I opened my eyes and found myself floating in darkness, with nothing in sight as far as I could see.
I tried to move but found out I couldn't move my hand or anything for that matter, just like a statue. I tried again—fingers, toes, neck—nothing. Not even a twitch.
So I gave up and started thinking. I couldn't do anything else right now anyway.
Am I even alive, or did I also die in that explosion?
I shook my head—or at least imagined I did.
If I was dead, how could I think right now? Dead people don't sit around questioning whether they're dead.
Hmm…? Coma?? Maybe…
I just started to think about what I could have done better… what I could have done differently so I wouldn't have had to resort to that level of stupidity. The whole thing played back like a bad movie I couldn't turn off.
Who was I kidding, though? I knew what I should have done. I should have trained harder, become stronger, learned how to properly use my abilities instead of just winging it every time… maybe tried a different plan entirely.
Sigh… next time—if there even is a next time—I will be better. I've decided.
"Why do you think what you did wasn't enough?"
I was startled, but still couldn't move. I heard the voice clearly but couldn't even open my mouth to respond.
"Oh, my bad. Now try to speak."
Suddenly I could speak and move—or to be more accurate, float—in this darkness. I turned around slowly, scanning the void.
And then I saw myself.
What??
I blinked. Once. Twice. It didn't help.
Standing there—or floating, same as me—was me. The old me. Younger features, familiar face, everything exactly as I remembered from years ago. It was like looking at an old photograph that somehow looked back.
"Who are you??"
"Me? I am you."
"I can see that, but how is that even possible??"
"Well, even I don't know," he said, shrugging casually like this was a perfectly normal situation. "I just saw you here when I opened my eyes, heard what you were thinking, and replied with what I thought."
"You can hear my thoughts??" I stared at him. "And you know what happened to me?"
"Yeah, I can hear them. And all those questions you have—believe me, I want to answer them—but I don't know what those answers are either."
I looked at him strangely.
He shook his head before I could even ask.
"I don't know where we are, who I am, or why we're here. I only know what you know."
I went quiet and started turning it over in my head when he interrupted me with the same question again.
"Why do you think what you did wasn't enough? You didn't actually answer me."
"Oh… that." I paused. "I wasn't really thinking it wasn't enough. Honestly, I couldn't have done anything more in that situation. It's just a habit—always looking for ways to improve myself. Nothing too deep about it."
He smiled at me, soft and unhurried, and said,
"Is that really true? Is that the real reason?"
The question caught me completely off guard. I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
"I think so… maybe… I don't know?"
He smiled again, the same patient smile, and said,
"You don't know… or you don't want to know?"
Okay, fair. I was dodging and I knew it. Having a philosophical argument with myself—literally—was not something I had on cards for today. But to be honest…
"I know… I just don't think acknowledging it out loud changes anything. It's just a thought. Nothing too important."
He looked me dead in the eyes and said,
"Remember what Dad used to say when we had nightmares? When we were young?"
The words came to both of us at the same time, like muscle memory.
"Every thought is a decision you have yet to make." X2
We said it together, and something about hearing it in stereo made it land heavier than it ever had before.
He smiled and continued,
"Strange piece of wisdom. But when you actually think about it—it makes sense. Our thoughts shape what we do and how we do it."
He tilted his head slightly.
"And right now, you're not thinking about the situation to improve yourself. You're regretting decisions you didn't make."
That hit somewhere uncomfortable.
"You're regretting what you could've done differently because you don't know the outcome yet. The result hasn't even been revealed—and you're already mourning it."
My shoulders dropped just a little. Barely noticeable, but he noticed.
"…You said it," I muttered.
He didn't let up.
"You didn't pick up this habit because you wanted to get better. You started doing this because there's a regret you've never told anyone about. And now it bleeds into everything you do—every action, every decision."
I went still.
Then my eyes sharpened, and I looked at him—really looked at him.
"Who are you?"
"I am yo—"
"Don't." My voice came out flat and cold. "Don't bullshit me. You are not me. And don't you dare take me for a fool."
