His eyes widened, the glint of admiration barely masking something else—shock? Awe? Fear?
"Spectacular," he murmured, leaning forward ever so slightly. "The only one of its kind."
A muscle ticked in my father's jaw. His lips curved into something that resembled a smile, but it held no warmth. "I'd appreciate it if no harm came near her." His voice was steady, yet laced with an unspoken warning.
Mr. Thompson straightened, clearing his throat. "She is safe here, Mr. Johnson. I can assure you that."
He turned his gaze back to me, but I caught the quick flicker of unease in his eyes—like he wasn't sure if he should be addressing me or my father. His hand slid across his desk, pushing a crisp admission form toward me.
"Dara, here is the admission form. Fill it out and bring it back tomorrow when you resume."
I could feel the weight of his stare, the unspoken questions lingering behind his polite smile. My father gave a curt nod, reaching for the papers without breaking eye contact with the principal.
"Okay, thanks then," my mother said, sensing the tension and stepping in.
Mr. Thompson exhaled, forcing another smile. "Yes, thank you for coming." He moved toward the door, leading us out, but I didn't miss the way his shoulders stiffened as my father walked past him.
By the time we got home that afternoon, something felt… different. My palm tingled, an odd warmth spreading where the cut had been. I glanced down—and my breath caught. The wound was gone. Not even a scar remained.
Heart pounding, I rushed toward the kitchen, where the scent of simmering spices filled the air. My mother stood by the stove, stirring a pot, her movements calm, practiced—like nothing in the world was out of place.
"Mom," I blurted, holding out my hand. "Look."
She turned, her brow creasing slightly. "What is it, honey?"
"My hand," I said, my voice unsteady. "It's… healed." I got the cut this morning. How—how did it disappear so fast?"
A soft smile curved her lips. "Well," she said lightly, "your mother happens to be a very good nurse."
I frowned. "But—"
Before I could press further, she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and nodded toward the dining room. "Go set the table, Dara."
The finality in her tone made it clear—the conversation was over. But as I turned away, confusion still swirling inside me, I couldn't shake the feeling that she knew exactly what had happened.
I moved sluggishly toward the dining table, my hands working on autopilot as my mind spiraled. The plates clinked softly against the wooden surface, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were louder. Too loud.
The cut on my palm—gone, like it had never been there. My mother's forced smile. The way she brushed off my question.
Something wasn't right.
A shadow shifted beside me. I looked up, startled. My dad stood there, arms crossed, watching me.
"Dad?" My voice came out hesitant.
"Yes, Dara?"
I hesitated, then blurted, "Can I ask you something?"
He nodded, sliding into the chair across from me. "Of course."
I swallowed. "Do you and Mom have powers too?"
A pause. A flicker of something in his eyes. Then—"Hmm… I guess so."
My breath caught. "Really?" I leaned forward. "What are they?"
Before he could answer, my mom's voice cut through the air.
"Honey, could you help me over here, please?"
My dad sighed, giving me an apologetic look before standing up. "We'll talk later," he murmured before disappearing into the kitchen.
But I wasn't sure we would.
The moment my dad stepped into the kitchen, my mother's voice dropped—a hushed whisper, urgent and strained.
Their voices were low, but not low enough. From where I stood, I could hear the tension woven between their words, the careful edge in my mother's tone.
"Don't tell her anything yet," she said, her voice urgent. "It's for her protection, remember?"
A pause. A breath.
"She just wants to know if we have powers too," my dad countered, quieter, but firm.
"And she has to know."
Silence stretched between them.
Then my mother, sharper this time. "Well, don't tell her more than that."
More than what?
I stepped closer, my pulse quickening. "More than what, Mom?"
Their heads snapped in my direction. My mother stiffened. My father exhaled.
"Well," she said too quickly, "more like… how your father and I met."
A lie. A careful, deliberate one. I could hear it in the slight tremor of her voice, see it in a way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes.
But I let it slide for now.
After lunch, I retreated to my room, the crisp admission form spread across my desk. The pen glided over the paper, each stroke sealing my fate at Richmond College. Within minutes, it was done. A simple task, yet the weight of it pressed against my chest.
Evening crept in, stretching shadows along the walls. Mom had already left for her night shift at the hospital, leaving just me and Dad. The house felt quieter, the air heavier.
We sat in the living room, the soft hum of the television filling the silence.
"So, Dad," I said, shifting to the couch. "What are your powers?"
A flicker of something crossed his face—hesitation, maybe amusement.
Before he could answer, the room plunged into darkness. The television cut off, the ceiling fan stilled.
I stiffened. The sudden stillness felt unnatural, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Dad exhaled through his nose, unbothered. "Sit here," he said, already rising to his feet.
A minute later, the lights flickered back to life, chasing away the shadows that had stretched long and eerily across the walls. The low hum of the generator filled the silence as Dad returned, sinking onto the couch beside me.
He stretched his arms over the backrest, exhaling as if he had just lifted a weight off his chest. "Well," he said, his gaze steady, "I'm incapable of feeling pain". And nothing can pierce my skin."
I froze, my mind stuttering over his words.
"What?" I breathed, staring at him. Then, without thinking, I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him. It bounced off his shoulder like a feather against a stone.
"Wow," I whispered, my pulse racing. "That's insane."
But the awe faded as another thought settled in, heavier than before.
"But why, Dad?" My voice was quieter now, laced with something raw. "Why keep all this from me? "Why have you and Mom never told me anything?"
The air between us thickened. He held my gaze, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes. A secret too big, too heavy. And suddenly, I wasn't sure I was ready for the answer.
"Well, because we