Silent Accusations

The first light of dawn crept cautiously through the narrow window, casting pale strips of gray across the cluttered room.

Enor lay still beneath the thin blanket, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling stained with shadows from the flickering streetlamp outside.

The night's fire had long since cooled on her skin, but the ache lingered deep in her chest... and deeper still inside her mind.

Footsteps echoed softly down the hall.

The smell of something faintly burnt drifted in. Enor finally pushed herself up, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs.

She stretched then made her way to the main room, guided by the soft hum of a television and the low murmur of voices.

Ar sat on the worn couch, legs folded beneath him, arms resting loosely on his knees.

The grandfather stood by the kitchenette, fiddling with the old kettle.

And curled up in the armchair, blanket around his legs and hair sticking out in every direction, was Cedrik, awake, but not fully alert.

When Enor entered, all eyes flicked toward her for a second, just enough to notice she was up, but no one spoke.

"Good morning," Cedrik said, clearing his throat. "sleep well?"

Enor gave a silent nod, settling near the couch.

He doesn't know about the flare... not yet, she realized, her gaze drifting to the TV.

On the screen, protest footage played. Crowds swelling in the streets, fists raised, voices raw with fury.

The captions beneath the screen were hard to read over the images:

"Three Dead After Marked Attack"

"Academy Inaction Sparks Rage"

"Security Breakdown?"

Ar turned the volume up.

"…third fatal incident involving marked powers in under two months. With the most recent attack claiming the lives of three students, citizens are demanding accountability from the Academy system, accusing it of negligence and failure to enforce patrols…"

Enor's throat tightened.

Her school.

Her mistake.

Her fault.

People on the screen screamed into cameras, waving hand-painted signs and clutching photos of the dead.

Buildings behind them bore scorch marks.

"They're not just angry," Ar muttered. "They're terrified."

"And rightly so," the grandfather added. "They've been fed the idea that the Academies are in control, that they're keeping the marked caged, suppressed, neutralized. But now, those chains are cracking."

Cedrik leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the footage. "This isn't just about what happened at her school, is it?"

"No," Ar said. "There's been a steady rise in marked activity. Not just attacks. Petty thefts. Vandalism. Territory flare-ups. People slipping through the cracks."

"They're saying it's rats in the system," Cedrik murmured.

"Marked everywhere. No one doing anything."

"They're right about one thing," Ar said.

"I've been seeing it for weeks now. Empty posts. Fewer sweeps. Fewer drones. If the system wasn't cracking, I never would've gotten Enor out."

The grandfather finally set the kettle down. His voice was quiet, but firm.

"They've been tightening control for years. Precision, pressure, surveillance. Now, all at once, they're easing off? It's not right. It's not normal."

Cedrik blinked.

"Okay, but... why would they pull back now? After something like this?"

Ar shook his head.

"That's exactly what worries me. They're either losing grip…"

"Or shifting focus," the grandfather finished. "Planning something."

The room fell still.

On the screen, another protester shouted into a microphone, his voice hoarse.

"For years we trusted them. Now they vanish when it matters most? We bury our children while they disappear behind walls!"

And before they could react, the footage cut to a quiet studio.

A poised reporter sat across from two adults, their posture composed, their grief perfectly packaged.

The headline beneath them read:

"EXCLUSIVE: Parents of Marked Fugitive Speak Out After School Tragedy"

Enor's breath caught.

Her mother's carefully done hair.

Her father's stiff collar.

The outfits muted but clean, respectable. They were grieving, but not for her.

Not really.

The air in the room went still.

Ar didn't speak.

Cedrik shifted, but said nothing.

Even the grandfather had gone utterly quiet.

They all knew.

They recognized her parents.

Enor's heartbeat quickened, crashing in her ears.

A lump formed deep in her chest, rising like something alive, something pressing against her throat.

The reporter leaned in.

"You were the first to send her to the Academy?"

Her mother nodded tightly.

"Yes. As soon as we saw the markings. We volunteered her immediately. We believed in the system. We believed in containment."

Enor flinched.

It wasn't about helping her.

It never had been.

Her father added, calm and certain,

"We always followed the rules. Every test. Every screening. We did our duty as citizens and as parents. The Academy made the decision to release her. They should be held responsible for that."

Released, like she was some defective experiment returned to the wild.

"She was different from the start," her mother said softly. "Quiet. Sensitive. Always a little off. We hoped the Academy would correct that, but... it was never enough."

