A young New Yorker finds himself in over his head after finding a symbiote that changes him in unexpected ways.

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Chapter 4 Back to school.

I survive lunch.

Barely.

Despite feeling like every set of eyes in the restaurant was drilling into me, I know—logically—they weren’t. People were minding their own business, staring at menus, scrolling on their phones, laughing with friends.

No one knew.

No one could know.

But it didn’t matter.

It felt like they knew.

Like they were peeling away my skin and seeing straight through to the wrongness underneath.

Whether they had ever known Arin or not, it didn’t change the crawling sensation up my spine every time I caught someone glancing in my direction.

I picked at my food more than I ate it, but Mom didn’t push. She let me have my silence. Let me move at my own pace.

And finally—finally—we pulled into the driveway, the sun starting to dip low behind the buildings, washing the world in orange and gold.

Home.

I drag the bags inside, heavy in my arms, and drop them just inside the door.

Mom follows, setting her keys down and kicking off her shoes.

She watches me for a second—quiet, thoughtful—and then smiles.

Soft. Warm.

“I’m proud of you, Elisa.”

The words hit me harder than I expect.

I freeze, the air catching in my throat.

Elisa.

Not Arin.

Elisa.

I know she means well. I know she’s trying to support me. To meet me where I am. To help me survive this.

But hearing it aloud—hearing someone else call me that without a hint of irony—

It stings.

Deep.

I look down at the floor, hiding the twist of emotion knotting up my face.

“Thanks,” I mutter, voice thin.

Because what else can I say?

Because even if it hurts, even if it feels like another piece of Arin slipping away…

I still need her to believe I can handle this.

Even if I’m not sure I can.

I turn away quickly, grabbing one of the shopping bags like it’s the most important thing in the world, pretending to fuss with the handles just to do something.

But she notices.

Of course she notices.

She steps closer, careful, like she’s approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if she moves too fast.

“Hey,” she says softly.

I keep my eyes glued to the bag, fingers twisting the plastic tighter and tighter.

“I didn’t mean to—” she starts, then stops herself, choosing her words more carefully. “I didn’t mean to make you feel… less like yourself.”

I don’t say anything.

I don’t know how.

The silence between us stretches tight.

“You’re still you, Arin,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s gonna sound different for a while.”

I swallow hard, my throat thick and tight.

It’s not anger boiling inside me.

It’s grief.

Grief for the way my own name feels like something I’m not allowed to wear anymore.

I loosen my grip on the bag and finally look up at her.

She’s not mad. She’s not disappointed.

She just hurts for me.

And somehow, that makes it a little bit easier to breathe.

“Thanks,” I whisper again, this time a little more real.

She steps closer and gently wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

I stiffen at first—reflex—but after a moment, I sink into it.

Because no matter how much has changed…

She hasn’t.

Mom pulls back from the hug, resting her hands lightly on my shoulders.

“But you’re going to have to get used to being called Elisa,” she says, giving me a small, sad smile. “At least for a little while.”

For a little while, I think bitterly.
Sure.

Just until… what?

Until I magically get my old body back? Until we find someone who can undo this? Until I figure out how to live a life that doesn’t even fit me anymore?

Still, I nod. Pretend like I believe it.

Mom looks tired—bone-deep tired—and I can see the shift in her face when she remembers something.

“I’ve gotta head to work tonight,” she says. “Short shift, just a few hours. Will you be okay if I lay down till then?”

I force a smile, swallowing everything I’m feeling deep down where she won’t see it.

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

She studies me for a second longer like she knows I’m lying but is too exhausted to fight me on it.

“Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

She presses a kiss to the top of my head before heading down the hall, the door to her room clicking shut behind her.

The apartment feels huge and empty without her moving around.

I stand there for a second, surrounded by the plastic bags, the smell of new clothes, the heavy ghost of a name that doesn’t belong to me.

Elisa.

I breathe out slowly and shut my eyes.

“Sure,” I whisper to the empty room.
“Just a little while.”

I can’t stand being in the apartment anymore.

The walls feel like they’re closing in—too tight, too full of everything I’m trying not to think about.

Quietly, I slip on a hoodie—one of the new ones we bought—and shove my bare feet into some old sneakers. I grab the spare key off the hook by the door, just in case, and head for the stairwell at the end of the hall.

It’s a crappy building.

Which means the lock to the roof door’s been broken for as long as I can remember.

I push it open, metal groaning against metal, and step out into the evening air.

The city stretches out in front of me, endless and alive.

Lights flicker to life in a hundred windows.
Traffic hums far below like a distant river.
The sunset paints the sky in bruised purples and deep reds, the last light glinting off glass towers like molten gold.

I pull the hoodie tighter around myself and move to the edge, resting my hands on the warm brick ledge.

For the first time all day, I can breathe.

Up here, no one’s staring.

I let the wind push my hair back from my face, messy and wild.

I tighten my grip on the ledge, feeling the roughness of the brick bite into my palms.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I whisper to the city.

The wind doesn’t answer.

But somehow, here, above it all,
I feel just a little bit less lost.

Just a little bit more like me.

I sit for a long time, knees pulled up close to my chest, arms wrapped around them, just… watching.

The city moves below me like a living thing—lights flickering, cars weaving through the streets, people disappearing into the glow of neon signs and subway entrances. A constant, endless hum of life.

This has always been my favorite thing to do.

Way before any of this happened.

Before the symbiote.

Before Elisa.

Just me, alone, sitting on the edge like this, breathing in the pulse of New York.

It’s the one thing that’s never changed—the one thing that still feels real.

Up here, it doesn’t matter what I look like.

Or what name they call me.

The city doesn’t care.

It never has.

I rest my chin on my knees and close my eyes for a second, letting the breeze lift strands of hair off my face.

For just a moment, I can pretend I’m still Arin.

Still me.

Still someone.

And up here, with the world stretching out in every direction, I don’t feel trapped.

