Chapter 21 BENEATH THE SURFACE.

Chapter 21 BENEATH THE SURFACE.
COLE'S POV:

The silence outside the ward had grown almost suffocating. It was emptier than it should have been. The distant hum of machines and the soft shuffle of nurses down the hall were the only sounds slicing through the serene atmosphere.

Mira stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and I hadn’t moved from where I’d planted myself against the wall.

She hadn’t said a word since our earlier argument, and neither did I. But I could feel the sharp glare she kept sending my way.

Her eyes narrowed—not just with annoyance, but something else. Something I couldn’t quite place. I tried to ignore it, but the intensity pressed against me, relentless.

After a long pause that felt like hours, she finally spoke, her voice low and clipped, as if she had to force the words out. “You know, for some weirdass reason, I just do not like you.”

I kept my stance, silent, letting her words hang in the air.

“For someone who just joined this academy, you’re… too… involved. Too caring. Too invested in someone else’s life you barely know. There’s just… something off about you.”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I let her stare at me, trying to read me, trying to figure me out.

“You care too much,” she continued, stepping closer. “You hover. You ask too many questions. You—” She waved her hand, as if no words could capture it all.

“You get involved where you shouldn’t. It… it just feels wrong. You shouldn’t be this invested. Not yet. Not like this.”

I held my gaze, face neutral. Her lips parted, like she had more to say. I let her talk.

“You’re… different,” she said, softer now. “And not in a good way. It’s… unsettling. I don’t like being around people I can’t read.”

Her confession didn’t make me move, but a low chuckle slipped out. She blinked sharply, caught off guard, her expression tightening.

I leaned back against the wall, letting the silence stretch, letting her fidget under my gaze. Then I stepped slightly closer, my eyes never leaving hers.

“And you know,” I said slowly, each word deliberate, “There’s something off about you too.”

Her stern expression faltered for the first time. The arms that had been crossed tightly over her chest dropped loosely at her sides, though her posture remained tense.

“You’re… strange,” I continued, my tone calm but sharp. “Last I checked, this is an all-boys academy. A girl here… it doesn’t make sense. And you—” I let the words sink in.

“There’s something about you that doesn’t fit. Your attitude. Your presence. The way you act like nothing affects you—but I know it does. And it’s… weird.”

Her eyes flicked to the floor and back at me, a mix of curiosity and unease passing over her features. She was analyzing me the same way I’d been studying her.

“I’ve tried to figure you out,” I said, voice lowering, almost thoughtful. “I can’t. You act like you’re just one person, but there are layers… things you don’t show.”

“And yet… you care too. But only when it matters. Only when someone else is… involved. It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.”

I paused. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but no words came.

Then I said it, quiet but sharp, every word deliberate. “So, tell me, Mira…” I leaned in slightly, enough to charge the space between us.

“… who exactly are you?”

Her pupils dilated. She pressed her lips into a tight line, caught between answering, retreating, or staying.

She’d seen the Cole who bantered, the one who argued back, the one who fired words just as fast as she did.

But this—this calm, measured intensity—was different. My eyes pinned her without blinking.

She looked away, blinking, unsure. The silence that followed felt heavier than anything we’d said before.

Her arms hung loosely now, but her body still carried tension. A flicker of unease passed over her.

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to my chest, then flicking back to my eyes, trying to read me. I didn’t break eye contact. I waited.

Because something told me she had an answer. But whether she’d give it—or let it stay hidden—that was the real question.

She pressed her lips into a tight line, caught between retreating and responding. The scrutiny in her gaze sharpened.

Typical. She’s not giving anything away easily, I thought.

“You really want to know who I am?” Her voice was clipped, sharp, controlled. “I’m exactly who I am. If that bothers you… maybe that’s your problem.”

I didn’t react, didn’t blink. Part of me wanted to push, to make her flinch, but I held my stance, letting her words sit like stones in the air.

She’s suspicious. Annoyed. And I can tell she’s trying to decide if I’m a threat, a puzzle, or… nothing worth her time.

I leaned slightly closer—not intimacy, not threat, just presence. “Funny,” I said calmly.

“Because I’ve been trying to figure you out since the moment I met you. And I still can’t. You’re… contradictions piled on contradictions.”

Her eyes narrowed, calculating. The tilt of her head, the slight flare of her nostrils… everything screamed caution.

She wasn’t flustered. She was suspicious, probing, ready to call out anything that didn’t fit her sense of control.

And that… that made this interesting.

The soft click of footsteps approaching made Mira and me instinctively step back. The tension between us hung thick, sharp as glass, but the sounds reminded us we weren’t alone.

When the doctor appeared at the ward door, clipboard in hand, she didn’t utter a word. Mira’s composure remained, but I could see her fingers tense at her sides.

“Doctor,” Mira said evenly, voice steady, “How is Andrew?”

The doctor said nothing at first, her gaze flicking between us, like she was weighing how to drop whatever bomb she carried. My pulse quickened.

I cleared my throat. “Is… Andrew, okay?”

The doctor finally spoke, slow and deliberate, almost too casual. “Yes. We’ve managed to stabilize him… or should I say… her.”

My brain stuttered. Huh?

I glanced at Mira, searching her face, and she froze, eyebrows knitting together. Her lips parted slightly, as if trying to understand, her head tilting in confusion.

“Her?” she repeated, voice tight, questioning. “I… I don’t… what do you mean?”

The doctor’s gaze was steady, clinical, but unyielding. “The patient you brought in… she’s female, not male.”

My mind reeled. How is that even possible?

“Her?” Mira whispered again, disbelief creeping into her tone. “You mean… Andrew… is—”

“Yes,” the doctor said, nodding once.

“When we first started treatment, it became necessary to run a full examination—basic medical protocols.”

“That meant checking for injuries, infections… everything. Clothing had to be removed so we could assess properly.”

I felt my stomach twist.

“And that’s when it became clear. The moment we examined her fully… the truth was obvious. Her body, her… anatomy, confirmed she’s female. There was no doubt.”

I blinked, mind spinning, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. Female? Every little thing about Andrew—the guarded movements, the careful way he avoided revealing too much, the times he seemed “Off” —flashed through my memory.

And now… it all made sense, yet it didn’t make any sense at all.

Mira’s hands tensed at her sides. Her jaw clenched slightly, but her posture remained controlled, almost rigid.

Her eyes flicked to mine, wide just enough to betray that she felt the shift too, her mind racing to process it without showing it completely.

I swallowed hard, chest tightening. My brain tried to protest, to argue against the impossibility of it—but nothing worked. The truth was right there.

I could barely whisper it aloud, my voice tight.

Fucking hell.