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 6 Slip up.

Morning slams into me like a truck.

I drag myself out of bed, every muscle aching with tension, my brain foggy from a night of tossing and turning—and arguing with something living under my skin.

I stare blearily into the bathroom mirror.

Same face.

Same body.

Same heavy knot of dread tightening in my gut.

Day two.

I throw on one of the new outfits we grabbed during the emergency shopping spree, trying not to think about how strange it feels pulling on clothes that fit too well.

After a rushed, silent breakfast, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, locking it behind me with a heavy click.

The subway ride feels longer today.
Hotter.

Everyone seems louder, like the whole city decided to shout over my growing panic.

When I finally step through the front doors of Midtown High, it feels like the building is watching me.

Like the walls themselves know I don’t belong.

I keep my head down, weaving through the crowds, praying Harper doesn’t immediately tackle me.

And, for a few blessed seconds, it looks like I might get away with it.

Until I hear it.

A sharp whistle.

“Hey, Maple Leaf!”

I flinch, already feeling a headache pounding between my eyes.

Harper is leaning against a locker down the hall, arms crossed, her smirk wide.

She doesn’t even try to hide it. She waves at me like I’m her long-lost best friend.

A few students glance my way, curious, but I force my legs to keep moving.

No running.

No hiding.

Act normal.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harper calls as I approach, her voice way too loud and cheerful.

“Ready for day two of surviving Midtown?”

I manage a strained smile.

“Define surviving.”

She laughs and falls into step beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And just like that…

Harper has decided my second day of school belongs to her.

Again.

Classes blur together.

Math, English, History—each period ticking by in a slow, grinding rhythm.

I sit through lectures, scribbling notes, trying to focus, but my mind keeps drifting.

Part of it is the usual stuff worrying about the symbiote, about Harper, about my entire life collapsing if I slip even once.

But part of it.

The worse part…

Is how normal everything feels today.

Like I’m living someone else’s life.

Filling in someone else’s empty seat.

Pretending so hard it almost feels real.

Harper, true to her word—or maybe just her mood—mostly leaves me alone.

She throws me the occasional teasing glance across classrooms, kicks my chair once or twice under a desk to get me to smile, but she doesn’t push.

It’s unsettling in its own way.

Like she’s letting me build up a little breathing room just so she can kick it out from under me later.

Still, somehow, I survive the morning.

No disasters.

No explosions.

No symbiote freak-outs.

Just… existing.

And the longer it goes on, the more a stupid, fragile hope starts building inside me.

Maybe I can actually do this.

Maybe if I stay quiet enough, small enough,
I can fade into the background and just be “Elisa Coleman” for real.

At least long enough to figure out how to fix all this.

Lunch comes faster than I expect.

I make a beeline for the cafeteria, clutching my tray like a lifeline, weaving through the noisy crowds of students buzzing around like nothing in the world could ever touch them.

Same as yesterday, I grab whatever barely-passable food is available and scan the room.

Empty table. Empty table.

I spot one near the back—half-shadowed, blessedly out of the way—and speed-walk over before anyone can snag it.

I sit, drop my tray, and exhale.

So far, so good.

I poke halfheartedly at whatever today’s mystery meat is, trying not to think too hard about it.

For a blissful minute, nobody bothers me. Nobody notices.

It’s almost—

“Hey, Maple Leaf!”

I stiffen.

Of course.

Harper appears like a magician conjured by pure chaos energy, sliding her tray onto the table across from me without asking.

“Miss me?” she asks, grinning over a carton of milk.

I give her a long, suffering look.

“Like a hole in the head,” I mutter.

Harper laughs, loud and shameless, drawing a few glances from nearby tables. Not that she cares.

She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“So,” she says, lowering her voice slightly, “you surviving day two, or you planning your daring escape back to the land of syrup and politeness?”

I smirk, despite myself.

“Still deciding.”

She taps her fingers against her tray, studying me with that same playful glint in her eyes.

But this time… there’s something else there too.

Something quieter.

Almost like… curiosity without sharp edges.

I barely have time to blink before another voice cuts in from the side.

“Mind if I sit here?” Luca says, grinning as he steps up to the table like he owns it.

Oh no.

Oh God.

My lives are colliding.

Before I can even think of an excuse—before I can wave him off or fake a sudden illness or literally bolt—

Harper leans back in her chair and smirks at me.

“Of course not,” she says sweetly, a wicked glint in her eyes.

I resist the urge to slam my head into the table.

Luca drops into the seat next to Harper like he’s been invited to a party he’s been dying to attend.

He flashes me a big, easy smile—completely oblivious to the internal meltdown happening two feet away.

“So,” I manage to say, my voice a little higher than I’d like, “what, uh… brings you over here?”

Luca shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Just figured it’s time we all hung out, you know?” he says.

“You’re Arin’s cousin. Feels weird not to get to know you.”