Never enough.

The words sank into Enor like ice water.

"We're not hiding her," her father continued. "We don't even know where she is. And if she's watching this, we beg her… turn yourself in. Before anyone else gets hurt."

A shaky breath slipped past Enor's lips.

She had tried. All her life, she had tried.

She had been obedient.

Silent. Neat. Studious.

Even inside her own home, where she should have been safe to exist, she had shrunk herself down to something tolerable. Something easier to love.

She had pushed through illness, through exhaustion, through dread, just to keep her record perfect. All to prove she could carry their name with pride. That being marked didn't make her a disgrace.

But now?

Now that name was splattered across headlines. Soaked in guilt, and fire, and death. She hadn't just failed. She had tainted them. Made them look weak. Tied their legacy to a tragedy.

And they weren't defending her. They were scrubbing her off like a stain.

"Maybe if someone had intervened sooner," her mother added, voice quivering on cue, "three innocent children wouldn't be dead."

That line landed like a knife.

Cedrik turned to look at Enor, expression stricken.

Ar didn't move, but she could feel the tension rolling off him.

The grandfather's hands were folded, face unreadable.

But she didn't look back.

Her eyes were glued to the screen.

To the two people she had once begged to see her.

Understand her.

Love her.

"They're rewriting history," Ar muttered, barely audible. "They're making you the problem."

And they were.

Not with screaming.

Not with rage.

But with quiet words.

Carefully chosen.

Perfectly mournful.

Words that left no blood on their hands, only sorrow in their eyes.

Words that built a story where they were victims of her.

She didn't cry.

She couldn't.

Her throat was too tight.

Her chest too full of everything she'd never said.

Because what she had tried to build her whole life was gone now.

Not ruined. Erased.

And maybe, she thought, maybe if she hadn't left the house that day, none of this would have happened.

Maybe she wouldn't have become their headline.

Their proof that they're dangerous.

Maybe she'd still be pretending to be normal. Pretending it didn't hurt to be hated for something she never chose.

But she did leave.

And now the world remembers her for what she lost control of.

Not for who she is.

The girl who had tried to be perfect was dead. And the only version left was the one the world feared.

The cursed child.

The walking danger.

The mark they regretted ever bringing into the world.

The headline flickered again:

"Academy Failure or Marked Menace? Citizens Demand Action."

And somewhere behind it all, her father's voice echoed, cold and final:

"From the moment we were cursed with a marked offspring…"

The silence in the room stretched long after the interview ended.

No one dared to speak.

The screen faded back to the news anchor, her voice calm and composed, but the damage was done.

The interview was over, yet the ache it left behind clung to the air like smoke.

Cedrik shifted in the armchair, the blanket slipping from his knees. He glanced at Enor, brows drawn tight with something raw. Not pity, something closer to grief. For her.

He opened his mouth, then stopped. His gaze flicked to the screen, then back to her. He simply nodded, soft, hesitant, and full of unspoken solidarity.

The grandfather moved quietly, placing the kettle on the counter with slow, deliberate care. Even he didn't break the silence.

Enor didn't move.

She couldn't.

Her eyes were dry, but her body felt too full. Like if she breathed too deeply, everything would spill out.

The television droned on. Protest footage blurred into talking heads. A rising toll graphic. A split screen of a city official defending the Academy while burned lockers flashed beside him. The voices melded together, dull and distant.

Then Ar cleared his throat softly.

"I know that was…" He said trying to search the right words to console her. "Enor, I-"

But a new voice cut through the broadcast.

"Doctor Sylas Varin, the Academy's Head of Research and Enforcement Division, is now responding to the allegations of negligence…"

Ar turned to the screen... Slowly...

Something shifted in him.

His posture stiffened. Shoulders locked. Jaw clenched.

Then his eyes widened.

Enor followed his gaze.

A man had appeared on-screen. Tall, composed, dressed in an Academy-issued suit as pristine as the lie behind it. His silver-streaked hair was combed neatly back, his eyes cold and clear.

He looked like every part of the system they had grown to fear.

But it wasn't the man that shocked her.

It was Ar.

The change in him was sudden and total. The calm that usually wrapped around him like armor cracked. The air around him thickened. His stare burned with something dark, something buried too long.

Hatred.

Not anger. Not frustration.

But pure, bone-deep resentment.

Enor blinked.

And for the first time since she'd met him, she was afraid for whoever stood on the other end of Ar's stare.