WHAT LIES WITHIN. ( THE SPECIAL ONE )

CHAPTER TWO 2

The New Boy and the Burn Beneath

The sun barely kissed the horizon when Emilia stood outside her bedroom window, arms crossed, silver threads of light sparking faintly under her skin. Her fingers flexed slowly, each movement releasing a pulse of tension into the cold morning air. She hadn’t slept a wink. Instead, she had spent hours watching the stars fade into dawn, haunted by the boy under the streetlight and the chilling familiarity that bloomed in her chest the moment their eyes locked.

The dream had blurred reality. Or maybe reality had blurred into the dream. All she knew was that the encounter had stirred something violent and ancient inside her — a pulse of recognition that came not from memory, but from something buried deeper. Instinct. Legacy. Blood.

She threw on her hoodie and jeans, not bothering with makeup or effort. Today wasn’t about appearances. It was about control — and survival. Every inch of her felt like an exposed wire sparking in slow motion, and she had no clue what would happen if she lost her grip.

Downstairs, the house was silent. Her mother hadn’t spoken much since the last blow-up, and Emilia was honestly grateful. She didn’t want another warning, another look of thinly veiled fear. She slipped out the front door and began her walk to school, headphones in but music off, needing the illusion of silence to organize the storm in her head.

Vale High was already buzzing when she arrived — students filing through the gates, chattering about nothing, unaware of the girl walking beside them who could set the world on fire if her heartbeat spiked too fast. Emilia pulled her sleeves down further, hiding the faint shimmer beneath her skin.

Clara spotted her instantly, jogging over with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You look like you wrestled a demon in your sleep.”

“Didn’t sleep,” Emilia replied simply. “I had another flare. Worse than last time.”

Clara’s expression dropped the humor and shifted into worry. “You didn’t… burn anything, did you?”

“Just my sheets.” Emilia tried to make it a joke, but her voice trembled. Clara didn’t laugh.

“Your mom doesn’t know, right?”

“Of course not. She’d lock me in the basement if she could.”

They fell into step, Clara glancing around cautiously. “Em, maybe you should tell someone. A real someone. Like… a doctor. Or a scientist. I mean, this isn’t normal.”

Emilia stopped walking, eyes sharp. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No. I get it. I’m a freak. Something went wrong in my DNA, and now I’m walking around like a lit match hoping I don’t explode. Thanks for the reminder.”

Clara bit her lip, hurt flickering across her face. But instead of arguing, she reached out and squeezed Emilia’s hand. “You’re not a freak. You’re my best friend. I just don’t want to lose you.”

Before Emilia could respond, the entire school seemed to fall silent in waves, and her gaze snapped toward the front entrance.

There he was.

Franklin.

He stood at the top of the steps like he had been dropped there by the gods — tall, dressed in black, the morning sun barely managing to illuminate the sharp planes of his face. His dark hair was a mess of elegant disobedience, and his eyes… storm-colored and unreadable… locked directly onto hers.

Emilia’s breath caught. Her heart reacted before her mind could reason. Something inside her sparked — and not just metaphorically. Silver light danced beneath her skin, flaring briefly before she clenched her fists to stop it.

He began walking down the steps. Students parted around him like water, some watching curiously, others openly whispering.

“New kid,” Clara muttered. “He’s got that ‘mysterious boy from abroad’ vibe. Definitely not from Vale.”

“He’s from Milan,” Emilia murmured, gaze never leaving his face.

Clara raised a brow. “How do you know that?”

“I heard it… somewhere,” Emilia lied, still dazed.

Franklin paused for a heartbeat near the front office, then turned his head slightly — not fully, not dramatically — just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

Their eyes met again.

And something shifted.

The ground didn’t shake, but her world tilted. Her body felt like it had stepped into a field of static electricity — awake, alert, on edge. And underneath it all, a magnetic pull she didn’t understand.

He looked away first, disappearing into the main building. The spell snapped. Emilia exhaled like she had been holding her breath for centuries.

