Chapter 26 – The Secret Unveiled
The room felt warmer than usual. The sun filtered through the lace curtains, casting golden light over the wooden floor. Thomas sat on the edge of the chair across from Sister Mary's desk. His hands were clenched tightly on his lap, his heart pounding in a steady, almost painful rhythm.
Now. You've prepared this for so long. You trust her. You trust her more than anyone. If you can't tell her... then who?
But even that logic didn't erase the knot in his stomach.
"Sister Mary," he began, swallowing dryly, "do you think... someone with magic is always dangerous?"
Sister Mary looked up from her papers. Her expression softened immediately, curiosity blooming in her eyes. She tilted her head slightly, setting her pen down gently.
"That's an unusual question, Thomas," she said with calm gentleness. "Why do you ask?"
Thomas lowered his gaze. He stared at his shoes. The words were stuck in his throat like splinters. His palms were beginning to sweat. But he had come too far to back down now.
"Because..." he exhaled shakily, "I think I have it. Magic."
Sister Mary's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she didn't move or speak. She simply waited, her face unreadable, listening.
Thomas pressed on. "Since I was small... I could feel it. Like... like something was inside me. Something strange, but real. I could move. Reach. See things... that shouldn't be visible. I can do things others can't."
He looked up briefly. Her eyes hadn't changed. Still calm. Still patient. But he still couldn't read whether she was afraid.
"I hid it. Because I was scared. Not just scared of being different... but scared you'd think I was a freak. Or that I'd bring trouble. Or... that I'd be a burden to you."
His voice cracked at the end. He looked away again, his throat tight.
Sister Mary didn't answer immediately. She folded her hands slowly, rested her elbows on the desk, and leaned slightly forward.
Her voice, when it came, was soft but firm. "What kind of things can you do, Thomas?"
There was no fear in her voice. No judgment. Only steady curiosity.
She's still listening. She hasn't backed away. That's good... right? He took a breath and nodded.
So he told her.
He started with Blink, how he could teleport from one point to another. At first, only short distances—within sight. Then later, anywhere in the city, as long as he had seen the location directly or in a photo.
He spoke of Reach, his way of summoning small objects to his hand—no need for them to fly across the room, just appear, if he could see them.
Then Echo, his way of perceiving hidden spaces—behind walls, under floors, inside locked rooms. Up to a kilometer in range, if he focused.
Finally, he told her of Switch. His newest ability. The power to move inanimate objects from one place to another in a flash. Unlike Reach, it didn't rely on his hands. It could move anything—furniture, tools, items in danger—as long as it was nearby and not alive.
"It only works in a short radius," he explained softly, "and only for things that aren't moving much. But I've been training it."
Sister Mary didn't interrupt. Her eyes glistened now, but she remained still—barely breathing. Her hand was over her lips, her other resting flat on the desk.
Thomas paused. He knew the next part would be hardest.
"I used it to investigate the people who hurt the children. I... I was the one who sent you those documents. I blinked to Fiona's location in the outskirts of London, using Echo. I brought proof. That's how I knew."
Sister Mary's lips parted, but still, she said nothing.
Thomas lowered his voice further. "When I realized you were missing... I followed the only trail I had left. I blinked into the administrator's office... I didn't know what I was doing. They had guns. And when they fired... I panicked. I switched the bullets."
His breath hitched. "They didn't survive."
He couldn't look at her.
There. I've said it. All of it. If she hates me, I deserve it. If she tells someone... maybe I deserve that too.
But still—nothing. No scream. No steps backward. No rejection.
When he finally dared glance up, Sister Mary was crying.
But her tears were quiet. They rolled slowly down her cheeks. Her hand reached up, trembling slightly as she wiped them, but her eyes never left him.
"Thomas..."
She stood slowly from her chair and crossed the room without a sound. She knelt in front of him—still in her black habit, still dignified, still gentle—and took his small, shaking hands in hers.
"I'm not crying because I'm afraid of you," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm crying because... because you've gone through all that. Alone."
Her fingers gently tightened around his. "You fought. You investigated. You protected others. And all while carrying this enormous secret by yourself. You're still just a child, Thomas. A wonderful one. But a child. And no child should ever have to fight a battle like that alone."
Thomas tried to hold back his tears. But his breath was already shivering, his vision already blurring.
Sister Mary cupped his cheek with one hand. "If your question is whether magic makes someone evil... I think you've already answered it. Magic is just a tool. What matters is what we do with it. And what you've done... is protect people."
She gave him a crooked smile, despite the tears. "And if I may say... you're like Cinderella's fairy godmother. Magical... but gentle-hearted."
Thomas let out a sound—half laugh, half sob. His whole body trembled.
The wall he had built—brick by brick, over years of silence—shattered in an instant. The dam broke.
He cried.
And Sister Mary didn't hesitate. She pulled him into her arms, held him close against her chest, like she had when he was much younger. Her hand rubbed his back in soothing circles. Her voice was warm against his ear.
"It's okay. You're not alone anymore. I'll protect your secret, Thomas. That's what adults are supposed to do. You don't need to carry this on your own."