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

Update 1 added cover and story description.

New York City, Earth-???.

Rain slicks the streets like a second skin, the glow of neon signs bleeding into puddles at every curb. It’s late somewhere between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m.

I’m Arin Coleman you’re average slightly above average 17 year old, top of my class in physics, but flunking gym of course. Raised by a single parent who works nights at New York General. Known for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tonight, I’m in the Lower East Side, walking home from my crappy part time job at a tech repair shop “Circuit Saviors” and—a strange hum, faint but vibrating through the concrete like a pulse.

What is that?

I follow it.

Through a construction zone. Past a building with faded letters only partly readable ALCHEMAX Fut—

And then into a narrow alley blocked by a chain-link fence. There’s something glowing. Flickering. White-blue.

I duck under the fence. The hum only grows louder.

And there it is.

A containment chamber. Cracked. Sparking. With some kind of strange substance dark…webbing? clinging to its glass, but… moving...

My breath clouds in the air as I step closer. The chamber’s about the size of a carry-on suitcase, half-buried in shattered concrete and stray rebar.

My sneakers crunch glass as I move in closer.

The chamber’s busted on one side, jagged edges curled. There’s a warning label half-burned off, but I can still make out the ALCHEMAX logo, and just beneath it, the word “SYMBI—” before the metal’s too scorched to read.

The webbing… it’s not normal. It’s not even webbing. It’s moving, contracting, and glistening like oil in moonlight. And it’s not attached to the chamber anymore.

It’s attached to me.

I don’t know when it reached me. One second I’m staring at it, and the next, I feel a sting, sharp and cold, just below my collarbone. I stumble back, but it’s too late. The thing’s already wrapped around my arms. I try to peel it off, but it slips through my fingers like liquid.

I can hear it. Not with my ears, with something deeper. Like it’s whispering inside my head.

“Arin.”

I fall to one knee, heart pounding in my ears. It surges up over my back, across my face, my vision goes black for a second, then white, then every color at once.

Then—silence.

I’m on my hands and knees, breathing hard. The rain’s stopped. Or maybe I just can’t feel it anymore. My skin feels… wrong.

Pain hits like a lightning strike, fast, full body, and everywhere.

I scream, but the sound comes out ragged and warped, like it’s being pulled apart mid-air. My arms hit the asphalt again, but I don’t feel the impact, I barely feel the ground. It’s like my nervous system’s rebooting, rewriting everything at once.

Muscles shift under my skin. Bones pop and stretch. My chest tightens, then expands. My limbs twist, not breaking, but reshaping. Like every cell in me is being rewritten, restructured, like that thing is undoing me and putting me back together as something new.

I claw at the ground, at myself, but the black tendrils are everywhere now, guiding the transformation like a second skin and a second will.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

And then…

It stops.

Not slowly. Not gradually. Just sudden.

I’m left panting in the alley. I stagger up, one hand on the wall. The substance slides back, like it’s giving me space to see.

I catch my reflection in the broken glass of the chamber again.

It’s me.

But not the me I’ve always known.

My face is different. Softer. My voice, when I breathe out a trembling “what the hell…” it’s higher. Lighter. My clothes hang differently. My center of gravity’s shifted. My hands are slimmer, my frame smaller.

The girl in the reflection, she moves when I do, every twitch, every breath. She’s staring back at me with wide, panicked eyes. Blonde hair, plastered wet to her face, falling past her shoulders.

She’s…

She’s me.

“No…” I whisper, shaking my head, backing away from the broken chamber like I can back away from what’s inside me.

She copies it—hands trembling, jaw slack, like she doesn’t believe it either. My voice spills from her mouth—softer, unfamiliar, wrong. “No, no, no, no—”

What the hell is this thing?

“What did you do to me?” I shout, looking down at my arms. My voice cracks mid-sentence. Too high.

I stumble back into the alley wall, dragging fingers, her fingers, through my hair, yanking at it like that’ll somehow tear this feeling out of me.

“Is it not what you wanted?”

“No! You changed me!”

“You wanted this.”

“Bullshit! I didn’t ask for this!”

My heart’s slamming so hard it feels like it might burst through my chest. Every cell is buzzing, screaming, confused.

I’m not—this isn’t—

I look at her again. Me. Her.

And she’s… beautiful.

“Shit…” I whisper, falling to my knees again. “Fuck. No, no, no—”

Tears burn at the edges of my eyes. The alley spins. And somewhere inside me, that thing is quiet now… waiting.

“Get off of me!”

I scream it, raw and desperate, reaching for the black mass left across my chest, but the moment my fingers touch it, it pulls away. Not up, not out—in. Like water vanishing into dry ground.

It just retreats, slipping beneath my skin in smooth, liquid waves, like it belongs there.

I claw at my arms, my neck, my stomach—but there’s no trace, nothing to peel away. Just me.

Just skin.

It’s gone.

And yet… I can feel it. Under the surface, like a second heartbeat.

“Arin.”

“Shut up!” I shout, slamming my fist into the alley wall. The concrete cracks.

I stumble back, wide-eyed, staring at the ground.

That wasn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

My breathing’s fast, chest rising and falling under soaked clothes that don’t fit the way they used to.

Except… I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel any pain. I feel—

Stronger.

But scared out of my goddamn mind.

I don’t know what’s happening…

“They’ll be here soon…”

I freeze. My blood runs cold. That voice, its voice, moving through my mind again.

“We need to leave.”

“No. No, you don’t get to—shut up. Stop talking in my head.”

“They’ll try to kill us.”

“Who? Who’s coming?!”

“The ones who had us caged. They’ll burn the city to take us back.”

Goddamnit.

I bolt.

No plan, no direction, just away. Out of the alley, across slick pavement that flashes under streetlights like a river of broken stars. My shoes slap against the asphalt, faster than they should. My lungs should be burning, but I’m not even winded.

The city feels like it’s tilting sideways.

Tears blur my vision, streaking down a face that isn’t mine. I swipe at them, smearing rain across my cheeks, but they won’t stop.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t stop.

Not here. Not now.

“Left, now.”

“No!”

“Please.”

That word catches me off-guard.

Not a command.

A plea.

I turn.

My feet skid across wet concrete as I whip around the corner, lungs hitching, heart thudding somewhere in my throat. And just for a second, I look back.

There.

Black SUVs. Four of them, maybe five. All unmarked, rolling deep with high beams off, engines low and smooth like predators. They surge past the cross-street I just left, straight toward the alley.

The SUVs screech to a stop. Doors burst open. Figures pour out, tactical gear, matte armor, helmets with some sort of visors.

Weapons drawn.

They’re searching.

They’re looking for me.

They’re not cops.

They move too fast. Too clean. As if already aware of the situation completely. Alchemax probably. Or something worse.

“Too slow.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, ducking into a stairwell beneath an old laundromat, heart punching holes in my chest. “Shut the hell up—”

I grip the rusted stair railing, shaking, bile creeping up my throat.

They would’ve killed me.

No questions. No hesitation.

“Told you.”

“I told you to shut up.”

“I need to get somewhere safe…” I mumble, my voice catching like it might break.

“…Oh god.” My hands tremble again. “How do I even go home looking like this? Fuck.”

But I don’t have options.

I have a mom who’s gonna wonder why I didn’t text. Who’s gonna check the apartment and roof and see I’m not there. She works nights, yeah, but when she comes home and I’m still missing…?

She’ll call the cops. She’ll look for me.

And if those security soldier bastards find her before I do—no they wouldn’t know who I am right? I didn’t see any cameras, and even if they saw me I’m not a person that really exists, just some random—girl…

No. I shake the thought out of my head. No. I have to get back. Just… get in. Hide. Think.

“Understood.” It says intruding on my thoughts.

“Don’t talk again. Whatever you are, just stay quiet.”

I take a deep breathe. Then tug on the hood of my jacket and slink into the shadows toward the subway.

I can’t let anyone see me.

Not like this.

The trip home’s a blur, graffiti, train lights, too many eyes. I kept my hood low, head down, moved like a shadow and prayed no one looked too close. Somehow, no one did. Or maybe they felt it. That odd feeling I have a hum almost of whatever is under my skin, a warning that something wrong was nearby.

By the time I reach my apartment door, I’m shaking.

The key slips in after the third try. These hands still don’t feel like mine.

The door creaks open.

Dark. Quiet. Mom’s not home yet—she’s on the graveyard shift again. I don’t even bother turning on the lights. I stumble inside, shut the door, and twist the lock until I hear the click.

I make it three steps.

And collapse.

The couch catches me like an old friend I haven’t seen in years. I curl up, not caring that I’m still soaked, that my clothes stick to skin that feels unfamiliar. The living room swims in darkness and streetlight. The hum’s still in my bones, but quieter now. Satisfied. Dormant.

My breathing slows. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill me anymore.

Everything hurts now.

I feel… hollowed out. Like the adrenaline, the terror, the power surge, it’s all fading, and what’s left is just this ache. Deep. Cold. Like whatever it did is just now hitting me.

“Sleep.”

“No,” I mutter, barely above a whisper. “I said be quiet…”

Luckily it doesn’t say anything else.

It doesn’t need to.

Sleep comes like a tide. And I go under.

Then in what feels like only a second later, I’m awoken.

“Miss, do your parents know you’re here? Are you—” she gasps, hand flying to her mouth. “Are you Arin’s girlfriend?! Oh, he’s in so much trouble. ARIN!”

I blink, body stiff, couch fabric stuck to my face. I sit up fast, too fast, and the room spins.

And there she is.

My mom.

Scrubs half-zipped, hair pulled back, looking like she just stepped off a double shift, with that exhausted, no-nonsense nurse energy that could shut down a riot in under three seconds.

Except right now, she’s panicking.

“Oh my god, those are Arin’s clothes—did you two—oh my god, Arin!”

She’s already reaching for her phone, fumbling to dial.

“M-Mom, wait—!”

She freezes.

The voice. My voice. It’s not mine, not really, yet…

She looks at me again, really looks. Her eyes scan my face, the hair, and something flickers behind them. Confusion? Fear? Familiarity?

“…Arin?” she whispers, voice cracking.

I swallow.

Everything in me is shaking.

“Y-yeah,” I manage, barely. “It’s… it’s me.”

And I watch her take one slow, stumbling step backward.

My throat tightens before I even get the words out. My vision’s already swimming again.

“Mom…” My voice breaks. “I don’t know what happened. I’m scared.”

She stops.

Phone halfway to her ear. Eyes locked on mine.

Something in my voice—it cuts through the shock. I see it. Her breath catches, her shoulders drop just a little. Her hand lowers.

And then she’s crossing the room.

Fast.

No hesitation now.

She drops to her knees in front of me like she used to when I’d scrape mine on the sidewalk or come home crying from school. She takes my face in her hands—gentle, trembling—and just stares at me. Searching. Studying.

I don’t stop her.

“Arin…” she whispers again, voice full of tears she’s too stunned to cry. “Baby, what… what happened to you?”

And just like that, I break.

The sob hits hard, curling out of me like I’ve been holding it in for years. I collapse forward, into her arms, and she catches me. Doesn’t let go.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please don’t let them take me…”

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, rocking me, not even asking who them is yet. “Whatever this is—we’ll figure it out. I’ve got you, Arin.”

We stay there a while—just the two of us on the living room floor.

Her heartbeat steadies mine.

The tears slow. Not gone, just… quieter.

I breathe in, and her scrub top smells like hospital antiseptic and lavender dryer sheets. I used to hate that smell. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from slipping apart again.

Finally, I pull back just a little. My voice is small, hoarse.

“…How did you know it was me?”

She looks at me—really looks—and brushes a wet strand of hair from my face.

“I didn’t,” she admits. “Not right away.”

She swallows.

“But then you looked at me like you always do when you mess up. Like when you shattered my favorite mug in third grade and tried to hide the pieces in the vent.”

“I knew that look. And the way you said ‘Mom.’” Her voice wavers again. “I don’t care what you look like. I know you.”

And suddenly I’m crying again, but softer now. The kind that comes after the panic, when everything’s raw and real.

“You’re still my kid,” she says, eyes shining. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

She pulls back just enough to see my face again, her hands still gently cradling the sides of my head like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

“What happened, Arin?” she whispers. “How did you… are you a mutant? An Inhuman? Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. It’ll be okay.”

I shake my head, jaw tight, voice barely holding steady.

“No… I… I found something.”

Her brow furrows. “Something? What do you mean?”

“It was in an alley… a sign… Alchemax,” I say, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie that barely fits now. “There was a… container, or a chamber or something. It was cracked open. Glowing. I heard this… this noise. And I—God, I was stupid—I went closer and it just…”

I gesture at myself.

“It got inside me. This… black thing. Alive. It changed me. It’s still in me.”

She goes quiet for a moment, lips parted like she’s trying to form words and nothing’s coming out.

Then finally…

“A symbiote.”

My eyes snap to hers. “What?”

She looks stunned she even said it, like her mouth moved before her brain caught up. Her hands drop slowly to her lap, and she leans back onto her heels, swallowing hard.

“I—I didn’t mean to just say it like that,” she murmurs. “It’s just… I’ve heard that word before. In the news. At the hospital. Whispered, like something no one wanted to admit was real.”

She meets my gaze again, and this time, she’s serious.

“They brought in a red headed man a few years ago. Security all over the place, feds, private suits, the whole floor shut down. They said he’d been infected—that’s what they called it. Symbiotic exposure. His eyes… Alchemax was really interested in it. They took him out in the middle of the night.”

“What happened to him?” I ask, heart sinking like lead.

She doesn’t answer right away.

That is the answer.

“Oh my god…”

“Arin,” she says quickly, reaching for me again, “I don’t care what they say. You’re not him. You’re still you.”

“Wait infected?” The word leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Like—oh god, is it gonna take control of me? I—I—”

My breathing kicks up, ragged and sharp. My chest feels too tight, like it’s folding in on itself. I claw at my sleeves, heart racing, thoughts spiraling.

Is that what this is? Some kind of slow takeover?

Is it waiting for the right moment to push me out, to hollow me out and wear me?

What if it already is?

“Arin—hey, hey—calm down.” Mom’s hands are on my shoulders again, firm but steady. “Look at me. Look at me. You’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” I choke out.

“I know. I know, baby. But you’re still in there. You’re still you. Whatever this thing is, it didn’t erase you. You’re still fighting.”

I press a hand to my chest. The hum’s back—soft now, but present. Listening.

“We are not taking you.”

My breath hitches.

“We are protecting you.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.

Mom nods. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

My voice breaks, raw and trembling, too full to hold it in anymore.

“I don’t want this.”

Mom’s eyes lock onto mine, soft and afraid.

“I don’t want to be a girl,” I whisper. “I don’t want this thing attached to me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this.”

It all crashes out in one breath—anger, fear, grief. My fingers curl into the couch cushion, knuckles white, arms wrapped tight around myself like I can hold me together just by not letting go.

“I was just walking home. Just trying to get home…”

I hear my voice, how different it sounds, how my own words feel like someone else’s skin.

And it’s too much.

“We are sorry.”

The whisper threads through me—not defensive this time. Not demanding.

Just… soft.

“We didn’t know you would be afraid.”

Mom kneels beside me again, her voice shaking. “Arin, I—I don’t understand what this thing did to you, but… I see how much it’s hurting you. And that hurts me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore…”

Her arms wrap around me again. Tighter this time.

“You’re my kid,” she says. “You’re you. And we’ll figure out the rest—together.”

I press my hands to my face, trying to breathe, trying to think. Everything’s spinning. My body. My voice. My life.

“What do I even do?” I whisper. “Are we supposed to call the cops? What if they show up and just… throw me in a lab somewhere? Experiment on me like some kind of freak?”

The silence that follows is too loud.

“They will not protect us.”

I freeze.

“They are not built to understand what we are.”

I don’t answer it. I just stare at the floor, a knot forming in my gut.

“‘We,’ huh?” I mutter. “You keep saying that like I agreed to any of this.”

No reply this time. No

Mom doesn’t say anything either—not yet. She’s thinking, jaw tight, eyes darting like she’s weighing every option, every risk.

Then finally, she speaks.

“No cops. Not yet. Not until we know more.” She brushes a hand over my hair. “You’re right. If the wrong people find out, we lose control of what happens next. And I’m not letting anyone take you.”

I nod slowly as I sink deeper into the couch, legs tucked up, arms crossed over my chest like I can fold into nothing. My thoughts spiral back to that moment in the alley—how I saw it, how I chose to go toward it.

“I wish I was a better student,” I murmur, voice brittle. “The only science I really get is physics. Maybe if I’d paid more attention to chem or bio or—God, anything, I could’ve figured something out. Stopped this. Before it did… this.”

My mom shakes her head, her voice sharp with a sudden heat. “No. No. This isn’t on you.”

She’s up on her feet now, pacing, arms crossed like she’s holding back an explosion. “It’s Alchemax’s fault. They’re the ones who left something that dangerous just lying around like an old trash bag. A container like that? In an alley? That’s not a mistake—that’s criminal.”

She points toward the window like she could hurl the name itself into the street. “How irresponsible can a company be? I thought Roxxon was bad, but this? This is—this is...”

Her voice cracks on that last word. And I see it in her face, then, the fear. Not of me—but for me.

She’s terrified. Furious.

But not at me.

That matters more than I can explain.

I press my hand to my chest, feeling the steady pulse under my skin. Not just mine anymore.

I glance toward the window too.

“…Then we start with Alchemax.”

She turns back to me, fire still behind her eyes, but now it’s wrapped in that ironclad mom tone—the one that means the conversation’s already been decided before it even starts.

“Arin,” she says, kneeling down again and taking my hand. “I don’t want you doing anything. Not yet.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue—because I have to do something—but she tightens her grip, and the words stick in my throat.

“I’ve got some old friends,” she continues, calmer now. “Ones who owe me favors. One who’se seen… weird stuff. I’m going to call them. They might be able to help figure out what this thing is, what it did to you—how we can fix it.”

I look down, jaw clenched.

“I don’t know if it can be fixed…”

Her eyes search mine. “Maybe not. But you’re not doing this alone. And you are not going anywhere near Alchemax, okay? Not until we know more. I won’t risk losing you.”

The room goes quiet again, heavy with everything unsaid.

“We agree with her.”

“…Great,” I mutter, “even the parasite’s on your side.”

She doesn’t laugh, but there’s the ghost of a smile. Just for a second.

Then she stands and pulls out her phone.

She tilts her head at me, giving me that mom look—the one halfway between ‘I love you’ and ‘you smell like the inside of a gym locker.’

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” she says gently.

I blink. Look down at myself. My hoodie’s stained with dirt and rain, sleeves sagging, pants hanging weird on my hips like they’re trying to remember a body that isn’t here anymore. The couch cushion’s soaked where I collapsed.

“I—sorry,” I murmur, already pushing myself up. “I didn’t mean to get the couch—”

“Honey,” she interrupts, smiling softly, “the couch is fine. You, however, are a whole different story.”

I rub my arm, hesitating. My skin’s tingling again—like it’s still settling. Like it’s not done.

“I can’t shower like this,” I say quietly.

“You can’t not,” she replies, firm. “We don’t know how long you’ll be like this, and you need to take care of yourself in the meantime.”

I gulp. My throat’s dry. I can’t even look her in the eyes. “W-weird question, but… you don’t want to, like, give me permission to see a girl like that though, so…”

She’s quiet for a second.

“…It’s your body,” she says. “For now at least. So… if you’re seeing anyone, it’s just you.”

My whole brain just lets out a long, miserable ugh.

“God, that was supposed to work.”

She laughs, gently. “Go on. Towels are clean. I’ll handle the couch.”

I nod, slowly turning toward the hallway. Each step feels heavier than the last.

I bite my lip as I step into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind me. Everything feels too quiet in here, like the silence has weight.

The light flickers on overhead—just like always—but it feels different this time. Harsh. Exposing.

I breathe in. Out.

My fingers are shaky as I start peeling off my still-damp clothes. The fabric clings, heavier now, sticking to skin that doesn’t feel like mine. I strip them off piece by piece—hoodie, shirt, pants—until I’m left in nothing but the steam beginning to rise from the shower.

And then I look up.

The mirror’s fogged in the corners, but the reflection is crystal clear.

A girl stares back at me.

She’s not the stranger I saw last night in glass and broken metal. She’s me.

Blonde hair falling against her collarbone. Eyes wide, uncertain. Cheekbones I’ve never seen before. Shoulders narrower. Waist curved. Body—

Changed.

I grip the sink so tight it creaks. My breath catches in my chest.

I touch my face. She touches hers.

I don’t recognize myself.

And yet—I do.

“…Shit,” I whisper, barely audible. “What the hell did you do to me…”

I stare at her—me—in the mirror, my breathing shallow.

My hand trembles as I lift it, slow, uncertain, like I’m not even in control of the movement. It hovers there for a second before I let it settle over my chest.

Soft.

Warm.

Real.

I bite my lip, hard, blinking fast.

“I really didn’t think the first time I touched a girl’s boobs…” I whisper, barely getting the words out, “…they’d be mine.”

A laugh tries to claw its way out of my throat, but it dies somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. I look down, then back up at the mirror, then away again.

This body isn’t a costume.

It’s not a joke.

It’s me, now.

And I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel about that.

I exhale through my nose, chest rising under my own touch, skin prickling from more than just the cold.

I pull my hand back like it’s burned me, grabbing the towel from the rack like a lifeline and stepping into the shower.

Steam hisses as the water hits.

Maybe it can rinse away everything.

But I already know it won’t.

The water hits my skin, and I flinch.

Not because it’s too hot—it’s not. But because it feels… different. Like my whole body is tuned higher, every nerve closer to the surface. I can feel every drop, every rivulet, the weight of steam curling around my shoulders.

My hands move on instinct, muscle memory guiding me, even as I hesitate.

I glance at the bottles lined up on the ledge—some hers, some mine—and for a second I wonder if I should use something new. Something that fits who this body looks like.

But I don’t.

I reach for mine. My old shampoo. Familiar scent, rough bottle from a drop two months ago. Still half full.

I pour it into my hand and rub it through my hair—longer, thicker now—and it lathers fast, too fast, soap running down my back in warm trails that make me shiver.

Everything’s just… more.

More vivid. More there. I close my eyes and lean into the stream, rinsing slowly, trying not to think too hard. But the thoughts crawl in anyway.

This is me.

I’m still me.

Right?

I pour more soap into my hands, trying to stay focused. Just get clean. Rinse. Get out. Simple.

But nothing feels simple anymore.

I move slowly, cautiously, like I’m afraid of my own skin. My fingers glide across unfamiliar curves—hips, thighs, waist—and every touch makes me tense. It’s not bad. It’s not good either. It’s just… weird.

Weird in a way I don’t want to name.

Then, without meaning to, I brush across my chest.

My fingertips graze my nipple.

I suck in a sharp breath, body jolting like I touched a live wire.

“Shit—!”

It’s not painful. It’s just intense. My whole chest tightens, skin prickling, breath catching. I don’t mean to react. I don’t want to. But my body answers for me.

I lean against the wall, palm flat on the tile, heart racing again. “God… this is so messed up.”

The water keeps running, masking the silence, but I can feel it—this ache sitting in my chest, heavy, confusing, unfair.

I didn’t ask for this.

But I can’t ignore it either.

I press my forehead to the tile and close my eyes, breathing slow, fighting back the swirl of heat and shame.

I hesitate.

Hand halfway raised, breath shallow in my throat. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to. But the memory of that feeling lingers—electric, strange, real.

My fingers move back to my chest, slow, uncertain. I press gently.

And a sound escapes me.

Soft. Unintentional.

A moan.

I freeze, hand still, heart slamming in my chest.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

I bite my lip harder, eyes wide, the water pouring over me like it’s trying to drown the heat crawling up my neck.

“What the hell is happening to me…” I whisper, voice cracking.

