Elara’s fingers trembled as she turned the page. There was a detailed, anatomical sketch of a hand, with energy lines radiating from the palm. Next to it was a note which reads “Vital Transference – High risk of burnout or fatal exhaustion in the practitioner.”

She read on, her pulse quickening with every paragraph. Another account described a woman who, in a fit of rage, had caused all the water in her well to boil. “That’s similar to mine, but extreme” she mumbled. She was glad that it might have happened to other people, that she’s not insane.

Turning to the next page, she finds a section titled, “The Haze.”

“The manifestation of a visible aura, or ‘Haze,’ often precedes a significant manifestation of ability,” the text read. “It is a visual indicator of the latent energy coalescing around the individual, reacting to their emotional or physical state. Reports describe colors corresponding to the nature of the ability or the emotion fueling it: blue for protective or healing energies, often triggered by fear or self-preservation, red for aggressive, thermal, or destructive forces, often linked to anger…”

Elara’s mind flashed back to her bedroom. The dark, shimmering haze had turned a deep, electric blue before it disappeared.

“For many,” she continued reading, “the ability is unlocked by a traumatic event, usually a near-death experience, a moment of extreme psychological stress. The survival instinct shatters whatever internal barrier has kept the power dormant.”

“Find anything useful?”

She jumped, jerking her hand up to her chest. Leo was back, holding two paper cups of steaming coffee. He placed one on the desk in front of her.

“You… you startled me,” she stammered, instinctively slamming the green book shut.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, not sounding sorry at all. He took the seat opposite her, pushing the coffee closer. “You looked like you could use this. You’ve been hunched over that thing for an hour.”

An hour? It had felt like minutes. She stared at the coffee, then at him. The scent was rich and inviting but she’d be a fool to just trust anyone again after Chloe. “Why are you really here, Leo?”

“You do have a trust issue, don’t you?” He sighed.

“I was taught the hard way.” She shrugged. “Now answer my question.”

He leaned back on his chair. “I’m bored. You look you and it seems we both like paranormal shits. I want to be your friend, I…”

“I’m not interested,” she cut him, “now bye please. I need no one and no friends.” She stood up, returned the book and walked towards the door..

She looked back, surprised he didn’t try to stop her only to see that he had left too. Along with the two cups of coffee. “He’s definitely not serious.” She mumbled.

‘On a second thought, maybe I should borrow that book home, I might get some other hint on what exactly I am.’ She reasoned.

*****

Elara walked out, the green book stuck in her small backpack slung over her left shoulder. She had to expose her disguise to the Liberian so that it would fit her student card identification. She unfortunately also had to make up a story on why she’s on a disguise.

“I still get shivers whenever I recall how Mark and his friends look.” Elara looked up at the familiar voice. It's Megan, a former friend. A lump formed in her throat when she recalled how she and her friends had almost buried her head in a public toilet.

“I’m more than pissed to get shivers of pity for them. Ben is supposed to be taking me shopping today but can’t, one of Mark’s friends that was in the incident is his favorite cousin.” Brittany spat bitterly. Elara glanced around for a place to hide before they’ll get close enough to recognize her.

She bolted, glancing for any corner or class she could hide in. Reaching almost the end of the hallway, her pulse thudding loud enough she swore someone could hear it. Elara ducked into the nearest classroom without even checking the door label, her breath catching in her throat as she quietly shut it behind her.

For half a second, she felt relief — the calm silence, the soft hum of the AC, and the rows of empty seats.

“Ohhh… yess, right there! Ahhh! Put it back in” Elara looked up at the sound of a gasp, a low moan.

The stuttering sound of a desk leg scraping the floor in a rhythm that made her stomach twist.

“No. You’ve got to be kidding me. Can’t they both get a room?.“ she mutters. Her eyes widened as the shapes at the back of the class came into focus.

Two bodies tangled together. None other than her ex boyfriend and her ex best friend.

“Oh my God— yes baby… keep your voice low, someone might come in—” Adrian breathed out, breathless and low

“Relax, no one uses this class on Thursdays.” Chloe giggled

‘You are joking. Fate is absolutely joking with me right now.’ Elara sighed. She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t feel something inside her snap. She would be lying to say she felt no pain or jealousy.

She wiped off a tear trailing down her cheeks. Her mind is spiraling .

‘Of course. Of course I would walk in on this. Because the universe hates me. Because every time I’m just trying to breathe, someone has to show me a new level of disappointment. Why is this even affecting me? I do not care. I should not care. They’re nothing. They’re—‘

The desk knocked again as their movement went even faster, so did their moans went higher.

‘Nope. Absolutely not. I rather watch something else than this’ she shuddered

She spun around so fast her backpack almost slid off. Her hand shook on the door handle. *Get out. Now. Before they see you. Before they open their mouths and try to pretend you’re the weird one for walking in on them.*

She stepped out.

And walked straight into two bodies she just tried to avoid.

“Oof— watch it!” Brittany snapped automatically.

Elara recoiled as if she’d just bumped into a wall of memories she’d rather crack her head on than relive.

Megan blinked at her first, confusion flickering into recognition.

“Elara?”

“Wait— you think he’s Elara?” Bianca muttered

Panic shot through her chest. Damn it. She swallowed hard, forcing her features to stay still.

But Brittany’s eyes traveled down her face almost immediately.

“No way,” she whispered, her voice almost gleeful. “I thought you transferred. Or, I don’t know, died or something.”

Should’ve let that boiling water finish the job then,* she thought bitterly.

Her fingers twitched around her backpack strap.

Megan leaned closer, squinting. “Why are you dressed like that? You look… different.”

“I have somewhere to be,” Elara muttered, trying to step past them.

But Brittany shifted, blocking her path, lips curling in that familiar little smirk that made Elara feel small.

“How did you even get back in? You look nothing like your ID. Like—wow.” Brittany’s laugh was sharp. “Is that a wig or something?” She reached to touch it.

Elara’s jaw clenched, her pulse hammering faster than normal.

And underneath her skin — barely, softly — the faint buzz and feelings she had before the haze had filled her room.

‘Not now. Please not now.’ She took a shaky breath.

‘Ignore them. Walk away. Don’t give them anything.’ She repeated in her head.

But Megan tilted her head, expression twisting from shock to her dirty smirks.

“Oh my God,” she murmured. “Ben is going to freak out when he sees you. You know he still hates your guts, right? After what you did to—”

“Move,” Elara said quietly.

The word came out sharper than she intended. But she was done

Megan blinked, startled by her tone.

“Elara…” Brittany’s voice lowered, suddenly cautious. “Are you… talking to us?

Elara didn’t let her finish.

She shoved forward, brushing hard between them, letting her shoulder bump Brittany just enough to make the girl gasp. Heat tingled down her arm. A warning.

‘Don’t lose it. Not here, not now.‘ she repeated in her head.