I feel… free.

Even if it’s just for a little while.

The door creaks open behind me, the familiar rusty hinge cutting through the quiet.

“I thought I’d find you up here,” Mom says, her voice soft, carrying just enough warmth to slice through the evening chill.

I don’t turn around yet. I just smile a little, small and tired.

“Yeah,” I say, still watching the endless city stretch out before me. “I guess you know me too well.”

I hear her step closer, just for a second, like she’s debating whether to sit with me. But she doesn’t. She’s already dressed for work—scrubs, jacket, her bag slung over one shoulder.

“I’m heading in now,” she says. “But make sure you eat something, okay? And don’t stay up too late.”

I finally glance over my shoulder at her, giving her a half-hearted salute.

“I will,” I say.

“And I won’t.”

She smiles—that real, tired, Mom smile—and lingers just a second longer.

“I love you,” I say quietly, feeling it heavier than usual.

“I love you too,” she says, just as soft.

And then the door creaks shut again, leaving me alone with the hum of the city and the whisper of the wind.

I sit there for a long moment after she’s gone, the echo of her words settling deep in my chest.

I sit there for hours.

Watching the lights scatter across the city like someone spilled a box of diamonds across the concrete.

Watching reflections ripple across glass towers.

Watching the city breathe.

It’s the kind of quiet that isn’t really quiet—honking, shouting, the endless churn of life far below—but up here, it feels distant. Manageable. Almost peaceful.

Until—

Woop-woop-woop—

Sirens tear through the air, sharp and sudden. A line of cop cars screams past, lights flashing wildly against the buildings next to me.

And for some reason—some terrible reason—the sound doesn’t just startle me.

It hits me.

Hard.

The world tilts sideways. The lights blur. My stomach lurches like I’m falling before I even move.

I try to grip the ledge tighter, try to ground myself, but the dizziness crashes in like a wave, washing everything away.

Before I can catch myself—before I can even think—

My balance tips.

My fingers slip.

And suddenly—

I’m falling.

The air tears past me in a cold rush, my heart launching straight into my throat.

The rooftop flashes away above me, the streetlights spinning, the whole world tilting and dropping out from under my feet.

Suddenly—I stop falling.

Midair.

I blink, breathless, disoriented, my heart still hammering against my ribs.

I look down at myself—

And there it is.

The symbiote.

It covers me completely now—slick and alive, black and red across my skin like living armor. I don’t even remember calling it. It just happened.

A thick tendril shoots out from my wrist, latched onto a window frame several floors up. It holds me suspended above the alley, swaying slightly with the momentum of the catch.

My stomach flips.

I’m shocked—scared—frozen for a second.

The way the light glints off the black-red sheen of my hands, my arms, my whole body… I hardly recognize myself.

But I can’t stay here.

I need to move.

Get out of sight.

I grit my teeth, instincts—or maybe something else—taking over. I yank the tendril back toward the rooftop, feeling a surge of strength not my own.

I crawl up the side of the building, hands and feet sticking unnaturally to the wall.

Fast.

Fluid.

The symbiote moves with me, like it’s part of my muscles, part of my blood, guiding every motion.

Within seconds, I reach the rooftop and scramble over the edge, dropping onto the gravel with a hard thud.

Heart pounding.

I kneel there for a moment, staring at my hands, the black shifting slightly, almost breathing against my skin.

I should be terrified.

I am terrified.

But underneath the fear…
A spark of something else.

Power.

I sprint across the rooftop, the black-and-red tendrils slipping and sliding against my skin as I move, feeling almost too fast, almost like the suit wants to keep running, keep climbing, keep moving.

But I don’t.

I just want to get inside.

Now.

I reach our apartment door and go to dig for my keys—only to realize, I don’t have pockets anymore.

Before I can even panic, a little writhing coil of black pushes out from my side, the key dangling helpfully at the end.

“EW,” I groan out loud, grabbing it quickly.

The symbiote almost seems to hum proudly as I fumble it into the lock, wrench the door open, and slam it shut behind me. My back hits the door with a solid thud, heart still hammering wildly in my chest.

I bolt for the bathroom, shoving the door open, flicking the light on with a shaky hand.

And there I am.

In the mirror.

Oh god.

I stare at myself, frozen.

The suit clings to me—alive—black and crimson pulsing across my body like molten rivers. My whole frame is smaller, leaner than the images of symbiotes I’d seen online—more me.

But my eyes lock onto the mouth.

Huge. Wide. Jagged teeth curling up along the edges of a wicked, twisted grin that doesn’t feel like mine at all.

My stomach flips.

I stumble back, gripping the edge of the sink to steady myself.

As if sensing my horror, the red around the mouth ripples—and then folds back into the suit, covering the mouth completely. The teeth vanish, leaving a smooth, mask-like surface where a face should be.

I blink, heart still racing.

“Well,” I rasp out, voice cracking, “that’s… better, I guess.”

In the back of my mind, the symbiote’s voice murmurs.

“You’re welcome.”

I let out a nervous, almost hysterical little laugh.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah,” I mutter, still gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

I stare at my reflection again.

At her.

At me.

At us.

Now that the mouth is gone, it looks… different.

Less monstrous.

Almost sleek.

The red wraps tightly around my chest and arms, blending down into a black that coils around my legs like living shadows. Veins of black and red thread across the suit, moving sometimes, twitching at the edges like they’re breathing with me.

I lift one hand slowly, watching the suit ripple slightly across my fingers, the motion effortless, natural, like it’s not just on me—it’s part of me.

I can’t help but think…

I look like one of those costumed heroes.

A superhero.

Or maybe… something closer to the stories they warn you about.

But definitely not some monster like Carnage. Or Venom. Or anything that hunts. Right?

This… This almost looks like it could be something good.

Still, the weight of it—the reality—settles heavy on my shoulders. I’m wearing something alive.

