"You disappoint me, Storik," Paul spat right in his face.
"When did I ever say I cared about your opinion?" Andrew shot back. "Don't forget—you're a teacher first. Not some vengeful piece of shit."
"You're the one who forgot why you stayed here," Paul sneered. "You're pathetic. Fell for that trash's story? Don't forget who he really is—and what he did."
"He's not that person anymore, Paul!"
"I don't give a damn!" Paul roared. "To me, he's still a filthy nobody who crushed her dreams. Do you even know what came of that? Do you know, Andrew?!"
His voice broke into a shout.
"Don't you dare paint me as the villain! He doesn't belong here!"
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
Then slowly—
limped forward.
Through the crowd.
"Act like a teacher, Paul!" Andrew roared.
"And if it were anyone else," Paul sneered, "would you be jumping at my throat like this? I doubt it, Storik."
A step closer.
"So what did he give you, huh? Come on. Tell me. What did Holivan do to make you protect him?"
"Shut up," Andrew growled.
Paul burst out laughing.
Unhinged.
Too loud.
Too sharp.
Then his eyes landed on me.
"Well, look who showed up—the star of the show!" he barked. "Holivan!"
He laughed again.
"Hard to kill, huh? Like a damn cockroach."
And then—
his face changed.
Cold.
Empty.
"I've got nothing left to lose."
The attack came instantly.
A spray of thin, needle-like streams of energy—
straight at me.
"Move!" Andrew roared, throwing out a spear-like surge of power—
Too slow.
I inhaled.
Released my tether.
Snapped it forward.
Threaded it through the air—
cutting across the incoming needles—
deflecting them one by one.
My body didn't listen properly.
Too stiff.
Too slow.
Pain dragging every movement down.
Didn't matter.
If those hit—
it wouldn't just be me.
I missed one.
Just one.
It flew straight toward the space between my eyes.
I shut them.
Braced—
Nothing.
No impact.
I opened my eyes.
Matthew stood beside me.
Face dark.
"…Thanks," I breathed.
"Instructor," Matthew said coldly, "attacking someone injured is beneath you."
Paul didn't even get to answer.
Andrew moved.
Exploded forward.
Like a beast.
Paul didn't stand a chance.
Andrew didn't even use power.
He slammed him to the ground—
straddled him—
fist already coming down.
I'd never seen him like that.
Not once.
I didn't think.
I just moved.
Grabbed his arm mid-swing.
Weak.
Barely holding it.
"Stop," I said. "He's not worth it. Andrew—stop."
He was breathing hard.
Rough.
Heavy.
Then—
his hand dropped.
Slowly.
He stood.
"Touch him again," he said flatly, looking down at Paul, "and you're dead."
Then he turned.
Walked away.
I followed.
Limping.
Every step worse than the last.
"He's not human, Storik!" Paul shouted after us. "He's a damn devil! Just wait—when his memory comes back, he'll destroy your life too! Just like he destroyed mine!"
Andrew didn't even slow down.
"Wait—" I called, forcing myself to catch up.
My body was starting to burn.
Every muscle protesting.
"Alan," he said, snapping out of it, "you shouldn't be moving like this. Why aren't you in the infirmary?"
"Hospitals depress me," I muttered.
Then looked at him.
Seriously.
"Why does he hate me so much?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
Silence.
Then—
"Why dig into the past?" Andrew said. "You're not that person anymore. Anyone who knows you now would say that. This Alan Holivan has nothing to do with who you were."
"I still want to know."
He exhaled.
Slow.
"You started a chain of events," he said. "Paul just needed someone to blame."
A pause.
"It's not your fault."
Another.
"She was weak."
"…Who?"
"Paul had a girlfriend," Andrew said. "About two years ago. She killed herself."
I went still.
"She wanted to be a designer. Got invited to present her work at an elite exhibition. You were there too."
A pause.
"And you didn't like what she made."
"…I humiliated her," I said quietly.
"You could say that."
A beat.
"A couple months later, she hanged herself. In her note, she wrote that someone like her didn't deserve to live."
His gaze shifted to me.
"And listed everything you said."
I looked down.
Bare feet.
Only now realizing—
I'd walked out like that.
"If it weren't for me…" I said quietly, "she'd still be alive."
"If it weren't you, it would've been someone else," Andrew said, dismissive. "Someone would've said it sooner or later. And she would've done the same thing."
I didn't argue.
Every new piece of my past—
made it worse.
Heavier.
And made Paul's hatred feel—
deserved.
I stayed in my room another day.
Then—
I couldn't take it anymore.
"And where exactly are you going?" Robert asked, watching me pull on my uniform pants.
"To breakfast."
"One of us will bring you food. Like yesterday. Get back in bed."
"I'm not lying there anymore," I snapped. "I'm going to class."
"No, Holivan," Robert said, serious now. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Not this week. You're not going anywhere."
"I'm not staying locked up here," I shot back.
Too sharp.
Too fast.
He frowned.
And I knew—
he wasn't the problem.
But he was the only one I could snap at.
I got along with people.
Matthew.
The twins.
Miguel.
Alma.
Nick.
Even some upperclassmen backed off.
But they weren't friends.
Not really.
Matthew kept his distance.
Always.
Like he was there—
and not.
Nick had his own motives.
So did Alma.
And I still hadn't talked to her.
The rest—
barely mattered.
Robert was the only one I could call a friend.
So I sat down.
Quiet.
"Sorry, Robert. I shouldn't have snapped."
"It's fine," he shrugged with a grin. "I get it. After something like that, I'd want to get stronger too."
"Yeah…" I exhaled. "Everything's just piling up. Silus' assignments. Classes. Alma. Now this."
I rubbed my face.
"Sorry. Really."
"Speaking of Alma," he smirked. "Since when are you two a thing?"
"I… don't even know how that happened," I admitted.
"Try me."
"Well… Saturday, Silus dragged me into the city. We ran into his fiancée—turns out she knew me. The old me," I added, grimacing.
"Then Alma showed up."
"We drank."
"Stayed overnight."
"And…"
I stopped.
Face heating up.
"And?"