Even now, standing in class, the phantom pain clung to me, a cruel, unshakable reminder of what Logan had done. It coiled beneath my skin, waiting, lurking. I exhaled sharply, giving my head a small shake as if I could dislodge the memories forcing their way to the surface. Not now. I had to focus.
Still stuck at 1.01 seconds, my interface might’ve been the fastest of every Superior Offensive at Cyclos, but it still wasn’t enough.
I tried to center myself, to block out the noise and the pressure. I homed in on my emotions, desperately trying to avoid the darkness threatening to seep through, but it was no use.
The harder I fought, the more it consumed me. I tried to think of James, but Logan’s face surfaced instead. I wanted to focus on love, but fear cut through me like a knife. I tried to banish the memories of Coastal, the pain in my arm, the memories of my life force bleeding out at the hands of the Radicals—but again, I failed.
In a moment of utter despair, I thought, screw it. If the darkness was going to win, then fine. Let it. Maybe it would fuel my energy enough to drop my interface below the second mark.
So for a second, I gave in. Let the darkness seep in, flood through me, consume me whole.
I shut my eyes, tuning out the room, the people, the weight of their scrutiny. And focused on the man already occupying every thought. Logan.
The hatred surged so violently I could almost taste it—acidic, bitter, all-consuming. He had ruined my arm, shattered my nights with endless nightmares, carved himself into my skin like a scar I could never erase.
I hated him. Ihatedhim.
His cold obsidian eyes came into view, sharper than ever, and I could feel the tremor in my hands.
"Emma, you’re in control." Nino’s voice was clear, but it didn’t exactly reach me. She was right there, standing a few feet away, but her words sounded like they were coming from miles underwater. Pressure closed in from every side—a hammering pulse, shallow breaths, pain ricocheting through my skull.
Logan.
Coastal.
Being bound to a tree, blood dripping from my arm.
I fought to breathe, to focus on anything other than the intense hatred ingrained in my skin, but it was useless. The darkness surged up from everywhere at once, raw and wild, and I let it take me.
I heard people gasp but I could barely register it.
Suddenly, the room shifted, and the temperature dropped. I sensed the change before I saw it—the energy coiling and snapping around me like a beast. I opened my eyes, and frowned, searching for the change I’d clearly manifested.
Then the walls began to drip.
At first, it was only a few drops. I blinked, thinking maybe it was some weird kind of sweat or condensation from the cold air. But it wasn’t.
Thick, red streaks began to run down the walls, seeping from cracks and corners, pouring onto the floor. It spread faster and faster, coating everything in sight—the walls, the ceiling, the floor beneath my feet, slick and warm. The air filled with the metallic stench of iron, thick and suffocating. I stood there, paralyzed, watching the blood fall, splatter, and pool around me.
And it wasn’t stopping.
It was everywhere. Rushing down the walls, filling the space. Nino had stepped back, her lips parted like she was about to saysomething but couldn't find the words. Philip and Matthew were no different, stiff and unmoving, as if afraid to even breathe.
Before I could properly process what I had done, the entire floor was covered in warm, thick blood.
Myblood.
I knew it in my bones. It wasn’t an illusion—it was real, a reflection of what had been done to me last year. The blood I’d lost, the life they nearly drained from me, twice, was here, pouring out of every surface like the room itself was bleeding on my behalf.
A crackle of power, great and uncontrollable, shot up and down my spine. The room pulsed with it, glowing crimson like the rhythm of a heartbeat. My heartbeat. Fast, erratic, each pulse sending more blood cascading down the walls.
This isn’t happening.
But it was. I could see it, smell it, feel it. I had summoned every ounce of blood any Radical had ever taken from me. The room was drowning in it, like I had drowned in my own suffering.
My trauma now visualized. For everyone to see.
I should’ve stopped. I should’ve pulled back. But instead, I let it consume me. A heavy, oppressive stillness claimed the room. No one dared to move. The darkness had taken over, and I had let it.
