After the pounding rain last night, the morning sky was ridiculously clear—like someone had taken a giant sponge and scrubbed away all the grime. The kind of blue that makes you want to believe in fresh starts.

Too bad my body didn’t get the memo. Every muscle ached, stiff and uncooperative, and even breathing felt like a chore thanks to yesterday’s brawl. Moving my arm the wrong way sent a sharp protest through my ribs, reminding me that I wasn’t as invincible as I liked to pretend. It wasn’t until I caught my reflection in the mirror that the full damage became clear.

What had just been a bit of redness under the shower last night had now bloomed into a nasty dark bruise, spreading across my side like spilled ink. I poked at it—why did I do that?—and immediately regretted it.

"Yep. Definitely worse," I muttered to myself, grimacing.

Well… I wasn’t completely hopeless.

I had a solution. And, ironically, I had Jade to thank for it. She had this habit. A menace of a habit. She liked to bite. Not in a scary way—more in a gremlin who thinks I’m a chew toy way. Neck, shoulders, arms—nowhere was safe. For her, it was playful. For me? It was a logistical nightmare when I had to walk around in public looking like I’d been mauled by an angry wildcat.

So, I’d invested in a special meta-grade bruise spray.

It was a lifesaver then.

And it was a lifesaver now.

Grabbing the spray from my dresser, I gave the bruised area a generous mist, watching as the cooling formula worked its magic, dulling the worst of the discoloration. It wouldn’t fix everything, but at least I wouldn’t look like I’d lost a fight to a train. Or worse—had to explain to Jade why my ribs looked like a crime scene.

Because I knew exactly what she’d say.

"See? This is why you need to let me take care of you more."

Which, translated, meant: I am never letting you out of my sight again.

And as much as I liked her attention…

I had other things to do.

With a sigh, I capped the spray and grabbed my jacket, rolling my shoulders experimentally. Still sore, but manageable. But, it should be healed in a few hours to a day. Good enough. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. I stuffed a few extra bottles of the meta-grade bruise spray into my backpack—because if life had taught me anything, it was that you never know when you might need a quick fix. One minute, you’re fine; the next, you’re wishing you’d packed more damage control. By the time I left the house, my body looked fine. Between the spray and the painkillers I’d downed earlier, I felt almost normal. There was still a dull ache in my ribs, a small throb in my shoulder, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

The week at the academy was the same as always—six mind-numbingly predictable lectures spread out across five days, each one dragging on at a pace so slow I could feel my brain cells giving up.

Wednesday was the one silver lining.

Only one class, meaning I could actually breathe.

And, apparently, there was some superhero meet-and-greet happening in one of the halls.

But did I care?

Not in the slightest.

I’d been to way too many of these things before. They were always the same.

Some big-shot hero would stand on stage, deliver the exact same speech about safety, responsibility, and not misusing meta abilities, all while throwing in a couple of vaguely inspirational lines for good measure.

"Work hard, train smart, and always be mindful of others!"

"Your powers are a gift—use them wisely!"

"With great power—"

Yeah, yeah, we get it.

They always spoke like they were revealing some great truth, but at the end of the day, it was all PR-approved nonsense—a rehearsed script designed to make people feel inspired rather than actually teaching anything useful. If I had a choice between sitting through that or just zoning out in the library for an hour? Library. Every time.

In the first-years, our class had nothing else to stress about—no practicals, no major exams. Just hours of professors drilling rules, laws, and fundamentals into our heads, making us memorize outdated case studies and analyzing “hypothetical” combat scenarios when real training was nowhere in sight. All while we sat there, eagerly taking notes like the next earth-shattering revelation was hidden somewhere between "Always get civilians to safety first" and "Don't set things on fire unless absolutely necessary."

(Which, for the record, is really subjective advice.)

At least by the second year, things started getting interesting. The real training began. Hands-on work. Field exercises. You finally got to push your meta abilities past the kiddie pool restrictions and see what you were actually capable of. But for now? This week? Just another slow stretch of the same old grind.

Fortunately, my life wasn’t completely dull.

After the lecture, I found myself inexorably dragged into the stairwell by none other than an arrogant dragon. The door clicked shut behind us, the sound unnervingly final.