Harper gives me a sly side-eye that says this is going to be fun.

Meanwhile, my brain is sprinting in circles, screaming.

Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it—

“Plus,” Luca adds, flashing a grin, “Harper here seems to have adopted you.”

Harper winks at me.

“She’s growing on me,” she says casually, as if I’m a new pet she’s decided to keep.

I force a laugh that sounds about as natural as a fire alarm.

This is fine, I think, hands gripping my tray too tightly.

This is totally fine.

I’m not about to implode at all.

I sit there, frozen, clutching my tray like it’s going to save me from drowning in this nightmare.

Luca leans in a little, propping his elbows on the table, looking way too interested.

“So,” he says, flashing that same easy grin, “what part of Canada are you from again?”

My mind blanks completely.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

Think. Think. Think!

“Uh—” I start, but Harper cuts in smoothly, like she’s been expecting this.

“She told me she’s from, like, way out there,” she says, waving her hand vaguely. “One of those little towns nobody’s heard of.”

Luca nods like that makes perfect sense.

Crisis… narrowly avoided.

For about three seconds.

“That’s cool,” Luca says. “Bet it’s way quieter than here.”

He grins wider, teasing now.

“Maybe that’s why you’re so jumpy.”

I force a laugh.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, “big city nerves.”

He chuckles, but something flickers behind his eyes.

A thought.

An idea.

“So… what’s Arin like?”

My chest tightens painfully.

I stare at him.

Harper watches me too, quiet now, interested in a different way.

“You know,” Luca says, still smiling but tilting his head slightly, “your cousin.”

I scramble for words.

Scramble for anything that sounds right.

Because how do you describe yourself…
without giving yourself away?

I force the fakest, most strained laugh known to mankind, scratching the back of my neck like a total idiot.

“Well, uh,” I stammer, “you probably know him better than me.”

I shrug way too hard, trying to seem casual but looking more like I’m short-circuiting.

“Only met him a few times. Hehe.”

Oh my God, did I just actually say ‘hehe’ out loud?!

Luca blinks at me, like he wasn’t expecting that answer.

Harper just raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

There’s a beat of weird, heavy silence.

I desperately shove food in my mouth to avoid saying anything else.

Luca shrugs it off first, smiling easy again.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “He’s… cool. Kinda weird sometimes, but cool.”

He laughs, nudging Harper lightly with his shoulder.

“Guess it runs in the family.”

Harper smirks and leans back, folding her arms, giving me this look like she’s filing away every single thing happening for future interrogation.

Meanwhile, I’m dying inside, nodding way too fast like, yeah totally nothing weird here just a normal Canadian girl definitely not Arin nope not at all.

Harper snickers quietly, like she can hear my brain melting.

I push the last bit of food around my tray, trying to look engaged, normal, anything but the disaster I am on the inside.

Harper and Luca are laughing about something dumb—something about how Mr. Dalton’s hairline looks like a map of Canada—and for a second, I think I’m safe.

Then Luca’s laughter slows.

He’s looking at me.

Really looking.

I feel it before I even glance up—a shift in the air, a sharp focus that wasn’t there a second ago.

“You know,” Luca says slowly, tapping a finger against the table, “you laugh like him.”

The fry drops out of my fingers.

“What?” I croak.

Luca grins a little, not in a teasing way—more curious. Prying.

“Arin,” he says. “You laugh like Arin.”

I force a smile, trying to wave it off.

“Maybe it’s just a family thing,” I say weakly.

But Luca isn’t buying it. Not entirely.

“You scratch your neck like him too,” he says thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair like he’s putting puzzle pieces together. “And you slouch the same way.”

Harper looks between us, suddenly very interested.

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

“And that thing you just did with your lip?” Luca says, pointing. “He used to do that too when he was nervous.”

My stomach drops through the floor.

Luca’s smiling still—easy, kind—but there’s a glint of something sharper now.

“You sure you’re just cousins?” he asks, voice low.

I scramble.

Desperately.

But the words tangle and die in my throat.

I can’t fake all of that.

I’m slipping.

I’m already slipping.

Luca leans in a little more, his face tightening, like he’s poking at a loose thread and waiting for everything to unravel.

“You know,” he says slowly, eyes locked on mine, “he kinda disappeared real suddenly…”

Oh no.

I force myself to nod, trying to seem casual, normal, anything but what I’m feeling.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, waving my hand like it’s no big deal, even though my heart is slamming into my ribs. “I don’t think his mom… told him till it was basically time to leave. It was, uh, really sudden.”

Luca watches me.

I can feel it.

The gears turning in his head.

The connections starting to spark.

His fingers drum absently against the table once, twice—

Then he says it.

Soft. Careful. Testing.

“Arin?”

I jolt, just a little—enough that if he’s paying attention (and of course he is), he sees it.

There’s no hiding the way my breath catches for a half second.

No pretending the name doesn’t land like a stone in my chest.