Something alien.

Something dangerous.

I drag a hand down the mirror, leaving a faint smear across the glass where the symbiote presses against it.

“…Okay,” I breathe out, chest heaving.

I need to see if I can get it off—if I even can.

Because if I’m going to face school tomorrow—if I’m going to face anything—I can’t walk around looking like this.

“Uh… can you… go back inside?” I ask awkwardly at the mirror, feeling ridiculous.

Slowly, the red and black start to peel back from my face, my chest, my arms, melting into thin, vein-like streams that slip beneath my skin with a faint, tingling sensation.

In a few seconds, I’m just me again.

Well—

Elisa.

Whatever I’m supposed to be now.

Breathless and shaken.

But still standing.

The next morning hits me like a brick wall.

The alarm on my phone blares in my ear, way too cheerful for how much I want to die inside. I groan, slapping at the nightstand until I manage to shut it off.

For a second—just one—I lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, thinking maybe, just maybe, it was all a bad dream.

Maybe I’ll swing my legs over the bed, be me again.

Be Arin.

No weird body.

No fake name.

No alien thing breathing under my skin.

But when I sit up, the shift of my weight, the pull of my shirt, the long hair brushing my shoulders—it’s all still there.

Still me.

Still… Elisa.

I drag myself out of bed, moving slow, the aches of yesterday still clinging to me like a second skin.

The apartment is quiet. Mom must’ve already left for her early shift.

She left a sticky note on the fridge in her neat handwriting. “Good luck today, Elisa. You’re stronger than you know. Love you.”

I stare at it for a long second before tearing it down and crumpling it in my hand. Not out of anger—just… because it hurts.

I shuffle back to my room, grabbing some of the new clothes we bought yesterday. Jeans. A plain T-shirt. A soft hoodie a little too big but still fitted differently than what I used to wear.

I stare at them piled on the bed.

Today’s the day.

The first real test.

Walk into school.

Smile.

Pretend.

Pretend so hard it doesn’t crack my chest open from the inside.

I pull the jeans on slowly, then the T-shirt, trying not to think too hard about the way everything fits.

How it hugs my waist, my chest, my hips.

How normal it looks.

How wrong it feels.

I throw the hoodie over it all like armor, yanking the sleeves down over my hands.
The mirror on my closet door catches a glimpse of me as I move, but I don’t look.

I can’t.

Not right now.

I grab my bag, shove a notebook and a few pens inside without thinking, like muscle memory from a lifetime that feels a thousand miles away.

I sling it over my shoulder and head for the door, heart already pounding against my ribs.

As I pull it open, the cool morning air hits me like a slap, fresh and biting.

I stand there for a second, breathing it in, letting the fear sink a little deeper into my bones.

“I just need to make it a few more days,” I whisper under my breath. “Probably… by then this can all be fixed…”

My voice trails off, the last words hanging there.

Hopefully…

Because deep down, a small, cruel voice in the back of my mind is already whispering.

What if it can’t be?

I shove the thought away and step outside.

The trip to school blurs past me—subway rides, crowded sidewalks, street vendors yelling about bagels and coffee—all of it washing over me like noise behind glass.

I barely hear any of it.

I’m too busy trying not to fall apart.

Before I know it, I’m standing outside Midtown High.

Same cracked sidewalks.

Same faded banners flapping against the brick walls.

The same school I’ve walked into a hundred times before.

Only now…

I’m not walking in as Arin.

I’m walking in as Elisa.

The big glass doors loom in front of me, catching my reflection in the morning light.

Blonde hair tucked awkwardly under the hoodie.

You can do this, I tell myself.

My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for the door handle.

I pull it open and step inside.

The halls are already buzzing with students—laughing, shouting, slamming lockers—and the wave of noise and motion almost knocks me off balance.

I keep my head down, clutching my bag strap with both hands, heart hammering so loud I’m sure someone will hear it.

They don’t know you, I remind myself.

They don’t know you’re different.

They don’t know you’re lying.

Somewhere near the front entrance, I spot Luca standing by the lockers, talking to a couple of other guys. He’s laughing, easy and natural, like nothing weird happened yesterday.

For a second, my chest tightens so much I can barely breathe.

But he doesn’t even glance my way.

I’m just another face in the crowd.

Just Elisa.

I force my feet to move.

He’s supposed to guide me, but I know where I’m going already so hopefully I can avoid him.

I keep my head down and slip through the crowded halls, praying nobody notices me.
Nobody calls out.

Nobody recognizes anything they shouldn’t.

Miraculously, I make it to my first class without incident.

Physics.

Of course it’s physics.

Of course.

The one class I actually liked before everything shattered.

I clutch my bag tighter and slide into a seat near the back, shrinking into the chair as much as I can. I stare down at the blank notebook in front of me, the lined paper blurring at the edges as my heart hammers against my ribs.

The bell rings.

Students shuffle in, laughing, half-awake, tossing backpacks onto desks without a care in the world.

I see familiar faces.

Faces I used to sit beside. Joke with.
Be Arin with.

Now they just pass right by me.

No second glances.

No hesitation.

It’s like I’m invisible.

A ghost wearing someone else’s skin.

The teacher—Mr. Holt, tall and wiry with a tie that’s always a little crooked—steps up to the front of the room, clapping his hands once to get our attention.

“Alright, class,” he says, voice bright and tired at the same time. “Before we jump back into Newton’s laws, we’ve got a new student joining us.”

He gestures toward me, and suddenly every head in the room swivels.

Staring.

At me.

I freeze, mouth dry.

“This is Elisa Coleman,” Mr. Holt continues. “She’s joining us from, out of the country. So be nice, alright?”

A few scattered murmurs ripple through the class.

I force a tiny wave. Barely a twitch of my hand.

Some of the kids smile politely. Most just nod and turn back to their notebooks like I’m already old news.

Mr. Holt points toward the empty desk near the middle row—near the front.

