The alley was silent.
The only sound was the ragged breath—not Rose's.
What was happening?
Her head was spinning. There was a pounding in her chest, a burning rush of power that she couldn't control. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, but all she could see were blurry shapes and shadows.
No.
No, this wasn't her.
She could still hear the faint echoes of her own thoughts beneath the storm of confusion—but it felt so distant. Like someone was shouting from the other side of a wall.
The man—he was still there. Still alive, barely moving.
And he was laughing.
The sound grated against her ears, making her fists clench.
What had she done?
Her breath was ragged, her body aching, but it wasn't the kind of pain she expected. It was like her body was made of fire, each muscle burning with power she didn't understand.
The man was groaning now, rolling over on the ground, looking up at her.
"Who... the hell are you?" he gasped.
Her lips parted, but the words that came out weren't hers.
"Wrong move."
The voice that escaped her mouth was cold, mocking.
She didn't even recognize it.
And before she could understand what was happening, her body moved on its own.
She wasn't in control.
He lunged at her, swinging a punch.
She didn't think—she didn't want to think—she just reacted. Her body moved faster than her mind could keep up.
Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it violently. The sickening crack of bone filled the alley, and he screamed.
But Rose didn't feel it. She didn't feel his pain.
She didn't feel anything.
Everything was a blur of motion.
A knee to his gut, the air knocked from his lungs.
A kick to his chest, sending him sprawling back onto the concrete.
A crushing grip around his throat, lifting him into the air with no effort at all.
He gasped, his eyes wide with terror, his hands clawing at her arm.
What was she doing?
She didn't want to hurt him.
But her body wouldn't stop.
"Still think I'm weak?" she heard herself say, the words dripping with venom, as if someone else was using her mouth.
She didn't even recognize her own voice.
Her grip tightened. She could feel him gasping for air, his life slipping away, but she didn't know how to stop. She was losing herself to this force, this power that was controlling her.
I'm not a killer.
Her own thoughts screamed at her, but they felt distant. Like someone was shouting from a faraway place, a place she couldn't reach.
And then, in a moment of pure instinct, her knee slammed into his chin, sending his head snapping back with a sickening crack.
The noise echoed in the alley, louder than anything she had ever heard.
She dropped him—he crumpled to the ground, unconscious, barely breathing.
But the confusion didn't stop.
Her heart was pounding. Her body was trembling. She didn't know how to make it stop.
She looked down at the man. He wasn't moving.
Had she just killed him?
The question burned in her mind, but there was no time to answer it.
Something inside her screamed to fly.
Without thinking, she shot upward, rising into the night sky. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't know why she was doing it.
She was just… flying.
And everything below her felt so small, so insignificant.
But she didn't feel powerful.
She felt lost.
What had just happened?
Her eyes shot open.
The first thing she felt was the cold. The second was the pounding in her head.
Her breath hitched. Something was wrong.
Her fingers twitched against the rough concrete beneath her. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurred, her ears ringing like she had just been pulled from deep water.
Where—?
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she sat up too fast, her body lurching forward. Pain. Not from injuries—but something deeper. Something she couldn't place.
Her hands shot to her chest, pressing against her rapid heartbeat. She felt… off.
And then she saw it.
The blood.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was all over her hands. Smeared across her fingers, staining her skin deep red, fresh and real.
What the hell—?!
She scrambled back, her heels scraping against the rooftop surface, nearly losing her balance as she lifted her hands in horror. Whose blood was this?
Her breathing turned ragged, short, and wrong—too fast, too shallow, like she was choking on air.
Her eyes darted down to her torn clothes, the bruises on her skin, the scratches, the blood.
Flashes of movement hit her like a truck—faint images buried deep in her mind.
A dark alley. A voice sneering. Wrong move.
A flash of red. A scream.
Cracking bone.
Her stomach twisted violently. What did I do?
Her fingers dug into her scalp as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to make sense—but they were shattered, broken pieces of something too awful to comprehend.
She gasped for air, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
A shiver ran down her spine as a terrifying realization clawed its way into her mind:
This wasn't a dream.
She wasn't waking up from this.
She couldn't just pretend it didn't happen.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Her chest felt like it was caving in, like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.
She pressed her palm against the rooftop, trying to ground herself, but her fingers left red smudges against the concrete, and she recoiled like she had been burned.
I did this.
The thought came like a gunshot, loud and undeniable.
She tried to swallow the rising bile in her throat. Her pulse pounded, her body trembling with adrenaline.
She forced herself to her feet, barely able to stand. The city stretched out below her, but it didn't feel real.
Nothing felt real.
She took one shaky step forward, her head spinning.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she flinched like she had been struck.
Slowly, with trembling hands, she pulled it out. Her screen lit up. Breaking News.
Her stomach dropped.
"Mysterious Woman Sighted in Brutal Late-Night Attack."
"Witnesses Report 'Flying Figure' During Incident."
Her breath hitched.
Flying?
She staggered back, her mind spiraling. The blood on her hands. The power in her veins.
And then—one final, soul-crushing realization struck her:
This wasn't the first time.
Somewhere, buried deep inside her, something else had woken up last night.
Something stronger.
Something dangerous.
Something that wasn't her.
Her vision blurred. What if it happens again?
What if I can't stop it?
Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
She had to get away. She had to figure this out before it was too late.
Before she lost herself again.