Before I could even process what was happening, it overpowered me, shoving me onto the stairs with startling force. Its weight pinned me down, immobilizing my legs, and I was left staring up into those intoxicating, dreamy, moon-like eyes—pale silver, shimmering like liquid mercury. They weren’t just looking at me. They were pulling me in. Straight into something far beyond reality. That’s when it happened. An illusion—or maybe something more. Softness enveloped me, like I had accidentally fallen into a cloud. My breath hitched. My soul felt like it was being drawn out, leaving my body through my mouth.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

And yet, it wasn’t panic I felt—it was something strangely intoxicating. Too good to resist. My arms moved before my mind could catch up, instinctively wrapping around the dragon, holding onto the softest, most impossible sensation—like I was clutching a living cloud. Was it warmth? A trick of the senses? I didn’t know how long it lasted.

Time seemed to stretch and blur, twisting into something that wasn’t quite real. Finally, when the dragon had decided it had had its fill, it let me go, pulling back and leaving me sprawled on the stairs, breathless, powerless, and completely addicted. The softness, the sweetness—it clung to me, lingering like the memory of a perfect dream I didn’t want to wake up from. My gaze lifted slowly, my mind still catching up to reality.

And there, standing before me, was no longer a a haughty dragon.

But a girl.

An arrogant, impossibly smug, pretty girl, her eyes glinting with amusement as if she knew exactly what she’d just done to me.

Every day was a new experiment for Jade, and today was no exception. Her long, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft, natural curls, and a fluffy white bucket hat sat atop her head, adding to her cozy, wintery aesthetic. She wore an oversized white button-up shirt with wide sleeves and intricate lace details at the cuffs, layered over a high-neck black sweater and a taupe-colored jacket with ruched sleeves that created a structured yet whimsical aesthetic. A medium-length white lace-trimmed skirt peeked out from beneath the jacket, softening the ensemble with a delicate flair. Her legs were clad in white fishnet stockings, layered with slouchy knee white socks that disappeared into fancy black boots. In her hands, she carried a structured black leather mini bag with a glossy finish, exuding an effortless elegance that seemed almost out of place for a dragon experimenting with humanity.

"Stop staring at me," Jade muttered, her voice softer than usual—almost shy. "You're making me embarrassed."

That was rich, coming from her.

Shouldn’t it be my turn to complain? After all, she was the one who had just turned me into an addict.

But instead of saying that, I grinned, closing the small space between us. "You can't blame me," I murmured, our breaths mingling "You look too perfect. Like some kind of… angel that got lost in the wrong world."

Jade blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then—

Her lips curved into a smirk, that flicker of amusement returning to her gaze. "Angel?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Coming from you, that's almost believable."

I tilted my head, feigning deep, heart-wrenching betrayal. "Only almost?"

She scoffed, but I could see the hint of warmth in her expression. "Don't push your luck."

For once, I had no clever remark. Just the realization that I was completely, utterly doomed.

"I like it," she murmured, her gaze locking onto mine, eyes shimmering with excitement.

There was something dangerous in the way she looked at me.

"I like the way you react," she continued, her voice like silk laced with fire. Her fingers ghosted along my jaw before trailing down my chest, slow and deliberate. "Finally, under my control."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips, but before I could respond, her lips were on my neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses that sent a sliver of shiver rippling through my body. Her touch was intoxicating—a mixture of deliberate and unpredictable, teasing me with the contrast between restraint and chaos.

I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening around her waist instinctively. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today."

Jade tilted her head, eyes glinting. There was always an edge to her—a carefully controlled fire that simmered beneath the surface. But in these moments? When the walls of propriety and restraint crumbled? I got to see the raw, unfiltered passion underneath. And it was addictive.

She used to be so innocent. What happened to my Jade? Did I… somehow corrupt her?

My mind unhelpfully supplied a mental title:

“How to Corrupt Your Innocent Girlfriend in 10 Easy Steps”

Step 1: Let her hang around you for too long.

Step 2: Accidentally encourage her chaotic tendencies.

Step 3: Let her discover the power she has over you.

