The next morning, I was up early, dressed, and seated at the kitchen table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as my mom placed a bowl of cereal in front of me.
"Excited?" she asked, her voice light, but her eyes searching for mine.
I stirred my spoon through the milk, watching it swirl. "I guess," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
She let out a soft chuckle. "Richmond College is a great school. And maybe—just maybe—you will make some friends. The principal said there are others like you there. You'll fit in just fine."
Dad, who had been silently reading the newspaper, cleared his throat. He folded the pages carefully and set them aside.
"My dear Dara," he said, his voice calm but firm. His gaze met mine, serious, knowing. "I need you to understand something."
Dad's voice carried a quiet warning, the weight of it settling over me like a heavy cloak.
"You can't use your powers openly," he said, his gaze holding mine. "I know it may come unexpectedly—when you're angry or anxious—but you have to learn to control your emotions."
I swallowed, the spoon in my hand suddenly feeling too heavy. My powers had always felt like a wild thing inside me, unpredictable, untamed. But now, hearing him say it so plainly, it was like he expected me to leash something I barely understood.
"Okay?" His voice softened, but the edge of concern remained.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His expression eased into a small smile. "Now, hurry up with your breakfast. You don't want to be late on your first day."
I finished eating in silence, my mind racing with questions I wasn't sure I was ready to ask.
Minutes later, Mom's car pulled out of the driveway, the morning sun casting long shadows as we headed toward Richmond College.
As we pulled up to Richmond College, the silence pressed in again, thick and unnatural. The air felt still, untouched by the usual chaos of a school morning. I glanced around, searching for movement—anything that would break the eerie calm.
"Why is it always so quiet here?" I murmured under my breath, gripping my backpack strap a little tighter.
Mom didn't seem to notice my unease as we made our way through the school's polished halls. The sound of our footsteps echoed, swallowed by the heavy stillness. When we reached the principal's office, she knocked once before pushing the door open.
Mr. Thompson greeted us with a knowing smile, his sharp eyes settling on me as if he could see right through me. I shifted uncomfortably as Mom handed over my admission file, neatly filled out.
He chuckled, flipping through the papers. "Welcome to Richmond College, Dara," he said, his voice warm yet laced with something I couldn't quite place.
"Thanks, Mr. Thompson." Mom stood, smoothing down her blouse. "I guess I should be going now."
Something flickered across the principal's face—just for a second, gone before I could catch it. A glance at me, then at Mom, like he knew something we didn't.
Mr. Thompson's smile didn't waver as he reached for the phone on his desk. "Mrs. Johnson, I assure you, Dara will love her time here at Richmond College," he said smoothly, already dialing.
Mom turned to me, brushing stray hair from my face. "Alright, sweetie." Have a great first day."
I forced a small smile. "Okay. Bye, Mom."
As mom reached for the door handle, it clicked know open on its own. A woman stepped inside, moving with quiet precision. She was tall, dressed in the school's navy blazer, her expression unreadable.
"Yes, sir," she said, her tone crisp and professional.
Mr. Thompson gestured toward me. "This is Dara Johnson. She's new. Her class is Essential "A". Show her around—locker, library, the works."
The woman's gaze flickered towards me, sharp but assessing. She nodded once. "Yes, sir."
Something about her presence sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn't sure if it was the way she moved or the way Mr. Thompson watched me like I was more than just another student.
I followed her out of the office, my steps hesitant, the weight of my mother's parting glance lingering. She walked ahead, her posture straight, movements precise. I turned back once, watching Mom disappear down the opposite hallway toward the exit. A strange feeling settled in my chest—like I had just stepped into something bigger than I understood.
The hallway stretched before us, silent except for the faint hum of distant voices behind classroom doors. The air smelled of polished wood and something faintly metallic. My guide stopped abruptly, turning to face a row of identical lockers.
"This is yours," she said, tapping a sleek silver locker with my name embossed in neat, capital letters: DARA JOHNSON.
A strange sensation ran through me—like I wasn't just a student but something marked, chosen.
"Thanks," I murmured, running my fingers over the cool metal before stepping back.
She gave a curt nod. "Come. Let me show you your classroom."
We continued down the hallway, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. "Lectures are already in session," she continued, glancing at me. "Soon enough, you'll find your way around—library, other parts of the school."
Her tone was smooth, practiced, but something about it felt… off. Like she was saying one thing but thinking another.
I swallowed and followed, my heartbeat a quiet drum against my ribs.
The moment we stepped inside the classroom, the air shifted. Conversations halted. Pens stilled against paper. Every pair of eyes turned toward me, dissecting, assessing. A slow prickle crawled up my spine.
My guide leaned in, murmuring something to the teacher before slipping out, leaving me stranded beneath the weight of countless stares.
The teacher, a tall woman with sharp eyes and an air of quiet authority, cleared her throat.
"Listen up, everyone," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "You have a new classmate—Dara Johnson."
A murmur rippled through the room, some curious, others indifferent. I stood there, hands tightening around the strap of my bag, feeling like an animal being observed in a cage.
"Quiet," the teacher commanded, her voice slicing through the murmurs like a blade.
The whispers died instantly. The weight of the silence pressed down on the classroom, thick and suffocating. I could still feel their eyes on me, their curiosity hanging in the air like a storm about to break.
The teacher's gaze swept across the classroom, daring anyone to defy her. No one did.
With a sharp inhale, I forced myself to stare straight ahead, pretending I couldn't feel the invisible thread of attention pulling at me from every direction.
Then, the teacher's gaze turned to me before flickering towards an empty desk by the window.