The lock between blood and bone

chapter 13 Strangely

The next morning began with the usual harshness. Selda’s hand slammed against Aria’s door, rattling the thin frame and slicing through the early quiet like a blade.

“Get up! The living room is a mess,” Selda barked, her voice sharp enough to make the air tremble. “And don’t keep me waiting today!”

Aria jolted upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her back ached from the hard mattress that offered no comfort, and the room still smelled faintly of yesterday’s meals and spilled water. Rae—half asleep in her own bed—peeked up with a nervous, worried look. Mira, as always, pretended not to care, flipping her hair lazily and smirking as though the chaos wasn’t hers.

Aria’s bare feet touched the cold floorboards, and for a brief moment, she felt it—a soft hum. Low, vibrating, almost imperceptible, running beneath the wood like a pulse. She froze. It was faint, but undeniably real.

“Aria!” Selda’s shout snapped her back. The vibration faded.

She rushed down the hall, forcing herself to ignore the strange sensation. The living room looked normal at first glance, just cluttered: scattered toys, blankets, and yesterday’s plates. Selda stood with arms folded, already radiating irritation.

“Start with the table,” she snapped.

Aria nodded and reached for the first plate. But the moment her fingers touched it, something strange happened. The curtains behind her swayed slowly, then more violently, as though caught in an invisible wind. Aria’s stomach lurched. The windows were tightly shut.

Selda’s head snapped toward the curtains. “What was that?”

Aria’s palms dampened with sweat. She forced herself to keep moving, pretending not to notice.

“It’s probably just the—” Rae began softly, but Mira elbowed her sharply, cutting her off.

Selda marched to the window, dragging her fingers across the glass. No gaps. No cracks. No airflow. Nothing that could explain the movement.

Her eyes narrowed, dark and calculating.

She turned slowly toward Aria. “You. Move away from the table.”

Aria obeyed, stepping back carefully, her heart hammering in her chest like a trapped bird.

Selda’s gaze flicked from the curtains to the window, then to Aria again. There was something in her eyes now—something deeper than suspicion, something almost primal, as if she sensed a secret she couldn’t yet name. Aria swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to appear ordinary.

And then it happened.

A glass cup slid across the table on its own, gliding with a smooth, unnatural precision.

The room froze. Rae’s hands shot to her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Mira took a cautious step back, her smirk gone. And Selda—Selda’s eyes sharpened, cutting through the air like ice. Aria felt a cold, crawling fear spread through her veins.

Selda strode to the table and picked up the cup, turning it slowly in her hand, as if trying to read some hidden message within its clear surface. “Who touched this?” she demanded, her voice sharp and dangerous.

“No one,” Mira whispered, almost too quietly to be heard.

Selda ignored her. She stepped closer to Aria, the weight of her stare pressing down like iron. “Did you touch it?”

Aria shook her head, her throat dry. “No, aunty. I swear I didn’t.”

Selda held her gaze for an agonizingly long moment. Too long. Every second stretched like a taut wire. Aria forced herself to control her breathing, hiding the tremble she felt coursing through her hands.

Finally, Selda slammed the cup back on the table, sharp and final. “If I see anything strange in this house again,” she said, her voice dropping low, almost a hiss, “I will find the cause. And I will end it. Do you understand?”

Aria nodded, though her chest felt like it was collapsing inward. The room was quiet again, but the tension lingered, clinging to her like a second skin.

The instant Selda turned and walked away, Rae rushed over. “Are you okay?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Aria nodded, but she wasn’t. For the first time in years, the house felt dangerous—not just because of Selda, but because something inside her was stirring. Something ancient and strange, a reaction she didn’t understand. The hum she had felt under the floorboards earlier, the curtains moving without wind, even the rolling cup—none of it had been in her imagination.

Her fingers itched with a quiet energy she didn’t recognize, and a shiver ran through her spine. She could feel it, coiling inside her, restless and alive. She didn’t know how to control it. She didn’t know if she even wanted to.

And worst of all, she didn’t know how long she could keep it hidden.

Aria glanced at Rae and Mira, their faces reflecting curiosity, fear, and indifference in equal measure. No one could know—not yet. Not until she understood it herself.

A single thought anchored her in that moment, small but defiant: I will survive. I will endure. And one day… I will understand this power. I will not be small forever.

The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, stretching along the walls and floor as if echoing her inner resolve. And in that quiet, tense house, Aria realized something: this was only the beginning. The spark her mother had once spoken of—the courage, the potential, the untamed force within her—was waking. And there was no going back.