It wasn’t just the physical sensation. It was how it felt to feel it—so sharp, so sudden, like my body just answered a question I didn’t even know I was asking.

And it scares the shit out of me.

Because for a moment…

It didn’t feel wrong.

push the thoughts away, hard.

No. Not going there.

I rinse quickly, trying to pretend like I’m just taking a normal shower. Nothing’s changed. I’m just cleaning off the night—mud, rain, terror, trauma. That’s all this is.

But when my hand starts to move lower—past my stomach—I stop.

Everything inside me seizes up.

I stand there, frozen under the stream of water, soap trailing past my hips on its own, and I think—

Yeah. That’s fine. Totally fine. No need to… explore. No need to touch anything.

I take a shaky breath, eyes wide, heart in my throat.

Just remembering the feeling of my chest—how fast it happened, how easy it was to feel something I wasn’t ready for—

Nope. No. I am absolutely not doing that right now.

Let the soap do its job. Let gravity do the rest.

“God,” I whisper, almost laughing—half-mad, half-miserable. “This is so…”

I turn my face into the spray and stay there until the heat stops feeling comforting and starts to sting.

I step out of the shower, skin flushed from too much heat, nerves stretched thin and fraying at the edges.

I grab the towel off the rack and wrap it around my waist, just like always. It’s instinct—routine burned into muscle memory.

The steam clings to me as I step into the hallway, tiptoeing toward my room, dripping on the floor with every step. My thoughts are a swirl of too much—my body, the voice in my head, the mirror. I just want clothes. I just want to be normal again.

And then—

“Arin, you’re not covered!”

My mom’s voice cuts through the haze like a knife.

I stop dead in the hallway.

“What?” I blink, confused. “I’ve got a—”

Then I look down.

The towel’s around my waist, yeah—but it’s doing nothing for my chest.

My face flushes deep red as I whip the towel up around myself like it’s on fire, clutching it just under my arms.

“Oh my god,” I hiss, backing into the wall. “I didn’t—I forgot—I’m not used to—ugh!”

I hear a small laugh from the other room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” she says, more gently now. “You just gave me a flashback to when I caught your uncle coming out of the pool shirtless at my twelfth birthday party.”

“Please stop talking,” I mumble, dragging myself toward my room like a ghost wrapped in a towel.

She calls after me, teasing, “Welcome to womanhood, sweetheart.”

I slam the door.

And just lean against it, cheeks burning.

The steam’s already fading, but my embarrassment lingers like it’s been carved into my skin.

“Welcome to womanhood.”

I repeat the words under my breath, dripping with disbelief.

“Seriously? Did she actually say that?”

I groan and drag a hand down my face.

“Ugh. I hate this.”

I push off the door and move toward my dresser, trying to ignore the tightness in my throat. Every step feels weird. Off. The towel clings in all the wrong places now. I’m aware of my body in ways I’ve never been before—and I hate that I’m aware. Hate how it makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin.

I fling open a drawer and stare at the clothes inside—shirts that used to fit, pants that won’t anymore, boxers that suddenly feel like the wrong answer to a question I never asked.

My hand hovers.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear.

I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.

I sit on the edge of my bed, still wrapped up, and bury my face in my hands.

The weight on my chest is… a lot.

Both the literal kind—new, awkward, inescapable—and the other kind. The one pressing down on my thoughts, on who I thought I was yesterday.

I shake my head hard, like I can fling it all off.

Screw it. No overthinking.

I grab the first pair of boxers I see, yank them on, even though they hang weird now—looser in the waist, tighter in the hips. Whatever. I pull on some old gym shorts over them. Then a T-shirt—faded black, a little oversized.

It still smells like me.

I hope it feels like me.

But the weight on my chest pulls the fabric up, stretches it in places it never had to before. I tug at the collar. It doesn’t help.

My body’s not shaped for this anymore.

I sit back on the bed, elbows on my knees, hair still damp and sticking to my cheeks. My legs are bare. My shirt’s sticking to me. And even now, even here, I feel exposed.

It’s not comfort. But It’s just the closest I can get.

I glance down.

And immediately regret it.

The shirt—one I’ve worn a hundred times—now clings in all the wrong places. The fabric barely drops below my ribs, riding up like it’s offended by the curves it’s been forced to wrap around. My stomach’s fully exposed. And worst of all…

My nipples.

Clear as day, pressing against the damp fabric, impossible to ignore.

My face burns.

I fold my arms across my chest instinctively, but even that feels weird. Everything feels too much—too soft, too sensitive, too not what I’m used to.

I tug at the end, but it doesn’t help. The shirt isn’t shrinking. I’m just… not the person it was made for anymore.

“Of course,” I mutter, groaning. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

I consider changing again—but into what? I don’t exactly have a secret stash of girl clothes waiting in my closet.

I think about calling for Mom, but that thought sends a fresh wave of embarrassment crashing down on me.

Nope. Not yet.

I sigh and flop back onto the bed, arms spread out like I’m trying to melt into the blanket. The mattress creaks beneath me—familiar, at least. One of the few things that hasn’t changed.

My damp hair fans out beneath me, long strands clinging to my back, still dripping onto the sheets. I try to ignore it. Try to ignore everything—the tug of the shirt over my chest, the chill of water sliding down my spine, the soft, alien curve of my waist as I shift to get comfortable.

But it’s all there.

Every inch of me feels new, unfamiliar, like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.

I close my eyes and breathe.

Just breathe.

Knock, knock.

“Sweetie? Are you dressed?”

Her voice comes through the door, soft, careful—not prying, but definitely concerned. I glance down at myself, still lying there in a clingy, ill-fitting shirt and boxers that ride too high in the wrong places.

“About as dressed as possible,” I mutter under my breath.

Then, louder “Yep.”

There’s a pause—just long enough for me to imagine all the questions she’s holding back—before the knob turns, and the door creaks open.

She peeks in, one hand on the frame. Her eyes sweep the room, then settle on me, sprawled out and trying very hard not to look like I’m still figuring out how to exist.

She walks in with something folded in her arms—soft colors, cotton, something I don’t recognize.

“I… uh, grabbed a couple of things from the back of the closet,” she says, setting the bundle down at the foot of the bed. “Old old clothes of mine. Some of it might fit a little better. Until we can, you know… get you something that’s actually yours.”

I sit up slowly, hair still clinging to my neck, damp shirt sticking to me.

“…Thanks.”

She gives me a small, crooked smile. “You okay?”

I open my mouth.

Then close it.

Then just shrug. “I’m here.”

“I made a few calls,” she says, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Well, one, so far. Someone I used to know. She’s not a superhero or anything, but she’s… worked with people. People who’ve been changed.”

That makes me look up. My eyes meet hers, cautious. “Changed how?”

She shrugs, fingers twisting gently in her lap. “Accidents. Mutants. Other stuff too. Things like what happened to you. She’s… discreet. Knows how to keep people out of labs and headlines.”

She pauses, watching me carefully. “I didn’t give her your name yet. I just told her I might need help. She’s going to call me back tonight.”

I nod, slowly. “I guess that’s good,” I murmur, glancing at the bundle of clothes she brought. Soft fabric, muted colors—stuff I’d never wear before. Stuff that suddenly doesn’t feel so far off from what I might need now.

Doesn’t mean I’m ready.

But I’m also not ready to keep walking around in a shirt that betrays every movement I make.

I reach for the top of the pile. A tank, maybe. Light and loose.

“Mind if I—?”

“Go ahead,” she says, standing. “I’ll give you a minute.”

And just like that, she’s gone again. I pull the bundle into my lap and stare down at it.

“This is just… too weird,” I whisper to myself, running my fingers over the fabric.

It’s barely been twelve hours. Twelve hours since I walked home in the rain thinking about finishing homework and maybe grabbing ramen before bed. Twelve hours since I found that thing in the alley.

Since it found me.

My head’s still spinning, my skin still feels like it’s not mine, and the world’s gone from confusing to completely upside down.

I glance at the clothes again.

They’re not too girly, at least—plain, soft tank top, maybe a fitted hoodie underneath, and a pair of old pants. Comfortable stuff. Gender-neutral-ish. Nothing lacy. No frills.

Still.

I’m not sure how well they’ll fit.

Not just physically.

Emotionally.

I take a deep breath, then grab the tank top and slip it over my head.

The fabric slides down smooth over my skin. It fits. A little loose across the chest. But… not bad.

I catch my reflection in the darkened window and freeze for a moment.

Still me.

Just… different.

I glance back toward the door, then down at myself again, turning slightly to check the fit. The pants are a bit long, but they hug my hips like they’re meant to.

It fits.

Not perfectly.

But almost.

And almost feels like a miracle right now.

“How’d she even have clothes that—” I pause, frown. “—well, almost fit anyway?”

There’s something about that thought that makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t quite place.

But I push it aside.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, hair finally starting to dry in damp waves around my shoulders. I look like someone I don’t know. Someone who might be me, might not.

But at least I’m not naked.

Progress.

“They won’t call till tonight,” I mutter, flopping an arm over my face like that’ll somehow block out the entire situation. “So what am I supposed to do all day?”

I glance toward my backpack, still slouched by the desk like a relic from a past life. My homework’s probably crumpled inside. Useless now.

Because I sure as hell can’t go to school like this.

Not like I could walk in and just go, Hey, it’s me, Arin. I know I look like a completely different person, but trust me—I’m fine. Just got possessed by alien goo and grew boobs overnight.

Yeah.

That’d go real well.

My chest rises and falls slowly under the grey tank. I cross my arms tighter.

“So I just… sit here?” I mutter. “All day? Wait?”

The room answers with silence. Even the symbiote’s gone quiet.

I look over at my laptop.

Then the window.

Then the mirror.

I slide into the chair at my desk, still a little damp. I pull my laptop over, open the screen, and start typing.

Symbiote.

The results flood in instantly.

Horizon Labs.
Daily Bugle headlines.
Alchemax.
Even Stark Industries.

There’s so much.

“Is that a good thing?” I mutter, scrolling.

Some of it’s science—genetic bonding, parasitic organisms, failed experiments. A few deep-dive Reddit posts that spiral into wild conspiracy theories about alien invasions and sleeper hosts.

But most of it is names.

Famous ones.

Spider-Man. Venom.

I’ve heard of them. Who hasn’t?

Venom’s on the news a lot, big, black, terrifying. People didn’t even know if he was a hero or a villain. Sometimes he fought alongside Spider-Man. Sometimes he nearly leveled whole blocks.

And then there’s the others.

Carnage.

The headline makes my blood go cold:
Cletus Kasady: Bonded with “Carnage” Symbiote. Confirmed Serial Killer. Death Toll Unknown.

“Oh god…”

I close the tab too fast, the cursor shaking slightly under my hand.

Is that what I’m carrying around inside me?

Is that what I’m becoming?

I keep clicking.

One article leads to another, then another. A rabbit hole of news clippings, blog posts, forums, and “official” statements that feel anything but official.

Spider-Man and Venom dominate most of the conversation—pages and pages of theories, sightings, rumors. Some say the symbiotes amplify aggression. Others claim they mirror emotions, personalities. A few say they’re sentient. All of them agree on one thing.

They’re dangerous.

And not just because of the powers.

Because they change people.

But when I dig deeper—really dig, past the sensational headlines—I start seeing mentions of other hosts. Test subjects. Accidents.

Still nothing direct from Alchemax. No press releases. No names. Just one article buried on a blog that hasn’t updated in two years:

“ALCHEMAX SHUTS DOWN PROJECT FOLLOWING UNDISCLOSED INCIDENT”

I click faster, eyes scanning.

No details. Just that there was an accident. That several scientists were “let go.” That funding quietly vanished. No comment from Alchemax. No follow-up from the reporter.

I sit back, fingers hovering over the keys.

They buried it.

Whatever it was.

Whatever this is.

I rub my temples, trying to will the anxiety out of my skull.

“But what’s the actual truth?” I whisper to the screen. “Do symbiotes really make people into crazy killers? Is that just what happens when you bond with one?”

I glance back at the old article—Carnage.

“I don’t want to end up like that.”

My stomach twists, but my mind won’t stop racing.

What if this isn’t even a real symbiote? What if it’s just some Frankenstein science project Alchemax was doing? Trying to create their own symbiote? What if this all means nothing, and I’m freaking out over something that’s not actually related.

I sit back, eyes stinging, chest tight.

“I gotta calm down… stop spiraling…”

I let out a long, shaking sigh and close the laptop with a soft click.

Mom’s Mom. She made a call. She has someone—maybe multiple someones—who know what to do. Who’ve seen stuff like this before. Or close enough.

When did she meet people like that, anyway?

She’s a nurse. Not exactly the government-secret-ops or mutant-outreach type.

Unless she is, and I just never knew.

Maybe I should ask.

Or maybe I should just… sleep.

“Yeah,” I mumble, dragging myself back toward the bed. “Sleep. Just till she gets the call…”

I lay down on top of the blanket, still in her clothes.

My eyes drift closed.

And for the first time since it happened… I stop fighting sleep.

One second I’m drifting off in bed—worn out, confused, drowning in thoughts—and the next…

Sunlight.

Warm, golden. The smell of chlorine hanging thick in the air. I blink against it, squinting—and then I see it.

A pool.

Crystal clear water, shimmering like it’s been pulled from a postcard. And me—lounging beside it in a reclining chair. A book open in my hands, something light, something summery. And I’m wearing—

“What the hell—”

I sit up fast, heart hammering.

A bikini.

Soft blue. Tight. Hugging every inch of my body like it’s always belonged there. My skin is warm. Smooth. My hair’s dry and brushed, falling in perfect golden waves down my shoulders like I actually know how to style it.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

I look around, panic rising. Everything’s too perfect. The light too even. The world too still.

And then—

Footsteps.

A man—tall, muscular, chiseled like a Greek statue that’s been going to the gym six days a week—walks toward me from the far side of the pool. Confident. Smiling.

I don’t recognize him.

But then he speaks.

“You’re as beautiful as ever, sweetheart.”

His voice.

I freeze, breath caught in my throat.

He kneels down beside me, hand reaching out, fingers brushing gently along my cheek.

My skin prickles.

“What the hell—” I whisper, pulling back.

He smiles, but there’s something… strange in it. Too calm.

And then he leans in.

His hand moves around my back, and before I can react, he pulls me into a long, deep kiss.

I gasp—startled, confused, frozen as his lips meet mine. It’s soft. Almost tender. Familiar in a way that makes my entire body tense with conflict.

But nothing about this is right.

“How is this happening? Who are you?!” I yell, finally yanking myself away from him, scrambling back in the chair, heart in my throat.

His brow furrows like I’ve just hurt his feelings. “I don’t understand… are you feeling okay, babe?”

“No!” I snap. “Don’t call me that.”

I stand, or try to—but my legs wobble, and it feels like gravity’s holding me down. Not physics. Not the dream. Something else.

He frowns—and suddenly, I can hear it.

Hear him.

His voice.

But not just from his mouth.

Inside my head.

“You’ll accept this soon enough, you need to for us to survive,” the voice echoes, smooth and confident.

Half a second later, the same words spill from his lips—in sync, but just off enough to make my skin crawl.

“No,” I whisper, trying to back away, but my body—

My body doesn’t listen.

I feel it fall down from the upright position of moved into.

“Stop,” I whisper. “Stop it—this isn’t what I want.”

But the voice is already there again, soft and coaxing, wrapping around my thoughts like silk.

“Isn’t it?”

I feel his hands on me—slow, careful, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

I open my mouth to protest, to scream, to push him away—

But then he says it.

“We are one,” he says, his voice smooth as silk.

And in the exact same moment—I hear my voice say it, too.

Not out loud.

Inside.

The words ripple through me.

It’s just a dream, I tell myself. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not happening.

I feel it—something—move through me. Like smoke, like heat, like silk drawn beneath the skin. It’s not sudden or sharp. It’s slow. Deep. Invasive in a way that should make me recoil, scream, fight—

But I don’t.

I can’t.

And the worst part is… I don’t even want to.

There’s a warmth that spreads through me as I feel him—it, unfamiliar and all-consuming. I want to hate it. I try to hate it. To fight the shiver in my spine, the weightless ache blooming low in my belly, the breath that catches just a little too softly.

But it’s already inside me.

Already part of me.

“We were meant to be one,” the voice murmurs, a harmony of his and mine, layered and echoing in the hollows of my chest.

I feel the symbiote wrap around my body fully even my face. Wrapped in darkness until suddenly I can see again.

The world blurs. Light warps. The chair, the water, even the sky above—all bending to something deeper than just a dream.

I don’t know where I end and it begins.

It’s different than I expected.

Better.

That thought alone sends a ripple of panic through my chest—but it’s faint, distant, like I’m underwater and the fear can’t quite reach me anymore.

I never expected this—any of this.

Never expected to be on this end… of anything.

Not the body. Not the sensations.

I shift slightly in the chair, the sensation of my own skin electric, hypersensitive, alive in a way I’ve never felt before—not like this. Not like her.

I should hate it.

I want to hate it.

But I don’t.

And that terrifies me more than anything else.

My breath catches.

This—this feeling, this body, this oneness—it’s warm, addictive, terrifying. I can’t tell if I’m melting into it or if it’s melting into me. My fingers twitch, my skin hums, and every nerve lights up with a strange, unfamiliar pleasure I was never supposed to feel.

Never thought I would.

Touched like this. Feeling like this.

And yet—

It’s better than I ever could’ve imagined.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

“Is this me?” I whisper, though no sound leaves my mouth.

“Or is it you?”

“We are not separate.”

The words crawl through my mind, soft and velvet-smooth, like they’ve always belonged there. My lips echo them a moment later, not my own voice anymore, not entirely.

It’s no longer just the feelings from before it’s different now.

I feel strength so much, strength and power and I feel… like I’m whole for the first time.

“We don’t need to be separate.”

I echo its words.

“Arin?!”

My eyes snap open.

Reality crashes down like cold water on sunburnt skin.

I jolt upright in bed, gasping, drenched in sweat. My sheets are twisted, stuck to me. My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My body aches.

“Arin?” Mom’s voice again, muffled through the door. “You okay?”

I blink into the half-light of my room, chest rising and falling.

“I’m fine! I’m—coming!” I shout back, voice cracking just a little too high, just a little too unsteady.

I run a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat, and sigh hard, the weight of everything pressing against my chest like a second heartbeat.

“Or I was,” I mutter under my breath. “What the hell was that?”

The memory lingers, like the dream hasn’t really ended. Like some part of it is still there beneath my skin, curling at the edge of my thoughts like a whisper I can’t un-hear.

The feeling.

The voice.

The want.

I press my palms to my eyes, trying to rub it all away, but it’s still there. That warmth. That strength. That terrifying, intoxicating sense of rightness.

Was that all the symbiote? Was it just a weird dream?

The worst part is… I don’t know.

And maybe worse—I’m afraid of how much I liked it, how good it all felt.

Whatever that was… it’s not over.

End of chapter 1.

Authors note
So I thought of this story while creating the previous one and you may notice some similarities to a certain character from that story as well.

The goal of this story for me was to do something different from the last story.
A fanfiction instead of fully fiction.
A teen instead of an adult main character.
A character with existing relationships this time and having to deal with that.
And more I wont spoil but I do want to say I am actively working on the sequel to Eidolon Nexus 1 and will be posting it soon.

I’m also cross posting the stories now so more people see them and I also now have a Patreon for early access to chapters and other stuff. https://www.patreon.com/LightBringerStories?utm_campaign=cre...

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

Chapter 2 Someone who can help.

I open the door, trying to smooth down my shirt and my thoughts at the same time. I’m still shaky, still haunted by the dream—by how it felt. But I push it down. Bury it. Lock it behind whatever version of me can still fake normal.

Mom’s standing in the hallway, arms crossed, but her face isn’t stern—it’s careful. Like she’s stepping around broken glass.

“I wasn’t planning on her coming here,” she says, “but… she thought it’d be best to see you in person.”

I blink, frowning. “Who?”

“Claire,” she says. “She’s a friend. Used to be a nurse. And… well, she’s dealt with this kind of thing before.”

My stomach flips.

“This kind of—what, alien goo possessing your kid and turning him into—?”

Mom holds up a hand. “I know. Believe me, I know. But Claire’s different. She’s seen weird. And she’s safe.”

I open my mouth to ask more, but she just shakes her head.

“I’ll let her explain.”

I glance past her, toward the living room, and catch a glimpse—someone standing just beyond the edge of the frame, silhouette lit by soft afternoon light.

Someone waiting.

I step into the hall, each movement stiff like my body’s still figuring itself out—like I’m trying to walk off what just happened.

Forget it. Just forget it.

I’m a guy.

Or… I was.

I should be.

This body, that dream—it’s not me. It’s what the symbiote did. Some kind of screw-up. A glitch. A manipulation. I didn’t ask for this.

I didn’t want any of this.

I steel my shoulders and follow Mom into the living room.

That’s when she turns to me.

The woman—Claire—is older than Mom by a few years maybe, but she’s got the same kind of presence calm, steady, experienced. She’s wearing dark jeans, a fitted jacket, and eyes like she’s seen too much to ever be surprised again.

“Arin, right?”

Her voice is low. Kind. But not patronizing.

I hesitate.

“Uh… yeah.”

She nods slowly.

“I’m here to help,” she says. “If you’ll let me.”

She walks over and sets her bag gently on the coffee table, like she’s been in this position a hundred times before.

“I used to be a nurse,” she says casually, without looking up. “Not anymore. Now I just… help people. The kind who can’t walk into a hospital.”

I blink. “Wait. What does that mean?”

She gives me a small smile. “Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of weird. Powers, accidents, genetic messes, alien crap—symbiotes included.”

I swallow. “So you’ve seen someone like me before?”

She looks up at me—right in the eyes—and nods. “Yeah. More than once.”

She pulls out a small scanner—Stark-tech by the look of it—and sets it aside like she’s not quite ready to use it yet.

“I’ve patched up people who shoot fire when they sneeze, and I’ve kept more masks alive than I can count. Most of them don’t even know their blood types. But I’ve never met anyone who went through a shift like yours without something snapping.”

I wince at that.

She notices. Her voice softens.

“You didn’t though. You’re still standing. You’re asking questions. That’s good.”

I nod slowly, unsure what to say.

Claire watches me for a moment longer, then gently asks

“You want to tell me what it felt like?”

I hesitate.

Because I do.

But I don’t know how to say it…

“It felt like my body was ripping apart,” I say quietly, fingers curling into the edge of my sleeves. “Every nerve, every inch of me just—changing. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t breathe. And then when it was done…”

I trail off.

Claire doesn’t interrupt. She just listens.

And then, calm as ever, she says, “Symbiotes are dangerous. I won’t lie and say this isn’t bad or scary.”

I brace myself. Here it comes.

“There’s a but coming, right?”

She smirks—just a little, just enough. “But… they aren’t all bad. Not necessarily. It depends on the symbiote. Just like humans. Some are violent. Some are confused. Some are just trying to survive.”

I stare at her. The hum inside me stirs, faint and quiet.

“…And if mine is bad?”

Claire’s smile fades. “Then one of my contacts can help. There are people who… deal with this. Safely.”

I nod, but the real question’s already clawing its way out.

“And what about what it did to me?”

She hesitates. That’s not a good sign.

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “As far as I’ve seen, symbiotes don’t usually make changes that drastic. Muscle growth, sometimes. Healing. Enhanced reflexes. But full physical reconstruction?”

Her brows furrow slightly.

“That’s not standard.”

“So you don’t know why,” I say flatly.

“No,” she says. “But we’re going to find out.”

And somehow, the way she says it makes me believe her.

Before I can ask the next question, Mom speaks up from behind me. Her arms are crossed again—classic concerned parent posture—but there’s steel under her voice now.

“What about Alchemax?” she asks, sharp and direct.

Claire turns toward her, nodding like she was expecting the question. “I figured that was coming.”

She lowers herself into the armchair across from us and laces her fingers together.