Harper watches the whole thing like she’s got front-row seats to the world’s slowest car crash.

But she doesn’t say anything.

Neither does Luca, not for a moment.

He just sits there.

Waiting.

Watching.

Letting the silence stretch so tight I feel like it might snap.

I shove my chair back so fast it screeches across the floor, drawing a few glances from nearby tables.

“I—” My voice cracks.

I clear my throat and try again, forcing the words out.

“I gotta go to the bathroom.”

Without waiting for an answer—without daring to see the look on their faces—I grab my bag and practically run.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

I shove through the cafeteria doors into the hallway, the noise fading behind me as I speed-walk toward the nearest bathroom like my life depends on it.

Because it kind of does.

My heart’s slamming against my ribs.

My hands are shaking so bad I almost miss the door handle.

I burst inside, thankfully finding the bathroom empty, and lean heavily against the cold tile wall, breathing hard.

You idiot. You idiot!

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting down the panic bubbling up.

He knows.

Not the full truth.

Not yet.

And Harper?

She definitely saw it too.

I’m not gonna survive a third day of this.

Inside my head, the symbiote stirs—quietly, like a presence just waiting beneath the surface.

“We can protect us if needed,” it hums softly.

I grip the sink so tight my knuckles go white.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I whisper harshly to myself.

“Then you must learn to adapt,” it murmurs.

“Or we will be exposed.”

I look up into the mirror.

Elisa stares back at me.

Not Arin.

Not really.

But somewhere deep behind the new face, the real me is still screaming.

I grip the edge of the sink tighter, the cold seeping into my fingers, grounding me just enough to stop from losing it completely.

I glare at my reflection—at Elisa—and the words start spilling out under my breath, sharp and fast.

“How the hell did I do so bad?” I whisper harshly.

“It was stupid of me to not think he’d figure it out—”

I bite down on a snarl of frustration, heart pounding against my ribs.

“Just off of how I act, too!” I snap at the mirror, my voice cracking.

“And somehow she thinks I’m also Arin—maybe—I don’t even know!”

I sag against the sink, feeling my knees wobble a little.

“How did both of them do this?!”

My voice rises a little, echoing in the tiled bathroom.

“Am I that bad at this?!”

I slam my fist lightly against the side of the sink, a pathetic little thud.

I stiffen.

Feet still locked to the floor, knuckles white against the sink.

I hear the bathroom door creak open, just a little, and then—

“Elisa?”

Harper’s voice.

Soft.

Almost… concerned.

I stare at my reflection, breathing hard, heart rattling like a dying engine.

You can’t lose it now.

Not in front of her.

“Elisa?” she calls again, stepping closer, her voice echoing slightly in the tiled space.

I suck in a shaky breath, straighten up, and force my face into something resembling calm.

“Yeah,” I croak out, voice way too small.

There’s a pause—then Harper’s reflection appears behind mine, her arms crossed but her expression… different.

Not teasing.

Not smug.

Just—watching.

Waiting.

“You okay?” she asks, quieter now.

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak without something breaking free.

Harper leans her hip against the counter, tilting her head slightly.

“You’re a terrible liar, Maple Leaf,” she says, almost fondly.

I close my eyes for half a second, wishing I could sink into the floor.

When I open them, she’s still there.

Still not leaving.

Still looking at me like she’s not going to let me faceplant alone.

Why is she making this harder? I think, my throat tight.

Why does she have to be nice?

“If you don’t want to tell me, I get it,” Harper says, her voice softer now, way too understanding.

“You don’t know me that well yet.”

She pushes off the counter, arms loose at her sides.

“But if he’s been your best friend for however long…” She pauses, studying my face carefully. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

My chest tightens painfully.

I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is the weakest, most obvious lie ever.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Harper just smirks a little—like she expected that.

Then—

BRRRRRRRRRRING!

The bell shrieks through the halls, jolting both of us slightly.

Harper chuckles under her breath, shaking her head as she heads for the door.

“Saved by the bell,” she says with a wink. “I’ll see you later, Maple Leaf.”

And then she’s gone, the bathroom door swinging shut softly behind her.

Leaving me standing there, the cold tile, the buzzing fluorescent lights, and my own stupid reflection.

Saved.

For now.

But that’s the thing about being saved by the bell—

The next round always comes faster than you’re ready for.

I sigh heavily, grabbing my bag off the bathroom floor and slinging it over my shoulder like it weighs a thousand pounds.

Speaking of gym time.

I trudge down the hallway, sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile, my head a battlefield of noise.

Maybe… maybe I should tell him.

The thought creeps in, stubborn and desperate.

It’d be nice, right?

To have someone.

Someone who actually knew.

Someone I could talk to about this mess who wasn’t my mom or Claire or… the thing living under my skin.

Someone normal.

Someone who could remind me I’m still normal—at least a little.