Clara stared at her, concern etched into her face. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Emilia whispered. “But I think the storm just walked into school with us.”

Biology class was never meant to be exciting. Emilia usually spent it zoning out, sketching into the margins of her notebook or quietly daydreaming about a version of herself that wasn’t one panic attack away from setting her desk on fire. But today, her body was wired. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and her hands wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how deep she breathed.

She barely noticed when the teacher entered. She barely noticed when roll call started. But her attention snapped to the front when the door opened once more—and he walked in.

Franklin.

The entire class turned to look, and even Mr. Callahan, the usually grumpy biology teacher, raised an eyebrow.

“This is Franklin Anderson,” he said with little enthusiasm. “Transferred from Milan. Don’t stare too long, he bites.”

A few students laughed nervously, but Franklin didn’t even blink. He simply turned and scanned the room—and when his gaze landed on Emilia, it stayed there.

It lingered.

Emilia sat frozen, electricity dancing along her spine, lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Her fingers tightened around her pen until the metal began to warm beneath her grip.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He simply stared—like she was a question he’d been searching for.

Mr. Callahan pointed him to an empty seat two rows ahead of her. Franklin obeyed without a word, slipping into the chair with unsettling grace. It wasn’t normal grace. It was practiced. Trained.

Emilia swallowed hard.

Throughout the lesson, she kept her eyes on her notebook, but her mind wasn’t on mitochondria or DNA sequences. It was on the strange feeling bubbling inside her chest—a pull, a tug, a whisper that felt like it had come from the very center of her bones.

What was he?

No. Who was he?

And why did he feel like a mirror she hadn’t meant to look into?

After class, she practically ran into Clara outside the cafeteria, her breath short, her pulse racing.

“Okay, I saw that,” Clara said before Emilia could even speak. “You and the Milan guy. That was a whole moment. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Emilia replied. “But it’s like… I don’t know how to explain it. My powers — they react when he’s near. Stronger than ever.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “Like flare-up stronger?”

“Worse. Like out-of-control stronger.”

Clara placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “Do you think he knows?”

“I don’t know,” Emilia said again. “But it feels like he knows something. And it’s not coincidence that he’s here. It can’t be.”

They sat together under one of the courtyard trees, barely touching their food. Emilia’s fingers absentmindedly traced the silver infinity necklace around her neck—her constant, the only thing she had from her father. Her mother said he gave it to her before he died. That it meant "eternity."

But lately, it just felt like a chain—one she couldn’t take off.

Clara noticed. “You’re wearing that again.”

“I always wear it. I just… never talk about it.”

“It was your dad’s?”

Emilia nodded.

Clara hesitated. “You ever think maybe… the powers come from him?”

A pause. The kind that feels like time itself is holding its breath.

“All the time,” Emilia whispered.

Later that day, she found herself walking the perimeter of the school grounds after class, needing distance from the noise, the pressure, the rising heat inside her. That was when she saw him again—Franklin—leaning against the rusted back fence like he belonged to it.

Their eyes met.

Again.

And without thinking, her feet moved toward him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just waited, like he’d known she would come.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

His voice was smooth and low. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t sure?”

“No.”

He smiled faintly. “Didn’t think so.”

They stared at each other in silence, the hum of cicadas buzzing in the distance, wind lifting strands of her hair, brushing them against her cheek. His eyes flicked toward the necklace, then to her hands.

“You’re not like the others,” he said finally.

Her heart kicked. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to. I can feel it.”

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” she asked, stepping closer. “That night. Under the streetlight.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

Another silence.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But whatever it is, it’s waking up.”

That phrase settled over her like a curse.

She didn’t trust him. Not yet. But something about his presence—his stillness—felt like standing near a thunderstorm that hadn’t broken yet. Dangerous. But honest.

“Stay away from me,” she said before she could stop herself.

He didn’t argue. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I need.”

But even as she turned and walked away, she could feel his eyes on her back—and her powers humming in her chest like they had a mind of their own.

