I kept dreaming of her—the figure in the purple cloak.

But this time she didn’t just approach.

She stopped.

She looked at me.

That gaze—cold, too familiar. As if she knew me better than I knew myself.

And something inside me cracked.

The knife in her hand didn’t strike.

It just waited.

A sharp, metallic scent sliced into my nostrils. My skin tightened with a sudden chill, as if the air itself had frozen.

My heart pounded like a war drum in the middle of a storm.

If she’d already taken my blood… Maybe this time she was here to take me.

I woke with my pulse racing, alarm bells inside me.

But I wasn’t sure—was I awake, or still trapped in her world?

Morning

The kitchen smelled of warmth—coffee, butter, and bread—a fragile attempt to melt away the night.

I collapsed into a chair, weighed down by exhaustion.

“What happened to you?” Sierra asked.

“I didn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, you look it,” she said in a gentle tone.

I rubbed my eyes. “And I’ve got Oliver today. Perfect.”

Her gaze flickered—like she remembered something she didn’t want to share.

“Some lessons,” she said with caution, “are more dangerous than they seem.”

“Life lessons. Pain equals growth, right?” My tone was dry.

She hesitated. Then, almost to herself, she whispered:

“I remember what it was like… when he taught me. Sometimes what he breaks… he also rebuilds. Maybe it’s the only way he knows.”

Her eyes betrayed pain; her voice tried to hide it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want comfort—I wanted understanding.

She hugged me anyway. Warm. Gentle. But it wasn’t enough.

At School

Jace sat alone, bent over his notebook. He looked as worn out as I felt.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey.” His eyes lifted—uncertain.

“What happened yesterday?” he asked.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I had to go.”

“Go where?” His hand hovered near mine—close, too close.

Although his hand was not touching mine, I still felt its presence.

“I just… didn’t want to leave like that,” I whispered.

His gaze dropped. He fiddled with his pen, then spoke:

“It’s okay. Sometimes… I don’t know how to say things either.”

I saw it in his eyes—the words he wasn’t saying.

About me.

And I couldn’t breathe.

The bell broke the silence.

Psychology Class

The teacher wrote on the board: The Little Prince.

“Who knows this book?”

Linnea’s hand shot up before mine.

But something about her was wrong.

Her smile stretched too wide. Her clothes—too neat. Her voice—too precise. Almost robotic.

Like someone wearing her body.

She spoke, reciting:

“A pilot crashes in the Sahara Desert. He meets the Little Prince…”

Her words were perfect. Too perfect.

Her eyes didn’t blink. Her movements felt… borrowed.

Cold. Off.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

She continued:

“The fox teaches him to tame. He realizes he loves the rose, flaws and all. He returns to his planet.”

I looked at her—and for the first time, I wasn’t sure if it was really Linnea.

The teacher asked, “The snake—was it death? Or freedom?”

“The prince believed the snake would help him return home,” she explained. “You see with your heart; what matters hides from the eye.”

She turned to us. “What does it mean to have a profound understanding of someone?”

Jace’s voice was quiet and hesitant.

“I think… You have to ask the right questions. If they avoid the answers, it might mean they are not ready.

His eyes found mine.

And it felt like he was straightforwardly asking me.

The teacher nodded. “And you, Amelia?”

My throat tightened. My page remained blank.

“It depends on the person,” I said.

“Explain.”

I swallowed. “Some people… don’t open up. Some need another chance.”

Her gaze pierced deeper. “And which are you, Amelia?”

I blinked. The truth burned in my chest—but the words didn’t come.

She gave the assignment.

Write two things. What kind of person are you when it comes to connection? Choose one student here—write what kind of person they are.”

My pen hovered over the page.

I looked at Jace.

He looked back.

Maybe everything I wasn’t saying was already written on my face.

But did he see it?

If I don’t even know who I am, how can I expect anyone else to see me?