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Chapter 4 - CH 4: Sam Hunter

The corridor air felt like frost in his lungs, each inhale shaping a ghostly mist that clung to the tile floor before vanishing. He pressed his palm against the steel locker, willing the cold away with a flicker of energy he dared not show. The tension thrummed beneath his skin—an echo of Dr. Hewett's words still reverberating in his mind.

Dr. Hewett had spoken of psychological welfare as if unveiling an ancient secret. His tone was clinical, detached, yet the classroom had crackled with something else. A few students exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado slipping for a moment. One girl's knuckles whitened as she gripped her notebook; another boy's foot tapped like the beating wings of a trapped bird. But for him, the lecture unlocked questions he had buried deep—questions about how the brain might warp reality, how power and thought could twist into something terrifying. He sank into his seat just as the late morning light slanted through the blinds, slicing the room into alternating bars of brightness and shadow. He didn't register Dr. Hewett's next words. He replayed the professor's dispassionate analysis of the brain's hidden corridors, wondering what lay behind the neural gates of thought and power. His mind wandered back to his night-time lessons with Mrs. Rae. Her lessons were supposed to ground him, teach him to shape water with intention. Yet every exercise ended in calamity. The first time, a sliver of consciousness exploded the mirror he levitated—a spider-web fracture across the glass that poured shards onto the linoleum. The second time, he miscalculated a mental tether and slammed his head against the cold tile, darkness swallowing him whole. He remembered waking to fluorescent lights and the sterile taste of antiseptic.

Each morning, he wove new stories for his injuries—athletic mishaps, clumsy stumbles in hallways. The infirmary nurse's raised eyebrow became as familiar as the steady drip of the IV. A distant chime pulled him back. Dr. Hewett's lecture was winding to a close, moving on to synaptic pathways and emotional regulation, but the words felt hollow now. In the hush, he sensed something stirring beneath his ribs—a current of possibility, or perhaps a warning. The bell rang, a sharp crack in the stillness. Books closed. Chairs scraped. The classmates filed out, leaving him alone with the faint hum of the projector. He lingered, tracing the light patterns on the floor. His breath wavered as he tested his control, calling on the dormant power within.

The mist in front of him solidified into a tiny orb of swirling vapor. It pulsed, slow and steady, as if alive. He stared, heart pounding, at that fragile sphere of his own making. Dr. Hewett had warned that the mind could be its own greatest ally—and its most merciless captor. The class was empty, except for Dr. Hewett who stood there silently. The faint light caught his glasses blinding me for a moment. He wore an expression of concern, for a moment I thought he was going to say something but he didn't. He looked like he was holding something back- something he didn't know how to say. His eyes held the expression of someone who'd seen thousands of students break under the pressure of this lecture, but I didn't know that.

The hallway is clear- except for a lone figure leaning heavily against a wall, a trail of crimson follows her. Her clothes are dotted with red and she's holding on to the door handle like it's a lifeline.

I quicken my pace, desperate to get a look at her face, I hear footsteps behind me and I spin around. Dr. Hewett stands there like a silent watch guard. A 'overseer', his expression is one I can't quite describe-it's like he's seen this before. In that moment- you could see the certainty of a man who was determined and it scared me, more than I want to admit. The figure collapses in a heap, struggling to remain conscious. I rush forward just as she's about to fall, her breathing is shaky, almost non-existent. I get a good look at her face now- my breath catches, it's Reina, she looks so.......vulnerable.

 

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