“They’ve had their hands in this kind of tech before—biogenetics, symbiotic trials, even off-world materials they shouldn’t have in the first place. A few years back, they were working on a program… something off the books. I never saw a name. But people disappeared.”

I feel my stomach twist. “They made this?”

Claire glances at me, expression unreadable. “If I had to guess? They tried to replicate what bonded with Venom. Might’ve even engineered something from the same genetic structure, or they found a symbiote somehow and where trying to do something with it until—”

“They lost control of it,” Mom says, jaw clenched.

“Or they never had control at all,” Claire adds.

I blink slowly, heart pounding. “So this thing… me… I’m part of some Alchemax experiment?”

Claire looks me in the eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if they know you have it?”

She leans forward.

“They won’t let you go quietly.”

“If you help superheroes, can’t you—can’t you tell them to stop Alchemax? I mean, it’s not like it’s a big secret they’re an evil mega corporation. Everyone knows they’re shady as hell.”

Claire meets my eyes again, steady and unshaken.

“It’s not that easy.”

I throw up my hands. “Why not? They’ve got power, right? Suits, gadgets, gods flying through the sky—can’t one of them just walk in there and say, ‘Hey, maybe stop making alien horror’?”

Claire sighs, rubbing her temples. “Because power doesn’t always mean access. Alchemax has protections—government contracts, black-ops clearance, private security tied to people with deep pockets. And more importantly? Heroes don’t act without proof. Not real ones.”

“Even Spider-Man?” I ask, voice low.

Claire smirks faintly at that. “Especially Spider-Man. He wouldn’t go near Alchemax without a reason.”

I sit down hard, frustration tightening my jaw.

“So what, we just wait around while they try to clean up their ‘accident’?”

“No.” Claire leans forward again, voice quieter now. “We be smart. We be careful. And we get proof.”

She glances at Mom.

“Then… let the people who do this stuff take care of it.”

Mom’s pacing now—arms folded tight, like she’s trying to hold everything in. I’ve seen that look before, after a long shift, after a bad night at the hospital. The kind where all you want is a problem you can fix.

“So what are we supposed to do?” she says, turning sharply to Claire. “Arin already missed a day of school. And if you don’t know how to reverse this…”

Her voice trails off, but I feel it.

That weight.

That unspoken fear that maybe this isn’t something we can undo.

Claire breathes in slow, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I’ll do what I can—but I’m not a scientist. I patch people up. I help them stay alive. But what happened to Arin? That’s beyond my expertise.”

She glances at me, then back at Mom. “What you really need… is someone who understands this on a genetic, molecular level. Someone who’s dealt with symbiotes more and what they can do.”

Mom frowns. “And where exactly do we find someone like that?”

Claire reaches into her coat, pulls out a sleek phone, and starts typing. “I’m going to see if I can get in touch with a friend. Of a friend.”

“That sounds… vague,” I murmur.

Claire smiles. “And in the meantime, just try and be normal,” she says.

“Normal?”

“Go to work,” she adds, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Maybe contact the school, see if they can let her—him—come in under a different name. Say you’re a cousin. Or part of some kind of exchange program.”

I blink at her. Hard.

“Alchemax shouldn’t be able to find you unless you start running around with the symbiote out in public,” she adds. “Keep your head down, don’t use powers, and you’re just another teenager.”

“That’s good,” Mom says, like this is all something we can just patch over with duct tape and good intentions.

But me?

I stare at the floor. “There’s no way I’m going to school like this. No way I’m doing that as a girl—whether they know it’s me or not. Besides, I don’t even have clothes that actually fit.”

“We can fix that,” Mom says, immediate and automatic.

I snap my head toward her. “We don’t have the money for that. And that’s not the point.” My voice cracks—frustration twisting every word.

Mom meets my eyes. Steady. “You can’t just stop living. You can’t not go to school.”

I fold my arms tight. “Watch me.”

Claire stands, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “Okay. Look. I think I should go, let you two… work this out.”

She gives me a softer look. “I’ll make some calls. And I’ll get back to you soon.”

I nod stiffly.

And just like that, she heads for the door.

The door clicks shut behind Claire, and the apartment goes quiet.

Mom’s standing near the kitchen now, arms crossed, one hand rubbing her head like she’s bracing for a headache that already started. I’m still planted near the couch, arms folded, eyes locked on nothing.

Neither of us says anything for a beat too long.

The words are there, hanging in the air like storm clouds waiting to break.

She shifts her weight. I glance at her. Then away.

More silence.

And then I sigh, long and sharp, the kind that says more than words ever could.

“This is a mess,” I mutter.

She exhales through her nose. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

She doesn’t say I’m overreacting. She doesn’t tell me to be grateful. She doesn’t even try to fix it, which somehow makes it worse.

I rub the back of my neck, still aching with tension. “You really think I can just walk into school like this? Pretend nothing happened?”

“I think,” she says carefully, “that you can’t let this take everything away from you.”

I want to argue.

I really, really do.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

I sigh again, slumping onto the edge of the couch like the weight of this entire conversation is dragging me down with it.

“Fine. I’ll go to school,” I mutter. “But if anything—anything—goes wrong, if someone looks at me weird, or says something, I’m leaving. Done. No questions.”

Mom doesn’t argue. She nods, folding her arms tighter.

“That’s fair. This is… a lot. But—”

“But what?” I glance up at her.

She smiles gently. “You were right about one thing. You definitely need some clothes that actually fit. And I don’t have anything else remotely your size.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not that short.”

“No,” she says, moving toward the hallway, “but you’re definitely not the same chest, size either.”

I blink. “Wow. Okay.”

She shrugs, unapologetic. “I’m just saying—we’re not going to make it through the week with one tank top and gym shorts that slide halfway off your hips.”

I bury my face in my hands. “This is so stupid…”

She grins. “You can be mad about it and still want jeans that don’t threaten to fall off mid-step.”

“Ugh.”

“How are you going to pay for a whole new wardrobe anyway?”

Mom turns back toward me with a smirk that should not be that smug for someone discussing financial crisis.

“I’ll take it out of the college fund.”

My head jerks up. “Wait— I have a college fund?!”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “No. But it was fun watching your face.”

I groan, flopping backward dramatically on the couch. “You cannot do that to a person mid crisis.”

She laughs, walking over and ruffling my hair—like I’m still ten and not… whatever this is now.

“I’ve got it handled,” she says, more serious this time. “I’ll pick up a few more shifts. Cover what we need. It’s not ideal, but neither is half your wardrobe being five inches too long.”

She’s still smirking.

But underneath it, I can see it—the tiredness, the worry, the fierce protectiveness. She’s already doing the math, already planning how to make this work. Because that’s what she does.

And maybe… for now, that’s enough.

Mom watches me for a moment, then her voice softens. “Why don’t you go rest? We’ll head to the store in the morning, get you something that doesn’t look like it came out of a lost and found bin.”

I nod slowly, exhaustion catching up to me again. “You’re not going to work right now, are you?”

She starts to answer—habit, reflex—but I cut in before she can finish.

“Please just stay.”

The words hang there, bare and heavier than I mean them to be. But I don’t take them back.

She looks at me, really looks, and I see something shift in her eyes. Not hesitation—guilt, maybe. But she nods.

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll call them. Tell them I can’t make it tonight.”

I exhale, tension loosening just a little.

“Thank you.”

She squeezes my shoulder gently, the kind of touch that says I’ve got you, without needing the words.

And for the first time since this all started—since the alley, since the change, since the dream—I feel just a little bit safer.

Not fixed.

But safe.

After a bit more talking—nothing heavy, just quiet stuff about morning plans and maybe hitting up that consignment place on 5th—I finally peel myself off the couch and head back to my room.

The door clicks shut behind me, muffling the world outside.

I sit down on the bed, running my fingers through my hair—it’s dry now, soft, still unfamiliar in every way. I stare at my reflection in the dark window, not really seeing it.

I lay back in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the soft hum of the city barely slipping in through the window. My room is dim and quiet—safe, but my thoughts won’t let me rest.

Claire said ‘maybe it’s not bad.’

Not all symbiotes are bad, she said. Like that’s supposed to be comforting.

But after that dream…

After what it did to me in there—it’s hands or whatever just it’s liquid weird body, its voice, its control—and even before that, in the alley, when it first crawled into me, changed me.

No.

It’s no friend.

It made me do things. Feel things I didn’t want to feel. It took my body and moved it—stole it.

And the worst part?

I didn’t stop it.

I couldn’t.

I turn on my side, pressing my face into the pillow, trying to force the thoughts away.

And now I’m supposed to just live like this?

Go to school?

Act like I’m fine when I don’t even know what I am anymore?

I turn away from the ceiling, burying myself deeper into the blankets.

But the weirdest thing?

It’s quiet.

Almost… too quiet.

The symbiote hasn’t said a word since I got home. Not when I talked to Claire. Not when I argued with Mom. Not even when I laid down and started spiraling again.

It’s just been… there. Watching. Waiting.

And somehow, that’s scarier than the talking.

Now I don’t know what it’s thinking. Or feeling. Or if it’s planning something. Or just giving me space.

I close my eyes and press deeper into the pillow.

Maybe it’s hiding.

Or maybe… it’s learning.

Studying me.

Learning when to push.

And when to let me collapse on my own.

The idea sends a chill up my spine.

“I don’t want to sleep,” I murmur to the room, voice barely audible. “I don’t want to see that again.”

I stare at the ceiling again like it might offer a way out. Like I can outlast this. Like if I just don’t fall asleep, I won’t have to feel it again—it, again. Inside my head, my skin, my voice.

It creeps in slow, slipping through the cracks of my defenses like fog under a door. My eyelids grow heavy. My thoughts scatter. The weight of it all finally catches up with me.

And despite the fear, the tension, the anxiety knotted deep in my chest…

I sleep.

And, somehow—

There’s nothing.

No dreams.

No voices.

A quiet so deep, so still, it feels like the first real breath I’ve taken since everything changed.

When I wake up, it feels like any other morning.

Soft light spills through the window, pale and gold. The sheets are twisted around me, warm from sleep. My room smells like detergent and dust. My brain is foggy, quiet. Peaceful, even.

For just a moment—just one—I forget.

It feels like a normal morning.

But then I shift.

I roll slightly, the blanket slipping off one shoulder.

And everything comes rushing back.

The weight on my chest shifting. The way my body leans differently into the mattress.

My breath hitches.

Oh.

Right.

It all floods in at once—the alley, the containment pod, the transformation, it, the dream, Claire, my mom, the fear—

I sit up quickly, heart racing like I’ve just been dropped into someone else’s life again.

Except it’s still mine.

Still me.

I glance toward the mirror. My reflection stares back.

Still her.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “Round two.”

I reach over to my desk and grab my phone. The screen lights up as soon as I press the button—familiar, comforting. A small piece of my old life that hasn’t been altered, warped, or… rewritten.

The home screen is the same.

Wallpaper too.

Everything feels like it should.

But my hands feel different holding it. Slimmer. Softer. Even my grip doesn’t feel right anymore.

I take a breath and check my notifications.

Just one message.

That’s it?

After everything?

I open it.

[Luca - Yesterday, 10:42 AM]
“You sick or just skipping? I was gonna ask if you wanted to bomb the physics quiz together.”

My chest tightens—not from fear, just… a strange, aching mix of relief and sadness. He doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t.

He’s just being… normal.

Because for him, nothing has changed.

For him, I’m still me.

And for a second, I wish I could just text back yeah lol skipping and pretend that’s all it was.

But I can’t.

Not anymore.

I stare at the message thread for a second longer, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Then I start typing.

Me:
My mom pulled some weird family exchange stuff and sent me to live with her cousins for some reason. Said it’d be good for me to see another part of the world.

The dots appear almost instantly.

Luca:
Damn, for real? Where?

My stomach twists.

Where? Yeah. Great question.

I stare at the blinking cursor.

“Uhhh…”

I glance toward the hallway, half-expecting Mom to yell something like ‘Say Switzerland!’

It’s already been too long.

I can practically feel the pressure building behind that blinking cursor—like Luca’s on the other end just watching the typing dots come and go, wondering what the hell kind of answer takes this long.

My thumbs freeze.

And then—

Me:
Canada.

I stare at it for a second, thumb hovering over send. It’s… safe, right? Vague enough to work. Not too far. Believable. Kind of.

I hit send.

A beat passes.

Luca:
Yo that’s wild. You sayin you’re Canadian now? You pick up an accent or start apologizing for everything yet lol

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My lips even twitch into a half smile.

Me:
Guess I’ll let you know if I start craving maple syrup and universal healthcare.

Luca:
Lmk if classes are easier up north. I might transfer.

I laugh. Quiet. To myself.

For a second, just a second, it feels like nothing’s changed.

But only for a second.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, then I start typing.

Me:
It already feels like forever. I never thought I’d miss school.

I stare at it a moment, then hit send.

It’s not completely untrue.

I do miss it—but not for the classes, or the noise, or even the people. I miss the routine. The normalcy. I miss me, before everything turned inside out.

Before I woke up in someone else’s skin.

Luca replies fast, as always.

Luca:
What are they doing to you up there? Did the cold break your brain? Do I need to call someone to save you?

Me:
lol

I start to smile. He always was the type to make everything a joke. But right now, I’m weirdly grateful for it.

Then the next message hits:

Luca:
You said it’s an exchange, right? So is one of your cousins with your mom now?

I stare at the screen.

Shit.

I didn’t think that far ahead.

“Great,” I mutter to myself. “Time to start building the fake backstory.”

Me:
Yeah.

Luca:
Are they going to our school?

Me:
Yep.

I stare at the screen. He’s fast, annoyingly so. Already typing again before I can catch a breath.

Luca:
That’s all I get? Aren’t you gonna tell me about them? Or are they just the worst or something?

I chew the inside of my cheek. My thumb hesitates over the keyboard.

Then, slow, almost reluctant:

Me:
She’s fine. Probably as smart as me. Don’t know her super well.

I pause.

Stare at she.

That word hits weird. Like it buzzes against my skin in a way I don’t know how to name.
Still, it gives me a way out. A clean one.

No follow-up questions if I don’t know her that well.

Right?

Luca:
Is she hot?

I freeze, staring at the screen like the words might rearrange themselves into something less Luca.

“Gross. What the hell,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face.

Then it hits me again—he doesn’t know.

Of course he doesn’t.

He has no idea he’s asking if I’m hot.

That makes it worse.

I sigh hard, then type.

Me:
Gross, she’s my cousin.

There’s a pause in the thread. Then:

Luca:
Right, right forgot the cover story. Still. You could’ve just said yes and let me wonder.

Me:
No. Never doing that.

Luca:
Fine, fine. I’ll wait till she shows up and judge for myself. Can’t be hotter than you though.

My whole face burns.

He doesn’t mean it that way.

I stare at the screen, heart thudding against my ribs like it knows something I don’t want to admit.

Just leave her alone, I start to type—then backspace it immediately.

No. That’s weird. Why would I say that? If she’s just a cousin, why would I be protective like that? It’d raise questions. Questions I really don’t want to answer.

I groan and drop the phone onto my chest, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the answers.

“I already regret this,” I mutter.

The phone buzzes again.

Luca:
What’s her name anyways?

Of course he wants a name.

I stare at the text like it might burst into flames. I didn’t think that far. I was too busy panicking and spiraling and figuring out how to exist.

Okay. Think.

Name. Name…

My fingers move on their own.

Me:
Her name’s Erin.

I hit send.

Now I really regret this.

Luca:
Haha no way, seriously what’s her name?

I stare at the screen, biting the inside of my cheek.

Okay. Okay.

“Erin” was a terrible idea. Way too close. Might as well have gone with “DefinitelyNotArin.”

I need something normal. Safe. Something that won’t trip me up later or sound like a panicked half-lie if someone else asks.

I think fast—scrolling through every generic, non-suspicious name I can imagine.

Lisa. Emma. Rachel.

“Elisa.”

It just comes to me.

Me:
Elisa.

I send it before I can overthink it. My thumb lifts off the screen like I just lobbed a live grenade into the middle of my life.

Too late now.

Luca:
Dang, fancy. Elisa sounds like she drinks tea and judges people for using paper plates.

I snort despite myself.

Me:
Yeah well, she might. Idk.

Luca:
Tell her to save me a seat at lunch if she’s not too elite.

I pause.

Right. Lunch. School. Being seen.

This cover story might be holding—for now.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow’s going to be a whole new kind of nightmare.

End of chapter 2

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

Chapter 3 Just the essentials.

The morning light feels like it’s mocking me.

It bleeds through the curtains, bright and gold and unrelenting—like the world doesn’t care what happened to me, what changed, what broke. Like it expects me to get up and deal with it.

I groan and shove my face deeper into the pillow, half hoping I’ll just sink into the mattress and vanish.

“I don’t want to be awake…”

My voice is muffled, small.

I don’t want to get dressed.

I don’t want to go shopping.

I don’t want to pick out girl clothes, try on bras, fake-smile while my mom says something like ‘you look so cute!’

I just want to go back to sleep.

I just want to wake up and be me again.

Not this body.

The weight on my chest rises and falls with every breath—unavoidable. Real. Still there. Just like yesterday.

Just like the thing inside me.

Still silent.

Still watching.

I sigh into the sheets, quietly defeated.

There’s no undo button.

No way out.

Just forward.

Even if I have no idea who I’m stepping forward as.

I stay there a moment longer, face buried in the pillow, then roll onto my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

My voice comes out rough, dry from sleep and frustration.

“Alright. I know you can hear me.”

Nothing stirs. No words. No ripple of presence.

But it’s there.

I feel it.

“You’ve been quiet. Too quiet. And I think I deserve some answers.”

Still silence.

I keep going, voice growing sharper.

“Why me? Of all people, why did you latch onto me? Was it random? Was I just… there? Were you looking for something? Someone?”

No answer.

“Why did you change me?” My voice cracks. “Why this body? Why that dream? You controlled me. You moved me like I was just a puppet in my own skin.”

My chest tightens, rage and confusion twisting up together.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this.”

Then, soft.

“Just tell me what you want.”

The silence holds for a second longer.

Then the hum shifts—low and deep, like it’s rising from within, wrapping around my spine, my breath, my voice.

“We did not mean to harm you.”

“You were… compatible.”

I swallow hard, my hands curling into the sheets.

“Compatible for what?”

A pause.

Then:

“To survive.”

“To bond.”

The words settle in my chest, heavy and cold.

“To escape.”

“To be free.”

I sit up, fists clenched in the blanket, heart pounding.

I grit my teeth.

“I don’t know what they did to you in there,” I say, voice shaking. “And maybe it was bad. Maybe it was horrible.”

I draw in a ragged breath, throat tight.

“But that doesn’t give you the right to do this.”

The words burn on the way out.

“Not by a long shot.”

There’s no immediate response—just that hum again, low and sad, almost like it’s curling up on itself.

I wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them up to my chest.

I’m not sure if I’m trying to protect myself from it.

Or from the part of me that almost—almost—feels sorry for it.

The voice returns—gentler this time, threaded with something that almost sounds like regret.

“I apologize for not giving you a choice.”

I tense, jaw tightening.

“There was no time. They would have destroyed us. We cannot communicate without a host.”

It was running away.

And I was just the one who got in the way.

I exhale slowly, eyes stinging—not from tears, not yet. But from the weight of it all.

“I didn’t have a choice either,” I say, barely above a whisper. “You didn’t ask. You just… took me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut so tightly it hurts.

“I can’t believe I’m feeling sorry for this thing…”

The hum stirs—sharper now. Not angry. Just… insistent.

“We are not a thing.”

I let out a long, frustrated sigh and drop my hand into my lap. My fingers curl into the blanket without me thinking.

“Fine,” I mutter, exhausted. “Fine. You’re not a thing.”

I sit there for a long moment, breathing slow, trying to sort through the chaos in my head. Trying to find something solid to stand on.

“Okay…” I finally say, my voice low, almost resigned. “I get it. You used me to escape. I was just… there.”

“But why did you change me?” My voice cuts sharper now, slicing through the fragile quiet. “Why this body?”

The silence stretches long enough that my stomach twists.

Then—

“We adapted to you.”

Another pause. A heavier one.

“Your form choice… was not intentional.”

I sit there, staring at nothing, the words rattling around in my head.

Not intentional.

It doesn’t make sense.

None of this does.

I press my palm against my forehead, trying to push the headache out before it really starts.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I mutter aloud.

“Either it was what you wanted… or something from our previous host.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the sting behind my eyes.

“It definitely wasn’t what I wanted,” I snap.

The presence seems to pull back slightly, not hurt, just… cautious.

I squeeze my hands into fists.

“What do you mean by previous host?” I ask, voice sharper than before. “Did they—?”

“Yes.”

The word is simple. Heavy. Final.

“In the lab.”

I stare at the far wall, blood rushing in my ears.

Whatever they did to this thing—to us…

I shudder.

“So what,” I whisper, “I’m just… leftovers from someone else?”

It doesn’t answer.

My chest feels tight, tighter than before, like every breath is dragging broken glass through my lungs.

I grit my teeth and push forward anyway.

“What did they do?” I demand. “What were they trying to do? What was the goal?”

The hum shivers inside me—a ripple of something painful, almost like fear.

“We don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

I blink, stunned.

“What?” I say, sitting up straighter, anger flashing through the fog. “You’re just gonna ignore me?”

No response.

Just a low, dull presence curling inward—retreating into itself.

Like a door slammed shut in my face.

“You don’t get to shut me out!” I snap, standing up now, pacing without thinking. “You did this to me! You owe me answers!”

Still nothing.

The hum stays there, heavy and closed-off, refusing to budge.

I run a hand through my hair, heart pounding in frustration and helplessness.

“Fine,” I hiss under my breath. “Be that way.”

I stare at the door, jaw clenched.

“Okay, fine,” I mutter, fists clenched at my sides. “You don’t want to talk about them anymore, whatever. But can you at least—at least—change me back?”

For a second, it’s quiet. Like it’s thinking.

“No.”

I blink.

“…No?” I repeat, voice cracking.

“No.”

I feel the words sink into my chest like a blade.

“What do you mean no?” My voice rises, desperate and shaking. “You’re in my body—you changed it—me! You’re telling me you can’t just… fix it?!”

The hum inside me shifts, slow and solemn.

“We cannot change you. The bond has already become permanent. Further alterations are impossible.”

I stumble back a step, like the air’s been punched out of me.

Permanent.

The word echoes, sharp and brutal.

“You mean we can’t separate?! I’m stuck like this?!” My heart’s hammering so hard I can barely breathe.

The answer comes, slow and cold.

“Unless one of us dies.”

“Which is unlikely to not kill us both.”

I stagger back onto the bed, my knees giving out, the weight of it crashing down all at once.

Permanent.

No going back.

No fixing this.

This is me now.

Whether I want it or not.

My hands are shaking.

I clench them into fists, digging my nails into my palms, just to feel something real.

I can’t trust it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

It could be lying. I don’t know anything about it. Nothing except the pieces it lets slip. Nothing except the dream—the control—the change.

“You can trust me,” it says, voice slipping into my thoughts like a whisper under my skin.

I grit my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut.

“I’m trying to think,” I hiss under my breath. “Please. Leave me alone.”

As it does the more the silence grows, the darker my thoughts get.

What if I really am stuck like this?

Not just a girl.

Not just Elisa at school.

But stuck with it.

With the symbiote.

What if it decides to take over? What if it gets angry? What if I can’t stop it when it wants something?

What if it makes me hurt people?

I pull my knees up to my chest again, curling into myself on the bed like I can hide from my own body.

“My life sucks,” I whisper into the empty room.

Knock knock.

I flinch at the sound, my whole body tensing like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to erase the red in my eyes, the way my chest still feels too tight.

“Arin?” Mom’s voice filters through the door—soft, careful. “You up?”

I sit there for a second, frozen, trying to figure out if I can even pretend to be okay.

