The night was unusually quiet at the RAGE facility, the kind of silence that felt heavier than any alarm or warning system. I stood by the window of my room, black gloves still on, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. My reflection stared back at me, pale and beautiful, yet deadly—like a predator in a cage. I clenched my fists.
“Another sleepless night?” Athanasius’ voice came from behind, soft but deliberate. I froze, turning slowly. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his emerald eyes catching the dim moonlight.
“Not… really,” I lied, forcing a neutral tone. My heart, however, betrayed me—it skipped a beat at the sight of him.
He stepped closer, careful, respectful, yet his presence made the air around me electric. “Morana… you’ve been distant lately. Even more
