Chapter 4 – If I Could Run With You
Max learned how to hide long before he learned how to fight.
Hiding was easy.
He hid the way his heartbeat sounded wrong—too slow, too heavy.
He hid the way food no longer satisfied him.
He hid the way his reflection sometimes didn't feel like his own.
He wrapped his hands in cloth so no one would notice how easily his fingers dented wood. He kept his head down so no one would see how sharply his eyes caught the light.
At night, when the hunger whispered, Max pressed his nails into his palms until pain reminded him who he used to be.
You are human, he told himself.
You are still human.
Sometimes, he believed it.
The Moment He Almost Lost Himself
It happened on a quiet street.
A drunk man stumbled and fell, splitting his lip on the stone.
Blood spilled.
Red. Warm. Alive.
Max froze.
The world narrowed to that single drop sliding down the man's chin. His throat burned. His body leaned forward without permission, muscles tightening like a coiled beast.
One step.
Then another.
No.
Max slammed his back against the wall, gasping. His heart thundered. His vision blurred, sharp and hungry.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please… stop."
He ran.
He didn't stop running until his legs gave out and he collapsed in the shadows, shaking, ashamed, terrified of himself.
If he had been one second slower—
He didn't finish the thought.
The Church Feels Him
Candles flickered violently inside the Holy Church.
A chill passed through the prayer hall.
High priests stopped mid-prayer, hands trembling.
"There is a presence," one murmured. "Dark… yet restrained."
"Not attacking. Not fleeing."
"Watching."
Saint Victoria felt her chest tighten.
Not fear.
Longing.
She pressed a hand to her heart, breath shallow.
"Max…" she whispered.
When Love Refuses to Leave
They met where they always did—by the old tree beyond the church walls.
Max stood there as if waiting had always been his fate.
"Max?"
He turned.
Victoria's white robes fluttered gently in the wind. Her face lit up the moment she saw him—and then softened with concern.
"You look tired," she said.
"I'm okay," he replied.
A lie.
She heard it.
She always did.
She stepped closer. The air between them felt heavy, charged with something she couldn't name.
Something wrong.
Something familiar.
"Something happened to you," she said quietly.
Max looked away.
"I'm still me," he said. "That's all that matters."
Victoria reached out and took his hand.
He flinched.
Just a little.
Enough.
She felt it.
The cold. The tension. The distance where warmth should have been.
Her heart stuttered.
She should have pulled away.
She didn't.
"I don't care what the church says," she whispered, tears forming. "If not for the power they have over me… I would have run away with you."
Max's breath caught.
She pressed her forehead against his chest.
"I never wanted to be a saint," she confessed. "I wanted a life. I wanted you."
Something inside Max shattered.
He gently pulled his hand free—not because he didn't love her, but because he loved her too much.
"If you stay near me," he said softly, "you'll get hurt."
She smiled sadly.
"You've always said that," she replied. "And I've always stayed."
After
Victoria returned to the church.
The bells rang heavier than usual.
Max stood alone beneath the tree, fists clenched, tears falling silently.
"I'm sorry," he whispered—to her, to himself, to the boy he used to be.
Above him, holy light flared.
The church had felt him.
And love, no matter how deep—
Was becoming dangerous.