Step 4: Watch in real-time as she weaponizes it.

I was so doomed.

Her smirk hadn’t faded—if anything, it had deepened, like she could hear my thoughts and thrive on my suffering.

"What?" she purred, tilting her head slightly, and cupped my cheeks, rubbing them. "You look like you're having some deep, tragic realization."

I sighed dramatically. "Just coming to terms with the fact that this will be my life forever."

She blinked once. Then, laughed.

“Don’t get cocky,” she warned, her voice soft. “You’re still in trouble for staring.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Staring? I wasn’t staring—I was admiring. There’s a difference.”

Her fingers still traced lazy patterns against my skin, her touch light but distracting. I tried to focus, but the warmth of her so close was very unhelpful.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I feel like I should get some credit for my self-control,” I muttered.

She scoffed. “Self-control? You’ve been looking at me like I’m a particularly delicious dessert.”

I reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. I hesitated, my thoughts swirling, trying to find the right words. “That there are so many sides to you,” I murmured, “Soft, shy, fierce… and then this deeper side.” I gestured lightly between us. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you turn and reveal a new pattern, a new shade of yourself."

Jade’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “I didn’t say that.” I met her gaze, holding it. “It’s... surprising. But not bad. If anything, it keeps me on my toes, always wondering what I’ll discover next.”

She stared at me for a moment—then, to my absolute shock, she actually squirmed, her face turning slightly pink as she buried herself against my chest.

I froze. Jade. Blushing. Hiding.

What kind of reverse reality was this? Just as I was about to tease her about it—

She bit me. Again.

"Ouch!" I yelped, jerking slightly. "I swear, I’m taking you to the vet to have your teeth removed if you don’t curb this habit of yours."

She stopped immediately, probably because she saw the genuine pain on my face.

But, instead of apologizing like a normal person, she pouted. "You should’ve been a dessert so I could just eat you," she muttered, looking thoroughly disappointed.

I blinked. “…What kind of logic is that?”

She sighed dramatically, like I had personally let her down.

Then something clicked in my brain.

"Speaking of dessert—" I straightened slightly, realization hitting me. "Wait.... My cookies."

I looked at her accusingly.

"Where are my cookies?"

Jade immediately stepped back, a little too quickly. “Uhh—You actually remembered?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Of course, I remembered. You made me suffer thinking they were all gone.”

She giggled, “Relax, drama queen. I saved some.”

I exhaled in relief as she pulled a small box from her purse, holding it up like it was some priceless artifact. I reached for it immediately, but she pulled it just out of reach.

“Ah-ah,” she tsked, cradling the box against her chest. “Not so fast.”

I frowned. “Jade.”

She batted her lashes. “Yes, my Cute Bunny?”

“Hand over the goods.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her chin, pretending to think. “Nope.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I said nope.” She grinned, flipping the lid open and picking up a cookie. “I’ll feed you.”

I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

She wasn’t joking. She held the cookie up to my lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Say ‘ahh~’”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Jade—stop it.”

“Ahh~,” she repeated, wiggling the cookie slightly.

I debated whether I had the dignity to argue. Then, I debated whether I cared about my dignity if it came to her.

…Jade won.

I sighed in defeat, leaning in and taking a bite. Warm, buttery sweetness melted on my tongue, and I barely held back a pleased hum.

Jade beamed. “Good, right?”

I chewed, swallowed, and nodded. “It’s unfair how good you are at baking.”

“Say it again.”

I rolled my eyes. “Your baking is amazing, Jade.”

Her grin widened. “And?”

“And I am incredibly lucky to have you in my life, oh benevolent goddess of cookies.”

She giggled, clearly pleased. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

I smirked. “Does this mean I get to eat the rest myself now?”

Jade gasped, scandalized. “Excuse me?! I shared with you—my cookies. That means I still get some.”

I immediately grabbed the box. “You already had sixteen. This is justice.”

Jade lunged for it, and I twisted away just in time, holding it over my head. She let out an exaggerated gasp. “North, you absolute villain!”

I chuckled, keeping the box out of her reach as she pressed against me like some determined koala. “You started this,” I reminded her.

“And I will finish it!”