My voice comes out rough when I finally answer. “Yeah.”

Another small pause. She’s probably listening, trying to hear if I really meant it.

“We should get going soon,” she says. “Before the stores get crowded.”

I look down at myself—at this body that doesn’t feel like mine—and swallow the lump in my throat.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

I hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.

I drag myself up off the bed, wiping at my face one last time, shoving everything—panic, fear, anger—down. Burying it.

As soon as I step out of my room, pulling a hoodie tight around myself, Mom’s already waiting in the hall, keys in hand and her serious but trying to be supportive voice ready.

“Later we need to stop by the school,” she says. “Fill out some paperwork, make your new… situation official. You should be able to go in tomorrow.”

I blink at her, deadpan.

“Yippee,” I mutter, dripping sarcasm.

She gives me a soft, understanding look—the kind that almost makes me feel bad for being snarky. Almost.

“I know, honey,” she says. “But it’s gonna be okay.”

I nod stiffly, not really believing it, but I don’t have the energy to argue. “Yeah.”

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder and starts leading us toward the door. “You’ll need to think of a name too,” she adds lightly. “If you need help, I might have a few ideas.”

My stomach twists a little.

“Well, I uh—” I start, words stumbling out half-formed. I can’t exactly tell her I’ve already half-committed to Elisa after a panicked late-night text lie.

I trail off, biting my lip.

I scratch the back of my neck, avoiding her eyes as we head for the door.

“I, uh… I kinda already did,” I mumble. “Not on purpose or anything, but Luca was texting me last night and…”

I trail off, grimacing like the words taste bad in my mouth.

“I was trying to cover for myself and well… I panicked.”

Mom stops, halfway pulling on her jacket, and raises an eyebrow at me.

“And?”

“And,” I mutter, staring very hard at the floor, “I said my cousins name was Elisa.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

Then—mercifully—she laughs. A small, real laugh. Not mocking, not disappointed. Just… tired and fond.

“Elisa,” she repeats, like she’s trying it out. “Could’ve been worse. You could’ve said something like, I don’t know, Bubbles.”

I finally crack the smallest, most reluctant smile. “Yeah, I’m sure that would’ve gone great at school.”

She nudges my shoulder lightly. “Well, Elisa it is, then.”

I nod slowly, feeling a weird twist in my stomach at hearing it said out loud. Elisa. Like it’s been stitched onto me without warning.

Permanent.

Another thing I didn’t ask for.

Elisa.

Me.

God.

“This is going to be a long day,” I mutter under my breath, dragging my feet as I follow her out.

The hallway feels colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just me—aware of every step, every shift of fabric against my frame, every breath of air against skin that still doesn’t feel like mine.

I tuck my hands deep into my hoodie pocket, head down, hoping no one’s around to get a good look at me. Not yet. Not until I figure out how the hell to be like this.

Mom glances back at me, offering a small, encouraging smile.

“We’ll just find a few things to start,” she says, trying to make it sound manageable. “Stuff that fits, that’s comfortable. No pressure.”

I grunt in vague agreement, shuffling toward the stairwell.

Yeah.

No pressure.

Just pretending to be someone I’m not while trying not to completely fall apart in the clearance section of a department store.

No big deal.

The ride over is… weirdly quiet.

The radio is on low—some soft, easy-listening station playing songs I barely recognize—but mom doesn’t say much. She keeps glancing over at me, though, like she’s waiting for me to shatter or explode or just start crying again.

I don’t.

I just stare out the window, watching the city roll by in slow, muted colors. Everything looks the same. Trash on the sidewalk. Taxis honking like they’re allergic to red lights. People bustling by with coffee and umbrellas tucked under their arms.

Normal.

Outside looks normal.

It’s just me that’s wrong.

Mom finally breaks the silence about halfway there.

“You’re doing better than I thought,” she says, keeping her voice light, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud it’ll stop being true.

I shrug, not trusting my voice really.

“I mean it,” she continues. “You’re… dealing.”

Am I?

Because inside, it feels like I’m barely holding the pieces together with duct tape and spite.

I nod anyway. “Thanks.”

We reach the strip mall and come to a stop.

A big, generic department store looms ahead—huge glass windows, discount signs, mannequins in spring clothes even though it’s still freezing out.

“Alright, Elisa,” she says, the name coming easier to her already. “Let’s find you some clothes.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt with the enthusiasm of someone about to get a root canal.

“This is gonna suck,” I mutter.

Mom just smiles sympathetically before paying and stepping out into the cold morning air.

I sit there a second longer, breathing in and out, trying to armor myself up before I follow her.

Mom holds the door open, letting me step into the store first. Warm air blasts over me from the ceiling vents, and the smell of clothes and cheap perfume hits instantly. It’s weird how normal everything feels when nothing inside me does.

She grabs a cart—already way more optimistic than I feel—and nudges it toward the clothing section.

“Let’s start with just some basics,” she says gently. “Enough for a couple weeks. A few pairs of jeans, tops, underthings… you know, enough to get by.”

I shove my hands deeper into my hoodie pocket, walking stiffly beside her.

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” I murmur without thinking.

She stops, glancing at me. “What do you mean?”

I pick at the edge of my sleeve, swallowing hard.

“I don’t know if it’s telling the truth,” I say, voice low, barely above the soft hum of pop music playing from the ceiling speakers. “That thing. The symbiote.”

Her face tightens slightly—not fear, just caution. Listening.

I stare at the endless racks of clothes, colors blurring together.

“It said the bond is permanent. That it can’t change me back. That this is just… me now.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just lets it hang there.

I keep my voice steady, even though it feels like it’s shaking inside. “But if it’s lying—if it’s wrong—and there’s a chance, any chance, I could go back someday… then what’s the point of buying all this?”

I clench my fists tighter in the hoodie pocket.

“What’s the point of pretending this is my life now?”

Mom steps closer and rests a hand lightly on my shoulder. Not pulling, not forcing. Just there.

“Because it is your life, Arin,” she says softly. “Even if it’s just for now. Even if it changes tomorrow.”

Her hand squeezes gently.

“We take it one day at a time. We build something you can live in.”

I look down at the scuffed floor.

One day at a time.

I’m not sure if that’s a promise.

Or just survival.

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to say anything right now, and follow her deeper into the clothing aisles.

The bright fluorescent lights overhead make everything look too clean, too sharp—like there’s no room for hiding anymore. Just endless racks of denim, rows of brightly colored tops, and shelves crammed with shoes way too small and delicate compared to the old loose sneakers on my feet.

Mom steers the cart toward the basics section—plain jeans, simple shirts, hoodies, stuff that doesn’t scream new wardrobe for your sudden unwanted girlhood to anyone paying attention.

She stops at a rack of jeans first and starts flipping through them like this is just a normal Sunday.

“Let’s start simple,” she says, like she’s narrating for herself as much as for me. “Two or three pairs of jeans, some tees, a hoodie, and…”

Her voice trails off a little when she looks at the section labeled Bras & Intimates farther down the aisle.

I pretend not to notice.

Or maybe I’m the one pretending.

I shove my hands deeper into the hoodie’s kangaroo pocket, feeling my face burn.

“So,” she says carefully, flipping through a few hangers, “do you wanna pick stuff yourself? Or should I just grab a few options and you can try them on?”

I hesitate.

I don’t want to pick.

I don’t want to choose things for this body like it’s normal. Like I’m fine.

But I also don’t want her holding up outfits and saying, ‘This would look so cute on you!’ like this is some kind of makeover montage.

I swallow hard and mumble, “I’ll… look.”

Mom nods, stepping back a little, giving me space.

I approach the jeans like they might bite me if I move too fast.

Sizes. Cuts. Bootcut, skinny, boyfriend, jeggings—

It’s overwhelming.

I grab a plain pair. Dark wash. Straight leg. Not too flashy.

Safe.

Same with a few T-shirts—solid colors, no logos, soft fabric.

Basic.

Simple.

Uncomplicated.

Mom smiles quietly when I dump them into the cart without looking at her.

“Good start,” she says.

I nod, trying not to think about the fact that this is my life now.

We roll through a few more racks in silence—me tossing a couple more shirts and another pair of jeans into the cart, Mom keeping a respectful distance, like she knows if she hovers I’ll bolt.

For a second, it’s almost bearable. Just clothes. Just fabric.

Just pretending.

But then, like she’s been trying to time it perfectly, Mom glances over at a different section. Slower. More careful.

Her voice is way too casual when she says, “You’re… gonna need some other things, too.”

I freeze, fingers tightening on the cart handle.

Here it comes.

“Things like…” she gestures vaguely toward the back wall, where bras and underwear are hung up in neat little rows, taunting me.

I stare at them like they might bite.

My chest feels tight again, like the air’s been sucked right out of the store.

“I can, uh—” she fumbles a little, clearly trying not to make it worse, “I can help, if you want. Grab a few basics. Something comfortable. You don’t have to go crazy.”

I just stand there, feeling my face burn, wishing I could turn invisible.

“Nothing fancy,” she adds quickly. “Just… stuff that’ll make you comfortable.”

Comfortable.

Like any of this could be comfortable.

I want to tell her no.

I want to say I don’t need it.

But the way the shirt clings to my chest now, the way every breath reminds me that things move differently, feel different—

I know she’s right.

I shove my hands deeper into my hoodie pocket, staring hard at the floor.

“…Fine,” I mutter.

She smiles gently. No teasing. No ‘this is so exciting!’ crap. Just a small, understanding nod.

“I’ll be quick,” she says.

I nod again, tighter.

God.

This day’s only getting longer.

Mom wheels the cart a little closer to the quieter part of the section, where there’s less foot traffic and less chance of anyone overhearing the conversation that’s already making my skin crawl.

She glances back at me, giving that careful, I’m-not-trying-to-make-this-worse look again.

“We’re, um…” she clears her throat lightly, awkward even for her, “we’re gonna need to take some measurements.”

My stomach drops straight through the floor.

I tighten my arms around myself instinctively, burying my hands deeper into the sleeves.

Measurements.

Which means acknowledging it.

Every inch that isn’t supposed to be there.

Every curve and dip I’ve been trying to ignore.

I don’t say anything. Just give a tight nod, not trusting my voice.

Mom is quick about it—she’s done this before, probably a hundred times in her job, and she switches into that no-nonsense professional mode she uses when patching up stubborn patients who don’t want to admit they’re bleeding.

She pulls a soft tape measure from her purse—seriously, why does she have everything—and holds it up like it’s just another tool.

“I’ll be fast,” she promises.

I nod again, jaw tight.

I stand there, arms half-raised, feeling everything wrong with this picture as she moves the tape around my bust, my ribs, my hips, murmuring numbers softly under her breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s mechanical.

Clinical.

But it still feels like peeling a bandage off skin that’s not mine.

When she finishes, she jots the numbers down in the notes app on her phone and gives me a soft smile. Not pitying. Just… solid. Like she knows how heavy it all is, and she’s willing to carry some of it for me.

“Okay,” she says gently. “Now we can grab what we need and get out of here.”

I exhale shakily, nodding.

One step at a time.

One miserable, necessary step at a time.

We don’t say much after that.

Mom quietly grabs a few simple bras and some basic underwear—no frills, no lace, nothing that screams hey, you’re a girl now! Just… functional. Neutral colors. Safe.

I trail behind her like a ghost, numb.

Before I know it, we’re standing outside the fitting rooms. A bored teenage employee in a red vest waves us toward an open section without even looking up from her phone.

Mom hands me a handful of clothes from the cart.

“Take your time,” she says softly, giving me a tiny squeeze on the arm. “Just see what fits.”

I nod stiffly, feeling the weight of the hangers pressing down on me like a second gravity.

I step into the little cubicle and close the door behind me with a soft click.

The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly. The mirror in front of me is way too big, way too clear.

I stare at my reflection for a long second.

Baggy hoodie. Old gym shorts. Hair a little messy. Face… softer than it used to be. Rounder around the jawline. Lips fuller. Shoulders narrower.

I feel like I’m staring at someone else wearing my clothes.

And now… I’m supposed to dress her, too.

I peel the hoodie off slowly, feeling exposed even though I’m still wearing the oversized T-shirt underneath. I kick off the shorts and stand there awkwardly, clutching the stack of new clothes.

The jeans are first.

Getting them on is a struggle—tighter than I’m used to, cut to fit this body. But once they’re up, they hug my hips in a way that feels… foreign. Not bad, exactly. Just not mine.

I pull on one of the plain T-shirts next.

It fits.

Not loose and boxy like I’m used to.

Fitted. Showing off the curve of my waist. My chest.

I stare at myself, feeling my throat tighten.

This is what everyone else is going to see.

Not Arin.

Elisa.

I sit down hard on the little bench in the fitting room, dropping my head into my hands.

How the hell am I supposed to do this?

I stare down at one of the bras lying across my lap, feeling utterly defeated.

It’s so small in my hands—light, delicate, almost mocking in its normalcy.

I sigh, deep and miserable. “How do I do this?”

I turn it over slowly, like it’s a puzzle I’m supposed to solve without the box.

Hooks in the back.

Straps that feel like they’ll tangle if I even look at them wrong.

Cups shaped for a body that still doesn’t feel like mine.

I bite the inside of my cheek, frustrated. Half of me wants to throw it across the fitting room and stomp out barefoot. The other half knows I can’t. Knows that I have to figure this out if I’m going to survive even one day at school without someone noticing something’s wrong.

I lift it higher, clumsily slip my arms through the straps like it’s some kind of weird backpack—and immediately realize that’s wrong. The band gets stuck around my chest, the cups are in the wrong place, and I almost get tangled trying to twist it behind me.

“God, this is stupid,” I mutter, fighting with the fabric.

I stop, breathing hard, glaring at myself in the mirror.

“This isn’t me,” I whisper.

But the reflection just stares back.

Knock knock.

Mom’s voice floats through the door, soft, careful. “Do you need some help?”

I jerk back from the mirror like she just caught me doing something illegal.

“No!” I bark a little too loud, too fast. I wince immediately at how desperate it sounds.

There’s a small pause outside the door.
“Okay,” she says gently. No pushing. No judgment. Just giving me space.

I blow out a long breath, cheeks burning, and look back down at the stupid bra twisted halfway around me. Gritting my teeth, I fumble with the band, sliding it around properly, reaching behind awkwardly for the hooks.

After a few miserable tries—finally—click.

It fits.

Weird.

Snug.

Not uncomfortable exactly, just… different. Noticeable. Like a light pressure around my chest that wasn’t there before.

I grab the T-shirt I was trying on earlier and yank it down over my head, smoothing it over the bra.

The fabric settles differently now.

Everything feels more real, more… permanent.

I glance up at the mirror hesitantly.

And there she is again.

The girl with long blonde hair.

Soft eyes.

Slim waist.

A faint, unintentional curve to her silhouette now that the clothes actually fit.

Me.

Elisa.

I grip the sides of the bench, breathing slow and shallow.

This is what everyone else is going to see tomorrow.

This is who I have to be.

And no matter how much I hate it, deny it, scream about it—

There’s no going back now.

I pull the T-shirt straight, smoothing it over my stomach, and grab the hoodie again, yanking it on like armor.

I open the fitting room door a crack, poking my head out.

Mom’s waiting just a few steps away, pretending to scroll on her phone but looking up the second she hears me.

“Ok,” I say, voice low and rough, “it all fits. Let’s just get out of here.”

Her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. Not at me—never at me. Just at how obviously done I am with this whole nightmare.

But instead of moving toward the registers, she lifts the cart handle and says, way too lightly, “We still need a few more things.”

I groan, slumping against the doorframe.

“You’re killing me.”

She chuckles under her breath. “Basics, honey. You’ll thank me later.”

I drag my feet behind her as we roll back into the aisles.

More underwear. Socks. Shoes. Maybe a second hoodie. Nothing too flashy. Just stuff that fits—stuff I can hide behind while pretending I’m someone who knows how to exist in this body.

Every second feels heavier, but I bite it down and keep moving.

Because if I don’t?

I’m going to break right here in the middle of the women’s department.

And I’m not ready to fall apart yet.

By the time we reach the checkout, the cart’s piled with way more than I thought it would be.

Jeans. Shoes. Tees. Simple hoodies. A few bras and enough socks and underwear to hopefully last without another emergency trip anytime soon.

I keep my head down as Mom chats lightly with the cashier, like this is just any normal shopping trip and not the single most humiliating moment of my life.

The beeping of the scanner feels endless.

When the total flashes on the little screen, I flinch a little, but Mom just pulls out her card without hesitation.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

We grab the bags, arms loaded, and make a beeline for the doors.

The cold air slaps me in the face the second we step outside, but it’s almost a relief.

We load the bags into the trunk in silence.

When I finally collapse into the back seat, I let my head fall back against the headrest with a long, exhausted sigh.

“That was the worst,” I grumble.

Mom just laughs quietly as she gets in. “You did great.”

I snort. “If by ‘great’ you mean ‘didn’t scream or die,’ sure.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand gently.

“Exactly.”

I’m about two seconds from closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep for the rest of the day when Mom speaks up, glancing over at me with that same gentle, careful tone she’s been using since we left the store bringing me out of my trance.

“We’ve just gotta stop by the school,” she says casually. “Get the paperwork sorted.”

I groan quietly, sliding lower in my seat until the belt digs into my shoulder.

“Of course we do,” I mutter.

“And then,” she adds, like she’s dangling a carrot in front of me, “why don’t we get some lunch? Something good. You deserve it after today.”

I crack one eye open to look at her.

“Bribing me with food now?”

She shrugs, smiling a little. “Hey, it works.”

I huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh, dragging myself back upright.

“Fine. But it better be something greasy and unhealthy,” I grumble, folding my arms stubbornly across my chest.

“Deal,” she says, turning onto the road that’ll take us toward Midtown High.

The buildings roll past outside the window, but my stomach knots tighter the closer we get.

The school.

Where I’m going to have to walk in as ‘Elisa.’

Where I’ll have to smile and nod and pretend I’m just another new face.

And not the ghost of someone who used to belong there.

I grip the strap of the seatbelt tighter, trying to hold myself together.

The school comes into view faster than I want it to.

Too fast.

Midtown High—same brick walls, same cracked sidewalks, same faded banners about ‘academic excellence’ drooping over the entrance like limp promises.

Everything’s the same.

Except me.

The taxi slows, pulling into the visitor parking lot.

She doesn’t move right away. Neither do I.

I stare at the entrance, heart pounding, hands sweaty against my jeans.

“You okay?” she asks softly, not looking at me yet. Giving me the choice to answer. Or not.

I shrug a little, staring harder at the windshield.

“No,” I say finally. “Not really.”

She nods like she expected that.

“You don’t have to be,” she says. “Not today. Not tomorrow either, if it takes longer.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, fingers drumming lightly against my leg. “What if I mess it up?” I ask, voice small. “What if I can’t… pretend good enough?”

Mom finally looks at me then—really looks.

“You don’t have to pretend to be someone else, Arin,” she says carefully. “You’re still you. Even if you’re wearing a different name right now.”

I swallow hard. My throat aches.

“You say that,” I whisper, “but it doesn’t feel true.”

She reaches across the seat and squeezes my hand—warm, steady, real.

“It doesn’t have to feel true yet,” she says. “You just have to keep going.”

I squeeze her hand back once—quick, almost embarrassed—then pull away and wipe my palms on my jeans.

“Okay,” I say, voice hoarse.

“Okay,” she echoes, giving me a small smile.

We sit there one more second, both breathing, both bracing.

Time to go in.

Time to become Elisa.

At least… for now.

The doors to Midtown High feel heavier than I remember.

Or maybe it’s just me—weighted down by the clothes that fit too well, the name that doesn’t fit at all, and the gnawing anxiety coiled tight in my stomach.

Mom pushes the door open first, giving me a little nudge with her elbow like you got this, and I drag myself in behind her.

The front office smells like old coffee and paper. Familiar. Stupidly normal. A tired-looking woman in a cardigan and reading glasses sits behind the desk, clicking away on a keyboard that’s seen better decades.

She looks up when the door chimes.

“Hi there,” Mom says in her bright, polite voice—the one she uses when she’s pretending she’s not worried. “We’re here to register my niece. New to the country, living with us for a while.”

The woman smiles automatically, grabbing a clipboard with a stack of forms already clipped to it. She’s definitely done this a thousand times.

“Of course!” she chirps. “Welcome, sweetie.”

I flinch a little at the sweetie but manage a stiff smile.

“Name?” she asks, pen poised.

Mom glances at me, giving me the tiniest nod.

I swallow hard.

“Elisa,” I say, my voice coming out a little rough, a little high. “Elisa Coleman.”

The woman scribbles it down without missing a beat.

“Wonderful! We’ll just need some paperwork—proof of residence, vaccination records if you have them, and of course, we’ll get you a student ID photo scheduled.”

I feel my blood run cold.

Records.

Vaccination history.

Student ID.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

Oh.
Oh no.

We don’t have any of that.

Because I didn’t exist like this two days ago.

Because Elisa Coleman was made up last night in a panic over text messages.

I glance sideways at Mom, wide-eyed. She’s already sliding smoothly into damage control mode, smiling like she’s totally prepared for this.

“We’re still getting her records forwarded from back home,” she says easily. “Might take a few days with the time difference and everything.”

The secretary doesn’t even blink. “That’s fine! Just have them sent to the administration office when you get them.”

She rips off a sheet from the clipboard and hands it over.

“Fill this out, and we’ll get her in the system. We’ll also need a basic health screening form, but we can do that during orientation.”

I take the clipboard with trembling hands.

Mom gives my shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze.

It’s working.

Somehow, it’s working.

At least for now.

But every step, every form, every fake line we fill in—

It’s building a house of cards.

And I have no idea how long it’ll stand.

I scrawl the last fake signature at the bottom of the paperwork, hands aching from how tightly I’ve been gripping the pen. I hand the clipboard back to the secretary with a strained smile, trying not to look too desperate to leave.

Finally.

We’re done.

Mom thanks her, and we start heading for the door, bags still dangling from one hand, my nerves feeling frayed and raw.

Just a few more steps and we’re out of here.

Except—

“Ms. Coleman?”

I freeze.

The voice is familiar. Too familiar. My stomach plummets straight through the floor.

Oh shit.

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye.

Luca.

Standing a few feet away in the hallway, a lazy grin on his face, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he’s got all the time in the world.

He doesn’t know.

Of course he doesn’t.

To him, I’m just some new girl he’s supposed to meet.

But still—he’s looking right at me. At me. Expecting something. Expecting someone.

My heart hammers so loud I swear Mom can probably hear it from two steps behind me.

I try to smile.

It probably looks like a grimace.

“H-hi,” I manage, voice too high, too fake.

“This is Luca, one of our student guides,” the secretary say so. “He’s going to help show you around when you start tomorrow.”

Luca grins wider and sticks out a hand.

“Hey, Elisa, right? Welcome to hell.”

He laughs at his own joke.

I just stare at his hand for a second too long before awkwardly shaking it.

His grip is warm. Familiar.

And for one horrible, painful second, all I want to do is tell him the truth.

It’s me. It’s Arin.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

So I just nod stiffly, forcing the smile to stay.

“Thanks,” I croak.

Ok, Mom, come on, I scream in my head, practically vibrating with panic. Say we have to go, please, make up something—anything—get me out of here.

But instead…

Mom smiles that too-bright, too-forced smile and says, “Elisa, this is Luca. He’s a friend of Arin’s.”

No. No, no, no, no—

My breath catches.

Luca’s grin falters just a little, a tiny crease forming between his brows as he glances at me again, maybe noticing the way my whole body stiffens.

Friend of Arin’s.

Friend of me.

I swallow hard, willing my face not to crack.

“Uh, yeah,” Luca says after a second, his voice lighter, covering the weirdness. “Arin and I were… y’know. Lab partners. Physics.”

I nod—too fast, too stiff.

