𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋. ᵉᵈᵈⁱᵉ ᵇʳᵒᶜᵏ ¹

01.

𝟬𝟭.
𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗮𝗿𝗱, 𝗟𝘆𝗱𝗶𝗮 𝗤𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗻

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 "meant for something bigger," you might know the feeling—the one that sits at the back of your mind like a splinter. It's flattering at first, that label of "special" or "gifted." It feels like the world has handed you a little more than it's given others. But somewhere along the line, it starts to weigh differently. For Lydia Quinn, that line had been crossed long ago.

She sat in her one-bedroom apartment, feet tucked beneath her on a secondhand armchair, staring at the collage of half-finished projects and post-it reminders that clung to her walls like silent observers. The light outside was fading, settling into that murky gray that belonged to neither day nor night—a fitting backdrop for the unease that had crept into her lately. What was it about this time of day, she wondered, that made everything feel a little too close to the surface?

Maybe it was just her. She'd been feeling that way a lot lately, like she was running out of room to breathe.

It's strange, isn't it? To have a life that, on paper, seems to check all the right boxes, and yet... still feel like something vital is missing. And she wasn't sure if that void was in her life or somewhere deeper, somewhere within herself that she was both drawn to and terrified of. It was that old contradiction—an ambition that bordered on obsession, paired with a fear that maybe she wasn't built for the kind of life she dreamed about.

"Special," they used to call her. Her teachers, her mother. It was the kind of word that got lodged in her head, making her feel like she was already destined for something before she'd even figured out who she was. Special meant expectations. Expectations meant pressure. And pressure? Well, that was something Lydia had gotten used to wearing like a second skin.

She let out a breath, leaning her head back against the chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if answers might be written in the cracks above her. Did everyone feel this way? Or was it just people like her—the ones who seemed to be caught in some limbo between too much and not enough?

The apartment felt even smaller tonight. The quiet was heavy, a little too loaded with her own thoughts. It was like her mind had become its own kind of labyrinth, and she was stumbling through the same dead-end corridors, searching for a way out. But she was smart enough to know that some doors, once opened, couldn't be closed. And she couldn't help wondering if she was standing in front of one of those doors now.

If only there was some way to see where it would lead without taking the plunge herself.

And yet, that was just it, wasn't it? The ache for something more, something... beyond herself. It was that magnetic pull she felt toward the unknown, toward places that seemed a little dangerous, a little forbidden. It was a quiet craving, one that hummed beneath her skin like an unspoken challenge. There was a part of her—one she kept carefully locked away—that wanted to push past every boundary, to run headlong into the dark, even if it meant risking everything she'd worked for.

But that was just fantasy, she reminded herself, a foolish notion she entertained in the quiet of her mind. Because she knew better. She was Lydia Quinn, the practical one, the one who didn't take unnecessary risks.

Or was she?

There was that other side, the one she ignored during the day but could feel creeping in around the edges once the city lights dimmed. It was the side that longed to feel alive in a way her everyday life never quite allowed. Maybe it was the scientist in her, always searching for the next discovery, or maybe it was something more primal—a need to break free, to test herself in ways she didn't fully understand.