Michael stood at the doorway, staring directly at Elizabeth. They locked eyes, but with a stark contrast: one stared in pure shock, while the other stared in sudden realization—the crushing realization that he had truly neglected his only anchor to humanity. In a room containing four beds and four girls, Nadirah, Elizabeth's friend, quietly backed away and sat down on her own bed, keeping completely silent. No one dared to disturb the charged space between the "demon of Emox" and his counterpart, for these two existed in a world of their own, and if they weren't fully aware of it yet, everyone else certainly was.
Without a word, Michael took Elizabeth's hand and vaulted over the railing, dropping straight down four floors. He had sneaked out like a common criminal from the hospital ward to reach the girls' dormitory. Emox maintained a strict rule separating the boys' and girls' dorms outside of designated training hours, but Michael was in too much physical and emotional agony to acknowledge the laws of a prison essentially headed by his own blood.
They reached a sprawling tree at the center of Emox Park—a place ironically nicknamed Sodom and Gomorrah due to the countless tumultuous romances that blossomed beneath its branches. Pink petals rushed through the moonlight, brushing against their faces as they stared at one another. But this time, both were struck by a heavy realization: Elizabeth saw that Michael was in agonizing pain, and Michael realized that Elizabeth was hurting too. Tragically, his pain was self-made, while her pain was him.
"Elizabeth, my beloved, why have you never told me the truth about yourself?" Michael demanded, his voice fracturing. "Why do you hide everything from me? Why do you bottle it all up, Eli? You let me lean on you and unburden my pain, yet you lock me out from sharing yours. Is that fair, Eli?!"
He stepped closer, his fingers sliding across her caramel skin—tracing from her neck up her jawline to her chin—as he gently tilted her face upward. "Tell me, Elizabeth. As well as you know me, let me know you."
"Michael, I can't," she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I can't tell you—at least not yet, for your own safety."
Before she could finish, Michael dropped abruptly, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Then I'll just die. Because if my only anchor to humanity refuses to share the pain I'm already tethered to, I might as well end myself to end her pain."
He began concentrating his volatile red energy into his palm, pressing his index finger directly against his lower chest, aiming to instantly rupture his core. A heavy, invisible force slammed down, trying to hold his fingers back.
"Michael, stop!" Elizabeth cried out, throwing her psychic weight into a barrier of confinement to halt his hand, though his sheer monstrous strength was overwhelming her.
"Why should I stop?!" Michael roared back, veins bulging on his neck. "You think this is all about protecting you? Yes, I'm not human to you all, but is this fair? I don't know my dad, my granddad refuses to tell me anything, my mother is dead, and I know nothing about myself—or about you. And why is that? Because you all believe I have no right to know! But who gave you the authority to decide that? If the truth kills, then let it kill! I would rather die facing a reality I know is true than live protected by a fantasy built on a lie!"
With every word he uttered, fresh blood crawled down his chest as he forced his finger a fraction of an inch deeper, dangerously close to the center of his existence.
Elizabeth broke. "STOP! I'll tell you—not everything, because it has to come out slowly, but I'll tell you a truth I have never told a single soul."
Michael didn't remove his hand from his chest, but he stopped pushing forward.
"My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Ade," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I am... neither human nor monster. What I truly am, I cannot yet tell you, Michael. But if you truly love me, just hearing this much should be enough for you to stop."
Michael stared at her, stunned. He didn't show it outwardly, but his mind raced: Then what is she? Yet he didn't probe further. He walked her back in silence. When she spoke those words, he knew she wasn't lying; he had studied human micro-expressions and speech patterns to the point where lying in front of him was nearly impossible. Then what is she?
Just as he reached the dim corridor leading to his room, a familiar figure stepped out from the shadows, making his blood boil instantly.
"Precious, what do you want?" Michael snapped.
"Come on, Michael, no one else is around. Are you scared to call me by my real name—Okechukwu?" she teased, pronouncing it with deliberate clarity.
Michael despised that name. Not only did it unearth the bitter memories of his weakness, but it dragged up the ghost of his past self. He locked his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he glared forward. "What do you want, Nmesoma?"