CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: UNFINISHED BUSINESS

A sharp inhale.

Ken's chest rose in a shallow breath, air scraping against his dry throat like sandpaper. His lips cracked as he parted them, but no sound came. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was parched—bone-dry, like he'd been lying in the desert for days. His body felt heavier than stone, weighed down by an exhaustion so deep it threatened to pull him under again.

Blurred light burned through his eyelids, too bright, too overwhelming. He winced, head throbbing with a slow, torturous pounding that sent sharp pulses through his skull. His ears rang with a high-pitched hum, but beneath it, there were voices—muffled, distant, warping in and out like a bad frequency. He couldn't make them out, but they were there.

"Where am I?"

The last thing he remembered was... the fight. The pain. Shadows twisting around him. Selena's voice, calling him back. His breath hitched as fear clawed its way up his chest. The nightmare. It had felt so real—the suffocating darkness, the weight of death pressing against his lungs, the sinking sensation of slipping away. His fingers twitched, searching for something, anything to anchor him.

Panic surged as he tried to move. His body refused. His muscles screamed in protest, weak and unresponsive. He forced himself to push through, willing his limbs to obey, but they barely even flinched. His heart pounded—trapped. He was trapped.

A choked sound escaped him as his breathing picked up, ragged and uneven. His vision swam as he forced his eyes open, the ceiling above shifting in and out of focus. He blinked rapidly, the light stabbing into his retinas. The room was unfamiliar—white walls, sterile air. A clinic?

He struggled to lift his head, but the weight of exhaustion pressed him down. Every part of him ached. His fingers curled into the fabric of the sheets beneath him, grounding himself as his mind fought through the haze.

"I'm alive."

The realization settled in slowly. He wasn't in that nightmare anymore. He wasn't drowning in darkness. He was here. But why did it still feel like he hadn't escaped?

His breath shuddered. His vision was still unfocused, his body still foreign to him. He hated this weakness. Hated feeling this powerless. But he wasn't dead. And for now, that had to be enough.

A firm yet gentle hand pressed against his chest, stopping his feeble attempt to sit up.

"You're safe," a voice murmured, soothing but firm. "You're in the school clinic. You need to rest."

Ken flinched at the touch, his breath still uneven. His vision was still blurry, but he could make out a silhouette hovering over him. A nurse. Another figure darted past the bed, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

"Get the headmistress," the nurse ordered, her voice hushed but urgent. The second nurse hesitated for only a second before rushing out the door.

Ken's muscles tensed again as his body instinctively tried to move. Weak. He hated feeling weak. His breathing remained uneven, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Hey, look at me," the nurse tending to him said, pressing her palm lightly against his forehead. "You're alright. Just take it slow. Breathe."

He wanted to snap at her, tell her he was breathing, but the words stuck in his throat. His body refused to obey him, and that terrified him more than he cared to admit.

The nurse's hand lingered on his forehead for a moment before moving to adjust the blanket over him. "You're lucky to be alive," she murmured. "So stop fighting it and just—"

Ken turned his head away, shutting his eyes. He didn't need to be told how lucky he was. He already knew.

The door swung open again, and the room tensed with the arrival of someone new.

Helen.

Ken barely had time to process the nurse's words before the door swung open with purpose. The sharp click of heels echoed in the quiet room, each step measured, deliberate. Even through the lingering haze clouding his mind, Ken recognized the authority in her presence.

Helen.

She stopped at the foot of his bed, her piercing gaze sweeping over him in a single, calculated glance. "You're awake." It wasn't a question—it was an observation, as if she had expected nothing less.

Ken forced his sluggish mind to focus, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. His throat burned like sandpaper, his body felt like it had been put through a grinder, but he managed to meet her eyes. "Who… are you?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the weight of confusion and exhaustion pressed behind it.

She tilted her head slightly, unimpressed by his weakness. "My name is Helen… Helen Remmick."