Great.

Perfect.

Exactly where I didn’t want to be.

I grab my bag and slip into the seat, feeling a hundred invisible eyes burning into my back even after everyone turns away.

I sit stiffly, staring down at my blank page.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You’re okay.

For now.

I sit stiffly, my back straight, my hands glued to the desk like if I move even a little, the illusion will shatter.

Mr. Holt launches into a review of basic motion equations, scrawling big messy formulas across the whiteboard, and the class gradually forgets about me. The sounds of pencils scribbling, pages flipping, low muttered questions—they all blur together into background noise.

I should feel relieved.

I should feel invisible again.

But something keeps tugging at me—prickling at the back of my neck like static.

Slowly, carefully, I glance sideways—

—and catch a girl sitting near the window, staring at me.

Not just glancing.

Staring.

She’s got dark hair twisted into a loose braid and sharp eyes, narrowed slightly like she’s trying to solve a puzzle no one else can see.

The second our eyes meet, she doesn’t look away.

She doesn’t even blink.

Just tilts her head a little, like she’s seeing through me.

I jerk my gaze back to my notebook, heart thudding hard enough I’m sure it shakes the desk.

Stay cool.

Stay invisible.

They don’t know.

But my palms are sweaty again, and I can feel the faintest hum under my skin—The symbiote, shifting slightly, responding to my panic.

No.

Not now.

Not here.

Whoever she is, whatever she thinks she sees—

I can’t afford to crack.

Just play it cool.

I grip my pen tighter, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, my breathing to stay even. She couldn’t know. She can’t.

Even if there’s a similarity—Even if the shape of my face, the color of my eyes.

The story is solid.

Elisa.

Cousin.

Family resemblance.

New to the country.

It makes sense.

It has to make sense.

I risk another glance sideways. The girl’s still looking, but this time there’s a faint crease between her brows, like she’s puzzling it out and coming up empty. After a few seconds, she finally looks away, flipping her pencil between her fingers as she turns back to her notes.

See?

Just a new face. Just another stranger.

I let out a slow, careful breath, pretending to focus on Mr. Holt’s lecture.

Pretending everything is fine.

Because it has to be.

Because if I start doubting it now—
If I start acting like I have something to hide—
That’s when everything falls apart.

I just have to get through the day.

Just a few more hours.

Then I can go home.

Then I can breathe again.

A couple more classes crawl by—each one more stressful than the last.

I sit through them with my head down, scribbling meaningless notes just to look busy, answering questions only when absolutely necessary. Every teacher introduces me to the class. Every time, I have to fake a smile. Every time, I feel like I’m about two seconds from passing out.

No one says anything weird.

No one acts suspicious.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because inside, I’m coiled up so tight I feel like I might snap if anyone so much as looks at me wrong.

Finally—finally—the lunch bell rings. Making my head buzz for some reason.

A dull roar echoes through the halls as the school floods into motion, lockers slamming open, groups forming instantly like magnets pulling toward the cafeteria.

I shoulder my bag and move with the crowd, trying not to stick out.

Trying not to think about how, this time yesterday, I could have just slid into my usual spot at the far table with Luca, complaining about cafeteria food and making dumb bets about physics problems.

Now?

Now I’m a stranger in my own life.

I clutch the strap of my bag tighter, weaving my way toward the cafeteria doors.

I don’t even know where to sit.

Where Elisa would sit.

Where I belong anymore.

I grab a tray of what’s generously called ‘food’—some kind of grayish burger, soggy fries, and a sad little cup of fruit that might be older than me—and make a beeline for the far side of the cafeteria.

There’s an empty table tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind a busted vending machine that hums louder than the rest of the room.

Perfect.

I drop into the seat, setting my tray down as quietly as possible. I pull my hoodie tighter around me, head down, pretending to be way more interested in the wilted fries than I actually am.

Maybe if I look pathetic enough, I think grimly, people will leave me alone.

I pick at the fries, not really hungry, just… moving my hands so I don’t look like a total statue.

I can feel the low buzz of the cafeteria all around me—laughing, gossiping, the scrape of chairs on linoleum. It all feels loud and far away at the same time, like I’m floating just outside the real world.

I risk a glance up.

Nobody’s paying attention.

Nobody’s heading my way.

Good.

I let out a slow breath and go back to mutilating a fry.

Maybe, I tell myself, if I just survive today, the rest will get easier.

I jolt a little at the sudden plop of a tray hitting the table across from me.

I look up—

And it’s her.

The girl from physics.

The one who wouldn’t stop staring.

She slides into the seat across from me like she owns the whole damn cafeteria, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin in her hand, studying me openly.

Her tray looks just as miserable as mine—mystery meat, sad fries, something that might once have been corn—but she doesn’t seem to care.

She just watches me.

Like she’s daring me to say something first.

I stare back for a second too long, heart thudding.

Say something.

Anything.

Normal.

“Uh…” I manage, my voice cracking slightly. “Hi?”

The girl smirks like she’s been waiting for me to crack.

“Hi,” she says back, almost lazy. “You looked lonely.”

I blink, unsure if it’s an accusation or an observation.

“I—uh—yeah,” I mumble, looking down at my tray. “Just… new. Figured I’d stay out of the way.”

She hums lightly, like she’s weighing that answer, then picks up a fry and nibbles the end of it thoughtfully.

“I’m Harper,” she says after a moment, popping the rest of the fry in her mouth.

Harper.

Right.
Names.
Normal conversation.

“I’m—” I almost choke.

“Elisa,” I finish quickly, hoping she didn’t notice the tiny, awful hesitation.

If she did, she doesn’t show it.

“Nice to meet you, Elisa,” Harper says, tilting her head slightly. “You’re… interesting.”

Interesting.

My stomach tightens.

That could mean a thousand different things.

None of them good.

My stomach knots tighter at her words, and before I can stop myself, the question slips out:

“What does that mean?”