Emilia didn’t tell Clara about the second encounter. She didn’t mention the things Franklin said, or the way her body had hummed like it was plugged into a storm while standing that close to him. Some truths were too sharp to say aloud — especially when she didn’t understand them herself.

Instead, she spent the rest of the evening curled in bed with the lights off, the ceiling above her just shadows and cracks. Her fingers twitched under the blanket, silver light dancing just beneath her skin. Her body had begun reacting to her emotions again — not subtly, but with force.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Franklin. Not his face. Not even his voice. She saw the stillness of him. The way he didn’t flinch, didn’t fear her, didn’t move back when she approached him like a loaded weapon.

And worst of all… she saw herself wanting to get closer.

She rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest. The necklace around her throat pulsed against her collarbone — not physically, but it felt that way. Like it was warming. Like something deep inside was waking up, just like he said.

She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t afford this. Not now. Not again.

The last time she let her powers get out of hand, she nearly set the garage on fire. The metal still carried scorch marks, and her mother had nearly lost her mind. That was when Emilia had promised herself — she’d never lose control again.

But this… this was different. This wasn’t her powers misbehaving.

This was her powers recognizing something.

Someone.

A knock at her bedroom door startled her. She sat up fast, pressing a hand against her chest.

“Em?” Her mother’s voice.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t want a conversation. Especially not now.

After a pause, she heard footsteps retreating.

It was better this way.

She didn’t want to talk about school or Franklin or whatever ghosts her mother pretended didn’t exist. She didn’t want her mom’s fear. Or her silence. Or her judgment.

She wanted truth.

The next morning, school felt even heavier. Every glance felt like suspicion. Every sound felt amplified. Even Clara noticed.

“You okay?”

“No,” Emilia admitted. “But I’m used to it.”

They were almost to homeroom when Principal Rhodes’s voice echoed through the intercom: “Would Emilia Wilson please report to the main office?”

Clara blinked. “You didn’t do anything… weird, right?”

“Not that I remember,” Emilia said.

But her chest tightened as she walked alone through the halls. Something felt off.

When she opened the office door, she found Franklin sitting in the waiting area.

Of course.

He stood when he saw her. “Didn’t think we’d meet again this soon.”

Her stomach dropped. “Why are you here?”

“I was asked to show you around today,” he said, as if the idea was perfectly normal. “Something about connecting with new students.”

“I'm not new.”

He smiled. “They think you are. Just in a different way.”

She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “But I’m not complaining.”

The office assistant handed them a laminated pass. “You two can head to the library for the hour. Just be back for third period.”

They walked the hall in silence, but it wasn’t peaceful. The air between them was charged, every step thick with unspoken tension. When they reached the library, they slipped into a quiet corner behind the rows of forgotten history books.

“What do you want from me?” Emilia asked, crossing her arms.

Franklin leaned against the wall, studying her. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“No,” she said. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Should I be afraid of you?”

She didn’t answer. But the silver flicker under her skin said enough.

I didn’t come here to mess with you, Emilia,” he said. “But I didn’t come here by accident, either.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked, pulse rising.

He hesitated. Just for a breath.

Then he looked her straight in the eyes and said quietly, “Because I was sent to find you.”

Her world tilted.

“What do you mean sent?”

“I can't explain everything. Not yet. But there are people watching you. People who know what you are. And if they find you before I do what I came here to do… it won’t end well.”

Emilia’s throat closed up. “What I am? What are you talking about?”

Franklin took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was afraid the walls could hear. “You think your powers are random. But they’re not. They come from something. From someone. And I think… you’re not the only one.”

The silence between them cracked.

“I don’t trust you,” she said.

“I don’t blame you,” he replied.

“I should walk away.”

“But you won’t.”

And he was right.

She didn’t move.

And just before the bell rang, he added one last thing.

“I’ll tell you everything, Emilia. But when I do… you’ll never see your life the same way again.”