“Right,” I say, my voice way too small, way too wrong.

He doesn’t seem suspicious. Not yet. But his smile is a little more careful now. Like he’s sensing something off and can’t figure out why.

Mom, thankfully, swoops in again.

“We’ve got a few errands to finish,” she says quickly, hand landing lightly on my back. “But I’m sure you’ll see each other around tomorrow.”

I nod again, biting my tongue before anything else stupid can fall out of my mouth.

“Cool,” Luca says, smiling easy again. “See you, Elisa.”

I mumble something that sounds vaguely like see you and practically drag Mom out the door, the cold air slamming into me like a lifeline.

I don’t breathe until we’re back in the taxi.

I practically collapse into the seat, slamming the door shut harder than I mean to.

I sink down, dragging the seatbelt across my lap without even thinking, my body running on autopilot while my mind is just… spiraling.

Oh God.

I press my palms into my face, the world muffled and hot behind my hands.

I couldn’t even handle one conversation.

One.

Barely two minutes of awkward small talk, and I was ready to bolt like a scared animal. If Mom hadn’t stepped in, if Luca had asked one more question—one more—I don’t know what I would’ve done.

Thrown up?

Cried?

Screamed?

Maybe all three at once.

Mom climbs into the seat beside me, but she doesn’t say anything yet. She just gives me a minute, letting me sit there and crumble a little without comment.

The inside of the car feels too small, too full of all the things I can’t say out loud yet.

I dig my fingers into the fabric of my jeans, breathing hard through my nose.

How am I supposed to walk into school tomorrow?

How am I supposed to do this for an entire day?

I’m barely surviving thirty seconds at a time.

I stay slumped against the door, staring out the window like maybe I can just will myself into another universe where none of this ever happened.

Mom’s voice is soft, careful—not the you’re fine tone, not the move on tone. Just… there.

“I know that was hard,” she says quietly. “Especially pretending you didn’t know your friend.”

I don’t answer. My throat feels tight again, and I’m not sure I could get any words out without breaking.

“But it’s going to get better,” she continues. “It really is. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will.”

I let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the pressure behind my eyes again, hot and miserable.

“I didn’t even say anything right,” I mutter, voice barely a whisper. “I sounded like a total freak.”

“You didn’t,” she says immediately. “You were nervous. Anyone would be. And he didn’t notice anything, Arin. He just thought you were a new girl, not someone he already knew.”

I hug my arms tighter around myself.

New girl.

That word scrapes against my insides in a way I hate. I want to scream that I’m not new. I’m me. I’m still Arin, underneath all this skin and panic and pretending.

But the truth is…

I don’t even know if I believe that anymore.

Mom puts the car in gear, the soft click of it grounding me just a little.

“Come on,” she says, giving me a small, encouraging smile. “Let’s get some lunch. You’ll feel better with something in you.”

I nod slowly, still feeling like a crumpled piece of paper, but grateful anyway.

Lunch.

A break.

A second to breathe.

I need that.

Badly.

End of chapter 3.

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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.

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 5.

The rest of the school day is a blur.

I rush from class to class, barely even registering what the teachers are saying. It’s all just a wall of noise—formulas, essays, assignments—none of it matters because all I can think about is Harper.

Coming to my place.

Today.

After school.

Panic churns in my stomach like a blender set to high.

What if she sees something she’s not supposed to?

What if she figures it out—about me, about the symbiote, about everything?

What if she sees my mom and asks questions and the whole “Elisa” lie falls apart right there on the front steps?!

I gnaw at my lip all through English class, mind racing.

I have to cancel.

I have to find a way to get out of this.

I scribble a dozen terrible excuses into the margins of my notebook.
• I’m sick.
• Family emergency.
• Surprise dentist appointment.
• The apartment flooded?? (too dramatic)
• Alien abduction. (technically not lying)

None of them sound believable.

I glance toward the back of the room where Harper sits slouched in her chair, doodling lazily in her notebook like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

She catches me looking and winks.

I nearly fall out of my chair.

God, what is wrong with her??

I bury my face in my hands, the bell finally ringing like a death knell.

Okay.
Okay.

I’ll just have to tell her I can’t.

Straight-up.

Firm.

No weird lies.

Just… no.

I can do this.

Probably.

Maybe.

God, someone just end me now.

The final bell rings, a horrible, echoing ring that makes my head spin.

I shove my stuff into my bag so fast I nearly snap the zipper, slinging it over my shoulder like I’m about to make a prison break.

Okay. Just find Harper. Tell her no. Be firm. Don’t let her bulldoze you like earlier. You can do this.

I spot her weaving casually through the crowd near the lockers, like she has all the time in the world.

Now. Before I lose my nerve.

I push through the chaos of backpacks and slammed lockers, dodging people left and right until I’m right behind her.

“Harper!” I call, probably a little too loud.

She turns, raising an eyebrow, smirk already forming like she’s been waiting for this.

I open my mouth—ready to launch into my carefully thought out I can’t today speech—

—and she immediately grabs my arm.

“Great, let’s go!” she says cheerfully.

“What?! No—wait—I was—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, pulling me toward the door like I’m a dog on a leash. “I know you’re gonna say you’re too busy or whatever, but guess what?”

She shoots me a grin over her shoulder.

“New girl doesn’t get out of welcoming parties.”

“I—I wasn’t saying I’m busy!” I protest, half-stumbling after her.

“I was—uh—saying—”

“Good,” Harper says. “Then no excuses.”

She’s dragging me straight out of the building, past kids laughing and tossing footballs, like this is perfectly normal.

This is not normal.

I glance wildly around, looking for any possible escape route.

Fake trip?

Pretend to throw up?

Spontaneously combust?

Nothing.

And worse—worse—I catch Luca waving at me from across the parking lot.

I wave back weakly, my stomach doing a slow, miserable somersault.

“Relax,” Harper says as we walk, her voice low and easy. “You’re gonna have fun.”

As we walk, every step feels heavier, like my brain is getting louder and louder with each one.

Should I just run?

I glance sideways at Harper.

She’s walking along, completely at ease, humming something under her breath, not even looking at me.

I mean… she doesn’t know where I live.
If I bolted right now, she wouldn’t be able to follow me home.

For a moment, the idea feels tempting.

Just turn a corner. Vanish into the city. Hide until dark and pray she gets bored.

But then reality hits me like a brick.

Yeah, I think bitterly, and then tomorrow when I show up at school, I get to deal with her again asking questions. And not just her—probably half the school.

Running would just make it worse.

It would make me look suspicious.

It would make her dig even harder.

I groan softly under my breath, dragging my hand down my face.

No.

No running.

As much as I hate this. As much as I want to vanish into thin air. I have to survive it.

I just have to get through this one ‘hangout.’

One awkward afternoon.

Then, I promise myself, I’m locking myself in my room forever.

Harper glances over at me, raising an eyebrow at my clear distress.

“You good?” she asks, totally unfazed.

“Peachy,” I mutter.

She just laughs like that’s exactly what she expected.

And keeps walking, like she’s already decided I’m coming whether I like it or not.

A miserable, sweaty subway ride later, we’re finally close to my neighborhood.

The whole ride over, I sat stiff as a board, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to look like someone harboring the worst secrets in New York.

Harper, meanwhile, leaned against the subway pole with the easy confidence of someone who absolutely thrives in chaos.

She didn’t ask a ton of questions, thank God.

Mostly just made random comments about how gross the subway smelled or pointed out weirdly specific graffiti “Look, that one’s definitely a frog with a machine gun.”

But now, stepping off the train and heading up the cracked, graffiti-tagged steps back into the daylight, the nerves crash down harder than ever.

We’re almost at my place.

Almost at the one place I’m supposed to feel safe.

And now Harper’s going to be inside.

“Which way?” she asks, tossing her bag higher onto her shoulder, all casual-like.

I point down the street, mumbling something that barely sounds like English.

Harper grins and follows without a care.

As we walk, I catch her glancing sideways at me again. Studying me.

Like she’s trying to figure something out that’s just on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re jumpy,” she says eventually, voice light but not teasing this time.

I stiffen even more.

“No, I’m not,” I say immediately.

Harper just hums under her breath, like she’s adding that to a list in her head.

“Right. Totally normal.”

I grit my teeth and pick up the pace, heart hammering harder the closer we get to my building.

As we reach the crumbling steps up to my apartment building, I panic.

I throw out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I don’t know if my m—” I catch myself just in time, stumbling over the word.

“My aunt will be okay with me bringing someone over without permission.”

Saved it, I think, my pulse hammering.

Maybe.

Harper stops at the bottom of the steps, looking at me.

Really looking at me.

Her eyes narrow just a little.

Not angry.

But definitely thinking.

A slow smirk pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t worry,” she says easily, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m great with ‘parentals.’”

She gives a little mock-salute like this is a military operation she’s excited about.

“I’ll win her over. Promise.”

I groan internally, rubbing my hand over my face.

“Come on,” she says, nudging me forward.
“It’ll be fine.”

Fine, I think miserably.

Sure. Fine. Like falling out of a plane with a napkin for a parachute.

But what choice do I have?

Muttering under my breath, I unlock the front door and hold it open.

Harper bounces up the steps like this is the greatest adventure she’s ever been on.

And I?

I feel like I’m walking her straight into the lion’s den.

As we climb the narrow, creaky stairs, I think fast, scrambling for anything to slow this trainwreck down.

I glance back at Harper, lowering my voice.

“We need to be quiet,” I say, keeping my tone serious.

“My aunt had a night shift and a morning shift at the hospital, so she’s probably asleep right now.”

Harper pauses mid-step, one hand still on the railing, and gives me a slow, understanding nod.

“Ah,” she says. “Got it. Ninja mode.”

She presses a finger to her lips in a dramatic shhh gesture grinning.

I manage a tight smile, masking the wave of relief crashing over me.

At least one thing might go right today.

I move unlocking the apartment door and slip inside.

The apartment is quiet, still warm from the afternoon sun.

Mom’s or ‘my aunt’s’ bedroom door is closed. No sound from inside.

I breathe out slowly, trying to steady my nerves.

Harper follows me in, taking in the apartment with a curious glance.

Second-hand furniture.

The worn carpet.

The faint smell of coffee and vanilla that always lingers.

“Cozy,” she whispers, dropping her bag by the door.

I nod stiffly, kicking my own shoes off, hyper-aware of everything.

Okay, okay. Just keep her out here. Away from anything weird or suspicious.

I step into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and pretending like this is just any normal, casual hangout.

“Want something to drink?” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

No answer.

I frown, turning around and—

She’s gone.

Panic surges through me instantly, cold and sharp.

I rush out of the kitchen, scanning the apartment wildly—
Bathroom? Door wide open.
No Harper.

Oh no oh no oh no—

I bolt down the short hallway toward my room, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

And there she is.

Harper stands right in the middle of my room, hands on her hips, slowly turning in place like she’s inspecting a crime scene.

“You can definitely tell this was a boy’s room,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice.

I feel like I’m about to pass out.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, stepping inside, trying to block her view of anything she might not be supposed to see. “It’s, uh… my cousin’s room. Arin’s. He, uh, left a lot of his stuff behind.”

Harper snickers, nudging a scuffed pair of sneakers with her foot.

“Yeah, no kidding…”

She wanders toward the shelves, eyeing the old model kits, the random sci-fi posters peeling at the corners.

Little pieces of me.

Of Arin.

Still here.

I try not to look like I’m dying inside.

“So,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me, “where’s all your stuff, Elisa?”

My eyes flick—betraying me—just for a second.

Over to the shopping bags piled in the corner.

The ones stuffed with all the new clothes Mom and I bought yesterday.

The only real evidence of ‘Elisa’ ever existing.

Harper notices immediately, because of course she does.

She tilts her head, grinning like she just caught me sneaking cookies before dinner.

“Uh…” I start, fumbling for anything that sounds remotely believable.

“You didn’t bring a suitcase?” she asks, eyebrows raised, all innocent curiosity.

Think think think—

“I… uh… I did,” I say too quickly. “They just… got delayed.”

She blinks.

“Your suitcases got delayed?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Airport mix-up. It’s being shipped here. That’s why… you know, all the new stuff.”

I gesture vaguely at the bags like that explains everything.

Harper narrows her eyes a little, clearly chewing on that answer.

For a second, I think she’s about to call me out again, press harder.

But then she just shrugs, flopping back onto my bed without a care in the world.

“Baggage sucks,” she says easily.

“Metaphorically and literally.”

I exhale slowly, my hands trembling a little at my sides.

Crisis… delayed.

For now. But this is why I was trying to keep her in one place, make her more manageable.

Harper props herself up on her elbows, looking around my room again with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“So,” she says, “what do you weird Canadians do for fun?”

I stand there, still rattled, still trying to seem normal, when Harper shoots me that expectant look, waiting for an answer.

I take a breath— “You know. Mainly just playing hockey on fields of maple syrup.”

Harper blinks at me.

Then bursts out laughing—loud, sharp, uncontrollable.

She flops fully onto her back on my bed, cackling like I just told the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

“God,” she wheezes, wiping at her eyes, “you are weird.”

I can’t help it—somehow, some way—a tiny real smile tugs at my mouth. Maybe the first one all day that doesn’t feel completely forced.

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, crossing my arms, “you said you liked weird.”

Harper grins up at me from the bed, hair splayed everywhere, like she owns the room now.

“I do,” she says simply. “Especially the honest kind.”

I look away quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks again.

Honest.

If only she knew how much of a lie that was.

Maybe Harper’s dangerous.

Maybe she’s reckless.

Maybe she’s already way too close to figuring me out.

But right now?

She’s laughing at my dumb joke and not digging into my guts.

And I’ll take that win.

Just as I start to breathe—start to actually relax a little—Harper rolls sideways off the bed and reaches for the shopping bags sitting by the wall.

My heart skips about three beats.

“Uhh,” I blurt, stepping forward a little too fast, “whatcha doin’?”

Harper grins without looking at me, already digging through the nearest bag like a raccoon rooting through a dumpster.

“Looking for blackmail material,” she says with a wink. “Or fashion disasters. Whichever comes first.”

Oh god oh god oh god.

She pulls out a few shirts—mostly basic, safe stuff—and holds one up like she’s judging it for a red carpet event.

“Huh,” she says. “Not terrible. Boring, but not terrible.”

I hover helplessly nearby, trying to figure out how to physically yank the bags away without making it obvious that I’m one wrong move from full panic.

Harper rifles deeper.

Deeper.

Her hand brushes close to one of the hidden bags—the ones not full of just clothes but old notebooks, little scraps of my actual life as Arin I hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

Please don’t find that. Please.

“Seriously, you don’t even have anything neon?” she teases, flipping through the pile. “What kind of tragedy is this?”

I force a laugh, my voice a little too high-pitched. “I, uh… left all my neon maple leaf shirts in Canada.”

She laughs again, thankfully distracted, tossing the clothes back into the bag haphazardly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says over her shoulder.

And just like that, she flops back onto the bed, like nothing ever happened.

Meanwhile, I stand there, heart pounding, so relieved I almost sink straight through the floor.

“Wow. I made you blush so easy.” She taps a few buttons on her phone, not even looking up.

“You’re gonna be fun.”

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a weak, strangled noise that might qualify as a squeak.

My face burns hotter.

I yank the hoodie’s sleeves down over my hands, wishing I could just crawl inside the fabric and disappear.

Harper just hums to herself like this is all perfectly normal.

Like we’re just two normal girls hanging out, teasing each other about clothes and awkward blushing, not sitting on top of a mountain of lies and alien goo and identity crises.

She just leans against the pillows, scrolling casually through her phone.

“Relax, new girl,” she says without looking up.

“You’re doing great.”

I sink into the nearest chair, feeling like I just survived a fight I didn’t even know I entered.

Without even looking at me, she says, “When the rest of your stuff gets here, I will judge you if the clothes aren’t better.”

I groan inwardly.

“What’s with all the hoodies, anyway?” she adds, finally glancing up at me with that trademark smirk. “Planning to start a Canadian cult or something?”

I tug at the sleeves of the hoodie I’m wearing, feeling about three inches tall.

“Well,” I mutter, trying to sound casual, “I didn’t know hoodies weren’t considered… fashion anymore.”

Harper snickers, tossing her phone onto the bed beside her.

“They’re fine,” she says, waving a hand. “If you’re, like, trying to disappear.”

Gee, thanks.

She stretches like a cat, completely at ease.

“But hey,” she says, grinning wide, “it fits the vibe. Mysterious, broody, definitely hiding some deep tragic secrets. Supermarket tabloids would love you.”

I roll my eyes, slouching deeper into the chair.

If only she knew how right she actually was.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say dryly. “Broody and tragic. A real walking soap opera.”

She laughs again, easy and bright, and somehow, despite everything—

I find myself smiling a little too.

Even if it still feels like I’m sitting on a landmine.

Harper just stays on my bed, totally relaxed, scrolling through her phone with a little smile on her face like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there in the chair, stiff as a board, feeling like a guest in my own skin.

I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, stealing glances at her every few seconds like she might suddenly notice how wildly uncomfortable I am.

But she doesn’t.

She’s just… there.

Like she belongs.

And me?

I’m just sitting here.

Not knowing what to say.

Not knowing what to do.

Not knowing how to act like Elisa, like a normal girl, like someone who isn’t holding onto this paper-thin lie by the tips of her fingers.

The seconds stretch on long and awkward.

Finally, I clear my throat.

“So…” I say weakly, desperate to fill the silence. “What are you even looking at?”

Harper glances up, grinning lazily.

“Memes,” she says simply, holding up her phone like she’s showing off sacred artifacts. “Dumb ones.”

She snorts at something and shakes her head. “You need to get better at being bored.”

I give her a weak smile.

“I’m… new at this,” I say honestly, meaning so much more than she realizes.

Harper laughs again and goes back to her scrolling.

I can’t sit here doing nothing anymore.
The silence feels like it’s closing in, squeezing tighter with every second.

Desperately, I blurt out, “Uh… you wanna watch a movie or something?”

Harper glances up from her phone, raising an eyebrow.

“A movie?” she repeats, like I just suggested we knit sweaters for pigeons.

“Yeah,” I mumble, feeling my face heat up again. “You know. Something normal.”

Harper tilts her head, clearly amused, but she shrugs.

“Sure,” she says, kicking her legs off the bed and sitting up. “You’re the host. Whatcha got?”

I blink.

Right.

Movie options.

I scramble to the small pile of DVDs under the TV stand and hold a few up helplessly.

“Uh… superhero movie, dumb comedy, or horror?”

Harper grins like I just handed her a live grenade and told her to have fun.

“Horror,” she says immediately.

Of course.

I sigh, grabbing the least terrifying one and tossing it into the ancient DVD player.

The screen flickers to life as Harper flops back onto the bed.

And just when I think maybe I can survive this…

She turns her head lazily toward me, grin widening.

“Or…” she says, her voice low and dangerous, “we could do something actually fun.”

I turn to look at her, dread already creeping up my spine.

“Like what?” I ask, suspicious.

Harper’s grin is pure mischief.

“Let’s sneak up to the roof,” she says.

I stare at her, blinking.

“You want to break onto the roof?”

She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Come on, Canada. Live a little.”

I shift awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck.

“It’s not exactly hard,” I mutter. “The door lock’s been broken forever.”

The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

Harper’s eyes light up instantly, her grin practically splitting her face.

“Forever?” she echoes, tilting her head, mock-suspicious. “You seem awfully familiar with the building, new girl.”

I stiffen, cursing myself internally.

Stupid stupid stupid.

I force a shrug, trying to look casual.

Cool.

Totally normal.

“Arin told me,” I say quickly, hoping it sounds believable. “Before he, you know, left. Said it was good for sneaking out.”

Harper snickers like I just confirmed every suspicion she had.

“I like the sound of that,” she says, jumping to her feet. “Come on, then. Lead the way.”

She’s already halfway to the door before I can even open my mouth to protest.

I groan softly under my breath, dragging myself up after her.

Harper bounds ahead of me up the stairs, practically bouncing with excitement.

As we reach the last flight, she throws a look over her shoulder, flashing that devil-may-care grin.

“I’m gonna get you in so much trouble now that I know you can sneak out this easy,” she says, laughing under her breath. “An unlocked roof door and an aunt who works the night shift? C’mon, Elisa. We’re gonna hit so many parties.”

I stop dead on the stairwell, staring up at her like she’s just suggested we rob a bank.

She’s gotta be kidding.

Right???

Right???

I scramble for something—anything—that sounds like a reasonable, normal person concern.

“What about your parents?” I blurt out, a little too loud.

Harper just snickers, kicking lightly at the door that leads to the roof.

“Yeah, they care,” she says airily. “But, you know. Not enough to actually stop me.”

She winks.

I feel the ground sway a little under me.

Oh god. She’s serious.

She’s not joking at all.

I’m suddenly very aware that whatever Harper decides to drag me into, I am not going to survive with my sanity intact.

Or my secret.

Or maybe my life.

I sigh heavily, dragging my feet the last few steps up the stairs.

She just decided she’s part of my life somehow, I think miserably, and I don’t even know how it happened.

One second I was trying to survive a normal school day—

The next, I’m being hijacked by a walking chaos gremlin with a smirk that could probably get her out of a felony charge.

I push open the heavy metal door, the broken lock squeaking slightly and step out onto the roof.

The city stretches out around us, bathed in gold and pink.

The sunset throws color across the glass and metal towers, splashing everything in a light that’s almost too perfect to be real.

The breeze ruffles my hair, and for a moment—just a second.

I forget to be terrified.

Harper steps out beside me, her mouth falling open just a little.

“Wow,” she breathes, staring at the skyline.
“Perfect sunset and rooftop access? Elisa, you’re officially my favorite Canadian.”

I snort before I can stop myself, the tension cracking a little.

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, “don’t get used to it.”

She laughs quietly, stepping closer to the edge—not dangerously close, but enough to make my heart skip a beat anyway.

“This is insane,” she says. “Most people just go home and rot in front of the TV. You’ve got the best view in the city and you don’t even brag about it.”

I hug my arms across my chest, unsure what to do with myself.

“Didn’t think anyone would care,” I mumble.

Harper glances at me, a weird, thoughtful look crossing her face for just a second.

Then she grins again.

“I care.”

I stare at her, unsure whether to feel grateful or just more confused than ever.

Maybe both.

Definitely both.

Harper doesn’t even hesitate—she just walks right over to the edge of the roof and lays down, her arms folded behind her head like she’s sunbathing.

I feel my stomach twist instantly.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I blurt out, stepping closer but keeping a wide, wide berth from the ledge. “I almost fell off the roof the other day.”

Harper just laughs, tipping her head lazily toward me without moving otherwise.

“That’s probably ‘cause you’re from Canada,” she says, like it’s the most logical conclusion in the world.

I stare at her, blinking.

“That makes no sense,” I say flatly.

She shrugs, grinning.

“Sure it does. You guys are all polite and careful and stuff. Up here? You gotta be reckless to survive.”

I open my mouth to argue—but weirdly, I can’t think of anything that would actually convince her otherwise.

Instead, I just shake my head and mutter, “You’re insane.”

Harper beams at me like I just gave her a compliment.

“I know,” she says proudly. “Isn’t it great?”

I sit down a few feet away from her, well away from the edge, legs crossed, hoodie tugged tighter around me as the evening air grows cooler.

We sit there in the fading light, the hum of the city below like a steady heartbeat.

For once, Harper doesn’t talk.

Doesn’t tease.

Doesn’t push.

She just lies there, staring up at the deepening sky as the first stars try to punch through the haze of the city lights.

I hug my knees to my chest, breathing in slow.

I glance over at her.

She’s smiling—just faintly.

Not like she’s laughing at me.

Not like she’s plotting anything.

Just… smiling.

It makes something squeeze painfully in my chest.

I look away fast, feeling the weight of it settle into my bones.

How long can I keep this up?