“You’re five-foot-nothing, Jade. What’s your plan?” I teased, leaning back slightly with a smirk.

Jade immediately pouted, crossing her arms. “Excuse me?”

She looked personally offended, as if I had just insulted the very foundation of her existence. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, she launched into what I could only describe as an unhinged rant of superiority, revealing another side of her that I only had glimpsed from afar.

“My genes are superior in every category that exists out there, and I’m already an inch taller than you.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “I’m faster than you, I can learn quick and better; I have more strength than you will ever have in your entire life. Besides, I heal faster, I'm adaptable to most environments, I can even hold my breath for upto three hours underwater. Hmph! You won't ever find anyone like me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I feel like that’s debatable.”

“It’s not.” She huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “my dad once showed me my birth certificate.”

I frowned. “…Okay? And?”

Jade grinned, tilting her head slightly, “It stated: 35,436 gene modifications.”

I blinked. “…What.”

“Thirty-five thousand, four hundred, and thirty-six.” She repeated it slowly, as if savoring the effect. “So don’t think you’re better than me in any way. No one is better than me. I literally have star patterns on my skin, compared to others. I was born to be superior.”

“Oh.” I grinned, tilting my head slightly as realization dawned on me. “How adorable.”

Jade’s smug expression immediately flickered into suspicion. “…What?”

I finally knew why she was so completely screwed up in the head. It all made sense now. She was a literal cheat code of a human being. Her parents probably built her like a custom gaming character—maxed-out stats, ridiculous perks, and absolutely zero concept of normal human limitations. No wonder she walked around like she was untouchable.

But in no way did it scream that they loved her. Their actions, their choices—none of it reflected care, none of it felt like love. They built her, sculpted her into something inhumanly perfect, engineered to be stronger, faster, better—but did they ever once stop and see her? As more than a product, more than a test subject. No.

My hatred for them deepened further. What an excuse for human beings. They had everything—an extraordinary daughter, someone so vibrant, so alive—and yet, they treated her existence like a project rather than a person. Jade, with all her arrogance, all her fire—she wasn’t like that because she had been loved too much.

She was like that because she had to become her own foundation.

Because if she didn’t believe she was the best, if she didn’t claim her own worth… then who the hell would have?

Meanwhile, with a huff, Jade crossed her arms, her gaze shifting. Then—her eyes softened, and suddenly, she looked up at me with the most innocent expression.

“North…” she murmured, leaning closer. A soft, sensual kiss on my lips.

Oh, no.

“Please?” she whispered.

Oh, no.

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s cheating.”

Her lips quirked up. “Is it working?”

…It was.

I groaned, handing her a cookie with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But only one.”

She took it with a victorious grin, immediately taking a bite. “Mmm,” she hummed, leaning into me. “Still warm.”

----------------------------------------

After my cookie date with Jade, I could only walk away, sighing to myself.

Back when we first met, she’d shown no signs of this side of her. The first month had been… normal, if I could even call it that. She had been more reserved, more composed—still sharp, still witty, but without the relentless teasing, the shameless demands, the full-fledged chaos she had now weaponized against me. Somewhere along the way, she’d figured out just how far she could push me. And then, the real problem—She realized that if she demanded something just right, I’d cave. Every. Damn. Time. As for her demands? …Yeah, it’s better to not even go there. Crazy. Freaky. Absolutely unhinged. Those were the only words I was willing to admit to myself.

After a one-and-a-half-hour train ride, I finally met up with Temple, Placid, and Louvel at the theater.

We’d planned this hangout for a while, and honestly, it was the perfect excuse to avoid getting into another scrap. With my body already battered and bruised, the last thing I needed was to throw more punches—or worse, take more hits.

Jade’s handiwork hadn’t exactly helped either. In her pursuit of happiness and pleasure, she had dug her nails into my chest so deep that I was still wincing from it. At this point, I was half-convinced the pain was only going to get worse. And yet, in my defense, Jade had a way of knowing exactly what I wanted—or maybe even needed—in the moment. Possibly better than I knew myself. That’s what made her so dangerous. And, if I’m being completely honest, it’s probably why I kept going back for more. Or why she kept coming back to me.

