I've discovered that if you cry at the right time, people stop asking you difficult questions.
I squeeze my eyes shut and let a single perfect tear track down my cheek. Across the desk the intake officer sighs. He shifts a stack of papers - my 'stability profile' - and softens his grip on his pen.
He thinks he's seeing grief. He thinks I'm picturing the fire that turned my best friend into ash.
Of course not.
I'm calculating the distance between me and him and the amount of time it would take to 'accidentally' fall off my chair in order for him to help me up and potentially steal his ability.
All it takes is one touch.
"Look, I know how hard this can be for you,"
The officer says, his voice gentle and soft,
"But it's going to be okay Elara. This can happen to anyone."
He continued again with even more pity
"The Stability program is not a prison. It's a place for people like you who can't control their ability"
The lie tastes like copper in my mouth. I didn't kill Leo, but I did steal something from him.
The officer stamps my file. CLASS C:BRUTE.
"Welcome to sector 4"
he says.
I stand up, making sure to stumble slightly. I let my shoulder heavy thud against the doorframe cracking the wood just a tiny bit. It was a reminder that I was 'unstable'. They had to believe I was stupid. They had to believe I can't control my ability. Otherwise it wouldn't work.
As I walk into the main hall, the air shifts. It smells like freshly polished wood and cleaning products.
A boy is leaning on the far wall. He's wearing a silver armband of a Student Warden. His dark hair casts a shadow over his face and his eyes looked tired as if he hadn't slept in a month. I bet he's bored of everything.
I keep my head down, clutching the straps on my bag until my knuckles turn pale, pretending to be the weak girl everyone thinks of me. I try to look like the victim. I try to look so pale almost as if I'm scared of my own shadow.
But as I pass him, I feel his gaze. It's not the pitying look of a doctor and its not a fearful look of a guard. It's sharp and heavy, as if it's staring right at my soul, questioning my motive.
I don't look up, it would have been suspicious if I did, instead a little smirk creeps along my face at an angle he can't see.
No one must know about my true intentions.