But almost instantly, the symbiote stirs, its voice curling low and warning through my mind.

“You cannot tell him about us.”

I grit my teeth, slowing my steps.

“He’s not gonna tell anyone,” I mutter under my breath.

“He wouldn’t. Right?”

“He could call the police,” the symbiote whispers.

“They have people planted everywhere. They’ll be watching for anomalies.“

I swallow hard, my stomach knotting.

“Well… I could tell him not to,” I argue weakly, knowing how dumb it sounds even as I say it.

“He might do it because he’s worried about you,” it says.

“Worried you are dangerous.“

I stumble a little as the words hit too close to home.

Dangerous.

Yeah…

I tighten my grip on my bag, forcing my thoughts into a straight line as I head toward the gym.

I just need to make sure he lets me explain everything, I tell myself over and over.
And why he can’t tell anyone. He’ll understand. He has to understand.

I clutch the idea like it’s a lifeline.

Because if he doesn’t…

I shove the thought away as I push open the heavy gym doors.

The smell of old sweat, rubber flooring, and stale air hits me immediately.

The usual chaos—students yelling, bouncing basketballs, sneakers squeaking—fills the space like a storm.

Coach Simmons blows his whistle sharp and loud from across the room.

“Alright, people! Team games today! Get moving!”

Groans ripple through the room, but everyone starts splitting off toward the equipment bins or forming lazy clusters.

I spot Harper instantly—already tossing a dodgeball into the air like she’s way too excited about the chance to hit someone—and Luca trailing nearby, laughing at something she said.

They’re both looking around—Harper’s eyes land on me first.

Luca’s a second later.

And then he smiles.

Wide, easy.

Like nothing’s wrong.

Like he’s still my friend.

I clutch my sleeves tighter and move toward them automatically, heart hammering harder the closer I get.

I just have to survive gym.

One class.

One more hour.

Then maybe… maybe I can figure this out.

I repeat it over and over in my head as I walk toward them, weaving through the other students:

Just gotta be careful.

Extra careful.

Do everything extra gentle. No strength. No mistakes.

It’s harder than it sounds.

The symbiote hums low in the back of my mind, restless, ready to act at the slightest twitch.

Like a coiled spring wound too tight under my skin.

Harper grins and tosses the dodgeball up, catching it one-handed without even looking.

Luca gives me a nod, casual and easy, like he hasn’t been quietly dissecting me all morning.

“Hey, Maple Leaf,” Harper calls, spinning the ball on her finger. “You any good at not getting your face smashed in?”

I give a half-hearted smile, tugging my sleeves down a little more.

“I’ll try.”

Coach Simmons blows the whistle again.

“Dodgeball! Regular rules! No headshots!” he shouts, already not paying attention.

Of course Harper whoops like it’s Christmas morning.

The teams split up fast—me, Harper, and Luca all ending up on the same side.

I grip a ball lightly when it’s tossed toward me, feeling how easy it would be to crush it if I wasn’t careful.

Gentle, I remind myself, heart hammering.

The game kicks off balls flying everywhere, people ducking, shouting, laughing.

I dodge clumsily, keeping my movements stiff and ‘normal.’

A ball comes flying toward me—fast.

I duck too slow, flinching as it grazes my arm.

Another ball bounces near my foot.

I stoop down carefully—carefully—to pick it up.

I lob it lazily back across the line, underhand, barely using any force at all.

It thuds harmlessly to the floor without hitting anyone.

Perfect.

Safe.

Normal.

I breathe through my teeth, focusing all my willpower on keeping it that way.

Harper, meanwhile, is treating the game like a warzone—dodging, sliding, laughing maniacally every time she nails someone.

A ball comes flying out of nowhere—fast, sharp—and smacks me square in the side.

I stumble back a step, wincing automatically, throwing my hands up.

“Out!” someone shouts.

Coach blows the whistle lazily like he barely noticed.

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

Oh well, I think, brushing my hair out of my face as I walk off the court.

That just makes it easier to not expose myself.

No chance of accidentally throwing too hard.

No weird, impossible dodges.

No slip-ups.

Just sit. Watch.

Pretend to be normal.

Easy.

But as I plop down onto the bleachers, something weird settles in my mind.

I rub the spot where the ball hit me.

It doesn’t hurt.

Not really.

I mean, I felt it.

But it was more like being poked, not slammed by a solid rubber ball moving at thirty miles an hour.

I blink down at my side, expecting to find a bruise forming already.

Nothing.

Not even a sting.

What the hell?

The symbiote hums quietly inside me, almost pleased.

“We protect,” it whispers, warm and sure.

I shiver slightly, pulling my sleeves down even tighter over my hands.

I glance back at the court where Luca and Harper are still laughing, throwing themselves into the game like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

I shift uncomfortably on the bleachers, tugging uselessly at the gym t-shirt, wishing it could just swallow me whole.

I hate these clothes.