It comes out sharper than I mean it to—too fast, too defensive.

Harper’s smirk grows a little, but it’s not cruel. If anything, she looks… amused. Maybe a little impressed.

She shrugs, picking at a fry like this whole conversation is no big deal to her.

“Just means you don’t act like most new kids,” she says simply, popping another fry into her mouth. “Most of them either try way too hard or pretend we don’t exist. You just…”She trails off, waving her hand vaguely at me. “Sit there. Like you’re holding your breath.”

I swallow hard, feeling the blood drain from my face.

Holding my breath.

That’s exactly what it feels like.

Every second.

Every step.

Like if I breathe wrong, it’ll all fall apart.

“I guess I’m just… tired,” I say quickly, forcing a tiny laugh. “Long flight. New place. You know.”

She studies me for another beat, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah,” Harper says finally, leaning back in her chair. “Makes sense.”

I nod, looking down again, shoving a sad fry around on my tray.

Play it cool.

Stay normal.

But something about the way Harper watches me tells me she’s not buying the whole act.

Not completely.

I’m trying so hard to focus on my food—on anything else—when Harper says it, casual like she’s talking about the weather.

“You look familiar.”

I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My heart starts hammering against my ribs again, hard enough I swear she can probably see it through the hoodie.

I force myself to laugh, quick and awkward.
“Uh… yeah, probably. Family resemblance or something. My cousin used to go here.”

Harper raises an eyebrow, leaning in a little like she’s studying a weird painting up close.

“Yeah? What was his name?”

I blink.

But my mouth moves without me even thinking.

“Arin Coleman.”

Harper leans back slowly, watching me, chewing the inside of her cheek.

For a second, I swear she’s going to call me out.

Tell me she knows.

Tell me she sees me.

But instead she just shrugs and stabs a fry with her fork.

“Huh,” she says. “That explains it. You have his eyes.”

I manage a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Genetics are weird.”

“Yeah,” she says, still watching me too closely. “Weird.”

I almost relax.

Almost.

But then Harper leans in again, her voice light, casual—way too casual.

“So why’d you come to New York?” she asks, spearing another fry like it’s nothing. “Kinda far from wherever in Canada, right?”

She pops the fry into her mouth, still looking at me, still digging.

“Where exactly in Canada are you from, anyway?”

My throat dries up instantly.

I didn’t think about this.

I didn’t prep for this.

Think, think, think—

“Uh…” I stammer, laughing weakly. “You know, small town. Middle of nowhere. Pretty boring.”

She narrows her eyes just slightly.

“Name of the town?”

I scramble, pulling something—anything—out of thin air.

“Redwater,” I blurt.

Harper blinks.

“Redwater,” she repeats, tasting the word.
“Huh. Never heard of it.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, nodding way too fast. “It’s tiny. Like, blink-and-you-miss-it tiny.”

She studies me for a second longer, clearly not completely buying it.

But eventually she shrugs again, letting it drop—for now.

“Guess that makes sense,” she says. “You’ve got that… ‘I survived Canadian winters’ toughness hidden under everything.”

I laugh a little, trying to make it sound real.

“Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”

Inside, I’m dying.

Every question is a thread, and I’m one tug away from unraveling.

I sit there, still tense, still gripping the edges of my tray like it’s the only thing keeping me from sliding right off the planet, when Harper suddenly softens.

She leans back, her smirk fading into something more genuine.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” she says, voice low enough that it’s almost just between us. Her eyes flick to my hoodie, the way I’m practically curled into it like armor.

“If anyone’s mean to you,” she adds, cracking a small, dangerous grin,
“I’ll beat ‘em up for you.”

I blink at her, thrown off completely.

For a second, I don’t know what to say.
Nobody ever just—offered—that before.
Nobody ever saw me struggling and just said I’ll fight for you.

I manage a tiny, stunned laugh.

“That’s… really specific,” I say, smiling a little despite myself.

Harper shrugs, unapologetic. “I’m good at what I do.”

She tosses another fry into her mouth, totally casual, like we didn’t just go from grilling interrogation to… weirdly protective friendship in two minutes flat.

I don’t know if she’s serious.

I don’t know if she’s joking.

I stare at Harper across the table, still not entirely believing this is happening.

Who is this girl?

One second she’s staring at me like she’s about to crack a case wide open, the next she’s offering to throw punches on my behalf.

Nothing about her fits neatly into any box I’m used to.

Maybe that’s what makes it more confusing.

More dangerous.

I pick at my tray, the silence stretching thin between us.

Finally, I blurt out, awkward and too fast:

“You don’t have to sit with me, you know. You can go… be with your friends.”

Harper blinks once, then actually laughs—a real laugh, short and sharp.

“Friends?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. Not really my thing.”

I blink, caught off guard.

She shrugs like it’s no big deal, jabbing another fry with her fork.

“Most of them are fake. They want something. Or they just suck.” She leans forward slightly, chin resting in her hand again. “You don’t suck yet.”

Yet.

The word hangs there, playful but with a faint edge.

I huff a small laugh, despite myself, unsure whether to be flattered or terrified.

“Thanks,” I mutter, voice dry. “I think.”

Harper grins like she’s already decided something important.

“I like sitting with you. So get used to it.”

I stare at her, utterly baffled.

I have no idea who this girl is.

No idea why she picked me.

But right now?

I don’t have the energy to fight it.

And maybe…

Maybe it’s nice not to be completely alone.

Even if it’s confusing as hell.

I guess I have a friend now?

I’m not sure.

I haven’t even wrapped my head around it when a voice calls out from across the cafeteria.

“Hey, Elisa! It’s me—Luca, remember?”

I flinch hard enough to almost knock over my tray.

Of course I remember.

How could I forget?

I look up to see him weaving between tables, his usual lopsided grin firmly in place, waving like we’re old friends—which, in a way, we are.

