The SUV was silent but for the low, steady hum of the engine as it traveled down deserted back roads. William's hands remained cuffed, folded in his lap- his fingers clenched together in a disguised effort to keep them from shaking. There was a dull ache in his wrists from the restraints, but he hardly noticed it. His mind was a tempest, a maelstrom of thoughts and questions and terrors tumbling on top of one another in a frantic circle, each one striving for dominance.
'Who are they? Where am I being taken?'
He could discern the outlines of his captors in the darkness. The woman who had spoken earlier sat opposite him, her eyes fixed unwaveringly, weighing him, waiting to see what he might do. To either side of her stood two men, clad in black tactical apparel, their faces obscured by masks; the whole of their bodies taut and ready. Their faces were obscured, yet their silence, their poise, spoke volumes to William of professionals. They hadn't betrayed the slightest surprise or fear at his pale skin, not even at his unnaturally red eyes. They knew full well who he was, and what he could do, and they were ready. That much was clear, though it seemed they were underestimating the boy.
William's gaze flickered toward the window, but he couldn't see past the tinted glass. He had no sense of where they were heading, how far from the prison they'd already traveled, or how long this drive would last. An itch began to seep into his brain-a steady whisper in the back of his mind, pleading to be set free. He could feel the familiar tug of his power, buried deep within him, coiled like a spring, waiting to be unleashed. But he fought it back, his chest tight with doubt and unease.
'No. Not now. Not yet.' He'd spent years concealing himself, years suppressing the urge to use his powers, training himself to disregard that dark whisper, to keep his strength buried where it couldn't hurt anyone. He knew what his power could do: he'd seen the destruction left in its wake, the lives it had taken, and the terror it inspired in those who saw it firsthand. He had promised himself then, in those silent, despairing moments at the orphanage, never to use it again.
But now, trapped in this car with these strangers, with his fate spiraling out of his control, the temptation gnawed at him. 'Just one move,' he thought, 'just one, and I easily could break free.' His pulse quickened as he imagined what it would feel like to let go, to stop holding back, to unleash the force he'd buried so deeply. He could make them regret taking him, show them that he wasn't a prisoner to be dragged wherever they pleased.
But the thought of giving in was filling him with trepidation. He remembered the faces of those who looked at him in fear and disgust, the cries of horror that followed him, and the weight of the lives he'd taken. He could see the faces feature shadows at the edges of his memory a reminder that lived within him of the destruction he harbored. He'd fought so hard to escape that past, to be something more than a monster people thought he was. If he let himself slip, even for a moment, he knew there would be no going back. And yet… 'if I don't, what will happen to me?'
He didn't know what these people wanted from him, but he sensed it wasn't good. They weren't here to protect him; they weren't allies. Whatever plans they had, he was sure were for their benefit, not his. His instincts screamed at him to fight-to break free before it was too late. But every time he thought about it, doubt crept in-clouding his mind, weakening his resolve. The faces of those he'd lost, of those who'd suffered because of him, continued to haunt him.
The woman opposite him met his gaze, almost as if sensing the turmoil inside him. Her eyes were firm, her expression unreadable, but he could see a flicker of curiosity there, a hint of satisfaction, as though she knew precisely what he was going through. A chill ran down his spine as he realized she was waiting, waiting for him to break, to reveal his power, so they could exploit him. She wanted him to fight. She wanted to see what he was capable of.
'Don't give them that satisfaction,' he told himself, his resolve hardening. 'They want me to lose control. They want a monster. I won't give them that.'
His breathing steadied as the tension in his body started to fade; he fought the urge down, burying it once again, deeper, where it couldn't reach him. He forced himself to be still, to wait, even as his heart hammered in his chest, his mind on high alert. He would play their game, for now. He would keep his strength hidden, bide his time, and find another way. He wasn't a weapon. He wasn't a killer. He'd fought too hard to believe otherwise, to hold on to what little humanity he had left.
