My ability to learn was starting to terrify me. The Angel hadn't been wrong; I could absorb information several times faster than most people. Anything I read clicked instantly and stayed with perfect clarity, as if my memory had become photographic. I could visualize and master almost anything within hours.
I'd finished the Jiu-Jitsu manual and memorized every technique and movement. Then I moved on to Muay Thai which focus on stand-up strikes, sweeps, and clinching skills that blended seamlessly with my grappling and submission techniques.
As I trained, Amir stepped out of his tent.
"It's the middle of the night. Why are you still practicing? Go get some sleep. Overtraining will only hurt your body. Know your limits," he barked.
He was right. A normal body would have collapsed by now. But I wasn't normal. After so much exercise, I barely felt tired. Still, I obeyed to avoid raising suspicion and headed back toward my tent.
Before going inside, I glanced at the medical tent and decided to check on Clementine.
Inside, Lee was asleep on the bench. Clementine lay awake on the stretcher, her eyes brightening when she saw me. She already looked healthier, her color had returned.
"Max! I'm so glad to see you again!" A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Why are you crying? Stop that," I said, sitting beside her.
She quickly wiped it away. "I'm sorry… I was just so scared when you ran off. Why did you do that?" Her voice trembled as she waited for my answer.
"I… I don't know," I said, my throat tightening.
Her brow furrowed. "Don't do that again. You're the only friend I have. I can't lose you too." She narrowed her eyes at me—like an angry little housecat.
"When did we become friends? We barely know each other," I said.
"Didn't you say we were friends when you talked to that commander?"
…Oh. Right. I had.
"Okay… we're friends," I conceded. "How are you? How's your arm?"
"The doctor said I'm okay. If I'd gone a few more days without treatment, they might've had to amputate it. But that didn't happen—because of you. Thank you for saving my life."
I smiled. "I didn't do much. I should be the one thanking you for saving mine."
A pause. Then the question I couldn't shake slipped out:
"Why did you jump in to protect me? Weren't you angry?"
She fell silent, staring at her hands. Then, softly:
"I wasn't angry… I was jealous."
"Jealous?" I repeated.
"I'm… weak. I barely know how to fight. And you… you're strong. You can do things I can't. I hide while you take action. And… I was jealous of how Lee was giving you more attention. When he said you'd go into the station instead of me, I got angry. Frustrated. I felt useless—like you were taking everything away from me."
Her voice softened. "It wasn't you. It was my jealousy."
I chuckled gently. She pressed her lips together.
"Hey, that's not funny," she muttered.
She hesitated, then asked, "I want to ask you something too."
"What is it?" I asked.
"When we first met… why did you stare at me for so long? You looked at me like you saw a ghost. I got scared."
I said nothing. If I told her the truth, she'd think I was crazy.
Her face turned red, and she looked away, whispering,
"Do… do you like me, Max?"
My chest tightened. I froze, not even sure how to respond.
"When I asked Lee, he said boys stare at girls they like. If you… like me, I don't mind," she added, trembling.
Panic surged. She was overthinking everything and misunderstanding.
"Listen… I don't like you," I said firmly.
Her face twisted with hurt. "Don't lie. You do, don't you?"
I hesitated. For a moment, I even wondered if she was right. Maybe I did. But I pushed it away.
"Look… I think of you as a friend. But loving you? I don't know," I admitted. I cared about her, and I didn't understand why. A few days ago, I'd have confidently said I didn't care at all. Now? Saying that would be a lie.
When that soldier was about to kill her, I moved without thinking, fully aware I could die. I acted purely on instinct. Looking back…Maybe I cared more than I wanted to admit. But not the way she thought. I couldn't love anyone, not in a world where anyone could die at any moment.
I forced the thought away before it went any further. I wasn't ready to accept it. Her presence made me reckless.
Trying not to hurt her, I asked, maybe as a way to test the situation,
"So… why do you think you like me?"
She swallowed. "I'm not sure when it started. Maybe when I was sick and told you about my parents. You were kind. When I thought I might die, I realized how similar we were. I always thought you were brave and mature, even though I'm older than you. But then I realized… you're scared too. When you sleep… you call for your mother."
Her voice shook.
"We're both traumatized. Both searching for our families. The only difference is… you hide your fear, trying your best not to show it." She looked at her hands, then back at me. "And I know my feelings for you… it's not just regular liking."
She looked at me—vulnerable, waiting.
I had no answer.
"Why don't you believe me when I say… I don't like you?" I asked.
She swallowed.
"Because even when you act mean toward me, your actions say otherwise. You gave me food when I was hungry. You stopped me from taking risks. You took care of me when I was sick. You risked your life to distract the undead. And when that soldier tried to kill me… you still stepped in, even though you probably couldn't survive."
She met my eyes.
"That's why I don't believe you. Your actions speak louder than your words."
Hearing everything laid out… even I felt uneasy. She was perceptive far more than I'd realized.
And she was right.
Every time I pushed her away, my actions betrayed me.
My heart raced. My hands went cold.
I needed to get away.
"I… I need some air," I muttered, standing too quickly.
"Max? Did I do something wrong? Please don't—"
"I just need space," I said, unable to meet her eyes.
I turned away. She reached out weakly.
"I'm going," I said quietly. "Don't follow me."
Her hand froze midair. Her eyes widened, hurt and confused.
I walked out before she could speak again.