Just not the way he thinks.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” I say, forcing a smile so hard my cheeks ache instantly.

He plops down into the seat next to me like he’s got every right to be there, completely oblivious to the tight ball of panic trying to choke me.

“I couldn’t find you earlier sorry. You settling in okay?” he asks, grabbing a fry off his own tray without waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” I lie, very convincingly (not), “everyone’s been really nice.”

Harper watches the exchange silently, eyes flicking between us like she’s seeing something I can’t.

I can feel her watching.

Like she’s piecing something together.

I swallow hard, pasting on another fake smile, trying desperately to act normal while every molecule of my being is screaming.

Luca leans back in his chair, casually tossing a fry into his mouth like this is just a normal lunch between normal people.

“You’re staying with Arin’s mom, right?” he asks, like he’s just trying to keep the conversation going.

My stomach lurches, but I force myself to nod, keeping my voice steady.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I’m… staying with her for a while.”

It sounds stiff even to my own ears, but Luca doesn’t seem to notice.

He smiles, easy and warm, just happy to have someone to talk to.

“That’s cool. She’s awesome,” he says. “I used to go over there all the time with Arin. Best cookies on the planet.”

I laugh—genuine for half a second—because yeah, Mom’s cookies really are something else.

Harper watches the two of us, quiet, a little smile playing on her lips like she’s waiting for something.

Luca doesn’t seem to notice. He just keeps talking, easy and light, like we’re friends already.

And maybe we were once.

Just… not the way he thinks.

I nod along, throwing in a few small words here and there, trying not to let my face show how much it hurts.

How much it feels like I’m lying with every breath.

I smile where I’m supposed to, laughing a little when Luca cracks some dumb joke about the cafeteria food being a government experiment.

It’s like walking a tightrope.

Every word I say feels like balancing one foot in front of the other, hoping nobody looks up and sees how shaky I really am.

Harper just watches.

Sitting there with her tray half-forgotten, that same small smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Like she’s seeing straight through me but isn’t sure if she wants to call me out yet.

Or maybe she’s just… waiting.

Testing.

I don’t know.

I just keep pushing through it, pretending everything’s normal, pretending I’m normal.

Eventually, Luca’s attention shifts—someone calls his name from another table, and he jumps up, tray in hand.

“I’ll catch you later, Elisa!” he says cheerfully, waving as he jogs off.

I force another smile, watching him go, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

When he’s out of earshot, Harper leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand again.

“You’re really bad at lying, you know,” she says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather.

My blood runs cold.

I grip the edge of the table, trying to keep my face neutral.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, too fast, too sharp.

Harper just smiles wider, almost lazily.

“Sure you don’t.”

She pops another fry into her mouth, totally relaxed, like we’re just having a normal conversation.

I stare at her, my heart hammering so hard I can barely hear the noise of the cafeteria anymore.

“What?” I manage to choke out.

Harper just grins a little, like she’s enjoying this way too much.

“I’m just saying,” she says, popping another fry into her mouth, “you get this little twitch in your eye when you’re nervous. It’s… cute.”

Cute?

That throws me off even harder.

I blink, completely thrown.

“I’m not—nervous,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly.

Yeah, real convincing.

Harper just shrugs like she doesn’t believe a word of it but isn’t going to push further.
Not yet, anyway.

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” she says, voice softer now. “Just… you don’t have to lie to me, Elisa.”

She holds my gaze a second longer, steady, unblinking.

Like she’s saying something without really saying it.

I look down at my tray, picking at the cold fries again.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

Harper hums thoughtfully, then leans back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head with a lazy yawn.

“Whatever you say, new girl,” she says with a wink. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” I say quickly, way too defensively.

Harper raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it for a second.

“Uh huh.”

She smirks again, tipping her chair back a little, balancing on two legs like she’s trying to make herself look even more casual about this whole thing.

“Well,” she says, popping another fry into her mouth, “it’s either you’ve got secrets…”
She pauses, giving me a look that’s just shy of teasing. “Or you’ve got a crush on him.”

I almost choke on air.

My face burns instantly, hotter than anything the cafeteria microwaves could dream up.

“No,” I blurt, louder than I mean to. “It’s neither!”

Harper’s grin just grows, wide and shameless.

“Relax, new girl,” she says, laughing under her breath. “I’m just messing with you.”

I sink lower into my hoodie, cheeks still flaming, wishing I could melt straight into the floor.

Harper watches me for another second, clearly amused.

But underneath the teasing…
I can feel it.

She’s still watching.

Still waiting.

Still not fully buying the act.

And whether she’s just curious or actually suspicious…

I don’t know yet.

I fidget with the edge of my tray, pretending to be invested in a half-mashed pile of fries, but my mind’s racing.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a person like Harper before.

She’s… too much.

Too forward.

Too curious.

Too close.

And honestly?

She’s starting to get on my nerves.

Why can’t she just let me be?

Why can’t she just sit with her mystery meat and her smug little smile and leave me the hell alone?

“We could eat her,” the symbiote murmurs suddenly, the voice slipping into my mind like silk over broken glass.

I stiffen, the tray almost slipping from my fingers.

“What?! No way!l I snap back internally, barely keeping my face neutral.
“You can’t eat people—“
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly.—especially not when it’s MY body.”

“Our body,” the symbiote corrects, voice low and calm, almost… amused.

“No. My body,” I shoot back, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” Harper says, her voice cutting through my mental war, “you okay?”

I jerk my head up, blinking fast.

She’s leaning forward a little, her smirk faded, a hint of something real—concern, maybe—breaking through the teasing.

I force a quick, tight smile.

“Yeah,” I say, voice strained. “Just… tired.”

Harper leans back again, tossing her napkin onto the tray like she doesn’t totally buy it, but isn’t going to push right now.

“You gotta toughen up,” she says lightly, flashing a grin. “Midtown’s not for the faint of heart.”

