Sinful Obsession

31. 31 - Nevan

31 - Nevan

C alling for every last patient to attend therapy is suspicious in and of itself. Using the cafeteria for it has me on edge. Every patient is here, each one wearing their discomfort like a second skin. I spot a few familiar faces, the ones who’ve been here for years like I have, their expressions worn and resigned. Others are newer, their anxiety worn on their sleeve.

Vienna walks ahead of me. There’s a confidence in her now that wasn’t there before, something darker and more commanding. The patients avoid her gaze, whispering among themselves like schoolchildren afraid of the teacher.

The angels—Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael—stand at the front of the room, their presence oppressive in the way only theirs can be. They’re dressed impeccably, as always, their suits tailored to perfection, their expressions projecting softness we all know is a lie. But there’s something off about them today. The usual radiance they carry seems dimmer, their movements less fluid. I don’t know if it’s because of Vienna or the cracks in the portal, but whatever it is, it makes me grin.

“Everyone, take a seat,” Michael bellows, his voice carrying through the cafeteria. The patients obey, shuffling into chairs without a word of protest.

I settle into my spot beside Vito, who slouches in his chair with an air of boredom. Vienna sits to my left, her head held high, her lips twitching like she’s suppressing a laugh. Ewan and Kaua flank her, their postures protective but relaxed. In the last few minutes, we’ve somehow meshed as one unit, feeding off of each other.

Michael steps forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “Today, we’re going to focus on participation. True participation. If you want to heal, you must engage with the process.”

Raphael and Gabriel nod in agreement, their eyes scanning the room. I have to swallow a laugh. Healing? Half the people in this room have been here for years. I’ve been here for years. What a joke.

Vito leans closer. “What’s the point of this, anyway?”

I shrug, my gaze fixed on the angels. “Control. They’re losing it, and they know it.”

As Michael continues his speech, I feel a strange pull in the back of my mind. It’s faint, like a thread brushing against my consciousness, but it’s persistent. I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation, and suddenly, I see it.

Emotions.

They’re not visible in the traditional sense, but they’re there—strings of light and color stretching from every person in the room. The patients’ emotions are bright, vivid, and chaotic, a tangled web of despair, fear, and faint hope. The angels’ emotions, however, are different. Their strings are dull, muted, as though their radiance has been drained.

I reach out mentally, tentatively brushing against one of the brighter strings. A wave of warmth floods me, and I realize I’m amplifying it, pulling it forward like a thread on a loom. The patient it belongs to straightens in their chair, their shoulders relaxing as a small smile tugs at their lips.

Interesting.

I glance at Vito, whose grin widens as he watches me. “What are you doing?”

“Testing something,” I reply, focusing on the angels now. Their strings are harder to grasp, slippery and resistant, but I persist. When I finally manage to latch onto one, I yank, hard .

Michael’s voice falters mid-sentence. His shoulders sag slightly, and for a moment, his expression flickers—hope draining from his features. I do it again, this time to Gabriel and Raphael, pulling at their strings until their carefully crafted masks crumble.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vito asks again, his grin turning feral.

I meet his gaze, my own smile dark. “I can manipulate emotions. Like you can persuade, I can take everything they feel and twist it. I just stole every last shred of hope and happiness they had.”

Vito’s laugh is sharp, drawing the attention of a few nearby patients. He waves them off, leaning closer. “That’s beautiful.”

The angels’ voices are monotone now, their words flat and devoid of the usual commanding presence.

Vienna giggles beside me, the sound soft but dripping with amusement. “I can see it,” she whispers, her voice tinged with awe. “Their auras—they’re so dim. Almost… evil.”

Ewan chuckles, shaking his head. “Technically, aren’t we on the evil side?”

Vienna turns to him, her eyes glinting. “How can it be evil if it’s for love?”

I snort. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Another crack ripples through the portal, the energy faint but unmistakable. I feel it settle into my chest, amplifying the power coursing through me. I reach out again, pulling at the strings, weaving the emotions in the room into something entirely new.

The patients relax, their despair giving way to hope. The angels, however, stand stiffly, their monotone speech continuing as though on autopilot.

“It’s working,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

Vienna tilts her head, watching me with a curious smile. “You’re good at this.”

“I know,” I joke.

The session drags on, the angels’ words losing all meaning as the room falls into a strange sense of peace. By the time it ends, Vienna looks more alive than I’ve ever seen her, her laughter ringing through the hallway as we leave.

She’s losing herself, and part of me wonders if that’s the point.