I pulled out my phone to call a doctor—
and then heard a faint groan.
Alan.
Clyde tightened his hold around him, and something sharp flickered through me—irritation, almost instinctive. The image I'd just seen was still burned into my head.
I didn't want anyone touching him after that.
"Instructor Storik?" the doctor's voice came through—clearly not for the first time.
"Ah—yes. Sorry. We need a doctor and a stretcher in the archive wing. Now."
"Bring the director. And a portal," Clyde added.
I didn't argue.
Didn't question it.
Just repeated the order.
"Is it that serious?" the doctor asked, tension creeping into his voice.
"Yes. Move."
I ended the call.
"We need to get closer to the exit," I said.
"Someone could walk in," Clyde replied flatly. "No. Go meet them. I'll stay."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Damn it, Storik, for once—stop arguing!" Clyde snapped, something sharp flashing in his eyes. Then, quieter: "I'll watch him. Go."
I hesitated.
Then stepped out.
—
I led the doctor, two students with a stretcher, the director, and her bodyguard through the dim corridor.
"Storik, what's so urgent?" Pavel demanded. "Amalia doesn't have time for—"
"Director Rigor," I cut in sharply, stopping and turning to face them, "I wouldn't have called you if this wasn't serious."
I held her gaze.
"What you're about to see… isn't something you ignore."
A pause.
"And I expect action. Otherwise, I'll deal with it myself."
"Good Lord…" she murmured, covering her mouth.
I said nothing.
Just opened the door.
—
"What happened here?!" the doctor gasped.
His eyes flicked over Alma—curled in on herself, empty, barely present—then to Alan, still in Clyde's arms, his white clothes soaked through with blood and grime.
The doctor didn't hesitate.
Straight to Alan.
"Oh God…"
He dropped to his knees, hands already moving.
"Stretcher. Now."
He reached for him—
"No. He needs Samantha," Clyde said, unmoving.
"Silius, you know the rules," Pavel said firmly. "He cannot be treated by an elite physician. Let them do their job."
"I said no!" Clyde snapped.
Even I froze.
Alan stirred.
His eyes cracked open.
"Where… am I…" he whispered.
"Shh. It's over. Just hold on," Clyde said quietly.
I stared.
I had never heard him speak like that.
Never seen that kind of control.
That kind of… care.
"Alan!" I stepped forward.
He looked at me—
blank at first—
then something in him broke.
"No! No—go away! Please—go!" he screamed, panic tearing through his voice as he tried to pull away.
I stopped.
Forced myself forward anyway.
"Alan, calm down. It's over. I'm not going to hurt you."
"No! I don't want you to see me like this—go! Please!" he choked, twisting in Clyde's grip, flinching with every movement.
"Step back, Storik!" Clyde snapped, tightening his hold. "Alan—stop. You're safe!"
"He needs a sedative," the doctor said quickly. A syringe was already in his hand.
"Wait," Clyde cut in—and looked at me.
"I want him as my personal bodyguard."
The words hit hard.
Before I could react, he raised his voice—
"It's the only way to help him, Storik! If we don't get him to Samantha, he'll be crippled!"
I knew he was right.
And I hated it.
I didn't want Alan tied to someone like him.
I'd thought… after graduation, he'd stay.
That he'd—
I looked at Alan.
Shaking.
Broken.
Barely holding himself together.
Slowly—
I nodded.
"Think carefully, Silius," the director said calmly. "You understand what this could mean for you?"
"I don't give a damn!" he snapped. "Alan—give me your hand."
Alan barely seemed to understand.
Clyde took his hand anyway.
"Just say yes. That's all. Do you understand?"
A weak, unfocused nod.
"Alan Holivan. Do you agree to become my personal bodyguard?"
Silence.
"Damn it, Alan—just say it!" Clyde snapped.
"…Yes," Alan rasped.
Clyde exhaled.
"You all heard that. I am filing a formal complaint regarding the assault on my personal bodyguard. I demand punishment—and immediate transfer to the elite medical wing via portal."
"Pavel, call her," the director said. "We'll need a body memory review."
Alan weakly tried to pull away—
then looked at the director.
Panic returned instantly.
"I won't file a complaint," he whispered. "Don't call anyone."
"Holivan," she said evenly, "you are now bound as a personal bodyguard. Your employer has filed a complaint. It will proceed."
"No! I refuse! What bodyguard? I never agreed to this!" he shouted, his voice breaking.
He was coming back.
And with it—
everything that had happened.
The horror.
I understood.
But it didn't change anything.
Only then did it really hit me—
what Clyde had just done.
He'd taken in an outcast.
A boy from a family powerful enough to crush anyone who crossed them.
With one sentence—
he'd put himself in danger.
For Alan.
Why?
—
Alan didn't stop fighting—even when the specialist arrived.
In the end, they had to sedate him.
As the smoky images began to form, Alma shut her eyes tight.
I understood.
I didn't want to see it either.
My hands clenched on their own—
and then his voice came again—
raw—
shattered—
"Alma… don't look… please… don't look…"
And I realized—
she wasn't just avoiding it.
She was obeying him.
—
"…So I was your first," the attacker's voice echoed, sick with satisfaction. "Don't worry. My boys will teach you."
The air shifted.
Turned cold.
I looked at Clyde.
He stood there—
eyes empty—
hands trembling—
veins standing out under his skin.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
I stepped closer, gripping his shoulder hard, crouching beside him.
"Stop," I said under my breath. "You'll expose yourself."
I tightened my grip.
"They'll be punished. I swear it. But not like this. Think. What happens if they find out what you can do?"
He flinched.
The cold receded.
Slowly.
The air warmed again.
I exhaled slowly.
I had never seen anything like that.
Not from a Special.
Not from anyone.
But that—
could wait.
For now.