(POV – Victor Hale)
Hurried footsteps echoed endlessly through the narrow hallways, each one striking like a reminder of the urgency consuming him. The mont he got the call, Victor didn’t think twice—he dropped everything and ran straight to the research facility where his sister was.
His face was heavy with worry, lips pressed into a tight line and eyes sharp, as if every second of delay could cost him dearly. He moved quickly down the halls, heart pounding in his chest, until he stopped in front of a tal door.
Above it, a large, impossible-to-miss sign displayed the initials C.P.I.C.A. — Center for the Study of Individuals with Anomalous Cases. A na Victor had always thought was pretentious, even a little ridiculous, now felt heavier than ever, as if it reminded every visitor of the gravity of what went on inside.
But Victor’s attention didn’t stay on the sign for long. Without hesitation, he pulled the access card from his pocket and swiped it through the scanner beside the door. A brief beep echoed, followed by the soft click of the chanism unlocking.
The two halves of the door slid apart with chanical precision, revealing a new hallway—long and silent—lined with dozens of doors, almost perfectly aligned on both sides.
Victor let out a heavy sigh, as if gathering courage, and then took his first step inside, feeling the air grow slightly cooler than outside. His footsteps echoed again, now faster, almost too rushed, carrying the nervous energy that grew with every step.
The sound of his soles hitting the floor beat like a frantic drum, keeping ti with the racing of his heart. His expression, once firm, began to falter little by little, giving way to a restless, anxious look.
He passed the doors without sparing them a glance—he knew the path too well to need confirmation. This wasn’t his first ti here, and as always, his feet carried him to the sa door, the sa room, almost as if he were bound by so silent, inevitable ritual.
Victor’s footsteps finally stopped. In front of him stood a simple door, smooth wood, with a tal handle worn from ti. Above it, fixed with two small screws, a naplate with a single na engraved: “Sara Hale”
Victor had lost count of how many tis he had stood exactly here, motionless, as if simply staring at the naplate were so unspoken rite. The minutes slid by slowly, and he remained still, eyes fixed, as though waiting for the door to open of its own accord.
He tried to rember the last ti he’d seen Sara smile—or even speak—but his mind returned only a disquieting blank. It hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen her interact with the outside world, but for Victor, the mories felt distant, faded, as if years had dragged by since then.
Victor reached out toward the doorknob, but the motion stopped almost as soon as it began. His fingers recoiled as though the re thought of touching the door had beco painful. For a mont, a torrent of possible futures crashed through his mind—warped images of his sister, his only family, in a state so wretched he wouldn’t even dare to face her.
He stepped back, heart beating unevenly, resting a hand on his thigh to steady the tremor. The anxiety that had been gnawing at him along the way now peaked here, before this simple barrier loaded with so much aning.
But... Victor simply shoved it all aside, forcing every emotion into so invisible box deep within himself. His stomach churned, a heavy nausea rising, and for a second his knees felt weak.
Still, he took a deep breath and stepped forward again, until he was once more in front of the door. His hand trembled as it brushed the cold tal of the handle, a chill running up his arm. Slowly, almost solemnly, he turned it, hearing the sharp click that preceded the low creak of the door as it opened.
The faint creak echoed as the door swung inward—the sa sound Victor had heard dozens, maybe hundreds of tis. And yet, it always sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. That door only ever opened for him for one reason: Sara’s condition had gotten worse.
Victor drew in a deep breath, hesitating, his fingers gripping the cold wood of the doorfra before stepping inside. For a mont, he wondered how many more tis he’d have to hear that sound before he would never have to pass through it again. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know when—or if—that day would ever co, and silently prayed that it never would.
***
(POV – Protagonist)
A few hours had passed since Victor had simply vanished. I still had no idea what had happened or where he might have gone—and that uncertainty was starting to bother more than I’d like to admit. To make it worse, the silence surrounding the matter was almost suffocating.
Emily, Laura, and Rupert—the three who had always been closest to Victor—avoided the topic entirely. They exchanged quick glances whenever his na ca up, as if they knew sothing they couldn’t or wouldn’t share, which only made the air feel heavier.
Of course, I don’t expect them to share sothing so delicate with an anomaly like —it would be naive to expect that. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that keeping out of sothing this serious is, at the very least, strange.
Everyone has seen that I’m not a threat, that I’m trustworthy, and they know what I’m capable of. Maybe I could even help... so why not tell ? To make things worse, I can’t get Victor’s last look at out of my head.
There had been hatred in his eyes—and honestly, it was the first ti he’d ever looked at like that. Normally, at most, Victor looked at as if I were so eccentric little creature, sothing curious and maybe even slightly amusing. That’s probably the best way to describe the way he usually saw .
