THE RAVEN | avengers

[23]

ACT 1
Chapter 23
The Drawing

Raven stood in front of Caelan's door, her hand hovering just above the handle. She could feel the weight of her decision pressing down on her, a small voice in the back of her mind telling her not to do it. But she silenced it, her resolve hardening. She couldn't resist. Without dwelling on it any longer, she broke the lock as quietly as she could, the soft click barely audible in the empty hallway. The door swung open with a quiet creak, revealing the interior of Caelan's room.

It was the first time she'd seen it.

At first glance, it wasn't much different from hers. The same sterile walls, the same utilitarian furniture. But it felt... different. Warmer, somehow. Lived in. A small part of her had expected it to be just as cold and detached as Caelan himself had always seemed. But this room told a different story.

She stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

It smelled like him.

She wasn't sure how that was even possible — how a person's presence could linger in the air like that. But it did. She could feel it, could almost hear the sound of his voice. It was like he was still there, even though she knew he wasn't. Her eyes fluttered open, scanning the room. There were subtle differences. A few personal items — books, a worn leather jacket draped over the back of a chair, a small collection of knives lined up on the dresser, each one meticulously placed.

Raven took a slow step forward, her fingers brushing over the surface of the jacket, feeling the soft leather beneath her fingertips. It felt wrong, being here without him. But it also felt like the only place that made sense right now.

As her eyes scanned the room, something caught her attention — just the edge of something, sticking out from under Caelan's mattress. She shook her head, silently scolding herself. No. This would be invasive. You wouldn't like it if someone went through your stuff.

Not that she had any real sentimentals for anyone to discover, but still, she could imagine how wrong this felt. And yet, the curiosity gnawed at her. She hesitated for only a moment longer before giving in, her fingers reaching for the object.

She pulled out a small notebook. It wasn't lined. The pages were worn at the edges, the cover slightly bent from use. She flicked through the pages quickly, her breath catching as she saw the contents.

Drawings.

Knives. Guns. Animals. Buildings. Each sketch was detailed, precise, the lines sharp and deliberate. It was Caelan's work, without a doubt. He was meticulous in everything he did, and this was no different.

But then her hand stopped.

Her eyes widened as she froze, staring down at the page in front of her.

It was a drawing of her.

Her face, sketched in fine detail. Every line, every feature — her sharp eyes, her lips set in that familiar smirk — captured perfectly on the page. The expression was one she recognized, one she had worn countless times.

He had drawn her.

Raven slammed the notebook shut, her chest rising and falling with a sudden rush of emotion. Her heart pounded in her ears, louder than the silence that surrounded her. She stared down at the closed notebook in her hands, her mind racing, a mix of confusion and something else she couldn't quite place. Caelan wasn't the type to show sentiment. He never was. He was cold, distant, always keeping his emotions tightly controlled.

But this?

The drawing was so precise, so detailed. He had studied her face, memorized every angle, every expression. It wasn't just a passing sketch — it was personal. It felt intimate in a way she hadn't expected. And that unsettled her.

She didn't know what to make of it. She had teased him relentlessly, poking at his stoic demeanour, trying to get a rise out of him. But never, not once, did she think it went deeper than that.

Was it admiration? Curiosity?

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. Why would he do this? The thought lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

Suddenly, the room felt too small, too confining. She needed to get out of here, away from the lingering scent of him, away from the questions that swirled in her mind. But a sharp surge of electricity shot through her brain, so sudden and violent that she dropped the notebook, her hands instinctively flying to her head. The pain was overwhelming, like a bolt of lightning splitting her mind in two. She tried to clench her jaw, so tight she could swear she heard her teeth cracking under the pressure.

But it was too much. Too intense. Too painful.

Images started flashing through her head — chaotic, fragmented. First, her attacker's eyes. Those dark, intense eyes, so vivid it felt like he was right in front of her again. And then, as fast as that image appeared, another blurred into view. A boy.

He had the same eyes.

Dark, familiar, piercing. But she didn't recognize him. His hair was tousled, dark and short, his face sharp with defined features — features that mirrored hers. He was young, no older than his twenties, with a certain look of determination, yet there was a softness in his expression that Raven couldn't place.

She screamed, her body convulsing under the weight of the pain as the images overwhelmed her. The boy's face was so clear, yet so alien. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the image of the boy disappeared. Another replaced it. Caelan. Pale, unmoving, strapped to machines in that sterile, cold room. His eyes closed, his skin drained of life.

No.

She screamed again, louder this time, the pain clawing at her mind. She backed into the wall, slamming into it with enough force to leave a dent in the plaster. Her fists curled, and she swung them at the wall, pounding it relentlessly, each punch harder than the last.

"Get out of my head!" she screamed, her voice raw, ragged. Her fist dug into the wall as the tears began to stream down her cheeks, hot and fast, betraying the control she'd so carefully maintained.

The voices — unfamiliar, distant — grew louder in her mind, swirling, overlapping, their words indecipherable but agonizing. She dropped to the floor, clutching her head, her fingers digging into her scalp.

"Stop! Stop!" she cried, her tears falling uncontrollably.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, heavy and urgent. And then a voice — sharp, cutting through the noise in her mind.

"Are you crying?"