5~Fractures

Raphael stared at her, smoke curling lazily from his fingertips, the dark haze licking the edges of the air. He wasn’t sure what amused him more—her trembling knees or the flicker of stubbornness still buried deep in her eyes.

“You’ve got nerve,” he murmured at last, tone dripping with mockery more than praise. “But don’t mistake my patience for mercy. Leave. Now.”

The way her body flinched nearly satisfied him. Nearly.

Elara didn’t argue this time. She turned, clutching her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, and slipped into the dim corridor. Raphael exhaled slowly, the smoke stretching upward like a serpent, his jaw flexing hard enough to ache.

Why had he tolerated her? Why had he let her speak to him, let her walk out alive? Normally, a single threat was enough. Normally, a corpse was the end of it.

And yet, he had spoken. Spoken, as though her words meant something.

His lips pressed into a thin line. That was the last time.

⸻

Elara’s escape was clumsy, desperate.

The mansion stretched like a labyrinth—corridors looping endlessly, doors leading back to the same halls. Her breathing quickened, panic digging its claws into her chest. She had to get out. She didn’t belong here.

A turn too sharp, and she almost collided with him.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Blonde hair catching faint morning light that filtered through the stained-glass windows. He looked like someone carved out of authority itself, his sharp gaze landing on her as though she were nothing more than an interruption.

Elara’s breath stuttered. Something about him was commanding… dangerous. She dipped her head quickly, muttered an apology, and hurried past before her courage faltered.

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t even speak. But she felt his gaze trail her like a weight until she vanished around the corner.

It was only by fortune—or pity—that a group of kitchen staff found her wandering, wide-eyed, and ushered her toward the servant’s exit. The walk to the gates was endless, a winding road of stone that seemed to mock her shaking legs.

When the gate finally loomed before her, freedom scraped her lungs raw.

⸻

Back upstairs, Raphael leaned against the tall window, eyes narrowed as he watched her small figure dragging itself down the road. Her defiance should’ve angered him. Instead, he felt… unsettled.

“She’s nothing,” he muttered under his breath. “A trembling little girl who should’ve been dead the moment she opened her mouth.”

His hand flexed, smoke coiling tighter around his knuckles. So why hadn’t he?

The door opened behind him.

Adrian stepped in, every inch of him polished and composed, the morning light gilding his blonde hair.

“There’s a ball tomorrow,” Adrian said without pause. “At five. Father says attendance isn’t optional this time.” His lips quirked, sly and sharp. “Mother will be there too. Thought you’d like to know.”

Mother.

Raphael’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. She was the only tether left in this charade of a family.

He turned back to the window, watching the path where Elara had already disappeared. Smoke curled around his fingers.

⸻

By the time Elara stumbled into her apartment, her hands shook so badly she struggled with the lock. The door shut behind her with a hollow click. She leaned against it, chest rising and falling rapidly, her tiny living space pressing in on her like a sanctuary and a prison all at once.

She slid to the floor, burying her face in her palms. The estate. The blood. The smoke. Every fragment of it replayed in her head like a nightmare on loop.

Enough.

By morning, her decision was made.

At her little desk, she pulled out a plain sheet of paper. The words came stiff at first, then spilled quicker with each line:

To the management,

I hereby resign from my position at the clinic, effective immediately. I am grateful for the opportunity, but due to personal reasons, I can no longer continue.

Her handwriting was sharper than usual, though her fingers trembled with each stroke. Folding the letter neatly, she pressed it into an envelope, heart pounding like she was signing away more than just a job.

At the clinic, the whispers began before she even reached the counter.

“Well, well. Finally quitting?” one nurse sneered, glancing at the envelope. “Guess the city was too much for the little countryside girl.”

Another burst out laughing. “She barely lasted two weeks. Pathetic.”

Their words burned, but Elara only lowered her head, set the envelope down, and turned away. Their laughter trailed behind her like claws dragging down glass.

Outside, the sunlight was cruelly bright. She tightened her grip on her bag, willing herself not to cry. Not here.

⸻

On her way back, distracted and raw, she rounded a corner too fast and collided with someone.

Groceries spilled. Books scattered across the pavement.

“I—I’m so sorry!” Elara gasped, dropping to her knees to help gather them.

The girl she’d bumped into let out a soft laugh, crouching too. “No worries. I wasn’t looking either.”

As Elara passed her a book, recognition flickered. She’d seen her before—passing in the apartment hallway, carrying laundry, once humming to herself on the stairs.

“You live at West Court too, right?” the girl asked, tilting her head curiously.

Elara blinked, then nodded. “Yeah… I think I’ve seen you.”

The girl smiled warmly, tucking the books under one arm. “I’m Mara.”

“Elara,” she answered cautiously.

“Nice to finally meet you properly,” Mara said with a grin. “Seems we’re neighbors.”

For the first time in days, something inside Elara loosened. No smoke. No threats. Just another girl balancing groceries and smiling like the world wasn’t made of knives.

As they walked side by side toward their building, Elara let out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Maybe, just maybe, life could still feel human again

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