Chapter 3

The rain poured all night. Water streamed down my hair into my eyes, blurring my vision.

Three in the morning. The temperature dropped to thirty-five degrees. The rain turned my lips purple, my legs long numb, held upright only by the rigid scaffolding of bone beneath frozen flesh.

I didn't move. Because Alex had said: "Don't move until I tell you."

At Eden, disobeying orders meant the Silent Room. No light. No sound. Only endless deprivation. Compared to that, the cold brought by the storm was nothing.

Seven a.m. The front door opened.

Reginald stepped out in his bathrobe, newspaper in hand, apparently heading for the milk delivery.

When he saw me—standing ramrod straight in the center of the lawn, soaked through, face white as paper—the newspaper slipped from his fingers into a puddle.

"Melody?!" He rushed into the rain, staring at me in disbelief. "You... you've been standing here all night?!"

I rotated my stiff eyeballs toward him. "Yes. I wasn't given permission to move."

"Are you insane?! In this downpour, you didn't think to come inside?!" For the first time, panic crept into Reginald's voice. He reached out to pull me in, then recoiled at the touch of my frozen skin.

"I received no instruction to stop." My voice carried no inflection.

Reginald's breathing stopped. He stared at me as if looking at something inhuman.

He had once desperately wanted me obedient, compliant, never talking back, never causing trouble. But now, seeing this obedience erase every trace of human response, ice flooded his veins.

"Get inside... get inside and take a hot shower right now!" He practically shouted the words.

"Yes, sir."

I turned and began walking. My frozen legs had lost all flexibility, my gait as stiff as a malfunctioning puppet.

Inside, Helen and Alex had woken up. Seeing the trail of muddy water I'd left across the living room floor, Alex started to snap—but Reginald cut him off sharply.

"Enough! Alex, what exactly did you tell her to do last night?" Reginald glared at his son.

"I... I was just messing around..." Alex looked at my lifeless face, his voice losing conviction.

"Messing around? She nearly died out there!" Reginald rubbed his temples in frustration, then took a deep breath and turned to me.

"Go shower. Put on your uniform. Today's your first day back at school. Don't embarrass me."

Two hours later, I sat in Reginald's car wearing a uniform pressed to impossible perfection, not a single wrinkle visible. Eve sat in the passenger seat, still the picture of sweet compliance.

St. Jude's Academy. This place I used to hate. Where I'd cut classes, smoked on the roof, rehearsed heavy metal with my underground band friends.

But now, everything had changed.

First period: Advanced Calculus. The subject I'd always failed.

Mr. Harrison wrote an impossibly complex partial differential equation on the board. He turned, his gaze sweeping the room with cold disdain.

"Who wants to solve this?" His voice cut through the silence.

Dead quiet.

His eyes traveled through the crowd and landed precisely on me. "Melody. I hear you're back from your 'special school.' Why don't you come up and show us what you've learned?"

Low snickers rippled through the classroom. Everyone waited for my humiliation.

I stood and walked to the board. Picked up the chalk. No hesitation. The chalk made rapid, rhythmic clicks against the blackboard.

Three minutes later, I set down the chalk. The board was covered in dense, print-perfect derivations. The final line: an absolutely correct answer.

Complete silence.

Mr. Harrison's eyes went wide, his mouth hanging slightly open, unable to speak.

"Done. Can I sit down?" I looked at him.

"Y-yes. You may." He stammered the words.

Over the next few days, I stunned every teacher and student in the same way.

Whether physics calculations accurate to four decimal places or flawless history papers, I operated like a precision instrument. I never spoke unless called upon. During breaks, I sat at my desk in absolute silence.

Lily, who used to play in my band, cornered me in the hallway.

"Melody? What did they do to you?" Her eyes reddened, voice trembling. She reached out to touch me. "You look like... like you don't even have a pulse anymore."

I stepped back, avoiding her touch.

"I'm sorry. I don't know you." I met her gaze, my eyes perfectly flat. "It's against Eden policy to maintain previous problematic associations."

Lily's hand froze mid-air. She stared into my lifeless eyes, tears instantly spilling over.

She didn't say a word. Just pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away, shoulders shaking.

Friday's parent-teacher conference. Reginald and Helen were surrounded by every teacher.

"Melody is completely transformed! Top ten in her class now, perfect discipline, never talks back. Professor Reginald, how on earth did you do it?" The principal gushed praise.

Reginald and Helen basked in the compliments, faces glowing. But when their gaze traveled across the crowd to the corner, their smiles froze.

I stood against the wall in textbook-perfect posture. During the entire hour-long meeting, I hadn't spoken, hadn't shifted my weight, hadn't even blinked at irregular intervals.

They'd finally gotten the perfect daughter they'd always wanted. And discovered, with horror, that they'd only brought home a perfect shell.

The car ride home was suffocating.

Eve broke the silence. "Mom, Dad, the Ivy early decision interviews are next week. The school only has two recommendation slots."

Helen immediately said, "Of course they're for you and Alex. You're the best students."

"But..." Eve dropped her head, looking wounded. "The principal said today that Melody's grades are perfect now. The school wants to give her my slot."

"That's impossible!" Reginald slammed the brakes. "Impossible! She's a delinquent fresh out of a correction facility!"

"Don't worry, Eve. I'll talk to the school." Helen squeezed Eve's hand, then shot me a cold look. "Melody, you will decline this recommendation. Going to that interview in your... condition... would disgrace this family."

I looked out at the blurred cityscape rushing past.

"I understand. I'll withdraw tomorrow."

No argument. No tears.

The car fell silent again.

This absolute obedience that required no negotiation, no consequence—instead of bringing relief, it wrapped around their throats like a tightening noose.