At the mention of the name Remmick, something inside Ken lurched. A cold weight settled in his chest, pressing down like a vice. The last thing he remembered was the battle—Shane's twisted smirk, the overwhelming bloodshed, the sheer desperation in Selena's eyes before everything went dark.

He swallowed dryly, his throat raw, his lips cracked. "Where is she?" His voice barely escaped his lips, rough and unsteady. "Where's Selena?"

Helen's expression didn't change. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unreadable. Then, she spoke.

"She's dead."

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

Helen continued, her tone as steady as ever. "She sacrificed herself for you."

Ken's entire world tilted. His breath caught, his hands began to tremble, and a crushing weight of despair coiled around his heart. The battle, the pain, the fading light in Selena's eyes—it all came rushing back.

Helen stood still, watching, waiting. Studying every fracture forming in his already broken state. She observed him closely, her sharp eyes catching every tremor in his hands, every flicker of grief in his expression. It wasn't just sorrow—it was something deeper, something personal. So, he does feel the same for her.

A small smile crept onto her lips.

Before she could say another word, the door suddenly slammed open.

Selena burst into the room, her face streaked with tears, her breathing uneven and frantic. Her wide, desperate eyes locked onto Ken, and in an instant, she rushed to his bedside.

Without hesitation, she collapsed onto him, gripping him as if he would disappear if she let go.

"Ken!" she choked out, her voice breaking. Her fingers clutched his hospital gown tightly, her entire body trembling.

Ken froze, the whirlwind of emotions hitting him all at once—relief, shock, and something even deeper. He could feel her warmth, her heartbeat against him, the sheer desperation in her hold.

Helen, watching the scene unfold, muttered under her breath with amusement, "Lover girl."

Ken stiffened as Selena's warmth pressed against him, her sobs muffled against his chest. His mind lagged behind, still reeling from what Helen had told him just moments ago. She's dead. The words had shattered something inside him. But here she was—alive, warm, clinging to him as if she'd never let go.

His dazed eyes flickered toward Helen, who stood watching, her arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. A realization settled in. She lied.

A test.

His fingers twitched as if uncertain whether to hold her or push her away. But then he let out a shaky breath and allowed his arms to wrap around her, ignoring the dull ache that rippled through his body. He could think about Helen's deception later. Right now, he chose to sink into the moment—to hold Selena as tightly as she held him.

His voice, still hoarse, barely made it past his throat. "I thought I lost you."

Selena sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him, her teary eyes scanning his face. "You almost did, idiot."

Ken managed a small, tired smile. "Guess that makes two of us."

From the corner of the room, Helen smirked, shaking her head. "Interesting."

Helen watched them with quiet fondness—the warmth in Selena's expression, the ease in Ken's small smirk, and Nicole's playful banter. It was a rare sight, one that filled the room with an unspoken comfort.

For a fleeting moment, she imagined me sitting there with them, joining in on the conversation with my usual sarcasm, maybe even laughing—not the cold, detached boy she knew, but one who could let himself exist in moments like this.

Sadness crept in, dull but persistent. I wasn't here. I never allowed myself to be.

With a quiet sigh, Helen decided to let them have the room. They deserved this peace, however brief. Turning on her heels, she walked out, her mind set on finding me.

I lay under the shade of a towering oak tree, arms folded behind my head, eyes half-lidded as I let the cool breeze brush against my skin. The rhythmic rustling of leaves and the distant hum of student chatter blended into a calming lull, allowing me a rare moment of peace.

Then, footsteps.

I ignored them at first, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and leave me be. But the steps stopped right beside me, and a shadow cast over my face, blocking the sunlight filtering through the branches.

I cracked an eye open and immediately scowled. "Of course," I muttered.

Helen stood over me, arms crossed, watching me with that ever-composed expression of hers.

"You're disrupting my peace," I drawled, shifting slightly but making no effort to sit up.

Helen didn't move. "I wasn't aware you knew what peace was."

I clicked my tongue, my glare sharpening. "And yet, here you are, ruining it."