I laugh—dry, quiet, almost bitter.

“If only you knew,” I mutter under my breath.

Harper leans in again, that mischievous glint flashing in her eyes.

“That sure sounds like someone with a secret,” she says, smirking.

Jesus, I think, heart racing, she’s got super hearing or something.

There’s no way she should’ve heard that. I barely muttered it under my breath!

I scramble for words, for anything that sounds normal.

“I don’t have any secrets,” I say, trying to sound casual and totally not like someone about to crack under pressure. “I’m just a normal girl who’s living here for a while.”

Harper stares at me for a long second.

And then—

She grins wider, like I just made her day.

“Right,” she says, dragging out the word just enough to make it clear she doesn’t believe me.

“Normal.”

I glare at her, but it’s weak and pathetic and even I know it.

Harper just laughs and grabs her tray, standing up like she’s got all the time in the world.

“See you around, normal girl,” she says, winking before sauntering off across the cafeteria.

I slump back into my chair, covering my face with my hands for a second.

Normal girl.

Yeah.

Sure.

Totally normal.

With a secret alien living under my skin, a fake name, and a life that isn’t even mine anymore.

Totally normal.

Just when I think maybe, just maybe, the worst of today is over—

Gym.

Because of course it’s gym.

The final boss of humiliation.

I drag myself through the locker room doors, clutching my new gym clothes—a plain white T-shirt and a pair of generic black shorts—like they’re a shield.

The room smells like sweat and old sneakers, and it’s buzzing with noise.
Girls laughing, shouting, lockers slamming.

I move to the farthest corner I can find, trying to stay invisible.

Changing feels wrong.

Not just because of the body—
(though that’s still a disaster)
—but because I’m terrified someone’s going to notice.

Notice the hesitation.

Notice how I’m not comfortable in my own skin.

I pull the shirt over my head fast, yanking the shorts on even faster, and stuff my other clothes into the locker, slamming it shut.

Then I just stand there for a second, breathing shallow.

You can do this.

I shove my hands into my pockets and head out onto the gym floor.

Today’s activity?

Soccer.

Which is… fine, I guess.

If you like sprinting back and forth under fluorescent lights while strangers yell at you.

Coach Simmons, a guy who looks like he was built out of cinder blocks and bad decisions, blows the whistle and starts dividing us into teams.

I end up shoved onto a random side, thrown a neon pinnie to pull over my shirt.

The first few minutes are exactly what I expected—pure, awkward misery.

I jog stiffly across the gym floor, trying not to trip over my own feet. The shirt clings weirdly, the shorts ride up in the wrong places, and every time someone shouts for the ball, I flinch like I’m about to be exposed somehow.

You’re just playing soccer. You’re fine. You’re fine.

Except I’m not fine.

I’m way too aware of how different everything feels now—the way my body moves, lighter but somehow stronger at the same time. The way my center of gravity has shifted, just enough to throw me off balance every few steps.

I mostly hang back, trying to look busy without getting too involved. It’s working—
until one of the girls on the other team fires a pass right toward me.

Fast.

Way faster than I’m ready for.

Instinct takes over.

Before I can even think, my body moves—snaps into action.

I lunge forward, stretching out my leg, and catch the ball in a perfect trap, the kind that would make an actual soccer pro proud.

Because it was too good.

Way too smooth.

Way too fast.

Like muscle memory that doesn’t even belong to me.

Someone whistles low under their breath.

“Holy crap, new girl’s got skills,” someone mutters from the sidelines.

I stand there like a statue, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else.

Play it cool. Play it cool.

I force a small, awkward laugh and pass the ball off to someone else immediately, stumbling back into place like it was a total fluke.

Which… to be fair, it was.

Mostly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Harper standing near the benches.

She’s not laughing.

She’s not cheering.

She’s just watching.

Her head tilted slightly.

Eyes sharp.

Like she just saw something she’s not sure she was supposed to see.

I shuffle back into position, cheeks burning, willing myself to just blend in for the rest of the game.

No more weirdness.

No more super reflexes.

Just a normal girl, bad at sports, minding her business.

Normal.

But then the ball comes flying toward me again.

Faster this time.

Harder.

Someone shouts, “Kick it, Elisa!”

Without thinking, I swing my leg back and slam it forward.

The moment my foot connects, I know it’s wrong.

Way wrong.

The ball rockets off my foot like it’s been shot out of a cannon, slicing through the air like a missile.

Everyone’s heads whip around to follow it.

It smashes into the far wall with a deafening crack, hard enough that it ricochets back halfway across the court before finally dropping to the floor with a pathetic wobble.

The whole gym falls dead silent.

Someone lets out a stunned, “Dude.”

I just stand there, frozen, my foot still hanging awkwardly in the air like a cartoon character who just realized they ran off a cliff.

Coach Simmons blows his whistle hard enough to make my ears ring.

He stalks over, eyebrows practically jumping off his forehead.

“Good God, Coleman!” he barks. “Save it for varsity tryouts!”

People laugh—and a few claps break out from the sidelines. Like I just did something amazing instead of almost breaking the school.

I stumble back a step, mumbling something that might be an apology but comes out sounding like static.

I catch Harper’s eyes across the court again.

She’s staring.

But now there’s no smirk. No teasing grin.

Just a slow, sharp smile like she’s seeing something she likes.

Something dangerous.

And I have a very bad feeling she’s not going to let it go.

I need to be more careful, I think, my hands trembling slightly as I pretend to fix the hem of my shirt.

I need to get control of this—whatever this even is—even if it’s temporary.

I can’t have people noticing.

I can’t have them whispering.

I can’t have them finding out who I really am.

Or that I’ve apparently got… superpowers.

Because nothing says blend in like kicking a soccer ball hard enough to leave a dent in the wall.

The end-of-class whistle shrills, making me jump a little.

Students scatter, laughing, grabbing their stuff and heading for the locker rooms.