Because we both knew what strings to pull to make each other feel wanted. Desired. Happy.

A dangerous cycle.

A perfect cycle.

"Hey, guys," I greeted as I approached Temple, Placid, and Louvel near the theater entrance.

They were already waiting, their contrasting personalities on full display before I even got close. Louvel casually leaned against a railing, looking effortlessly unbothered as always. Temple was busy on her phone, probably chatting with her cousins in other countries. And then there was Placid, who wasted zero time before starting in.

"We could have booked a private theater," she grumbled the moment I was within earshot. "Or just watched something at my place. Did we really have to come to this… this uncivilized, dirty place?"

Her distaste was palpable, her nose wrinkled like she could physically smell the popcorn and overbuttered nachos from outside.

I sighed, dramatically mimicking her disgusted expression. “Hello, hi, nice to meet you! You know, those are the kinds of things people say when they meet someone. Did no one teach you basic manners?”

Placid huffed, her sharp tongue momentarily muted as she turned away with an irritated flick of her hair. "Hmph."

Louvel chuckled under his breath, while Temple just shook her head.

"How bad are you hurt?" Temple asked, his tone light but genuinely curious.

I shrugged. "It's nothing serious. I just wanted to take it easy today."

Placid immediately pounced. "Your actions shouldn’t hinder our training," she cut in, her voice clipped and pointed. "What if we can’t pass the academy test because of you?"

I let out a slow, exaggerated sigh before turning to face her directly. She was five-foot-five, which made it almost too easy to lean down just slightly, locking eyes with her at a deliberate distance—just enough to make her uncomfortable.

I smirked. "If you fail, it’ll be because of your own incompetence, not because I didn’t know how to teach you better." My tone dripped with mockery, every word carefully chosen to poke at her pride.

Placid’s face flushed instantly—not just from anger, but embarrassment, too.

Her mouth opened, ready to fire back—

But then she snapped it shut, her jaw clenching when she couldn’t think of a fast enough retort.

“Let’s see what’s playing,” I said, straightening up and gesturing for Knox and Louvel to follow. Thankfully, they weren’t like Placid. They didn’t complain or start unnecessary arguments. I was too drained to spar with her anymore.

With that, we strode inside the theater, leaving Placid to stew in her irritation. For once, I wasn’t about to let her ruin what little energy I had left. The lobby of the theater was emptier than usual due to the weekday crowd and it was afternoon. He projected the movie listings into the air between us, the holographic display from his phone crisp and clear. "We've got options. There's 'Meta Detective' - that new action thriller about a super investigator hunting down corrupt heroes. 'Starfall' - sci-fi romance about an alien meta-human. 'The Last Stand' - typical superhero blockbuster. And 'Ordinary Days' - actually a regular drama, no powers involved."

"What's everyone feeling?" he asked, glancing around our small group. "Third showing for all of them starts in about twenty minutes."

"Anything but another superhero movie," Placid groaned, crossing her arms. "We live that stuff every day. Can't we watch something normal?"

"I'll have a large popcorn," Knox said to the cashier, ignoring our banter.

After choosing a movie, I ordered my usual—medium popcorn and a can of coke.

With tickets secured for "Meta Detective," we made our way to Theater 6.

The usher, a bored-looking teenager, barely glanced at our digital passes as we entered. The familiar smell of popcorn and the sound of movie trailers filled the space.

"These seats better be clean," Placid muttered, pulling out a small pack of wet wipes from her purse. "And why are we sitting in the middle? The back row is clearly superior."

"Because," I explained with exaggerated patience, "some of us actually want to see the movie instead of just complaining about it. Besides, the middle has the best sound."

Temple chuckled as she squeezed through the row. "Here we are, F7 through 10."

I settled into my seat beside Louvel, trying to find a comfortable position.

The current times lacked the advanced filming technology of two hundreds in the future, but the experience wasn't bad in this time period. Movie-watching had evolved into something far more immersive than simple screen projection.

There were two main ways to enjoy a film now: First, the theater could use meta powered technology to integrate viewers directly into the story—a neural device would connect to your mind and make you experience everything as the main character. Personally, I found this exhausting; being the hero wasn't always as fun as it sounded, especially when you felt every punch and fall.