They’re too tight across my chest, too short on my torso, clinging in all the ways that make it impossible to forget—to ignore—what I look like now.

Without the armor of my hoodie, I feel exposed.

Raw.

Like every little curve, every difference, is shouting at the world. “Look at me. I’m not who you think I am.”

But worse than anyone else noticing… is me noticing.

Sitting here, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, I’m more aware of my body than ever.

The way my legs fit differently under me.

The way my chest presses against the fabric of the shirt when I breathe too deep.

The soft, fine hair falling over my shoulder that brushes against my cheek no matter how many times I shove it back.

At least with the hoodies—the layers, the bagginess—I could pretend.

I could pretend I was still me underneath it all. That if I just stayed small enough, covered enough, hidden enough, I could trick even myself.

But here?

Here, in the bright fluorescent lights, in the too-small gym clothes clinging to a body that isn’t mine—there’s no pretending.

No hiding.

Just… me.

I swallow hard, dragging my sleeves down again even though they barely cover anything.

What’s one more day? I tell myself, clenching my hands tighter around the fabric of my shorts.

Just get through this. You’ve survived worse.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself as Coach blows the whistle and shouts, “Hit the showers! Let’s move, people!”

I freeze for half a second.

Showers.

God.

I stand up slowly, my legs feeling heavier than before, moving like I’m walking into a battlefield.

I blend into the tide of students funneling toward the locker rooms, keeping my head down, trying to seem invisible.

Inside, the locker room is a storm of noise—
locker doors slamming, laughter bouncing off the tile walls, the hiss of water already pouring from the ancient pipes.

I move to the farthest corner like yesterday, hoping nobody notices me, nobody really looks.

The other girls strip down casually, laughing and complaining about gym, about teachers, about everything.

For them, this is normal.

Easy.

For me?

It feels like peeling away the last little bit of armor I have left.

I tug off my shirt quickly, holding it against my chest as I fumble with the rest.

Don’t think about it. Don’t look. Just move.

I step into the showers, keeping my eyes glued firmly to the tile in front of me.

The water hits my skin in hot, stinging bursts, and I grit my teeth, scrubbing quickly, mechanically.

I feel every stare that isn’t happening.

Feel the weight of my own mind turning against me.

The soft curves where there used to be flatness.

The way my body feels too small and too much at the same time.

I close my eyes tight, letting the water wash over me, wishing—praying—that when I open them again, everything will be back to normal.

But it won’t.

It never will.

I keep my head down, scrubbing fast, trying to pretend I’m anywhere else.

Almost done, almost done—

“Hey, Elisa,” Harper’s voice floats casually from a few showers over, easy and loud enough to cut through the noise.

“You’ve almost survived day two. That’s gotta be some kinda record, right?”

I stiffen, choking a little on my own breath.

Of course it’s Harper.

Of course she finds a way to make it feel like everything’s normal when it’s so not.

I open my mouth to mutter something back—something dumb and harmless—when—

Someone brushes past me.

Barely a touch, just a shoulder skimming mine—

But it jolts through me like an electric shock.

Not because it hurt.

Because of how intensely I feel it.

The contact, the heat, the way the symbiote stirs immediately under my skin, tightening, flexing like it’s ready to react.

I flinch without meaning to, taking a quick step back, bumping against the cold wall.

“Relax,” the girl mutters, not even looking at me. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Harper snickers lightly, like she thinks I’m just being shy or awkward.

“Jumpy much, Maple Leaf?”

I grit my teeth, forcing my hands to stay loose, to not let anything slip.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, scrubbing faster, needing to be done more than I need to breathe.

The symbiote hums low, warning and restless.

“They are too close.”

“They are seeing too much.”

“We must protect.”

“No,” I think fiercely. “We just need to get through this.”

Just a few more seconds.

Then clothes.

Then hiding again.

Then safety—at least for a little while.

I rinse off fast, faster than I ever have in my life, practically slipping as I grab my towel and wrap it tightly around myself like it’s a shield.

I make a beeline back toward the lockers, heart hammering, needing—desperately needing—to just get dressed, cover up, breathe.

I’m halfway through pulling my gym shirt back over my head when I hear the soft thud of someone dropping onto the bench beside me.

Harper.

Of course.

She’s sitting sideways, facing me, towel slung loose around her shoulders, totally casual like she’s got all the time in the world.

I tug the shirt down hastily, avoiding her gaze.

“You’re wound way too tight, you know that?” she says, not mocking exactly—more curious.

Like she’s poking at a bruise just to see how bad it hurts.

I grit my teeth, yanking my shorts on as fast as possible.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, way too fast, way too defensive.

Harper leans back on her elbows, studying me with that infuriating, lazy half-smile.

“You’re not,” she says easily. “But it’s cool. I’ll wait.”

Wait for what, she doesn’t say.

And I don’t ask.

Because I know.

She’s waiting for me to crack.

