, arms crossed. "You look like you haven't had water in days," he says, a touch of amusement in his voice.
I pause, the water still lingering on my lips, and glance up at him. "I haven't."
His eyes soften for a moment, and then he nods. "Yeah, I figured as much. They don't exactly treat you like humans in that asylum, huh?"
I don't respond right away. What can I say? It's not like he doesn't know. He's part of this system, part of the machinery that keeps people like me locked away. But he's different from the rest of them—at least, he seems to be.
I put the water down and take a small bite of the food. It's surprisingly good. The meat is tender, the rice cooked just right, and the vegetables are fresh. It's nothing extravagant, but to me, it's a feast. The simple flavors remind me of something from before—all those years ago when food wasn't a luxury, when I didn't have to fight for survival with every passing day.
For a moment, I forget where I am.
Kenji doesn't say anything while I eat. He just stands there, waiting. I'm sure he's used to this—being around people who are wary, who can't trust anyone. He probably knows that trust doesn't come easily in places like this.
Finally, I put the fork down and look at him. I feel the tension building again, the weight of the question I've been holding onto since I arrived. The question I need to ask, even though I'm not sure I'm ready for the answer.
"Where's Juliette?" My voice is quiet, but the words still hang in the air, heavy and sharp.
Kenji's expression hardens for a split second. He doesn't look at me, doesn't respond right away. I can see the conflict in his eyes, like he's trying to decide how much he can say, how much he should say.
"She's safe," he says finally, but there's something in his voice that makes me think it's not the full truth.
I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean by safe?"
Kenji hesitates, clearly not wanting to elaborate. But after a long, drawn-out silence, he sighs and leans against the wall. "She's not in the same place as you," he says carefully. "But she's not in any immediate danger, either."
I study him, trying to read between the lines. I don't know if I should believe him, but something about the way he says it feels... off.
"Can I see her?" I ask, almost desperate.
Kenji's gaze shifts, his jaw tightening. "I don't think that's possible right now." His tone softens, as if trying to make it sound less harsh. "But she's fine."
I want to believe him, but there's a knot in my stomach that won't loosen. The idea of Juliette being out there, alone again, makes me sick. I can't help her if I don't even know where she is.
"I just need to know she's okay," I murmur, more to myself than to Kenji.
Kenji looks at me for a long time, then finally nods. "I'll see what I can do," he says quietly. "But for now, just focus on taking care of yourself. You're not going to be any good to anyone if you fall apart."
I don't respond. I don't know what to say. The feeling of helplessness is overwhelming, and I can't escape it. But for the first time since I arrived, I feel a tiny sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Kenji isn't as bad as the rest of them.
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Kenji's eyes soften as he watches me. I'm not sure what to expect next, but the next thing I know, he's pulling something from his pocket. It's a small, weathered notebook. He holds it out to me, and for a moment, I just stare at it, unsure of what I'm looking at.
"This was yours, right?" Kenji asks quietly, his voice unusually gentle. He flips it open, and I can see the familiar scribbled notes, messy handwriting, and faint, almost imperceptible marks in the margins. The notebook I stole from the doctor, the one I'd hidden away, the one that had become a small piece of sanity in the insanity around me.
I'm stunned, my breath catching in my throat as I reach out and take it from him. I clutch it tightly, almost as if it might disappear if I let go. I can't believe he has it. How did he...?
"How did you get this?" I whisper, my voice trembling slightly.
Kenji smiles, but it's not a smile I can fully trust. There's something almost knowing in his expression, like he's seen it all before. "It wasn't hard to figure out. I'm not completely out of the loop, you know." He pauses, his gaze flicking to the notebook again. "I figured you'd want it back. It's the only piece of... control you've got, right?"
I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from the notebook. The pen is tucked inside it, too. It's almost like it's been waiting for me. My fingers graze the pen, the same one I'd used to write my thoughts in the asylum, the one that had become my small act of rebellion against the prison they'd put me in.
"It's... it's all I have," I say quietly, the words barely more than a whisper. "All I had left, anyway." I clutch it even tighter, as if holding it too firmly will somehow keep everything from slipping out of my grasp.
Kenji watches me for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful but guarded. Then he gives a short nod. "You're welcome." His tone is light, but there's a flicker of something more in his eyes—something like understanding, maybe even a little sympathy.
I almost can't believe it. A part of me wants to trust him. But another part knows better. I've been burned too many times to just hand over my trust to someone, even if they seem kind.
"I know you're not used to people doing things for you, but..." Kenji trails off, his gaze distant for a second before he shakes his head. "I'm just trying to help. Not everyone in this place is... well, the same."
I don't know how to respond to that. I stare at the notebook, and for a moment, I forget where I am, who I am, and everything else around me. The notebook, the words inside it, they're a small thread of normalcy in a world that's anything but.
Finally, I take a deep breath and glance up at him. "Thank you," I say softly, my voice steady. I don't know if he'll keep his word, or if this is just another manipulation. But for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—he's telling the truth.
Kenji looks at me, his expression unreadable for a second, and then nods, turning towards the door. "I'll check on you later," he says, his tone casual, but there's a faint warmth to it. "Don't do anything too crazy while I'm gone, alright?"
I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence returns, but this time, it doesn't feel as heavy as it did before. The notebook rests in my lap, the pen beside it, and I feel something stir inside me—a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I won't have to face this place alone.
For the first time in a long while, I feel like there's a chance for something more. But only time will tell if that hope is worth holding onto.
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A/N- I tried to write aaron and kenji as accurately as possible so forgive me if I didnt 😰