But this ti was different. Behind the hatred, sothing else shone—hope. A strange, almost painful hope, like he desperately wanted to do sothing... but couldn’t ask for it. His expression seed to scream words his mouth refused to speak.
I’m not even sure how close I am to Victor. Definitely less than what I share with Laura and Emily, but still more than with Rupert. Maybe that’s exactly why I feel the urge to help—or at least try.
I’m not all-powerful, sure, but I’m pretty sure I could handle whatever it is that’s weighing on him. And even if I don’t know exactly what to do, I know my little sisters would probably have the right answer.
With that storm of thoughts swirling in my mind, I decided to leave my room. I needed to find Laura and Emily—probably the only two people willing to tell what’s really going on with Victor. More than answers, I wanted to understand the reason behind that look.
There was sothing heavy in it, sothing that cut through like a cold blade: hatred. Without a second thought, I left behind the quiet of that mont. Just seconds ago, I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs lightly as I got lost in thought.
Then, with a sudden impulse, I jumped forward and stood up. My movent didn’t go unnoticed by Althea, who—as always—was floating serenely beside , tilting her head with that quiet curiosity that seed to read my every intention.
Gliding like a breeze, Althea landed near , her wings still fluttering softly. With a gentle look, she tilted her head and asked, her voice soft and tinged with concern: “What’s wrong, my dear sister? Is sothing bothering you? You’ve seed so distant... I’ve noticed for a while now”
When I turned toward Althea, who was so close I could feel the warmth of her breath, I raised my hand almost without thinking and gave her a light pat on the head. It was a soft, almost playful gesture, but enough to make her relax instantly, as if all the weight she carried had lted away for a mont. A glimr lit up her eyes, and I caught the faint smile she tried to hide.
(I’m going out for a while. There’s sothing I need to confirm) I sent the thought to her, my face serious but calm.
Althea arched a delicate eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her eyes for a mont, but in the end, she stayed silent—her reserved nature speaking louder than any words. I, on the other hand, caught myself distracted, entertained by her slightly sulky deanor, almost forgetting where we were.
Then another voice rang out nearby, laced with a tone that mixed pride with understanding: “I imagine this has sothing to do with those humans, doesn’t it? You seem to like them quite a bit”
When I turned toward the voice, I found Eryanis. She sat elegantly in a chair, legs crossed, hands delicately holding a steaming cup of tea—the sa tea she had asked the scientists for a few minutes earlier.
The table in front of her and the chair itself had also been her requests. That made pause and think: after all, we don’t even need to eat or drink, and to be honest, the only thing I ever really consu is ice cream. Maybe that’s why it never occurred to to ask for sothing as simple as a chair or a table.
I thought for a mont about what to say to Eryanis, but before I could open my mouth, she spoke again:
“Honestly, I don’t get why you care so much about them” Her voice carried a mix of boredom and disdain: “I an, there are so many... I can barely rember a single one of their nas. To , they’re all the sa”
She finished with a slight shrug, as if the topic wasn’t worth more than that, then turned her gaze elsewhere, clearly uninterested.
I was montarily taken aback by Eryanis’s words—so that’s how she saw humans? A strange blend of curiosity and discomfort settled over . I glanced first at Althea, then Nyara, and finally Nekra.
Each of them was looking at in a different way, but all shared the sa unspoken question. Yes, it was written on their faces: none of them understood why I was trying so hard to help the humans. From their perspective, I was the true oddity here.
While this new realization still twisted through my thoughts, Nekra, who had stayed silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice—always slow and lazy, weighted with the exhaustion of soone centuries old—broke the stillness of the room: “Zentharys really seems to like them” she said, dragging out the words as though the mory ant little: “I rember she asked to protect them last ti so of them ca here”
Then Althea spoke beside , her voice carrying that easygoing tone that seed to be her signature, as though nothing in the world could ever truly shake her calm.
“Hmm... I guess I don’t really mind,” she said with a lazy little shrug: “I an, this side of my dear sister is cute. Besides, I kind of get why she likes them so much—after all, in a way, I was the one who gave them life”
Finally, Nyara decided to speak as well. Her voice ca out soft, almost a whisper, tinged with hesitation:
“I... like this side of her” she murmured, shifting uncomfortably as though the words weighed too much. Her cheeks flushed pink, her gaze darting aside for a mont before she added, even more timidly: “Pretty... and kind”
Honestly, there wasn’t much to say about everything they had just talked about. From their point of view, I probably did seem like soone strange — and, for so reason, that realization made stop and think.
Could it be that, in the end, I was seen as an odd being by both the anomalies and the humans? The thought kept echoing in my mind for a few seconds, and even without asking anyone, I had the unsettling feeling that the answer would inevitably be “yes”.
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