WHAT LIES WITHIN. ( THE SPECIAL ONE )

CHAPTER FOUR 4

The Girl Who Burns.

The laptop screen remained black, but the storm inside Emilia had only just begun.

She sat there, her father's last words haunting every breath. Be your own storm.

How could he ask that of her?

How could he smile through the screen, knowing he was leaving her behind, knowing what they would do to her, knowing that her life would be made of lies?

She slammed the laptop shut with trembling hands. The drive remained plugged in, pulsing blue like a heartbeat, like a countdown. Every part of her wanted to scream, to punch through the walls, to burn this entire house down to the ashes.

She didn’t.

She stood.

Then she walked—calmly, too calmly—down the hallway and into the kitchen, where her mother was still sitting, clutching a cold mug of tea like it could anchor her.

Emilia didn’t wait. “You watched him die, didn’t you?”

Her mother flinched.

“You were there. When they took him. You saw what they did. And you said nothing. You let me grow up believing he crashed into a tree on some rainy highway.”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“No,” Emilia snapped. “You made a choice. Every day. To lie to me. To keep me small. Weak.”

“You don’t understand what they’re capable of—”

“I don’t care!” Emilia shouted, and the overhead light shattered, glass raining to the floor like a final warning.

Her mom gasped and stood from the chair. “You have to control yourself.”

“No,” Emilia whispered. “I have to stop pretending I don’t feel like I’m drowning in a world I didn’t ask for.”

Her hands sparked. Not fire. Not lightning. Something in between. Raw energy curled along her fingers, feeding on her anger, her betrayal, her grief.

“I buried him with you,” she said quietly, “every day that I let your silence shape me. And now I can’t even remember the sound of his voice unless a video reminds me he ever existed.”

Her mother’s expression cracked. “I was trying to protect you—”

“Protect me?” Emilia snapped. “From what? The truth? Or the monster you think I might become?”

A low growl built in her throat, magic humming in the walls. The air grew thick, charged, alive.

And then her mother said it.

“I didn’t want you to become like him.”

The room went still.

Emilia took a step back, stunned. “You hated him.”

“No,” her mother said quickly, too quickly. “I loved him. But I also watched him fall apart trying to fix the world. I watched him chase perfection until he forgot to live. He made you into something he didn’t even understand.”

Emilia shook her head. “He didn’t make me. I was born this way.”

“And that’s what scared him most.”

Something inside her broke.

She screamed.

The kitchen window exploded outward. The fridge cracked. The tiles on the floor splintered under her feet, and the pendant around her neck flared so bright it lit up the room like a star. Silver power poured from her hands, wild and violent, surging out in all directions like a wave of raw emotion.

Her mother ducked behind the table, screaming her name.

It took everything Emilia had to stop.

She dropped to her knees, gasping, her skin glowing faintly, steam rising from her arms.

The silence after was unbearable.

She didn’t say a word.

She just stood, stepped over the shards of glass, and left the kitchen like it was a grave.

The night swallowed her whole.

Emilia ran.

She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. Her legs moved faster than her thoughts, her breath sharp against the cold air, heart pounding like war drums in her chest. Her fists clenched at her sides, still tingling with the leftover sparks of what she’d unleashed.

She didn’t care who saw her.

Let them.

Let the world see what she’d become.

The moon was high and cruel, silver light trailing across the street like it was watching her too. Trees whispered as she passed, shadows stretching long and hungry. Her feet ached, her throat burned, but she kept going until the world blurred.

And then she stopped.

There, under the same streetlight where it all began, he was waiting.

Franklin.

Hands in his pockets. Head tilted toward the sky. Like he knew she'd come.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

He turned when he heard her footsteps, and the second their eyes met, she almost collapsed.

Not because she was tired.

But because he looked at her like she was made of fire — and he’d never wanted anything more than to step into the flames.

“Emilia.”

His voice broke something in her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not trusting the softness in her chest. “Following me again?”

“No,” he said simply. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

The words hung in the air like a promise. Like a warning.

She walked closer. Step by step. Until she could see the concern in his eyes and the flicker of power beneath his skin — the same kind she tried to hide.

“I found the files,” she whispered. “I saw everything.”

His jaw tensed.

“My father… he made you. Didn’t he?”

Franklin didn’t answer at first. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Not like a machine. Not like a clone. But yes… I carry his work. I was part of it.”

“Were you supposed to kill me?” she asked, voice cold. “Or just bring me in for study?”

He winced. “I didn’t come to hurt you.”

“But you came to find me.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m dangerous?”

“Because you’re important.”

She laughed, bitter and hollow. “So I’m a lab rat with feelings now?”

“You’re more than that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know who you really were when I met you. I didn’t expect—”

“What?” she snapped. “To fall in love with the assignment?”

His silence was answer enough.

Emilia turned away, gripping the edge of a nearby bench like it could hold her together.

“I hurt my mom,” she whispered.

Franklin stepped forward. “Did you mean to?”

“No,” she breathed. “But I wanted to.”

The honesty made her shiver.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Of myself. Of what I might become.”

Franklin moved beside her, slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. “I know what that feels like. To be split in two — the person you want to be, and the weapon they tried to make you into.”

She looked at him.

And for the first time, saw him.

Not just the handsome transfer student with the dangerous eyes.

But a boy built from someone else’s desperation. Just like her.

“Then help me,” she said softly. “Help me figure out who I really am.”

He nodded.

“I will,” he whispered. “But there’s something I need to tell you first.”

She didn’t flinch when he reached out and took her hand.

The power beneath his skin flared.