The smile disappeared from his face. He looked at me for a long moment, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter, almost pitying.
"Till when are you going to carry this burden?"
"I don't need you," I said evenly, "or anyone else, to tell me how to live."
He held my gaze with that same pitying smile. Then the darkness around us shifted, peeled away like paper—
And I opened my eyes.
A hospital room ceiling. White. Bare. Flickering slightly under fluorescent light.
My eyes were wet. I noticed that before anything else—the warmth on my temples, the sting behind my lids. My breath was hitching, my lips pressed together hard enough to hurt.
But I didn't cry.
No. You can't show weakness. Not anymore. Not when everything is at stake. You have a duty to be strong. You can't be weak like last time.
And just like that, like a switch being flipped somewhere deep in my chest, my face settled. The vulnerability folded itself up neatly and disappeared somewhere I couldn't immediately find, locked behind a door I'd gotten very good at keeping shut.
I looked around the room.
Hospital room. Clean. Quiet. Machines I was apparently not hooked up to anymore.
If I was in a hospital, at least help had arrived. I exhaled slowly and let the tension in my shoulders go. I sat up and ran a quick check on myself—arms, ribs, legs. I pressed along my side where I remembered the impact being worst.
Nothing. Not even a bruise.
So I heal faster too… nice.
I was still turning that over when the door clicked open and a nurse stepped in. She looked up from her clipboard, saw me sitting upright, and her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"You're finally awake?"
She walked over and gave me a quick once-over, eyes moving efficiently from my face down.
"You've recovered nicely, I see."
"How long was I out?"
"A day," she said, making a small note. "Honestly, I'm surprised at how quickly you healed. You had some minor bruising when you came in, but since you weren't waking up we admitted you and ran checks for head injuries. Thankfully, nothing came up."
I nodded. "Was a girl also brought in with me? Or admitted around the same time?"
She shook her head. "No, but a girl was the one who admitted you. Platinum blonde. Pretty. Do you know her?"
I nodded again, a quiet sense of relief settling in my chest.
After changing back into my clothes and getting the discharge sorted, I stepped out into the afternoon sun and started walking home, already mentally bracing for whatever was waiting for me there.
I checked my phone. One message. Alice.
"If you see this, call me.PS: Everyone is okay, don't worry. I'll explain everything when you call, so call me."
A small smile found my lips before I could stop it. I shook my head.
I'd call her after the lecture from Mom and Dad and Clara. And probably Rex too, knowing him.
I took a slow breath before opening the front door.
The living room noise hit me first—the TV, the low murmur of conversation. Mom, Dad, and Clara on the couch. Three pairs of eyes swung toward me the moment I stepped in.
Then Mom said,
"Oh, you're back? Go freshen up—dinner will be ready soon. Tonight's spaghetti."
I stared at her.
"…You're not going to ask what I was doing?"
"Spare me the details of whatever you boys were up to all night," she said, waving a hand. "Otherwise my blood pressure will skyrocket—and you wouldn't want that, right?" She smiled at me, and there was just enough sharpness behind it to let me know she knew more than she was letting on.
It clicked.
Shane. I'd given him a heads-up before everything went sideways. He'd covered for me.
I mentally gave him a thumb's up and said brightly, "No, I definitely wouldn't want that," and headed upstairs before anyone could look at me too carefully.
(3rd Person P.O.V.)
The three of them sat in silence for a moment after his footsteps disappeared up the stairs.
"So," Adrian said quietly, keeping his eyes on the screen. "What do you think? Is he hiding something again?"
Elena watched the empty staircase for a moment before answering.
"Yes. I'm sure of it." She settled back into the cushions. "But if he doesn't want to tell us, there's a reason. He'll come to us when he's ready. Have a little faith in our son."
Adrian nodded slowly and let it drop, turning his attention back to the TV.
Clara didn't say anything. She hadn't moved since Kray walked in—still sitting with her knees pulled up, still staring at the screen like she was watching something entirely different from what was playing on it.
She looked toward the stairs for a long moment.
What happened to you… big bro?