William sat in silence, forcing his mind to quiet, as the car drove on into the dark, his hands still clenched, his heart still racing, but the power within him pulsed-quiet and relentless, reminding him of what he might do. He pushed it away, steadying himself. For now, he would wait, hanging on tight to the faint hope that somehow he might get through what was coming without becoming the monster he feared.
She leaned forward, her calm, calculating gaze studying William as if it would pierce through him. Her face was unreadable, her expression carefully controlled, save for an almost playful something in her eyes a glimmer of intrigue that sent a shiver down his spine. She had not been there just to guard him but to study him and take him to pieces, piece by piece she made no effort to hide that fact. A quiet confidence she innately possessed unnerved him, as if she already knew the end of every thought that flickered through his mind.
She cocked her head, breaking the silence with a small, faintly amused smile. "You're awfully calm for someone in your position," she said, her tone smooth as silk, with just the right amounts of curiosity and mock concern. "I'd expect you to be… nervous. I know you must be wondering what's next. Where we're going, why you're here." Her tone was light, and casual, almost as if they were discussing something mundane. But beneath those words was an edge, a quiet taunt that twisted in William's gut and pricked at that part of him that wanted answers, that hated feeling powerless.
He said nothing. Kept his face blank. But she didn't seem fazed by the fact he wasn't talking. Instead, she leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she watched his reaction-or the lack thereof-her smile widening ever so slightly.
"Oh, don't be so stoic," she said, her voice husky as her gaze lingered on him just that second too long. "You know, I have read all about you, well the public reports, at least." Her voice fell to almost a whisper, soft and coaxing. "The infamous 'Red Wraith.' They say you're some sort of… phenomenon. An anomaly. A boy who caused one of the darkest incidents we've ever seen, without breaking a sweat. Isn't that remarkable?
William's jaw clenched, muscles tightening around the name Red Wraith-. A title he never had asked for, one that called up memories he had long tried to bury. She saw the slight shift, the way his body reacted, and her smile grew.
"I can see that name bothers you," she said, continuing now with her voice softening almost to a gentle, sympathetic tone. "But we both know that it's who you are, don't we? The world sees you as this… terrifying creature. But me? " She laid a hand against her chest, pretending a vulnerability he knew ran only skin deep. "I see you differently. I see a young man who's alone in the world, just trying to survive."
I can only imagine what that feels like.
Her tone was almost pacifying, laced with a soothing rhythm, as if she tried to comfort him. But he saw through it. She was pushing, pressing against every wound he tried to hide, trying to unravel him from the inside. Each word was placed with due consideration, a subtle twist of the knife. He could feel her slowly eroding his defenses, picking at the cracks in his armor with ruthless precision.
"You don't have to be that monster, you know," she whispered while her eyes softened, the tone bleeding with mock sincerity. "You don't have to keep fighting. Some people could understand you… even help you. But you have to trust us first. Trust *me.*" She reached out, her hand almost brushing his arm, as if in an attempt to comfort him, an assurance that she was on his side.
It took everything he had not to flinch, not to pull away, to keep his face impassive. He could feel the lure in her words, the promise of comprehension, of something that might finally make sense of the storm inside him. Yet he knew better. He knew her kindness was a mask, a ploy to draw him out, to strip him of defenses and make him so very vulnerable.
But he clenched his fists, his teeth, willing himself to keep quiet, willing those thoughts to leave him alone. She was trying to get him to crack, to break down and give in to the profile they'd created for him. Well, he was not about to let her have that satisfaction.
Oh, I see you're not ready to open up just yet, she said, leaning back with a soft sigh, though there was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. That's all right, William. We have time. Eventually, you'll see there's no reason to resist. You'll see that we're on the same side. You'll come to understand. She cocked her head, her voice sinking to a whisper. One way or another. Her words hung in the air, slipping under his skin, their poison oozing slowly into his mind. Seated in silence, watching the blur of the road, he felt the heavy weight of her gaze on him, her words churning in his mind as dark clouds. And no matter how hard he fought it, he knew this woman wasn't done with him yet.