Waiting for me to tell her what she already suspects but hasn’t quite pinned down yet.

I shove my shoes on harder than necessary, trying to pretend like my hands aren’t shaking just slightly.

Harper watches.

Waits.

Says nothing else.

And somehow, that’s worse than if she had.

“Are you trying to make me lose it?” I snap, sharper than I mean to—too loud in the small, echoing space of the locker room.

Harper actually flinches, eyes widening just a little.

Then, for the first time since I met her, she doesn’t smirk.

Doesn’t joke.

Doesn’t push.

“No,” she says quietly.

“I’m just trying to help.”

Her voice isn’t sharp.

It’s not sarcastic.

It’s soft.

Almost uncertain.

She stands up, grabbing her bag without meeting my eyes.

“Sorry,” she mutters, shifting her towel and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll see you later.”

She turns and walks off, leaving me sitting there, half-dressed, the sound of her footsteps disappearing into the hallway.

I stare down at the floor, heart pounding, my anger already crumbling into ash.

Damn it.

She wasn’t messing with me—she really was trying to help.

And I snapped at her like she was the enemy.

Now I’m just left with the weight of her words.

The quiet disappointment in her voice.

And something worse.

Guilt.

Real, heavy, guilt.

Because somehow—somehow—Harper is making me feel bad.

And I don’t even know why that hits so hard.

I move through the rest of the classes in a blur.

Not the usual frantic, heart-pounding panic of the last few days.

Not the desperate scramble to keep my story straight or hide what’s under my skin.

Just…

Guilt.

Thick and heavy, sticking to me worse than any fear ever did.

I sit through lectures, doodling mindlessly in the margins of my notes, not even pretending to pay attention.

I barely hear the teachers.

Barely register the students around me.

All I can think about is Harper’s face when I snapped at her.

The way she actually looked… hurt.

Not annoyed.

Not pissed.

Just… hurt.

She was pushy, I think bitterly.

Yeah, she poked and pried and didn’t know when to back off.

But she was just trying to help.

Trying to understand.

And in a weird, reckless, Harper way,
she was the first person who actually tried to be there for me.

For Elisa.

Not because she knew who I really was.

Not because she owed me anything.

Just because.

And I crushed it under my panic and fear like it didn’t matter.

Nice job, I think bitterly, stabbing my pencil into the corner of my paper.

Real smooth.

The final bell rings, rattling me out of my spiral.

I gather my stuff slowly, heart sinking deeper into my stomach.

If Harper even wants to talk to me after this…

I owe her an apology.

A real one.

No more running.

No more snapping.

Just…

Something real.

Because if I lose her, if I lose the one person who actually reached out to me—

I’m not sure I’ll have anyone left.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, dragging myself out into the hallway, the crowd of students parting around me like I’m not even there.

Which is fine.

Better, even.

Because now I’ve got a bigger problem.

I’ve gotta decide what to say to both of them.

Harper, who I snapped at even though she was just trying to be a decent human being.

And Luca…

Luca, who’s putting the pieces together faster than I can scatter them.

Neither of them deserves the mess I’m dragging behind me.

But I can’t lie forever.

I can’t dodge forever.

I just… don’t know how to do this.

With Harper, maybe it’s as simple as apologizing.

Being honest—at least about feeling overwhelmed.

Not about the whole symbiote, gender-swapped, whole-life-flipped-inside-out thing.

But something real enough to make up for how I treated her.

And Luca…

God, Luca.

I don’t even know where to start.

Because he’s not stupid. Mostly.

He knows I’m hiding something.

And if I don’t say something soon, he’s going to assume the worst.

Or worse—he’ll dig until he finds the truth himself.

I rub my hands over my face, groaning quietly.

How did it even get this bad?

One bad night.

One stupid decision to follow a weird noise in an alley.

And now here I am—standing in the middle of my new fake life, about to lose the only two people who might still care about me.

Unless I fix it.

Fast.

I clutch my phone tightly as I slip through the crowded hall, finding a quiet spot by the lockers.

I swallow hard, thumbs hovering over the screen before finally forcing myself to type:

To Harper:
Hey… can you meet me after school? I need to explain some stuff.

I stare at it for a second, debating, wanting to add something—I’m sorry, maybe, or please don’t hate me—but in the end I just hit send and shove the phone deep into my pocket before I can second-guess myself.

One down.

One terrifying conversation set up.

Now for the other.

I pull my phone out again, heart pounding harder this time, and type:

To Luca:
Hey. Can you come over to my place after school? We need to talk.

It takes him less than ten seconds to respond.

Luca:
Are you back from Canada already or am I right?

I stare at the message, feeling the weight of it land squarely on my chest.

Sigh.

I lean my head back against the lockers, closing my eyes for a second.

Of course he’s already jumping ahead.

Because Luca’s not dumb.

Because I’m bad at this.