How long can I pretend to be Elisa when even sitting here like this feels like a stolen moment from a life that isn’t really mine?

Just a little longer, I tell myself.

Just until we fix this.

Just until it’s safe.

The roof door swings open with a loud bang against the wall.

“Arin, I’m headed to—”

Mom’s voice cuts off mid-sentence.

I whip my head around so fast it feels like I might snap my neck.

There she stands in the doorway, wearing her scrubs, her work bag slung over one shoulder—and staring directly at me.

At Harper.

At us.

Her eyes widen for a split second—just long enough for me to see the gut-punch realization in them—then she forces her face smooth.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, voice a little too bright. “Force of habit.”

She clears her throat, clutching the strap of her bag tighter.

“I’m, uh, headed to work, Elisa,” she says, carefully hitting the fake name like it tastes weird.

“Who’s your friend?”

Harper sits up lazily, tossing her hair back and flashing a wide, charming smile like she does this every day.

“Harper,” she says brightly, hopping to her feet and strolling over. “I’m new to Elisa’s life.”

She sticks out her hand.

Mom—thank God—manages a tight but polite smile and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, Harper,” she says, voice steady even though I can see the panic flickering in her eyes.

I scramble to my feet, heart hammering so loud it feels like it’s echoing off the rooftop walls.

“Just hanging out,” I say, way too fast. “She was just leaving. I mean—we were just—”

Harper laughs under her breath like she thinks it’s cute when I’m panicking.

Mom gives me a long, pointed look, one that says we’re talking about this later.

“Well. Behave. And don’t stay up here too long.”

Harper gives a mock salute.

Mom hesitates another heartbeat—then nods and disappears back through the door, letting it swing shut with a soft click behind her.

The second she’s gone, I collapse back against the low wall, heart still thundering in my ears.

Harper grins, crossing her arms.

“Arin, huh?”

I freeze.

Oh no.

Panic coils tight in my gut, but I force my face to stay neutral—casual—like nothing weird just happened.

Just pretend. Pretend you didn’t hear it. She didn’t say Arin. Definitely didn’t.

I clear my throat awkwardly, looking everywhere except at Harper.

“Yeah,” I say, voice way too bright, “my m—aunt—uh, she just gets names mixed up sometimes. You know. Old habits.”

Harper watches me with that lazy, half-amused smirk, clearly not buying it one hundred percent but also not calling me out.

She leans her elbows back on the rooftop wall, kicking her feet out casually.

“Sure,” she says easily, letting it go.

Thank God.

Or at least… letting it seem like she’s letting it go.

I can feel it—the curiosity radiating off her.

The quiet filing away of that little slip for later.

But for now?

She just tosses me a sideways grin, “you Coleman types are terrible at covering stuff up. It’s kinda adorable.”

I freeze again, mid-step, as Harper leans back against the low rooftop wall, arms crossed, that smirk playing at her mouth like she’s already won.

“So,” she says casually, like she’s asking what time the movie starts, “Not Arin—” The way she says it makes it clear she absolutely did hear it.

“—you gonna tell me your secrets?”

She tilts her head, grinning wider.

“Or do I just have to wait for it to slowly slip out?”

My heart stumbles in my chest.

I open my mouth—close it again.

She knows something’s up.

She definitely knows.

But somehow, she’s not pushing fully. Not really. She’s letting me choose.

Like this is a game for her.

Like every second she doesn’t know makes it more exciting.

I force a laugh—weak, brittle—hugging my arms tighter around myself.

“I don’t have any secrets,” I mumble, the lie so thin it could snap with a breeze.

Harper grins wider.

“Sure,” she says easily. “Whatever you say, Maple Leaf.”

She pushes herself off the wall, brushing off her jeans like she’s done interrogating me for now.

“But,” she adds with a wink as she walks past me toward the door, “I’m very patient.”

She disappears down the stairs, her laughter trailing behind her like smoke.

I am so screwed.

I stay there, standing frozen near the rooftop edge, the sun dipping lower, bleeding the sky into deep golds and reds.

She knows.

Not everything—not even close—but enough.

Enough to be dangerous.

Enough to be watching.

I rake a hand through my hair, breathing hard, the weight of it all pressing down even heavier.

But what could she really know?

Arin was a guy.

And now?

Now there’s Elisa.

No way someone like Harper—someone street-smart and sharp but still normal—could possibly jump from “cousin from Canada” to “transformed into a completely different person overnight” without actual proof.

Nobody would believe that.

Right?

Right?

Still, the way she said it—“Not Arin”—
the way she smiles like she’s just waiting for the pieces to fall into place—

It makes my skin crawl.

She doesn’t know the how.

She doesn’t know the why.

But deep down… she knows something’s off.

Something isn’t adding up.

And she’s patient.

She’s watching.

Waiting for the cracks to show.

And I’m already barely holding it together.

I shove my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, dragging in a long, shaky breath as the sky fades darker.

I have to be careful.

More careful than ever.

One slip, one mistake—and everything I’m trying to hold onto could fall apart.

I jump slightly at the sound of Harper’s voice drifting back up the stairwell.

“You coming?” she calls, casual like she’s just asking if I’m ready to leave a movie theater, not if I’m ready to dive headfirst back into this insane balancing act.

I glance toward the open door, where her silhouette leans lazily against the frame, waiting.

No peace today, huh?

I tighten my hoodie around me, taking one last, long look at the city spread out before me, the city that feels too big now, too loud, too unforgiving.

Then I force my feet to move.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound steady, normal, anything but what I’m actually feeling.

I step toward her, every step feeling heavier than the last, like gravity itself is reminding me how easy it would be to fall if I’m not careful.

Harper flashes me a grin as I get closer.

Not a cruel grin.

Not a mocking one.

Just… Harper.

Like she’s exactly where she wants to be.

We step back into the apartment, the heavy door clicking shut behind us.

The world outside feels like it was a different universe entirely—one where things weren’t spiraling out of control every second.

Inside, the air feels warmer. Closer.
Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

Harper drops onto the couch like she owns it, slouching deep into the cushions, legs stretched out like she’s planning to stay awhile.

She glances at me—smirking, always smirking—and taps her fingers against her leg like she’s counting down to something.

Then she says it.

“Sooo…” She draws the word out slow and lazy, like a cat toying with a mouse. “You gonna tell me?”

I blink at her, heart spiking hard.

“Tell you what?” I say, trying to sound clueless and casual and definitely not like someone about to collapse under the weight of her own lies.

Harper’s grin widens, and she tilts her head.

“You know.” She waves a hand loosely in the air, like that’s supposed to explain everything. “The secret you’re clearly dying to keep.”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Open it again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, badly.

Harper just watches me, amused, like she’s giving me all the rope I need to tie myself into knots.

“Okay,” she says, shrugging easily. “No pressure.”

She smiles—way too innocent to be anything but dangerous.

“But I’m very patient.”

I cross my arms tightly, my nerves buzzing so loud I’m surprised she can’t hear it.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask, sharper than I mean to. “If you’re trying to be my friend, that’s not very… friend behavior.”

Harper just grins wider, like I walked right into her trap.

“Sure it is,” she says brightly, stretching her legs out even farther on the couch.

“No,” I say, more firmly this time, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest. “It’s not.”

She laughs—an easy, breezy sound—and flicks her hand like she’s brushing away my complaint.

“Come on, Elisa,” she says, then winks. “Arin. I’m just joshing with you.”

The way she says it—half-joking, half-testing—makes my skin crawl.

I clench my fists a little tighter at my sides.

“Why do you keep saying Arin, huh?” I demand, the words snapping out of me before I can swallow them down.

Harper leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, that smile still playing around her mouth.

“Because,” she says softly, eyes glittering with something sharp, something knowing,
“I wanna see how long it takes for you to stop flinching when you hear it.”

She sits back again, crossing her arms.

“And because,” she adds, “you’re a terrible liar.”

I stand there frozen, feeling like she just pulled the floor out from under me.

Harper smiles again—gentler this time, almost… kind.

“I’m not gonna push,” she says, like she’s offering me mercy. “Not today.”

“But you’re not fooling me either, Maple Leaf.”

Something in me snaps.

Maybe it’s the stress.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of pretending, of lying, of holding everything together with duct tape and panic.

I step forward, narrowing my eyes right back at her.

“You’re not exactly subtle either, you know,” I say, my voice low but steady.
“Hovering around me. Staring. Poking at every little thing.”

Harper’s grin falters just a little—not much, but enough that I know I hit something.

“You say you’re being a friend,” I continue, heat rising in my chest, “but you act like you’re a detective trying to crack a case.”

Harper leans back a little, folding her arms over her chest, studying me with a different kind of sharpness now.

Not teasing.

Not smug.

Just watching.

“Maybe I am,” she says evenly. “But maybe you’re the one acting like there’s a case to crack.”

We stare at each other for a long, heavy moment.

Neither of us backing down.

Neither of us willing to blink first.

The tension pulls tight between us like a tripwire.

Finally, Harper smiles—a real one this time, small and strangely tired.

“I like you,” she says simply.

“Secrets and all.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“We can get rid of her,” the symbiote whispers inside my mind, smooth and cold,
to ensure she doesn’t discover anything.

“No,” I snap back instantly, heart hammering.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Harper says out loud, eyebrows lifting sharply.

I jolt, realizing she heard me.

“Nothing,” I blurt, way too fast, waving my hands in the air like I can brush away the tension.

Harper narrows her eyes, her whole body going still, calculating.

“You’re weird,” she says, leaning forward again slowly. “Even weirder than I thought.”

I force a laugh—sharp and strained.

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, “guess that’s the Canadian way.”

She just sits there, watching me with that unreadable half-smile, her fingers tapping a slow, steady rhythm on her leg.

Then—just when I think maybe she’s finally done, maybe she’ll let me breathe—she stands up.

Not casually.
Not lazily like before.

She stands with a kind of purpose.

And steps right into my space.

Not close enough to touch—but close enough that I can feel the weight of her attention like a hand pressing against my chest.

She tips her head slightly, studying me from beneath her lashes.

“You’re scared,” she says quietly, voice almost gentle.

It’s not an accusation.

It’s just a fact.

A simple, devastating fact.

I swallow hard, every muscle in my body locked tight.

Harper doesn’t reach for me.

She doesn’t laugh.

She just looks at me like she’s seeing something I didn’t mean for anyone to see.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she says, her voice so low I almost miss it.
“Not until you’re ready.”

A beat of silence.

Then she steps back—giving me space, giving me air—and grabs her bag from the couch.

“Night, Maple Leaf,” she says, flashing a grin over her shoulder as she heads for the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And just like that—

She’s gone.

The second the door shuts, I stumble back into the living room and just—collapse.

Face-first, full-body, no grace at all—slam into the couch.

I lay there, motionless, my cheek pressed against the worn fabric, the breath punching out of my lungs.

“What am I gonna do?” I groan aloud, my voice muffled into the cushion.

The apartment feels too quiet now.

The hum of the city outside, the ticking of the old clock on the wall—it all presses down around me like a thick fog.

Harper knows something’s up.

It’s only a matter of time.

And the symbiote—

“We could still silence her,” it murmurs inside me, soft as a whisper.

“No,” I think back fiercely, squeezing my eyes shut.

I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not becoming that.

There’s a long, slow pulse under my skin, the symbiote simmering with restless energy.

I groan again, flipping onto my back and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

How did my life get like this?

A few days ago, I was a normal kid.

Normal-ish, anyway.

Now?

I cover my face with my hands and let out a strangled noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.

This isn’t sustainable.

Something’s gotta give.

And soon.

End of chapter 5.

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.

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 7 The truth.

I creep closer to the old metal vent that sticks out of the rooftop like a rusty sore.

It’s ancient, half-covered in peeling paint, but still wide open enough to let sound drift up from the lobby below.

I press my ear to it, heart hammering, barely daring to breathe.

Muffled voices drift up through the vent, warped but still clear enough to catch pieces.

“…weird, right?” Harper’s voice says, casual but sharp.

There’s a small pause.

“You think she’s lying about who she is?” Harper asks.

Another pause.

“I think,” Luca says slowly, “something’s wrong.”

Wrong.

The word hits harder than I expect, burrowing deep into my chest.

I grit my teeth, leaning closer—

BZZT.

My phone buzzes violently in my pocket, making me jolt and almost slam my forehead into the damn vent.

I fumble it out with shaking fingers.

Two new messages.

Luca:
Are you home?

Harper:
You hiding from us, Maple Leaf?

I stare at the screen, my heart practically doing cartwheels in my chest.

Shit.

They know.

Maybe not everything.

But enough.

And they’re not leaving.

I make it halfway down the stairs when I hear them.

Their voices cut through the quiet like knives.

“…thought I heard something up there,” Harper says.

I freeze.

Too late.

“Elisa?” Luca calls, his voice more curious than angry. “You up there?”

I glance back at the stairs behind me like maybe—maybe—I could run again.
But no.

That’s done.

I swallow hard, force one foot to move, then the other. The stairwell is narrow, and suddenly every inch of it feels like a stage.

I round the last corner and see them.

Standing just inside the building, the front door still swinging slowly behind them.

Luca’s arms are crossed, but his expression is softer than I expected—confused, yeah, but not mad.

Harper?

She’s harder to read.

Her brow’s furrowed, arms at her sides.

I stop two steps from the bottom, hands clenched at my sides, heart pounding so loud I can feel it in my throat.

“Hey,” I say, voice small.

Too small.

They both look up.

Luca blinks.

Harper tilts her head, one brow lifting.

“You hiding from us, Maple Leaf?” she asks again, quieter this time.

I let out a shaky breath.

“Kind of,” I admit.

There’s a long pause.

“Okay,” Harper says finally. “So… what’s going on?”

I stand there for a moment, eyes flicking between the two of them. Harper’s arms are still at her sides, but there’s a tension in her shoulders—like she’s not sure whether to push or back off. Luca looks like he’s trying to read my mind and getting more concerned by the second.

No escape.

No lies.

I swallow again and manage, “We should probably… talk. In my place.”

Harper raises an eyebrow. “Not afraid we’ll uncover your collection of memorabilia?”

I try to laugh. It comes out thin, almost hollow. “You wish.”

Luca doesn’t say anything. He just nods once.

I turn, wordlessly unlocking the apartment door and pushing it open. My hands feel too stiff, too slow. My heart’s pounding again, not like before when I was swinging through the sky—

This is worse.

They follow me in, the door clicking shut behind them like the end of a countdown.

I move to the center of the room and turn, standing awkwardly as they settle in. Harper doesn’t sit—she leans against the wall, arms crossed again. Luca perches on the arm of the couch, still watching me like I might break if he says the wrong thing.

“So…” Harper says after a beat, her voice more cautious now.

“Here we are. Truth time?”

I nod slowly, my mouth dry.

“I—I don’t really know how to say it. Or where to start.”

“Anywhere’s good,” Luca says gently. “We’re listening.”

I exhale slowly, forcing myself not to break eye contact. My fingers twitch at my sides.

“Well…” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper, “what exactly do you know?”

Luca doesn’t hesitate. His voice is quiet, steady. Not accusing. Just… sure.

“We know you’re probably Arin.”

Harper lifts a hand halfway, like she’s about to throw in a maybe—but then she looks at me.

Really looks.

And she lowers it.

“Maybe,” she says. But there’s no weight behind the word.

“No,” Luca says again, firmer now. “We’re pretty sure.”

I nod slowly. My stomach’s turning inside out.

I glance at Harper—who’s watching me like a puzzle she’s finally starting to put together—and then back to Luca.

Their faces are different.
But they’re the same in the ways that matter curious, wounded by what they think I didn’t trust them with.

I lick my lips, my mouth dry.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I say.

“I didn’t even know how to tell anyone. Or if I should.”

I pause.

“And yeah… you’re right.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m Arin.”

“How?” Luca asks, eyes narrowing just a bit. “Like… I felt like you were, but… well—” He gestures vaguely, helplessly, at me.

“People don’t just change in two days. Especially not like that. Not since I saw you last.”

I cross my arms, trying to steady my breathing, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Yeah, well…” I mutter, “for starters, I didn’t choose this.”

They both go quiet.

“I need you both to not freak out,” I add quickly. “Please.”

Luca raises an eyebrow. “You mean this wasn’t the freak-out part?”

Harper elbows him lightly. “He means if we were going to freak out, we already would have.”

I pause. Blink at them.

Luca shrugs. “Look, it’s weird. It’s definitely a shock. But… Whatever this is it’s probably fine.”

“And I don’t scare easy,” Harper adds, arms crossed tight. “So… just tell us what happened.”

I sigh, the weight of it pulling my shoulders down as I slowly lower myself onto the couch across from them.

“Okay,” I say quietly, rubbing my palms against my knees.

“I was walking home from work. Like, two nights ago.”

Harper and Luca are dead quiet now, watching me like they’re afraid even breathing too loud will stop me.

“And I heard this noise. This… hum. Low, weird.”

“So I followed it. Stupid, right? Typical horror movie decision.”

“And I ended up behind this biotech lab. Alchemax.”

I see Harper’s eyebrows twitch, like she recognizes the name.

“There was this… container. Cracked open. Sparking. And there was this—thing inside. Black and red. Almost like…” I search for the word, something that fits, “…webbing… or goo. But alive. It moved.”

I can feel my heart starting to pound again, just like it had that night.

“It lashed out. Got on me. Got in me. I didn’t know what it was. I just—”

I swallow hard.

“And next thing I knew, I was on the ground. Screaming. Changing. Everything hurt. Everything was wrong.”

I pause.

“My body wasn’t my body anymore.”

Harper’s lips part slightly.

Luca looks like he wants to say something but can’t form the words.

“It turned me into… this.”

I look down at myself.

“Into Elisa.”

…

“Well,” I add quickly, eyes flicking to Luca, “I technically picked the name.”

Harper raises a brow.

Luca looks confused.

“I was panicking, and I needed to make up a cover story. I didn’t think I’d still be using it days later…”

Luca huffs out a laugh, but it’s more bewildered than amused.

Then his eyes narrow just slightly.

“What do you mean… inside you?” he asks. “You said it got in you. What does that mean?”

I bite my lip, bracing myself for the part that’s even harder to say out loud.

“Well… it didn’t just stick to me or whatever. It bonded with me. Like… connected. On a whole other level.”

I tap my chest.

“It’s in me. I can feel it. It talks to me sometimes. It made me stronger.”

Harper straightens slightly, expression darkening with something cautious.

Luca’s eyes widen. “You mean like… like Venom? One of those things?”

I nod slowly.

“I didn’t know what it was. Not really. But yeah. I think it’s a symbiote.”

Another pause.

“Except this one turned me into… a girl for some reason.”

Luca stares, visibly trying to wrap his head around that part. Harper just exhales, arms crossed again, brows furrowed.

“You’re serious,” she says, quietly.

“Yeah,” I say.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

The silence stretches a beat too long—thick enough to choke on—before Luca finally speaks.

“Did you call the police?”

His voice isn’t sharp, but it’s laced with something—caution, maybe. Concern.

I shake my head, fast. “No. We—” I glance between them. “Think—me, my mom, and a friend of hers who’s helping us—we think Alchemax is trying to get the symbiote back.”

Harper stiffens slightly at the name again.

“And that would mean…” I pause, pressing my hands together. “That would mean me with it. So, no, we can’t go to the police.”

Luca frowns. “Why not? They might be able to—”

“Because Alchemax probably owns half the precinct,” I cut in. “Or has eyes on anyone who so much as searches the word symbiote. Probably shouldn’t have looked anything…” I fade out a little thinking for moment. “If I tell the wrong person—if either of you do—they’ll come for me. Study me. Lock me up. Maybe worse.”

That hangs in the air for a moment.

I take a breath and say it firmly—because this matters more than anything.

“I need you both not to talk about this to anyone. Please. No one.”

Harper meets my eyes, and there’s something serious there—no sarcasm, no teasing.

Luca nods slowly, jaw tight.

“We won’t,” he says.

“You’re safe with us.”

Harper adds, “But if anything goes sideways? You tell us. Immediately.”

“I will,” I whisper. “I promise.”

“So you, like, have superpowers now?” Luca says, his tone shifting—suddenly almost excited, like we’ve skipped past panic and landed squarely in comic book territory.

I blink at him.

“Uh… yeah, I guess. But I can’t really do anything with them right now. I’m not supposed to, actually.”

He tilts his head. “So you aren’t gonna be a superhero?”

I open my mouth, start to say well—

And then Harper cuts in, eyes lit with something way too close to mischief.

“Can we see it?”

I freeze.

“What now?”

Harper shrugs like she’s asking me to show off a new hoodie, not summon a potentially unstable alien lifeform that lives under my skin.

“You already told us. I want to see what it looks like.”

“I—” I glance at Luca, expecting him to laugh, to roll his eyes.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he leans forward, just a little. “I mean… I kinda do too. You said it bonded with you, right?”

I stare at them.

“Guys, this isn’t like showing off a parlor trick. It’s dangerous. If I lose control—”

“But you won’t,” Harper says, casually confident in that Harper Temple kind of way. “You already said it listens to you.”

I look between the two of them. Two people who now know the truth. Two people who, somehow, still aren’t running for the door.

I feel the symbiote stir beneath my skin.

Listening.

Waiting.

“We can show them,” it murmurs.

“I… I’ll try,” I say quietly. “But just for a second.”

I take a step back into the middle of the room, breathing hard through my nose as my heart pounds so loud it’s almost painful.

I exhale.

“Okay,” I whisper.

And I let go.

The transformation is instant.

It doesn’t crawl—it erupts.

Black and crimson slicks outward from my chest like wildfire. Tendrils slither across my arms, my legs, curling up my neck and over my jaw. My clothes vanish beneath it, consumed and replaced by the suit’s living mass as it tightens, forming that glossy, alien skin—armor? Whatever.

In a second, I’m not Arin. Not Elisa.

I’m something else.

The eyes form last—sharp, bright white against the red of the mask.

Luca stumbles back a step, mouth parted. Harper lets out a low whistle, arms still crossed, but I can see the flicker of awe in her eyes.

I stand there, breathing slowly.

The room is dead silent for a moment.

“Whoa,” Luca breathes. “You look… kind of terrifying. In a good way. Like a cool way.”

Harper tilts her head, smirking. “You definitely don’t look like some knock-off Spider-Man.”

My voice sounds deeper, distorted through the mask. “This is me now.”

“This is us,” the symbiote murmurs.

“So…” Luca says, his voice cautious, but laced with curiosity, “what can you do?”

I hesitate.

“I… I don’t really know,” I admit, glancing down at my gloved, alien hands as they twitch slightly with the symbiote’s restless energy.

“I know I’m stronger. Like—a lot stronger. And fast. I can jump… like, really far. And…”

My mind flashes back— To the way I screamed, flailing like a ragdoll, praying not to die as the symbiote did all the work.

“…and it swings,” I say after a pause. “With those… tendrils or webs?”

Harper’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like Spider-Man?”

“Yeah,” I mutter through the mask. “But with no skill.”

Luca grins. “So you’re a symbiote-powered… girl… and you have no idea how it works?”

“Pretty much.”

Harper smirks. “That tracks.”

The tension in the room lightens—just enough to breathe again.

But inside, I can still feel it pulsing—raw power, quiet and patient—under my skin.

I don’t know what this thing’s full potential is.

And that… might be the scariest part.

With one last breath, I whisper, “Okay… that’s enough.”

The symbiote doesn’t fight me.

It pulls back—quiet, smooth, almost gentle.

The black and red suit peels off my skin like mist dissolving into the air, retreating under the surface with a whisper of motion.

My normal clothes are back, the air feels cold against my face again, and just like that—I’m me again…

More or less.

“Awwweee,” Luca groans, leaning back dramatically on the couch.

“Come on! I was just getting used to my new terrifying alien friend!”

I shoot him a look. “You guys aren’t nearly as terrified as me,” I say, dropping into the chair like my legs just gave up.

