Ethan woke up with a groan, his body aching all over. It felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His arms were shaky, his head was spinning, and his stomach was doing flips. Everything hurt.
He tried to sit up but almost fell back down as a wave of dizziness hit him. Blinking to clear his vision, he looked around and saw the absolute chaos surrounding him.
The broken glass sparkled across the floor, ink was splattered on the walls like some kind of messed-up art project, and books were scattered everywhere. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room.
Despite the pain, a weak smile crept onto his face. He had done this. He had actually moved stuff just by thinking about it. Or willing it. Whatever the crazy old lady had called it. But now a new fear crept in. Was it just a fluke? Could he still do it? Or was it a one-time thing?
