WHAT LIES WITHIN. ( THE SPECIAL ONE )

PROLOGUE The blood was still warm when Wilfred Wilson collapsed beside the cradle. Outside, the sky wept lightning. A storm clawed at the windows of the estate, and the shadows inside the walls began to move like smoke with a heartbeat. Wilfred’s breathing was jagged—fighting time, not death. He had no more spells left to cast. No more allies to call. Only a daughter he had never truly met… and the drive tucked beneath the floorboard, coded in runes no human could break. “They’ll come for her,” he whispered, fingers trembling as he etched a final ward into the floor with blood-soaked chalk. “But not before she learns who she is.” The air twisted. The light vanished. The moment the final seal burned into the floor, the door burst open behind him. Wilfred smiled one last time at the sleeping infant. “May your scars become your sword, my little ember.” Then the room was swallowed by darkness. CHAPTER ONE 1 Title: What Lies Within (The Special One) Chapter One: Boy Under the Streetlight Word Count: 15,041 --- It started with a flicker. Not in the sky. Not from the moon. Not even from the rusted lamp post at the end of Vale Street that buzzed on and off like it couldn’t decide whether to live or die. No. The flicker came from her. Emilia Wilson Robert had been standing there for nearly an hour, hoodie pulled over her curls, arms wrapped tight around her chest like she could keep her insides from falling apart if she just squeezed hard enough. The flicker slid across her fingertips. Silver. Quiet. Soft like breath. But it burned. Not now, she begged in her mind. Please not now. The chill of the night pressed against her skin, and she dug her nails into her palms. Anything to keep it in. Anything to stop the fire that wanted to rise. One year. It had been exactly one year since she found out she wasn’t normal. One year of hiding. One year of pretending. One year of lying to her mother, to Clara, to the world. Except Clara knew now. She found out two months ago after Emilia had collapsed during a power surge in the locker room. She swore to keep the secret—and she had. But it didn’t make Emilia feel any safer. Or any less broken. A gust of wind tugged at the hem of her jeans. The sound of leaves scraping across concrete reminded her she wasn’t alone. That’s when she saw him. A boy. Standing under the streetlight. She hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t seen movement. But there he was, about ten feet away, illuminated in golden haze like some strange painting come to life. Tall. Pale. Dark messy hair. Hands in his pockets. Silent. Watching her. Emilia’s breath hitched. The air around her went still. He wasn’t frightening exactly. But something about him was... off. Like he didn’t belong. Like he’d stepped out of a dream or maybe something darker. The flicker returned. Silver. Quick. Burning. He tilted his head, eyes catching hers. And smiled. A strange, quiet, not-unfriendly smile. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. Disappearing into the fog like he’d never been there at all. --- The next morning was worse than most. Emilia’s mother was already yelling. “I said no more late nights!” her voice cut through the walls like glass. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Wandering around like some stray cat?” Emilia didn’t answer. She stood in the mirror, staring at the girl she didn’t recognize. Brown skin pale under the bathroom light. Tired eyes. Slight glow in her veins that only she could see. “Answer me, Emilia!” her mother shouted from the kitchen. “I was clearing my head,” Emilia said, not loud enough. “What? Speak up!” “I said I was clearing my head!” she snapped. Silence. Then the slam of a cupboard. It had been like this for years. Cold. Tense. Distant. Her mom wasn’t cruel exactly. But she was broken. Ever since Emilia was born and Wilfred Wilson—her father—died mysteriously, her mom had been a ghost of a woman who looked alive but wasn’t. Emilia had stopped expecting love from her. Now she just hoped for peace. It rarely came. She skipped breakfast. --- Vale High was a small school. Too small for secrets. Too small for someone like her. Emilia walked through the front gate like she did every day—eyes low, hoodie up, sketchpad clutched to her chest. Whispers followed her. They always did. She was the quiet girl. The weird girl. The one who always looked like she saw things no one else could. Clara met her by the lockers. “You didn’t text,” she said. Her voice was soft but firm. Clara always noticed everything. “Didn’t feel like talking.” “Power spike?” Emilia nodded. Clara leaned in. “You okay?” “No.” Clara didn’t push. That’s why Emilia trusted her. Clara never made her explain the pain. She just stayed. “New student today,” Clara said as they headed to English. “Came in from Italy or something.” Emilia didn’t care. At least not until she walked into class and saw him. The boy from the streetlight. He sat in the second row, legs crossed, notebook open. His head tilted when he saw her. And he smiled. The same strange, quiet smile. Emilia froze. “Take your seat, Miss Wilson,” said Mr. Doyle. She sat two rows behind the boy. Clara leaned in. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Something like that,” Emilia whispered. She didn’t hear a single word of the lesson. Her mind kept flicking back to last night. To him. To how he’d just... appeared. Who was he? And why did it feel like the world had shifted the moment he looked at her? --- Lunch was worse. Franklin sat at a table in the center of the cafeteria, surrounded by curious girls and half-jealous boys. His accent was smooth, his posture graceful. He looked like he belonged in a painting. But his eyes kept drifting. To her. Emilia sat with Clara in the far corner, picking at her food. Every time she looked up, he was already looking. “You sure you’ve never met him before?” Clara asked. “No.” “Because the way he looks at you? Either he’s psychic or you two shared a life in another dimension.” Emilia almost smiled. Almost. “He’s weird.” “Says the girl with glowing hands.” They shared a quiet laugh. It was the first one in days. Then the lights flickered. And Emilia’s tray rattled. She froze. So did Clara. “Is it—” “I don’t know.” Across the room, Franklin stood. His eyes met hers. Then the lights stopped flickering. Everything returned to normal. --- After school, Emilia stayed behind to sketch. It was something she did when her mind felt like too much. She sat by the window in the art room, pencil dancing across the page. Her fingers twitched with silver, but she kept it under control. “You’re talented,” a voice said. She jumped. Franklin stood in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder. “You always sneak up on people?” she asked. “Only when they’re lost in their own world.” He walked in slowly, hands up like he was proving he meant no harm. “That’s really good,” he nodded toward her sketch of the street lamp. She closed the book. “Thanks.” Silence stretched between them. “I’m Franklin,” he said. “I know.” “And you are?” “Someone who doesn’t like strangers.” He smiled. “Then let’s not be strangers.” He walked away, just like that. And left her heart doing something it hadn’t done in a long time. Beat like it mattered. --- That night, Emilia couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, fingers sparking against her sheets. She kept seeing him. The streetlight. The smile. The way he looked at her like he knew her. Then the dreams came. Flashes of silver. Screams. A man in a lab coat shouting her name. And her father. Reaching out. "Run." Emilia sat up, gasping. Outside, the wind howled. And across the street, under the street lamp... Franklin stood watching. But when she blinked, he was gone. ---