Clara's mind was a storm as she sat in her classroom, staring blankly at the board. Her teacher's voice was a distant hum, drowned out by the memory of the man's voice and the strange warning: "You will have to choose."
Her classmates barely glanced her way. They always avoided her—whispering, giggling, and treating her like an outsider. Clara had learned to accept it, but today, it stung more than usual.
Emily, her only real friend, was sitting a few rows ahead. She had tried to talk to Clara before class, but Clara had brushed her off, too overwhelmed to act normal.
"Clara!"
Her teacher's voice snapped her back to reality.
"Can you answer the question?" Mrs. Hawthorne asked, arms crossed, a look of mild irritation on her face.
Clara swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear it."
The class snickered, and Clara felt her cheeks burn.
"Pay attention next time," Mrs. Hawthorne said curtly, turning back to the board.
As the laughter faded, Clara's focus drifted again. The man outside her window, the voice in her head, the pulsing energy of the book—it all pointed to something bigger. And she had no idea how to handle it.
---
At lunch, Emily found Clara sitting alone in the far corner of the cafeteria, poking at her food.
"Hey," Emily said, sliding into the seat across from her. "Are you okay? You've been really off today."
Clara forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Clara. I know you better than that. Did something happen during the trip?"
Clara's stomach tightened. She wanted to tell Emily everything—about Lila, the forest, the man in the shadows. But she couldn't. She wasn't supposed to.
"It's nothing," Clara said quickly. "I promise."
Emily frowned, her eyes narrowing. "You're lying. You've been acting weird ever since we got back."
"I'm not lying," Clara insisted, her voice sharper than she intended.
Emily leaned back, crossing her arms. "Fine. If you don't want to talk, I won't force you. But don't expect me to keep chasing after you when you're pushing me away."
Clara opened her mouth to respond, but Emily was already walking away.
Guilt gnawed at Clara as she watched her friend leave. She didn't want to lose Emily, but how could she explain something she didn't fully understand herself?
---
That evening, Clara was helping Alan clean the garage when Daniel walked in, holding an old shoebox.
"Hey, look what I found," he said, setting the box down on the workbench.
Clara glanced over, curious. Daniel opened the lid to reveal a stack of faded photographs and yellowed papers.
"These must be from when we were kids," he said, picking up a picture of a younger version of himself holding a toddler. "Look, Clara. That's you."
Clara smiled faintly. "You look like you hated holding me."
"I probably did," Daniel teased, but his tone was warm.
As they sifted through the photos, Clara noticed something strange. There were no pictures of her as a baby—only ones from when she was about two years old and up.
"Where are the baby pictures?" Clara asked, frowning.
Alan, who had been organizing tools nearby, froze for a split second before answering. "We didn't have a good camera back then. Most of the early photos got damaged."
Clara nodded, but the explanation felt off.
Later that night, as she lay in bed, the thought wouldn't leave her. Why weren't there any baby pictures? And why did her father seem uncomfortable when she asked?
Her heart pounded as a terrifying possibility crossed her mind.
What if there was something about her past that she didn't know?
---
In the middle of the night, Clara woke up to a soft tapping at her window.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she sat up, staring at the glass. At first, she thought it was just a tree branch swaying in the wind. But then she saw the shadowy figure standing just outside.
It was him.
Clara's hands trembled as she got out of bed and moved toward the window. She hesitated, then opened it a crack.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
The man's glowing eyes pierced through the darkness. "You're beginning to see, aren't you? The pieces of your life that don't fit."
"What are you talking about?" Clara demanded.
"Your powers are awakening," the man said. "But you cannot wield them without understanding the truth of who you are."
Clara's breath caught. "What truth?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, placing a single black feather on the windowsill. "Find the answers, Clara. Before it's too late."
Before she could ask anything else, he vanished, dissolving into the shadows.
Clara stared at the feather, her mind racing.
The truth of who she was? What did he mean?
And why did she feel like her whole life was about to change?