Because the truth is chasing me down no matter how hard I try to outrun it.

I take a breath sliding my phone into my pocket.

I can do this.

I have to.

My phone buzzes against my thigh, and for a second, my heart leaps in my throat.

I pull it out fast.

Harper:
Alright, I’ll stop at your place.

I stare at the screen, a wave of panic crashing over me.

No no no—

They can’t both come there.

They can’t both show up at my place at the same time.

That would be—

Disastrous.

Absolutely, cosmically disastrous.

I quickly start typing:

Me:
Wait—why don’t we just talk here???

I hit send, practically begging the message to reach her before she leaves campus.

Nothing.

No reply.

I watch the screen, willing the three little typing dots to appear.

They don’t.

Harper’s already on her way.

Or ignoring me on purpose.

Or both.

My stomach twists into knots.

Fantastic.

Now I’ve got two conversations about two completely different disasters, both heading straight for me like runaway trains—

And they’re about to collide in my living room.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

By the time I shove my way through the crowds and reach the subway platform, I hear the worst sound imaginable.

The doors sliding shut.

I skid to a stop, watching helplessly as the train pulls away without me.

“No no no,” I mutter under my breath, fists clenching at my sides.

“Damn it.”

They’re going to beat me there.

Harper—probably already halfway to my apartment.

Luca—not far behind.

Panic flares in my chest, hot and sick.

How am I gonna get there before them?

How am I gonna stop this disaster from happening?!

Inside, the symbiote stirs—sharp and quick.

“We could get there first,” it whispers. “But it would be risky.”

My heart pounds even harder.

“What do you mean?” I mutter low, glancing around to make sure no one’s paying attention to me talking to myself.

The symbiote pulses warmly under my skin.

“We can move faster. Stronger. Run. Leap. Not like before. Faster now. We are stronger. If you let me.”

Faster.

But…

In public?

Where someone could see?

Where one wrong move could out me completely?

Risky is an understatement.

I pace along the edge of the platform, dragging my hand through my hair, heart hammering so hard I’m surprised I’m still upright.

I’m supposed to not do that, I think furiously.
No powers. No symbiote anything. I’m supposed to wait for Claire to call again. Someone who can help. Someone who can fix this.

That was the plan.

The only plan.

I stare down the dark tunnel, praying for another train, any sign of it.

Nothing.

The symbiote hums quietly, almost smug.

“Don’t you think,” it says smoothly,
“it will reveal too much when they both show up at your home—having been texted by two different people using the same number?”

The thought slams into me like a punch to the gut.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing under my breath.

They’ll figure it out immediately.

Harper’s too smart.

Luca’s too close already.

They’ll know.

They’ll connect it.

It’s already happening.

I’m running out of time.

Every second here is another second they’re getting closer.

Another second the trap tightens.

I dig my fingers into my sleeves, breathing fast and shallow.

There’s no good choice.

No safe move.

Only bad ones.

Worse ones.

I pace in tight, frantic circles, my sneakers squeaking against the concrete platform, my mind spiraling faster than my feet.

They probably already got on that subway, I think, stomach twisting.

That’s why I couldn’t find them. They’re already ahead. I probably still wouldn’t even make it in time even if I caught the next train.

I clench my fists tighter.

“Can you…” I whisper under my breath, barely audible, “outrun a subway?”

The symbiote hums, eager, thrumming like a second pulse under my skin.

“If we go now, we might have enough time,” it answers.

I squeeze my eyes shut, heart pounding hard against my ribs.

Think. Think. Think.

Is this worth the risk?

If Alchemax sees me—

If anyone sees me—and snaps a picture—

They’ll know.

Not everything, maybe, but enough.

Enough to start hunting.

But—

That doesn’t mean they’ll know who I am, right?

It’s a big city.

A blurry figure moving fast through alleys and rooftops?

At worst, they’ll know a girl—maybe a teenager—has a symbiote.

Maybe.

It would still be dangerous.

Still reckless.

Still everything I was told not to do.

But if I don’t…

Harper and Luca show up at the same time.

The lies collapse.

Everything falls apart.

I stare down the long, empty tunnel.

The faint rattle of a train miles away.

I have to choose.

Damn it.

I turn on my heel and bolt—out of the station, out into the street, shoving past confused commuters, heart racing louder than the footfalls behind me.

The moment I hit the shadowed mouth of an alley, I whisper out loud.

“Okay—come on. We gotta hurry.”

The symbiote doesn’t hesitate.

Like it’s been waiting.

The slick, liquid rush floods across my skin from beneath the surface—wrapping me in crimson and midnight black, spiraling along my arms, pulling tight across my chest and legs like a second skin.

Tendrils curl outward, flicking into the air like it’s stretching after a long nap.

“We are ready,” it whispers inside me, voice smooth, low, eager.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I think, crouching low.

“You chose survival,” it answers. “We chose it.”