Helen arched a brow, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "You know, most kids your age would be out playing, making friends, having fun. But look at you, sulking under a tree all by yourself."

My eye twitched. My fingers curled into the grass beneath me as irritation flared into something hotter.

"Leave me the heck alone!" I roared, sitting up so fast it startled even myself. My voice echoed, cutting through the peaceful hum of the school grounds.

Helen's smirk vanished. For a brief moment, she was caught off guard—not just by the volume of my outburst, but by the sheer depth of the anger behind it. It wasn't the usual sharp sarcasm or irritation I threw around so effortlessly.

No, this was deeper. This was rage—unchecked, unfiltered, and festering.

Her expression softened, her arms slowly lowering from their crossed position as she studied me carefully. "Liam…" she started, her voice quieter now.

My chest rose and fell sharply, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. I could feel Helen's gaze on me, studying me, analyzing me like she always did. I hated it.

"What?" I snapped, glaring up at her. "You gonna give me some lecture now? Tell me to let go of my 'hatred' or some crap like that?"

Helen remained silent for a moment, then sighed. "No. I was just thinking… how much anger you're holding in."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Brilliant observation. You gonna tell me anger is bad for my health next?"

Helen ignored my sarcasm. "I'm not telling you to let it go, Liam. I know that's impossible for you." She tilted her head, watching me carefully. "But if you don't control it, it'll consume you. You think you're keeping it in check, but it's bleeding out, little by little."

I clicked my tongue, looking away. "You're wasting your time," I muttered.

Helen exhaled slowly. "Maybe. But you'll remember this conversation when the anger finally burns you out."

I said nothing, my gaze locked onto the swaying branches above me. The wind brushed against my skin again, but it didn't feel as calming as before.

Nicole had left the two lovebirds to take a stroll around the school—secretly hoping she'd bump into me. Ever since she arrived, we hadn't crossed paths, and the restless feeling gnawed at her.

As Helen and I continued our little back-and-forth, she spotted Helen in the distance. A spark of opportunity lit up in her eyes, and without hesitation, she made her way over, hoping to ask a few questions about me.

The moment our gazes met, she beamed—a bright, almost too-perfect smile.

I, on the other hand, immediately mimed gagging. "Ugh, who's the weirdo?" I muttered under my breath.

Helen raised a brow at my exaggerated reaction and sighed, shaking her head. "Try not to scare away every person who approaches you," she muttered before turning to greet Nicole.

She sighed, already anticipating the disaster that was about to unfold. "Liam, this is Nicole Valtoria," she introduced, gesturing toward the girl. "Nicole, meet Liam Remmick."

Nicole, unfazed by my earlier display of immaturity, extended her hand toward me with a polite smile. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said, her voice smooth and composed.

I glanced at her hand, then at her face, then back at her hand—before scoffing and turning on my heel. Without a word, I walked away, leaving her hanging.

Helen let out a deep, weary sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah... he's like that," she muttered.

Nicole slowly lowered her hand, blinking in mild disbelief. Then, with an amused chuckle, she turned back to Helen. "Charming."

Nicole folded her arms, watching my retreating figure with a smirk. "He's even worse than I expected," she mused, her voice laced with amusement rather than offense.

Helen sighed again, crossing her own arms. "Trust me, that was him being mild."

Nicole raised a brow. "Mild? I can't imagine what he'd be like on a bad day."

Helen gave her a knowing look. "Pray you never find out."

Before Nicole could respond, a hurried voice cut through their conversation.

"Lady Helen," a young female assistant approached, slightly out of breath. "Lady Sophia has arrived. She's waiting for you."

Helen's expression shifted immediately, her casual demeanor hardening into something unreadable. Nicole noticed the change and tilted her head. "Lady Sophia?"

Helen turned to her with a small, unreadable smile. "Someone very important."

Without another word, she strode off, leaving Nicole standing there, curiosity sparking in her chest.

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