The second method, which we were using today, offered a perfect middle ground. While we remained ourselves, our environment would be digitally altered to match the movie's world. We could walk around and explore the carefully crafted settings, though the story would continue to unfold around us regardless of our actions. Clever directors often hid Easter eggs and special details throughout these environments, rewarding the more adventurous viewers who took the time to explore.

As the movie began, the transformation was breathtaking in its subtlety. The grand theater hall dissolved piece by piece—first the distant lights winked out like dying stars, then the rows of seats faded into darkness, and finally the other moviegoers disappeared until I was alone in my recliner chair. The world shifted and rebuilt itself around me, pixels of reality rearranging themselves into something new and extraordinary. Gone was the theater's sterile air conditioning, replaced by the humid atmosphere of a rain-soaked metropolis. The ceiling vanished, opening up to a night sky choked with neon-lit clouds. I was suddenly perched near the top of the massive Sky Tower, the city sprawling below in a maze of lights and shadows. The rain felt incredibly real as it peppered my skin, though I knew it was just advanced environmental simulation.

The bass hit like a physical force as the soundtrack kicked in—a deep, resonant throb that vibrated through my chest. The detective, our protagonist, plummeted past me in a controlled fall from the tower's peak. I popped a piece of popcorn into my mouth, savoring the buttery taste that somehow enhanced rather than detracted from the immersion. As I watched, I found myself drifting forward in my recliner, floating alongside him as he fell.

Water streamed upward around us as we descended, each droplet catching the neon lights like tiny prisms. The ground rushed up to meet us with increasing speed, and I felt my stomach flutter despite knowing I was safely seated.

I shifted my perspective slightly, moving closer to catch the determination in his eyes. The environmental processors were working overtime, rendering each raindrop with perfect clarity, simulating the way his coat whipped in the wind, even generating the subtle change in air pressure as we descended.

Suddenly, the detective's hand shot out, grabbing what looked like a maintenance drone that had been quietly hovering near the building's edge.

The simulation instantly adjusted, letting me feel the sudden deceleration in my stomach even though I wasn't actually falling. The drone's propellers screamed in protest, sparks flying as its motors strained against the detective's weight. The haptic generators in my recliner vibrated subtly, matching the drone's struggling movements.

I noticed something then—a small detail I might have missed if I'd been watching on a traditional screen. As the drone's lights flickered, they illuminated a pattern of service numbers along the building's surface. Focusing on them triggered one of the theater's hidden interactive elements: a translucent overlay appeared in my peripheral vision, showing the building's maintenance schedule. The drone's presence wasn't a coincidence—it was part of a routine security patrol. The detective used the drone's momentum to swing himself toward a window washing platform twenty floors below. The theater's environmental systems shifted again, the rain now coming at us sideways as our trajectory changed.

Just as the drone's motors gave out completely, the detective released his grip. He rolled onto the platform with practiced ease, the impact rippling through the metal grating.

The detective rose slowly, water streaming off his coat. But something was wrong. My floating perspective caught a detail that sent a chill through me—a small red dot dancing across his chest.

The shot came from somewhere above us.

No sound. Just a sudden flash that cut through the rain like lightning. The detective's head snapped back, but instead of falling, his entire body fragmented into thousands of crystalline shards. Each piece caught the neon lights of the city, creating a beautiful, horrifying display. Then something even stranger happened. The fragments began moving against gravity, flowing upward like a reverse waterfall. My perspective automatically shifted, following this impossible stream of light. Twenty floors up, the pieces coalesced into the shape of a woman in a white suit, perched elegantly on the edge of a higher maintenance platform. She held a smoking rifle and wore the detective's face—or rather, what was left of it.

The real detective stepped out of the shadows behind her, his gun pressed against the base of her skull.

"Nice trick," he said softly. "But you forgot something." He reached forward with his free hand and plucked a small silver locket from around her neck. "The real Sarah died fifteen years ago. And she never wore her mother's jewelry on a job."

The woman's face—his face—began to melt like wax, revealing something underneath that the rain couldn't wash away.