When Wings Burn

6.5 | TATE

I knew I would see her tonight. I prepared myself to do so. And yet, in such close proximity to her now, she briefly takes my breath away.

The figure sleeps curled up, clad in white and serene in the dimness. For a moment I am utterly motionless, watching this human before me. I've seen many humans before, in many circumstances, and yet never felt a pull quite like this. I find myself wondering what she thinks of before she falls asleep, what her dreams are like. She rests peacefully, one hand lying flat across her stomach. Her lips are parted, her face directed toward the moonlit window. In the quiet, I can hear slow breathing, the sound of life escaping and returning into her body. I can't quite take my eyes off her. I want to come closer, but I can't risk waking the girl. I've never wanted anything more.

Glancing quickly around the room, I notice that it is relatively bare. Lace-up shoes sit on the floor, another piece of clothing across a chair. Though the room is old, it is completely clean. I run my finger over the banister next to me, finding no dust. It isn't strange for a human to be painstakingly tidy. They are a clinical race as it is. But it is interesting that she, a child, partakes in the habit. They teach them too young, I find myself thinking. But then, our kind cannot judge.

Moving into the room, I close in on the desk in the corner. Lining the far side is a selection of books. I read their titles in the shadows. History of The Natural World. Generations, A History of Our Kind. Command and Order – why we live the way we do. I want to scoff. "Your world is so dysfunctional," I find myself murmuring quietly. The books are all government-approved, and for a human, not suspicious. It is interesting, though, that a girl who should be playing with her friends in town, is holed up educating herself on why her world functions the way it does.

So you're curious, I muse, glancing back at the sleeping child.

When I've drawn myself away, I carry out the routine checks. I scan through the entire room, the bathroom, the wardrobe and even the small cupboard at the top of the stairs. No sign of supernatural activity. Nothing out of the ordinary. As human as it gets. I start to feel strained. Scout better have found something, I find myself thinking. I can't bear to come back to The Alpha, fruitless in a mission that he himself has requested.

Once finished with the space, I turn to go, checking back as I do. She's still asleep, lips still parted gently, a scattering of freckles over her face. She doesn't look the way we do, with her proportioned features and round nose. Our kind are all sharp lines and deep eyes, yet she is as soft as possible.

I watch her for a moment more, light hair surrounding her tanned face like a messy halo. I want to stay, but I know time is short. And then something makes a noise.

It's a small rustle, only barely evident. It stops me, because Scout would never make a noise. Maybe it's a parent, or worse, someone outside. A second later, Scout appears at the foot of the stairs. He motions me swiftly to follow. Our kind is trained to ignore panic or urgency. We work efficiently and calmly, regardless of surrounding inconveniences. It's one of our biggest strengths. Humans, in comparison, panic under pressure. And they crumble because of it.

We leave silently, relocking the door. Still, there is no sense of supernatural activity.

"It was very human," I say when we're out in the canyons.