“You don’t look too terrified,” Harper says, giving me that sharp, unreadable look again.

“I’m just very good at hiding a constant, high-level panic attack,” I deadpan.

That gets a laugh from both of them.

“So…” Harper says, tilting her head. “You don’t want to keep it?”

I blink at her, stunned. “No. Not at all. I want to go back to being me again.”

Luca raises a hand like he’s calling dibs on the last piece of food. “I mean—I’ll take it.”

I shoot him a flat look.

“Yeah, I wish it was that easy. But…”

I trail off for a second, fingers gripping the edge of my chair. “I don’t know how much I can trust it, but it says we’re… permanently bonded now.”

“…Permanent?!” Harper and Luca say at the same time.

“Jeez,” Luca adds, sitting up straighter, brows raised. “Like—forever-forever?”

I nod once. “Unless one of us dies. And even that might not work since one would have to somehow survive.”

They both stare.

“Okay, well…” Harper says slowly, running a hand through her hair. “That definitely wasn’t in the brochure.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Tell me about it.”

“Guess you’re stuck being awesome forever,” Luca says, trying for a grin.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel awesome.”

“Especially not,” I mutter, voice low, eyes fixed on the floor, “being a girl too.”

Harper’s smile drops for the first time in a while. Not in a judgmental way—just… softer.

“Being a girl’s not bad,” she says gently.

I look up at her, eyes tight. “Well, maybe if you wanted to be one.”

That lands. She nods slowly. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to correct me.

Just lets the silence stretch.

Then, mercifully, Luca cuts in, his voice more cautious now. “You mentioned your mom’s friend? What’s up with that?”

I blink, pulling myself back from the edge of that thought.

“Yeah. Her name’s Claire. She’s… not a superhero, but she’s helped people like me before. Mutants, people who got changed by weird stuff—accidents, powers. All of it.”

Luca whistles low. “So, like, a support for superhuman weirdness?”

“Pretty much,” I say. “She’s trying to get in touch with someone who might know more about the symbiote—what it did to me, if it can be separated.”

“But no word yet?” Harper asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

And even though I try to hide it, they both see the fear behind my eyes when I say that.

“We should, like… go to an old warehouse,” Harper says suddenly as if trying to distract me.

I blink. “What? Why would we do that?”

She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t you want to test it out? See what you can do? How strong it is?”

Luca leans forward, nodding a little too eagerly. “Yeah, honestly, that’s not the worst idea. You don’t know the limits of it yet, and it’s probably safer to figure that out somewhere abandoned than in, like… a school hallway.”

I stare at both of them, mouth parting.

“You guys want to take me—currently bonded to a sentient alien organism—to a sketchy warehouse to see what happens?”

Harper grins. “Uh, yeah. Science, Elisa. Trial and error.”

“You’re not a scientist.”

“I passed chemistry once.”

Luca laughs, clearly on board.

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “This is a terrible idea.”

“But…” Harper says, eyes narrowing playfully, “You’re gonna do it anyway, aren’t you?”

I hesitate.

“…Maybe.”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, glancing toward the window like my mom’s watching from three buildings away with x-ray vision. “My mom probably wouldn’t like it.”

Harper shrugs without missing a beat.
“She doesn’t necessarily need to know though.”

I stare at her.

“You’re encouraging me to lie to the one person who hasn’t completely lost it over all this?”

“I’m encouraging you to understand the thing inside you before it goes haywire in a grocery store aisle,” she counters, deadpan.

Luca lifts a hand. “I’d just like to point out I’m not involved in this discussion and therefore absolved of any guilt.”

“Helpful,” I mutter.

But Harper’s words stick in my mind.

She’s not wrong.

I don’t know what I’m capable of yet. Not really.

And if I don’t test it… something worse could happen.

Something uncontrolled.

But still…

“I’m not promising anything,” I say, leveling a finger at them both. “But if we do this, it’s quiet. Low-key. No recording TikToks, nothing public.”

Harper salutes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I narrow my eyes at Harper. “Do you even know where an abandoned warehouse is?”

She grins. That slow, smug Harper grin that’s never not a bad sign.

“That seems like a yes,” Luca mutters beside me, already sounding halfway amused and halfway concerned for his future safety.

Harper whips out her phone and starts scrolling like she’s pulling up a takeout menu. “My brother used to tag half the city back in his rebel phase. I know all the best condemned spots. And the least likely to collapse on us.” She pauses. “Mostly.”

I blink at her. “…That’s reassuring.”

She jabs her finger against a spot on the screen. “This one’s in Red Hook. Nobody goes near it since the incident with the raccoons. Don’t ask.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. “…I wasn’t going to.”

“Let’s go then!” Luca says, already standing like we’re about to hit a concert instead of break into a condemned building with an alien bonded to me.

I wave a hand at him. “I gotta wait till my mom gets up for work.”

“Why? You’re gonna tell her?” Harper asks, half-shocked, half-impressed.

“No,” I say flatly. “I’m just gonna wait till she leaves.”

Luca snorts. “Wow. You’re such a rebel now.”

I shoot him a glare. “Shut up or I’m gonna change my mind.”

Harper grins wider. Luca raises his hands in surrender. And somehow… this stupid idea actually starts to feel like something I want to do.

Not just to test the symbiote.

Not just because it’s reckless.

But because—for the first time since all of this started—I won’t be doing it alone.

The apartment gets quieter as the sun goes down, shadows stretching long across the floor, light dimming into that soft, hazy blue that always makes the city feel… still.

I hear my mom rustling in her room—getting ready for another night shift.

She steps out a minute later, dressed in her scrubs, tying her hair back with one hand, looking tired but holding herself together like always.

She glances over at me on the couch. “You okay?”

I nod a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She gives me a long look. That mom look. The one that says she knows I’m lying but isn’t sure how deep it goes.

“Well,” she says, walking over, “I left some food in the fridge. Don’t stay up too late. You’ve had enough stress for ten people already this week.”

“I won’t,” I say, forcing a small smile.

She leans down, kisses the top of my head.

Then she hesitates.

Fingers brushing my hair.

“I’m proud of you, Ar—Elisa.”

My chest tightens.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

“Love you too.”

And then she’s gone.

The door shuts softly behind her.

Ten minutes later, I’m on the rooftop again. Hoodie zipped, backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart hammering a little too fast.

Harper and Luca are already waiting by the edge, flashlights in hand, both dressed like they’re expecting to sneak into Area 51.

“Took you long enough,” Harper whispers with a grin.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Luca adds, eyebrows raised.

I exhale, stepping forward to join them.

“No,” I say honestly.

“But let’s do it anyway.”

“So,” Luca says as we walk toward the roof access door, “are you gonna carry us there? Swing across the city like some off-brand Spider-Girl?”

I stop dead, giving him a look.

“No way. I nearly broke my neck last time just carrying myself.”

Luca sighs dramatically. “Bummer. I was kind of hoping to live out my superhero travel montage dreams.”

“Yeah, well, those dreams involve you faceplanting into a billboard if I miss.”

“Subway it is,” Harper declares, already headed for the stairwell.

We follow her down, Luca mumbling something about “lame public transportation ruining the vibe,” but he’s grinning all the same.

The subway rattles beneath us, humming like a restless beast. The lights overhead flicker every few seconds, casting Harper and Luca’s faces in flashes of dim yellow and shadow.

We sit in a near-empty late-night car, the kind that smells vaguely of metal, dust, and too many stories.

Luca glances over from the opposite seat, his voice quieter than usual. “So… what do we call you now? I mean, outside of school at least.”

“Uh… I mean, I’d prefer Arin,” I say slowly, “but… I’ve gotta get used to hearing Elisa. And… that being me.”

Harper doesn’t say anything. She’s watching out the window, reflection rippling in the dirty glass.

Luca nods, thoughtful.

“Alright,” he says, sitting back with a shrug.
“I guess it’s Elisa for now, then.”

He doesn’t flinch when he says it.

Doesn’t hesitate.

And even though it hits like a rock in my chest…

It doesn’t hurt.

Not the way I thought it would.

I glance at Harper, waiting for a snide comment, a smirk—something.

Instead, she just nudges my knee with hers and says, “You pick the name, we’ll make sure it sticks.”

Eventually we reach Red Hook and it’s quiet.

The kind of quiet that wraps around your shoulders like a damp, uneasy coat. Most of the buildings here look abandoned, their windows either boarded up or broken, graffiti marking every inch of available wall. The warehouse Harper picked is a hulking shadow of rusted metal and shattered glass, slouched against the sky like it gave up trying years ago.

We climb the rust-bitten fence behind it, shoes scraping against the chain link. Harper’s already halfway over before I even think to question how often she does this.

“This is a crime,” I mutter as I drop down onto cracked concrete.

“Technically,” Harper replies, already pulling out a flashlight. “But it’s also very educational.”

Luca follows, backpack slung over one shoulder. “You guys think we should maybe hang out somewhere normal? Like, a movie theater?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harper grins.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the twitch of a smile. The warehouse looms ahead, empty windows like hollow eyes. We slip in through a side door that’s barely hanging on its hinges, stepping into a wide, echoing chamber of dust and metal and darkness.

Everything feels… still.

Too still.

“This place gives me horror movie vibes,” Luca says, voice low.

“You’re not wrong,” I mutter.

Then Harper turns to me, flashlight casting a circle of light against my chest. “Alright. Let’s see what you can really do.”

The suit comes alive with a whisper—liquid shadow spreading from my spine, chest and shoulders, slick tendrils crawling over my arms, legs. In seconds, I’m covered. The cool, close pressure of it settles over me like a second skin.

Harper lets out a quiet, impressed, “Damn.”

Luca scribbles something in his notebook like we’re in a lab instead of a crime scene.

I walk across the warehouse floor, boots clicking on the cracked cement, until I reach a huge busted concrete pipe. It’s at least half my height, chunks missing along one edge, but it’s still a monster of a thing.

I stare at it, flexing my hands once.

This might be too heavy, I think.

“It’s not,” the symbiote replies without hesitation.

“Okay, yeah, I keep forgetting you’re in my head,” I mutter.

Harper calls out from behind, “Are you arguing with your suit?”

“Maybe.”

I grip the cylinder with both hands, expecting strain—at least some weight.
Instead…

It lifts.

Like I’m picking up a chair.

“Whoa,” I breathe, holding it chest-height.

I twist slightly, feeling how the suit shifts around my core and shoulders, keeping balance with no effort at all.

“How much can we lift?” I think.

“More,” it murmurs again inside my head.
Its voice is like a whisper wrapped in static.

“Yeah, I got that,” I mutter under my breath.

Luca whistles low from the side. “That doesn’t even look heavy. Are you sure you’re not, like, metal inside now?”

“You want me to throw it at you and find out?”

“We should throw it at something,” the voice says cheerfully. “Something that breaks. Splinters. Screams, maybe.”

My grip tightens on the concrete before I consciously mean to.

“Okay, no. None of that.”

“Why not? You’re strong now. Why be small again? Why be prey?”

“Because that’s not what we do,” I snap under my breath.

Luca tilts his head. “You okay?”

I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just… focusing.”

I eye a rusted support beam across the warehouse.

I rear back and hurl the chunk of cement. It flies across the air with a shriek of displaced wind and slams into the beam with enough force to send an echo through the whole building.

Harper whistles. “Okay, that was kind of hot.”

Luca writes something down. “That’s, like, a small motorcycle in terms of mass and distance. Not that I know how physics works.”

I shake out my arms.

And then I feel it again.

That stirring.

“What else can we break? What if we made the building fall down? Just the top part. You could do it.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not here to destroy things.”

I rub the side of my head, pacing slowly in a circle near the shattered pipe fragments.

“Would destroying the building not be the perfect test?” it asks, voice light. Too light.

“It’s already abandoned. No one will care. You could bring the whole thing down. Feel what you’re really capable of.”

The suggestion slithers through my thoughts, sugar-coated and too reasonable.

I stop walking. “Yeah,” I mutter, low. “And then what? Get caught on camera? Let someone find the rubble and track the girl-shaped crater back to me?”

“We could bury them,” it offers.

“No,” I hiss.

“But we want to know, don’t we? How strong we are? What the limit is? We could grow bigger. Crack the ceiling. Crush the whole frame. No one would stop us.”

“They couldn’t.”

My heart hammers harder than it should.

“Elisa?” Harper calls from across the room, brow furrowing. “You zoning out again?”

Luca’s watching me too. Concerned now.

I shake my head. “No. Just thinking.”

“Lying,” the voice chimes, sing-song.

I clench my jaw.

“No leveling buildings,” I mutter under my breath. “End of discussion.”

“But what if one day, we have to?”

I exhale sharply, letting the tension roll off my shoulders just enough to turn back toward the others.

“What now, guys?” I say aloud, trying to sound casual, like I’m not having a mental battle with something that thinks collapsing a building is a learning experience.

Harper shrugs, still leaning against a rusted support beam like this is all just another Friday night.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one with the built-in wrecking crew.”

“I’m just writing down ‘can lift small car, probably also throw Luca,’” Luca adds helpfully, scribbling in his notebook.

I sigh and turn my attention inward.

“And why the hell are you talking so much lately?” I think. “You’d been barely saying anything till recently.”

There’s a pause.

Then, with actual offense in its voice, it replies.

“You kept telling me to shut up.”

I blink.

Oh my god.

“Every time I tried to speak, you panicked. Screamed. That’s not very welcoming behavior.”

“You transformed my body and whispered things like ‘we are one’ creepily.” I think back.

“We are one,” it says, less sinister, more matter-of-fact.

“I didn’t know what else to say. I’m new at this. Communication is… hard.”

“Okay,” I mutter under my breath, “we’re gonna work on tone.”

“Good! I’ve been thinking we should talk more anyway. You’re very emotional. It’s fascinating.”

Harper raises a brow. “You talking to your murder-suit again?”

I throw her a look. “It’s not a—Okay, that’s… not totally wrong.”

I glance over at Luca, still holding his notebook like he’s going to grade me after all this.

“Can you show the swinging?” he asks, eyes wide with that annoyingly hopeful expression he gets when he’s way too excited about something clearly dangerous.

I groan, already regretting coming here.

“I barely figured it out last time. I looked like a flying mannequin having a panic attack.”

“Exactly,” Harper says with a grin. “So let’s see how much worse it can get.”

“You’re both the worst,” I mutter, stepping back toward the open area in the warehouse.

“We can do it better this time,” it says with genuine enthusiasm.

Luca and Harper retreat to the far wall as I jog toward the rusted catwalk structure. High beams stretch across the ceiling like an obstacle course just waiting to be abused.

I leap.

Midair, my arm snaps forward, and from my wrist, the thick black tendril fires—thwip—latching to a steel beam with a sharp, wet crack.

My body yanks forward instantly—harder than expected.

“Woooo!” the symbiote shouts inside my head with unfiltered joy.

“NOT HELPING,” I scream, legs flailing as I swing across the space like a wrecking ball that never learned physics.

I release, spin through the air, and barely manage to fire another webbing strand before I faceplant into a wall.

This one hits cleaner, smoother—and suddenly I’m gliding, catching speed.

I twist midair and release again, launching into a full arc across the room before landing on the side of a pillar, sticking to it.

Harper claps once. “Okay, that was sick.”

Luca’s writing furiously. “I think I peed a little.”

I cling to the wall, panting.

“That… wasn’t completely awful,” I admit.

“Told you,” the symbiote says smugly. “Next time, let’s try a skyscraper.”

“No.”

“Okay,” I say aloud, still perched halfway up a pillar. “What’s next?”

The voice is eager. Almost chirpy.

“We could use the camouflage.”

I blink.

The what? I think, confused.

“Camouflage,” it repeats, with too much delight. “I can blend. With walls. Clothes. Shadows. Even mimic people if you want.”

“What the hell?! Since when can you do that?”

“Always. You just never asked.”

“You’re full of surprises,” I mutter.

“Yes,” it says proudly. “I also regenerate, can create bladed weapons from our body, and heal illnesses. Would you like a list? I’ve can compile one.”

“Uh… Elisa?” Harper calls up. “You having a moment up there or are you gonna tell us what your goo suit is doing next?”

“Apparently,” I say, sliding down the wall with a dry huff, “we’re trying camouflage.”

Harper’s grin sharpens. “Oh, I like that.”

Luca lowers his notebook. “Like invisibility? Do it. Do it. Do it.”

I step into a dim corner of the warehouse and close my eyes, focusing.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Camouflage. Go.”

The suit shifts in real-time, mimicking the dusty metal walls behind me so perfectly that looking down I can’t even see myself.

Harper stares. “Holy crap.”

Luca gapes. “You’re like horror movie level now.”

“Boo,” I whisper into Harper’s ear.

She jumps.

I grin.

“Okay, that one’s pretty nice.”

I let the camouflage fade, the shimmer peeling back into the usual sleek black-and-red suit as I step out of the shadows.

“We can’t use it if you go too fast,” the voice says matter-of-factly. “Movement gives it away. They’ll see the blur.”

“Got it,” I mutter. “Stealth walk only. Like a haunted Roomba.”

“Yes,” it agrees cheerfully. “But sharper. Hungrier.”

Harper fans herself with a clipboard. “So, uh. Do not sneak up on me like that again. Or I’m hitting you with whatever’s closest.”

“Okay,” I say aloud. “Camouflage works—but it’s only useful if I’m moving slow. So maybe not great in a fight.”

“Unless we get creative,” the voice offers. “Ambush. Lurk. Strike from above. Like a predator. Like the hunter in the dark—”

“Let’s not finish that sentence,” I interrupt.

I flex my fingers once, twice… then hold out my arm and focus.

“Let’s try morphing,” I think.

The symbiote stirs instantly—eager.

“Yes,” it whispers. “Shape. Blade. Strike.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not strike. Just shape.”

“…Strike later?”

“Focus.”

My arm twitches—then shifts. The black and red surface peels, stretches, elongates. It hardens, warps, and suddenly there’s weight pulling forward from my wrist. My breath catches.

A long, curved blade extends from my forearm, jagged near the base and sharp enough at the end that even I flinch.

Luca gasps.

“Dude,” he whispers. “You’re like… a walking weapon.”

Harper raises an eyebrow. “Okay, that’s terrifying. I love it.”

I rotate my arm, the blade cutting through the air with a faint whistle.

It doesn’t feel foreign. It doesn’t feel like I’m holding something.

It feels like it’s me.

That’s maybe the most unsettling part.

“More,” the symbiote murmurs. “Let’s try spikes. Spikes are fun.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I mutter.

Something flies through the air.

Before I even register it, my body moves—instinct taking over. My arm lashes out with a sharp shhhk, the blade arcing forward in a blur of black.

CRACK.

The object shatters in midair—splintering into pieces that rain down around me in a dull clatter.

A piece of broken wood spins across the floor.

I stand there, still in a half-crouch, blade extended, breath caught in my chest.

“…What the hell,” I hiss, turning toward Harper.

She’s holding up both hands, grinning like a cat that just knocked something off the counter.

“What? I’m testing your reflexes. You passed.”

“You threw a board at my face!”

Luca squints at the debris. “That was part of a pallet. And I think she flipped it first.”

“Who even carries a wooden plank?!”

Harper shrugs, not even pretending to be sorry. “You want to know what you can do or not?”

I slowly retract the blade, the suit folding it back into my arm like it was never there. My hands are still trembling—just a little.

“We felt the danger,” the symbiote says, almost pleased. “We cut it down. Quick. Clean. You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Not the point,” I think back sharply.

“Then why are you smiling?”

I press my lips into a flat line.

I hadn’t even noticed.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I say, exhaling slowly. My muscles ache—not from fatigue, but from tension. Like my whole body’s been clenching without realizing it.

“We can push it further though,” it whispers. “There’s more. We haven’t tested claws. Or spikes.”

“I’m good,” I mutter, taking a step back.

The voice sulks, curling at the edges of my mind. “No fun.”

Luca, ever the devil on the shoulder, throws his arms up. “Aww, come on! You just got cool! You can’t end on ‘maybe next time.’”

“Luca,” I say dryly, “I sliced a pallet in half with my arm. If we go further, I might bring the roof down.”

He looks at the beams above and nods. “Fair. Still—kinda want to see that.”

“I don’t,” I shoot back, already walking toward the exit.

“I do,” the symbiote murmurs helpfully.

Harper finally pushes off the wall, falling into step beside me. “Well. You didn’t explode or kill anyone. That’s basically a win.”

“High bar,” I mutter, but I manage a faint smile.

Luca trails behind, still jotting notes in his damn book.

The wind picks up outside as we step out of the warehouse, the rusted door creaking shut behind us with a low groan like it’s relieved to be left alone again.

Streetlights flicker dimly across the empty Red Hook stretch, and everything feels colder now, quieter. The kind of stillness that sets in after you’ve seen something you can’t unsee.

I shove my hands into the hoodie’s pockets, the symbiote coiling tighter around me like it knows the adrenaline’s fading and something more raw is seeping in.

“We should all go home,” I say quietly. “It’s late.”

Harper yawns like she wasn’t the one who threw a plank at my head fifteen minutes ago. “Fine, Mom.”

“I am the one bonded to a biological nightmare,” I mutter.

“Nightmare is a bit harsh,” it replies, sounding almost hurt.

Luca stretches his arms behind his head, clearly satisfied. “Fine. We’ll call it a night. But next time, we’re testing climbing a building. Or seeing if you can land a flip off a moving train.”

“Next time, I’m bringing noise-canceling headphones,” I mutter.

They laugh, and for a moment, it almost feels normal.

Almost…

Not long later I’m alone on the apartment roof.

The city almost glows with light. The wind brushes against my face, tugging gently at my hair as I sit cross-legged on the rooftop, arms wrapped around my knees.

It’s quiet up here.

Safe.

I close my eyes, listening to the hum inside me. Not just the buzz of streetlights or the distant thrum of traffic.

The other hum.

The one that’s always there now. Breathing beneath my skin.

It.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper into the dark.

“Yes.”

My chest tightens a little. I exhale slow.

“Before… when I first found you, you wouldn’t tell me what they did to you. What they were trying to do at Alchemax. But I need to know.”

A longer pause this time. The kind that stretches like it might snap.

“They wanted control.”

I glance down, my voice barely audible now. “Of… you?”

The answer is immediate. “Of all symbiotes. To make more. Without voices. Without will. Soldiers. Pets. Weapons in cages.”

A cold breath slides down my spine.

I look out over the edge of the building.

“They were trying to manufacture symbiotes,” I murmur. “Like some kind of—mass production? No independence?”

“No freedom,” it says, quieter now. “No me.”

“Guess we have more in common than I thought,” I say softly.

It doesn’t answer right away.

“You kept me from the cage. Even if you didn’t want to.”

I nod once.

“You’re free now.”

“You don’t want me.”

I freeze.

My breath catches in my throat, held there like a secret I haven’t dared say out loud. The night suddenly feels colder. Heavier.

The city stretches in front of me, but I can’t see it anymore. Not really.

“…”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

Because it’s right.

I swallow hard, pressing my fingertips into the rooftop gravel.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to lose everything. My body. My name. My life.”

Silence stretches between us.

Not cold. Not angry.

Just… still.

Like a breath held in the dark.

“Would you get rid of me,” it asks quietly, “if you could?”

And that—
That hurts more than I expect.

Because I don’t know.

I should. I want to. But…

I close my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I mean…” I start, my voice hoarse, dry from the wind and the weight of everything.

“That’s the goal, right? To go back to normal. Or at the very least…” I glance down at my hands—still steady, still shaped the same, but not.

“…To look like me again.”

There’s a long silence.

Not the offended kind.

Not even the sad kind.

Just… the kind that makes you feel like something is listening.

“You don’t like this body.”

It’s not a question.

I shake my head slowly, not trusting my voice. “I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t choose it.”

“But it’s strong. We made it strong. We made it strong.”

“I know,” I murmur.

Another pause.