Blue.

Alive.

Matching hers.

“I’m not just like you, Emilia,” he said. “I’m connected to you.”

Her heart skipped.

Then thundered.

“What do you mean?”

But Franklin didn’t answer.

Not yet.

Because the streetlight above them blinked once.

Twice.

And then the black van pulled around the corner.

No headlights.

No sound.

Just a shadow rolling toward them — fast, precise, and deadly.

Franklin’s eyes widened. “Run.”

The van screeched to a stop, and the back doors burst open before the tires even settled.

Black-clad figures leaped out — six of them — armed, masked, eyes glowing faintly beneath night-vision goggles.

“MOVE!” Franklin shouted, grabbing Emilia’s hand as the first dart flew past her ear.

She didn’t think. She ran.

Down the sidewalk, through the park, her lungs burning, her feet pounding against gravel and grass and pure panic. Franklin led the way like he already knew every corner, every shadow, every escape route. His grip never loosened.

Behind them, the agents gave chase.

The forest swallowed them in seconds. Tree limbs whipped at Emilia’s arms, roots tripped her, but she kept running. Her fingers sparked silver, lighting their path just enough to see the next few feet.

“Who are they?” she panted.

“Private division. Not government. Off-the-books. Built to bring people like us down.”

“And how do we stop them?”

“We don’t,” he said, pulling her behind a tree. “Not now.”

A dart embedded in the bark inches from her face.

Franklin turned. “Okay—maybe we fight.”

Emilia grinned, wild and furious. “Finally.”

She stepped into the clearing, sparks rolling from her palms like lightning turned liquid. Her heart pounded in her throat as the agents spread out in a circle.

“Stand down,” one barked. “You’ve been flagged as hostile.”

Emilia didn’t move. “You came into my night. You chased me down.”

She raised her hand.

“Let’s talk about hostile.”

She thrust her palm forward, and a blast of silver light exploded outward, sending three of the agents flying into the trees. The others stumbled, momentarily blinded.

Franklin followed with blue energy slicing across his fingertips like blades of wind and electricity. He moved like he’d trained for this — fast, brutal, clean. Two more went down before they could even aim.

One agent remained.

He lunged for Emilia, jabbing a stun baton forward — but Franklin intercepted, slamming his arm into the guy’s chest and flipping him over his shoulder in one clean motion.

Silence.

Just heavy breathing and the soft hum of dying sparks in the air.

Then Emilia turned to Franklin.

Her hair clung to her cheeks, damp with sweat and wild from the wind. Her eyes glowed faintly. Her lips parted as if still catching breath — and yet, somehow, she’d never felt more alive.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I should be freaking out,” she whispered. “I should be hiding under a bed. But I’m not.”

“That’s because you were built for this,” he murmured. “Even if you didn’t know it.”

She swallowed hard.

“Thank you. For not letting them take me.”

Franklin’s hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered at her jaw. The sparks between them didn’t fade — they pulsed. Silver and blue. In sync.

He leaned in, voice low. “You scare me, Emilia Wilson.”

Her breath hitched. “Why?”

“Because you make me want to burn the world down to keep you safe.”

And then he kissed her.

Hard. Deep. Reckless.

The kind of kiss that tasted like smoke and lightning and everything they’d both been denying since that night under the streetlight. The kind of kiss that pulled every piece of her back into place, even the broken ones.

Her power surged, wrapping around them like a storm. The wind howled through the trees. The sky cracked above. And yet, somehow, it felt quiet.

Because in that moment — there was only him.

And her.

And the fire they couldn't run from anymore.

The world around them slowly returned — the silence, the wind, the distant sound of a siren far away.

Franklin pulled back first, his breath still tangled with hers, his gaze searching.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get you home.”

She didn’t argue.

They moved through the trees quietly, slipping past streetlights, cutting through back roads until her neighborhood came into view. Her home looked the same — like it hadn’t nearly burned from the inside out just hours ago.

“I’ll walk you to the porch,” Franklin said.

She nodded.

The silence between them now was thick with something unsaid. Not regret. Not fear. But weight — like both of them knew something had shifted tonight that couldn’t be undone.

At the door, she hesitated.

“I don’t know what this makes us,” she whispered. “I don’t even know who I am right now.”

He brushed his fingers down her arm.

“Then we figure it out together.”

She gave him a ghost of a smile, then slipped inside, the door clicking shut between them.

Franklin stood there for a second longer.

Then he turned.

And walked away.

But he didn’t go home.

He moved three blocks down, through an alley, into an old mechanic’s garage with the lights off and the shutters half-drawn.

A shadow was already waiting.

“You’re late,” the man growled, stepping from the corner.

Franklin didn’t flinch. “We were interrupted.”

“She showed signs?”

Franklin nodded once. “More than expected. The spark is stabilizing. Her emotions triggered a full defense response.”

The agent scribbled something in a small notepad. “Good. That’s what we wanted.”

Franklin didn’t speak.

“You’re gaining her trust?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” the agent said again, coldly. “Keep going. We need her compliant. When the extraction window opens, she won’t even see it coming.”

Franklin looked away.

“Is that all?” he asked, voice low.

“For now.” The man pocketed the notebook. “But don’t get attached, Anderson. She’s not a girl. She’s a weapon. And you were built to carry out your mission. Remember that.”

Franklin said nothing as the agent stepped out into the dark and disappeared.

He waited a long time in the silence.

Then pulled the flash drive from his pocket.

The copy.

The one Emilia didn’t know he made.

And for the first time that night, Franklin didn’t feel like a hero.

He felt like a thief.