She had learned to be wary.
Of promises, of kind words, of safety wrapped too tightly around her. She knew better than to trust too quickly—to believe in places that claimed to be different.
She had hoped the Dream SMP would be an exception.
Then she used her abilities.
Power leaked from her fingertips, bending the battlefield in ways that weren’t natural. The second it happened, the way they looked at her changed—no longer just curiosity, no longer just kindness.
It was interest.
Now she was running again—not from Manburg, who had taken her in—but from the very people she had once called friends.
She makes the mistake of thinking she’s safe with Schlatt and his cabinet.
Schlatt was sharp, decisive, absolute.
"You don’t have to keep running," he told her one evening. "You’re useful here. You’ve got a place."
She should have questioned that.
"You’ll understand soon enough," he said with a smile, leaning back. "This is where you belong."
And maybe it was.
But there was something in his tone—something settled, something certain—that made her pulse quicken.
Quackity was persistent, always pressing, always drawing her into conversation before she could withdraw.
"You trust too slow," he mused one afternoon, watching her. "You know we’re not screwing you over, right?"
She hesitated. "I don’t know."
Quackity chuckled. "Yeah, you do. You just don’t want to admit it."
She hated how easy that sounded.
Fundy was warm, familiar, easy to trust.
"You overthink everything," he said over dinner. "Not everyone’s out to get you."
She swallowed. "That’s easy for you to say."
Fundy smiled. "It could be easy for you too."
She wanted to trust that.
But something unsettled her—something she couldn’t name.
Eret was patient, always measured, always careful.
"You brace for betrayal before it happens," they mused.
She stiffened. "Because it always does."
Eret sighed, shaking their head. "Maybe you should stop expecting it."
It was good advice.
So why did it feel wrong?
Niki was kind.
"I know you’re scared," she told her one night. "But trust me, you don’t have to be."
She exhaled. "I don’t know if I can."
"You can," Niki said gently. "You just need time."
She wanted to believe that.
But some part of her screamed not to.
Connor was easygoing.
"You should stop looking for a way out," he mused as they walked through the city. "What’s so bad about staying?"
She hesitated. "I’ve never stayed anywhere for long."
Connor smirked. "Maybe it’s time to change that."
She hated how much sense that made.
She didn’t feel safe.
But she wanted to.
She didn’t trust them.
But she needed to.
Because what was the alternative?
She noticed conversations stopped when she entered the room.
At first, she ignored it.
Then she started listening.
"You’ve been keeping busy, huh?" Quackity said one afternoon.
She frowned. "I guess?"
He smiled. "That’s good."
She had the overwhelming feeling she’d given the wrong answer.
"You ever wonder why you ended up here?" Schlatt asked one night, gaze sharp.
"You could’ve gone anywhere," he mused.
"But somehow, you’re here."
Was that reassurance?
Or a warning?
She heard her name behind a closed door.
Soft.
Measured.
She didn’t stop to listen.
She didn’t want to know.
But now, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Something was wrong.
And she had no idea what it was.
She never got the chance to leave.
Connor always had something to show her.
Fundy always needed her help.
Schlatt always gave her more things to think about.
It wasn’t blatant.
But somehow, she never made it past the gates.
And every time she tried—something pulled her back.
She hated that she let it happen.
But she still didn’t act.
Not yet.