“I just need to get there first. No showing off. No rooftop flips. Just fast.”

A pause.

Then—

“We are fast.”

I launch upward.

One wall-run, one fluid leap, and I’m airborne—sailing over dumpsters, vaulting over fire escapes, faster than any human should be.

The wind tears past my mask as the city blurs beneath me.

And even through the dread, through the risk, through the voice in the back of my mind screaming this is a terrible idea—

A small, dangerous thrill sparks in my chest.

A bit too early of a thrill.

Crap—

My foot hits the ledge and slips.

I lunge forward—too short. Too late.

I’m falling.

Then—

THWIP.

A tendril fires from my wrist, no thought, no aim—pure instinct.

It lashes out like it knows what I need before I do, striking the side of a nearby building and grabbing.

It yanks.

I scream.

My legs flail as I go airborne, swinging wildly, my body pinwheeling through space with all the grace of a startled raccoon.

“I don’t like this!” I shout in my head, watching the skyline lurch as I rocket forward.

My limbs keep jerking at the wrong times, every motion out of sync.

Too fast.

Too high.

“I’m gonna—we’re gonna hit something—I don’t even know how to stop!”

The wind tears past me, tugging at my body as another tendril launches and yanks me again, even faster.

“We’re gonna slam face-first into a wall, or a car, or—“

“You’ll learn,” the symbiote says calmly, almost amused.

I can feel it bracing for me, adjusting tension, swinging with just enough control to not let me crash.

But it’s not elegant.

It’s a full-blown terrifying roller coaster I can’t get off.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I flail through the air, catching a glimpse of my building growing closer—floor by floor.

Almost there.

One last lurch forward.

And maybe—just maybe—I’ll survive this landing.

WHAM.

I slam down hard onto the rooftop in a tangle of limbs and tendrils, rolling twice before skidding to a stop near an old pot.

My body groans.

“Ow,” I mutter aloud, voice tight with pain as the suit begins retracting.

“That actually hurt.”

The symbiote hums beneath my skin—less smug now, almost curious.

“You landed,” it says.

“Yeah,” I grumble, slowly sitting up and rubbing my shoulder, “with my face.”

A tendril twitches at my side, like it’s trying to mimic a shrug.

“We will improve.”

I groan again and stumble to my feet, brushing off the soot and gravel, hair clinging to my face with static. The costume melts away, folding seamlessly back into my skin, leaving me in my normal—well, normal-ish—clothes.

From this high up, I can see the street. I stagger toward the edge and glance down.

No sign of Harper. No Luca.

Yet.

I still have time.

Barely.

My heart’s still thundering from the swing—adrenaline and fear and some twisted thrill all wrapped together.

No more roof jumps, I think to myself.

“Okay—go away now,” I mutter under my breath, voice rough, still catching air.

The suit doesn’t argue.

It pulls back instantly, retreating under my skin like a shadow disappearing behind a light. The sudden weightlessness makes me stumble, but I catch myself, still aching, still shaking from the fall.

Smooth.

I bolt through the rooftop door, pelting down the stairwell two steps at a time, the echo of my footfalls chasing me like ghosts.

Down past four floors.

Three.

Two—

Please, just let me beat them—

I burst into the lobby—

Just in time to see them.

Luca and Harper.

Together.

Side by side, walking up the front steps toward the building’s door.

I freeze behind the glass. My mouth drops open.

Oh come on.

I grip the doorway, winded and stunned.

“I almost died for nothing?!”

My voice is a rasp, half-laugh, half-disbelief.

They’re talking, casually. Laughing.

What, did they run into each other on the train? Did fate schedule this sabotage?

I stumble back from the door a step, heart jackhammering again for a totally new reason.

This is it.

The moment I swung across rooftops to avoid.

And it’s happening anyway.

Nope.

I spin on my heel and sprint back up the stairs, taking them two at a time as quietly as I can manage—which isn’t easy when every joint still aches from the crash landing.

I’ll just pretend I’m not home, I think, pulse pounding in my ears. Yeah. I’ll just wait it out. They’ll get tired of waiting. Go home. Text me later.

Rational?

Not even a little.

But it’s all I’ve got.

“They probably already talked about it,” the symbiote murmurs in my head, quieter this time but unmistakably present.

“Why else would they have walked in together?”

I don’t answer.

I just keep running.

Back to the roof.

Back to anywhere that isn’t that lobby.

“You need to talk to them on your terms, it continues, or get rid of them.”

“Damn it,” I hiss, my voice ragged.

I slam through the rooftop door again, bracing myself against the wall, panting, trying to catch my breath.

Trying to catch my sanity.

They’re down there.

Together.

Both of them probably figured out more than I wanted.

Probably wondering why I sent the messages from the same phone.

Probably already connecting the dots.

And I’m up here hiding like a total disaster.

But… I’m not ready.

Not for that.

Not for them.

End of chapter 6.