I hesitate, lingering at the edge of the gym, hoping—praying—I can somehow slip out unnoticed.

But of course, fate isn’t that kind.

Coach Simmons catches me with his beady little eyes, blowing his whistle again just to make sure I can’t pretend I didn’t hear.

“It’s Elisa, right?” he calls across the gym.

I nod stiffly, heart sinking.

“Gotta hit the showers,” he says, loud enough that a few heads turn. “It’s the rules after gym. Don’t need a bunch of sweaty teens stinking up the school.”

Great.

Fantastic.

Best day ever.

I mumble something that sounds vaguely like “okay” and shuffle toward the girls’ locker room, dread curling low in my stomach.

The thought of stripping down completely in a room full of girls who think I’m just like them—who think I belong here—
It makes my skin crawl.

I step into the locker room, head down, moving fast.

I try so hard not to look at anything.
At anyone.

But there’s nowhere to look that isn’t…
skin.

Towels.

Half-dressed bodies.

Girls chatting like it’s no big deal, like they aren’t just walking around completely exposed.

I swallow hard, my face burning hotter with every step.

This definitely isn’t comfortable.

I feel like at any second—any second—someone’s going to scream, realize I’m not supposed to be here, call me a freak, drag me out in front of everyone.

But it doesn’t happen.

No one looks twice.

No one stares.

I’m just another girl in a sea of girls.

God, I think miserably, this is worse.

And worse still—

I’m supposed to shower too.

I clutch my clean clothes tighter to my chest, moving toward the farthest, emptiest corner of the shower area, praying no one notices how tense and awkward I am.

The showers are wide open.
No curtains.
No stalls.

Just one long wall with a line of silver heads spewing steam into the tile room.

I slip off my shirt and shorts as fast as I can, keeping my towel wrapped tightly around myself until the very last second.

I move under the spray, keeping my back to everyone, arms crossed tightly over my chest.

The water hits my skin—hot and heavy—but I barely feel it.

All I can feel is my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Just a minute. Just one minute.

Then I can get out of here.

Then I can breathe again.

Arin:

The water crashes over me, loud enough that for a few blessed seconds, I’m alone inside the sound.

Invisible.

Untouchable.

Until…

“Hey, new girl.”

I flinch so hard I almost slip on the wet tile.

I turn slightly, just enough to glance over—and there she is.

Harper.

Of course it’s Harper.

She’s standing right next to me, flipping the handle of the neighboring shower on like this is just another casual conversation. Like she didn’t almost catch me unraveling in the cafeteria. Like she wasn’t watching me with those sharp, knowing eyes all day.

She leans back slightly, letting the water spray across her shoulders, and flashes me a quick grin.

“Real impressive back there,” she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear.

I stiffen.

“Uh… thanks,” I mutter, trying to focus very hard on the crack in the tile above her head and not the awkwardness prickling down my spine.

I catch it—the moment her gaze flickers down for just a second.

Down toward my chest.

A flash of something crosses her face—before she smirks again.

“You’re so lucky,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I blink, stunned, heart hammering harder now for all the wrong reasons.

Lucky?

LUCKY?!

If only she knew.

If only she knew anything.

I manage a weak laugh, curling my arms tighter around myself, feeling more exposed than ever.

“Yeah,” I say, voice tight. “Real lucky.”

I’m still half-hiding under the spray, praying for invisibility, when Harper’s voice cuts through the rush of water again.

“Hey,” she says casually, like we’re discussing weekend plans and not, you know, standing half-naked in the most awkward situation of my life. “If you want, I can help you fix your look after school.”

I blink, disoriented. “What’s wrong with my look?”

Harper chuckles, a low sound, almost teasing.

“Hoodies aren’t exactly fashionable anymore,” she says, giving me a side-eye glance like she’s letting me in on some great universal truth.

I shift uncomfortably, hugging my arms tighter across my chest.

“Uh… ok,” I mumble, completely thrown off.
God, why am I even still talking?

I stare determinedly at the water-streaked wall, willing this entire conversation out of existence.

Harper doesn’t seem to notice—or she does, and just doesn’t care.

“You don’t really seem like the type of person to care about looks,” I say, voice flat, trying to push the conversation anywhere else.

She grins, tossing her wet hair back over her shoulder like she’s starring in some shampoo commercial.

“Cause I’m direct?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “And fun?”

I snort before I can help it, a tiny, dry laugh escaping through my gritted teeth.

“Something like that,” I mutter.

She grins wider, like I just handed her a win.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second under the spray, half praying this is some fever dream and I’ll wake up back in my old body, back in my old life, far away from whatever insane chaos Harper is bringing into it.

But when I open them—

She’s still there.

Still smirking.

Still too close for comfort.

I’m toweling off as fast as humanly possible, hair dripping onto the grimy locker room floor, when Harper casually strolls by me, still half-wrapped in her towel like she owns the entire school.

“I’ll come to your place after,” she says, like it’s already decided.

I almost drop the towel.

“What?!” I blurt, spinning around too fast, nearly slipping on the wet tile. “I didn’t—I didn’t say—”

She smirks, one eyebrow arching high.
“You said okay. That means yes.”

“No, I didn’t mean yes!” I stammer, face burning again. “I was… I was flustered! And confused! And—”

She steps a little closer, still dripping water, looking way too pleased with herself.

“You still said yes,” she says smoothly, like a lawyer closing her case. “And you wouldn’t want to hurt your new friend’s feelings, would you?”

I gape at her, mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water.

This can’t be happening.

This cannot be happening.

Harper grins wider, snatching up her clothes and heading for the lockers without even waiting for my answer.

“See you after school, friend,” she tosses over her shoulder.

I stand there, half-dressed, hair dripping, towel half-hanging off my arm, feeling like I’ve just been hit by a bus.

A very confident, very annoying bus named Harper.

End of chapter 4.