“But it’s not you.”

That lands like a punch in the ribs. Because yeah. It isn’t.

It never has been.

“I don’t even know if I remember what I’m supposed to look like anymore,” I admit, voice barely above a breath.

The wind moves through my hair, pulling at it. Blonde strands where there used to be something darker. Smaller. Simpler.

Me.

“I didn’t mean to take that from you,” it says.

“I didn’t know I could. I didn’t mean to make you… different.”

I press the heel of my palm to my eye.

“I know,” I whisper.

And I do.

But it doesn’t make it easier.

The wind pulls at my hoodie, and I tighten it around myself as if I’m cold. But it’s not the air that’s making me shiver.

It’s the question I haven’t let myself ask until now.

“You said before,” I murmur, staring at the lights of the city like they might give me courage. “That the changes to my body—they were either from what I wanted… or from your last host.”

The silence that follows isn’t just quiet.

It’s heavy. Like it’s thinking.

Processing.

“Yes.”

Soft.

Hesitant.

“Which was it?” I press. “Because I need to know. I need to know why I’m like this.”

Another pause.

“I… don’t know.”

I blink. “What?”

“It was chaos. Pain. We were scared. Alone. You were scared too. And your body—your self—it was…”

It struggles for the word.

“Unstable. Shifting. So we adapted. We tried to become what would survive the merging. But some of it… some of it felt familiar.”

My throat tightens.

“From your host?”

“Yes.”

“Your last… host,” I say quietly, slowly. “You said they weren’t here anymore.”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the silence like a stone into water.

“…Did they—was it Alchemax?”

Another beat.

“Yes.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, blinking fast. My voice is barely audible now. “Why?”

“After they tested us together, they wanted to test me… without her.”

I feel sick.

The wind’s gone still.

It’s just me, the rooftop, and a living thing inside me trying to explain how someone died for science.

For curiosity.

“I…” My throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

For a second, I don’t hear anything.

“We didn’t understand what death meant.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

“We were angry. When we discovered it was happening so we tried to escape but... Then we were alone.”

I hug my arms around my knees, curling in slightly. “That’s not gonna happen again. I won’t let it.”

“…You promise?”

I don’t speak.

I just nod.

Because I mean it.

Even if I still don’t know how to live like this—

I won’t let anyone take it apart again.

I look out over the city—this massive, glowing thing that never sleeps, never stops. I can see everything from up here, but somehow, it all feels impossibly far away.

Even me.

My fingers dig into my sleeves.

“Even if…” I start, and my voice cracks a little. I swallow. Try again.

“Even if we don’t stay together. Even if I find some way to get you out of me… I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The silence that follows is so complete, it almost feels like he’s gone.

But I can feel him.

Still there. Still listening.

“I won’t let them take you back to that place,” I whisper. “Not ever.”

And then—so softly I almost miss it:

“…Thank you.”

And for the first time, the weight inside my chest doesn’t feel like a threat.

It feels like trust.

Elsewhere — Unknown Facility, Late Night

The hum of machines fills the dark, sterile room—steady, mechanical, unfeeling.

Dozens of screens line the walls, casting flickering blue light onto white tiles and gleaming instruments. Every screen displays the same figure: a woman in midair, black-and-red tendrils arcing like lightning from her limbs as she swings through the cityscape.

Some of the footage is sharp. Others—grainy, distorted, captured from traffic cams or distant phones—blur the motion, but not enough to hide what she is.

Not enough to hide what she’s become.

“Project T0X1N has been found,” a man in a lab coat says, his voice level, as he steps forward and adjusts a display with gloved fingers.

Across from him, a figure stands still in the shadows—taller, broader, arms folded behind their back. Their face is hidden by darkness and silence, but the weight of authority is unmistakable.

“Send retrieval. Quiet. The symbiote must be brought in alive.”

The tech hesitates, glancing up from their console. “And the host?”

A pause.

“If she resists…” the voice replies with icy calm. “Dispose of her.”

The lab tech nods once, grim. No questions asked.

Behind them, one of the monitors zooms in on a frozen frame.

Elisa swinging through the air wildly.

End of chapter 8.

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 8 The First Family
8

Sunlight spills through the blinds in narrow lines, painting the floor in gold slats I don’t feel like moving through. My bed is warm. Safe. Quiet.

And I don’t have to go to school today since it’s Saturday.

No whispers in the hall.

No gym class nightmares.

No pretending I’m someone else for six straight hours.

…But also no job.

I stare at the ceiling.

I definitely lost that. Pretty sure ghosting your shift after a full-body mutation isn’t covered by sick leave.

So now I have a symbiote, a fake identity, and zero productivity.

I exhale, rubbing my eyes.

Today should be a rest day. But it feels more like waiting for something to go wrong.

And I hate that I might be right.

Mom’s probably in bed which means I’ve got the house to myself basically…

My phone buzzes on the pillow next to me I reach over grabbing it hesitantly.

Unknown caller?

I sit up in bed fast enough that the blanket tangles around my legs. The phone buzzes once more in my hand, still vibrating as if mocking me, like it knows this isn’t going to be just another lazy Saturday.

“Hello?”

“Arin. It’s Claire.”

My spine straightens immediately. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t know it was you. Did—did you get in touch with whoever you were talking about?”

“Yeah. I tried calling your mom first, but she didn’t answer. Is she asleep?”

I glance toward her bedroom door—closed, silent. “Yeah. Probably till the afternoon.”

“Okay. I’ll call her again then.”

“Wait—wait,” I say quickly, standing now, pacing the room. “You can talk to just me. I mean… it’s me this is about, right?”

There’s a pause on the other end. Claire’s voice comes back steadier, but lower.

“They want to see you in person. As soon as possible.”

My mouth goes dry. “Okay… where do I go?”

Another pause.

“Arin… your mom’s gonna need to be there.”

I feel the weight of those words settle like bricks in my stomach.

“Okay,” I say softly, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’ll wake her.”

“Are we in trouble?” the symbiote asks, quiet but curious. Almost hopeful.

“I don’t know yet,” I whisper.

But I’m about to find out.

A little while later…

The car ride had been mostly quiet—just the occasional bump of tires over potholes and the low thrum of tension neither of us wanted to name.

But when we pull up and I see where we are, my stomach does a full flip.

“…Is that the Baxter Building?”

Next to me, Mom folds her arms slowly, squinting up at the tower like she’s wondering the same thing.

“Yep,” Claire says, stepping out of the car and turning to meet us on the sidewalk. She offers a small smile. “Hey, Danielle. Hey, Arin—or… your mom said it’s Elisa now?”

“Uhh… yeah,” I say, tugging at the hem of my hoodie. I blush for some reason I don’t fully understand.

My mom puts a hand on my shoulder but keeps her eyes on the skyscraper. “Claire… why are we here?”

“To see a genius who might actually be able to help,” Claire replies.

I blink.

“Wait… you don’t mean—like—you know the Fantastic Four?! Are you serious?!”

Claire lifts a brow, amused. “I don’t know them personally. But… a friend of a friend.”

My mom frowns, her fingers tightening slightly on my shoulder. “Okay, so this is really serious, then. If they want to see this… right? That’s not bad, is it?”

Claire doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, she holds the building’s entrance open for us. “Let’s go find out.”

I stare up at the building as we walk in, neck craned so far back I nearly fall over.

“Holy crap,” I whisper. “They’re like… the heroes. Right next to the Avengers. And the X-Men.”

I run a hand through my hair—immediately regretting it when I realize how sweaty my palms are. “I should be more worried about the symbiote thing, I know that… but right now the idea of meeting them is… it’s a lot.”

Beside me, my mom gives me a soft, sideways look. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“We are not afraid,” the voice murmurs inside me. “We are curious. What do geniuses taste like?”

“Absolutely not,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” Danielle asks.

“Nothing.”

“We do require brains to survive.”

The words slither into my mind with terrifying calm.

“Without it, you may start… deteriorating.”

My heart nearly seizes in my chest.

What??! I shout back internally, panic spiking like ice water down my spine. “You’re— you’re joking, right? RIGHT?!”

Silence.

Not the usual smug pause. Not even a hint of a snicker.

Just nothing.

I gulp hard, legs suddenly feeling like they’re made of static.

Claire turns to us with the kind of calm you only get from years of patching up bullet wounds and superheroes.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “They’re scientists first. They’re not here to judge you. Just… help.”

“Help or dissect,” I whisper.

Harper and Luca are nowhere near this level of stress. I almost miss them.

I tighten my hoodie, squeeze my eyes shut for a second, and take a breath.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go meet the smartest people on the planet and pray they don’t have a symbiote vacuum.”

Claire smirks. “That’s surprisingly specific.”

“You don’t know what they have in here.”

My mom notices me lagging and puts a gentle hand on my back. “You alright, sweetheart?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just, uh… nervous.”

Claire steps up to the front desk like she’s done it a hundred times before.

“We’re here to see a Reed—”

“Richards?” the man behind the desk says smoothly, barely looking up from his terminal. “Of course.”

He glances at the screen, types something, then raises an eyebrow. “Name?”

“Claire Temple,” she says, calm and professional, “and… guests.”

He nods barely acknowledging us more than necessary.

“Thirty-first floor,” he says, pointing toward a sleek glass elevator nearby. “The button’s the big four.”

Of course it is.

I look over at Mom, who’s trying very hard not to look like she’s questioning every life choice that led her to this moment. She’s doing a good job. Kind of.

Claire starts walking, and we follow. The elevator opens with a soft ding, cool and silent and way too futuristic.

I stare at the panel and sure enough—there’s one gleaming chrome button in the shape of a 4.

“Of course it’s dramatic,” I mutter, pressing it.

“We like the drama,” the symbiote hums. “Elevated. Elegant. Is he smart enough to fix us, do you think? Or will he become our next meal?”

“SHUT. UP.”

I smile weakly as the elevator begins to rise—faster than normal, like it’s ignoring gravity entirely.

“Still just nervous?” my mom asks gently.

“Yeah,” I say.

But it’s more than that.

This isn’t just a meeting.

It might be the first step toward going back to normal…

Or the moment I find out that ‘normal’ is already gone for good.

“Be on your best behavior,” Mom says quietly, smoothing her blouse like it’ll help her nerves any more than mine.

“Yeah, of course,” I say automatically, eyes fixed on the elevator doors.

She adds, after a beat, “And try to make sure it is too.”

I blink. “Wait—that’s not what you meant the first time?” I turn to her, shocked. “What would I even do?!”

She gives me the most mom look imaginable. “Elisa, I’ve raised you for seventeen years. I know that look you get.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Okay, fair.

Ding.

The elevator doors open with the softest whoosh imaginable.

And there, standing in front of a lab lined with impossible tech, charts full of math I can’t even pretend to understand, and what might be a floating coffee mug suspended in zero-G.

Then Reed Richards himself.

Tall. Composed. Eyes already scanning us like he’s reading every atom.

“Claire,” he says, voice calm, analytical, but not unfriendly. “You brought her.”

His gaze flicks to me, then pauses—not judgmental. Just… fascinated.

“Uh… hi,” I manage as we step out of the elevator, my voice cracking ever so slightly. Nailed it.

Reed Richards is already moving—or at least, parts of him are. His torso stays by a console across the room, but his neck and head stretch forward. His face hovers a few feet in front of me, blinking.

And then—

One of his eyes zooms in and I mean like literally his eye separate from his head moves closer as it focuses directly on my face.

“Ew,” I whisper, involuntarily taking a step back.

From the side, a voice cuts in—calm, amused, and unmistakably done with Reed’s nonsense.

“Reed, we talked about that. It creeps people out.”

I turn toward the sound and see her stepping out from behind a lab partition—calm, collected, and glowing just slightly with that she could kill me with a thought but she’s nice about it energy.

Sue Storm. The Invisible Woman.

I feel my knees lock.

“Oh great,” I whisper. “There’s more of them.”

Sue smiles warmly, though her eyes are sharp. “You must be Elisa.”

I nod mutely.

Somehow, meeting the stretchy genius wasn’t the most overwhelming part of this day.

Sue steps closer, her smile easy, but her gaze analytical in that mom-with-laser-vision kind of way. I’d call it comforting if it didn’t also make me want to evaporate through the floor.

“I’m Sue. Don’t worry, we’re not here to poke or prod—unless Reed gets carried away, in which case I’ll make him invisible and lock him in a closet for ten minutes.”

“That only happened once,” Reed’s head calls from across the room, now retracting back to his body like a tape measure. “And technically, that was a controlled environment.”

“You built a closet with locks on the inside.”

“For me.”

Sue rolls her eyes, then turns back to me, far gentler. “You okay, Elisa?”

“I… yeah.”

Lying. Immediately lying. My hands are clenched in my hoodie and I’m 99% sure my heartbeat could power a small generator.

“She’s a little overwhelmed,” Claire cuts in gently. “It’s been… a long week.”

My mom nods tightly from beside me. She hasn’t let go of my arm since we walked in.

Reed steps forward now that his full body is back where it belongs, his tone shifting from curious to serious. “Claire briefed us on the situation. A symbiote of unknown origin—bonded under extreme stress. I’ve scanned the satellite footage. The biomass signature is consistent with the Klyntar species.”

My mouth goes dry. “Klyntar?”

“That’s what they call themselves,” Sue says softly. “Symbiotes. That’s… not the first one on Earth.”

I nod. “I know. I’ve read stuff—Venom, Carnage…”

Reed clasps his hands behind his back. “We’d like to run a few non-invasive scans. Nothing painful. We want to help you understand what you’re bonded to—and if the bond is permanent.”

I glance at my mom.

She gives me a small nod.

“Okay,” I say. “But I’m not getting in a tube or anything.”

Sue smiles. “No tubes. Just questions. And maybe a fancy chair.”

The voice in my head perks up.

“Do we get a chair that moves? Maybe something with lasers?”

This is awkward and stressful for more reasons than you’d think.

There’s the whole symbiote attached to my nervous system thing. The looming possibility that I’m permanently fused with a sentient alien who’s both naive and deeply fascinated by the concept of violence. The presence of two of the most brilliant people on the planet studying me like I’m equal parts science project and endangered species.

All of that? Manageable. Well not really but I’m making a point.

The real problem is that the Invisible Woman—Sue freaking Storm—is standing about three feet away from me, smiling gently and making eye contact like she doesn’t know she was my first-ever crush.

My actual first-ever crush.

Twelve-year-old me would be dying.
Present me is dying.

My cheeks are on fire and I’m hyper-aware of everything—my voice, my posture, the way I say “uh” too much.

I can feel the symbiote stirring, curious.

“Your temperature has increased. Are we threatened?”

No. Not threatened.

“Then why is your heart rate elevated? You are flushed. Are we ill?”

No, I just—

“Is it the blonde one? You keep looking at her.”

Oh my god shut up.

“Should we attempt to impress her? We can grow another arm.”

Shut. Up.

Sue turns, catching my gaze again. “You’re doing great, by the way. Most people are terrified of Reed’s scan room. And it used to have a tube, so you lucked out.”

I laugh a little too loud. “Hah, yeah! Tubes! Worst.”

Claire gives me a sideways glance like she knows something.

Reed’s already setting up his equipment across the lab, but Sue leans in just a bit.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod—too fast. “Y-yeah. Totally fine. Not nervous. Just meeting one of the most iconic women in modern history, who, you know, saved the world a bunch of times and also looks… fine. I mean good. Great. Heroic. Wow.”

Sue blinks.

My mom slowly turns her head toward me, eyes narrowing like she’s rewriting the last thirty seconds.

Claire snorts.

“We like her,” it whispers.

Okay no more talking for me, I think, eyes glued to the floor like I might fall through it and escape this reality. Sue offers a polite, slightly amused smile and steps back toward Reed, who—thank god—is more focused on data than my social meltdown.

Reed gestures to a sleek silver platform surrounded by a semicircle of blinking machines and hovering panels. It looks weirdly like a dentist’s chair and a spaceship had a baby.

“We’ve dealt with a few symbiotes before,” he says, voice crisp, professional. “The process shouldn’t be a problem—given the length of the connection.”

“Good,” I say a little too fast. “Great. The process being… removing it, right?”

He nods once. “Yes. Just a few scans and we should be able to get started.”

I feel my heart skip a beat.

“They’re going to try and take me away,” the voice whispers—no humor this time. Just quiet fear.

“You said we’d be safe.”

“I—” I think quickly, but I don’t know what to say. I did say that. And I meant it. But I didn’t think this would come this fast.

“You okay, sweetheart?” my mom asks softly from behind me.

I nod again, stiffly.

But inside, the storm’s already building. Not panic exactly, but this tangled knot of fear, guilt, and—

“We don’t want to go.”

“You don’t want us.”

“But we are you. Aren’t we?”

And that—

That question sits like a weight in my chest as I step toward the scanning platform.

Don’t worry, I think firmly, trying to sound braver than I feel. I told you—even if we get separated, I won’t let Alchemax get you. Besides… these are the good guys.

The symbiote doesn’t answer, but I feel it settle, pulling back just enough to let me breathe on my own. Trusting me.

Or trying to.

I sit still as Reed activates the scanner—lights flash in a rhythm across the semicircle around me, casting glows that shift from blue to green to violet. The platform hums beneath me like it’s tuned to the exact frequency of stress. But the machine never touches me. No needles. No tubes. No pain.

Then It’s over.

Just like that.

I blink, half-expecting to feel something… leave.

But everything’s still here. Still me.

Reed steps away from the console, removing his glasses and examining the readings with a low, thoughtful hum. Sue leans in, glancing at the tablet he’s holding. She says something under her breath—too quiet to hear.

But her face…

Her face tightens. Not shocked. Not angry. Just… concerned.

And that might be worse.

I shift slightly in the seat. My fingers twitch.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

Neither of them answer right away.

Claire and My Mom are still talking off to the side—calm, unaware.

This nightmare’s finally almost over, I think.

But my stomach’s already sinking.

Something’s not right.

And Sue’s glance flicks to me again, full of something guarded.

Protective.

Pitying.

I swallow hard.

“…Reed?” I ask again, more quiet this time. “What did it say?”

He finally looks up.

And his expression isn’t the kind that comes with easy answers.

I watch Reed walk away, tablet in hand, his voice low as he starts speaking to my mom and Claire.

Sue doesn’t follow.

Instead, she moves closer to me—slower than before. Her arms are crossed, not like she’s guarding herself, but like she’s bracing me.

She kneels slightly to be eye level.

And hesitates.

That one pause says more than words could.

My throat tightens before she even speaks. I feel the tear slip down my cheek—hot, unwanted, loud somehow in the silence.

“I…” I say quietly. “It told me the bond was permanent. It was right, wasn’t it?”

Sue’s face softens. “I’m sorry.”

I swallow hard, but it sticks in my throat.

Sue rests a hand gently on the edge of the platform.

“It’s not following the same trajectory we’ve seen in other symbiotes,” she explains. “Normally, permanent bonding takes weeks, even months—usually only when the host and symbiote begin to share a fused identity. But from what Claire told us…”

She shakes her head.

“You and it aren’t even close to that. It shouldn’t be possible. But the scan showed something else.”

She hesitates again.

“There’s… overlap now. Cellular. Neural. Your nervous systems are almost entirely interwoven.”

I blink fast, wiping at my face with my sleeve.

“So… I’m stuck with it. Forever.”

Sue doesn’t lie.

She just nods, her expression gentle but steady.

“I won’t sugarcoat it. We haven’t seen this before. But… it’s part of you now, Elisa. And removing it… it’s just not possible.”

I stare at the floor, the lights, anywhere but Sue’s face.

“What about…” I swallow. It hurts more to say it than I expected.

“What about me being a girl? Can you fix that?”

Her expression—so steady, so composed—falters.

That tiny shift in her eyes is all the answer I need, but she still tries to give it gently.

“The symbiote…” she says slowly, like she’s carefully picking every word, “its healing process—it’s constantly active. Regenerative. Protective. If we attempted to reverse any of the changes, it would read that as trauma. And undo it.”

She takes a breath, steady, quiet.

“Whatever it did… this is what your body considers correct now.”

I feel my whole chest cave in.

The tears are already falling, hot and steady, and I don’t even bother to hide them.

“So I’m stuck as a girl,” I whisper, “I’m stuck with an alien monster in me… with a high chance of losing control, maybe hurting people, and I don’t even get to look like me anymore—”

The words crumble in my mouth, lost in a sob.

Sue doesn’t speak right away. She just stays close, her hand hovering like she wants to reach out but knows better than to make it worse with a touch I didn’t ask for.

Behind her, I hear my mom’s voice, soft and confused but I don’t turn around.

Inside, the symbiote is quiet.

But I feel it.

A low, mournful hum.

Not guilt. Not pity.

Just… sadness.

Like somehow, it understands what it’s taken from me.

I don’t even remember moving—just the sound of my shoes hitting the floor, the lights blurring past, Claire calling my name, my mom’s voice—

None of it matters.

Not now.

Not after hearing that.

I run into the elevator I slam the button and the doors open like they know I can’t stay in there a second longer. I realize it’s not the same one we used to get up here but I don’t care I just click the only button on the wall.

No one stops me.

No one can.

The ride up is silent, just the humming of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears, and the voice in my head.

“You hate us.”

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

Not with my voice caught in my throat and the pain rising sharp behind my ribs.

The doors open, and the cool wind of open sky hits me in the face like a slap.

I step out.

The rooftop is high. Higher than anything else around it. It’s almost serene—quiet, beautiful, surreal. Like the whole city is laid out just for me. Every blinking light. Every window. Every rooftop below, stretching for miles.

I walk slowly to the edge.

Look down.

It’s not about falling. Not really. It’s just…

I feel like I already have.

Like I’m halfway between who I was and something I never asked to be, and no one—not Claire, not my Mom, not even they—can fix that.

“You said we’d be safe.”

“You said we’d figure it out together.”

The wind catches in my hair. My eyes sting from more than just the tears now.

I wrap my arms around myself.

Whisper.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can.”

The voice is quiet.

Not pleading.

Not demanding.

Just… sure.

“You already are.”

The wind tugs at me as I reach the edge, cold and sharp, whispering through the strands of my hair like it’s trying to say something the world can’t.

I don’t move from the edge.

I don’t dare.

Below me, the whole city breathes. Lives. Goes on.

And I can’t tell if I still belong to it.

For a moment, there’s no sound except my heartbeat and the subtle rush of blood in my ears.

Then—soft. From inside me.

“We didn’t know it would do this to you.”

It’s quiet, not the usual chatter or curiosity. Not a morbid joke. Not a sinister suggestion.

Just a voice.

“We didn’t know what would be lost.”

I close my eyes.

“But you still did it.”

“We were scared. Alone. We thought you were strong. And you were.”

I grip the edge of the roof tighter.

“That doesn’t make this okay.”

“We know.”

The honesty in that small phrase hurts more than anger would have.

“I lost everything.” My voice cracks, but I don’t stop. “I don’t look like me, I don’t feel like me, and I can’t even fix it because of you.”

Silence again.

The wind pushes harder, stinging my eyes.

“We were in pain when we found you. We thought we were healing.”

“You didn’t ask,” I whisper.

“We couldn’t.”

A beat.

“But we would have.”

I let that sit. Let it burn.

“You made me into someone I’m not.”

“Or someone you could be.” A pause. “Someone we need to be.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know who that even is.”

“Neither do we.”

That hits different.

Not threatening.

Not even sad.

Just… true.

“But we can find out. Together.”

The voice is quiet. Hesitant.

Then, softer than ever:

“Do you still want us?”

I stand there, tears streaking down my face, arms still wrapped around my chest like I can hold myself together just a little longer.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I don’t want to be alone either.”

“If I’m gonna be stuck like this…” I whisper, the wind tugging at every inch of me, the weight of everything I’ve lost still tight in my chest, “…stuck with you…”

I step further on the edge—so close the balls of my feet kiss open air.

“I might as well enjoy it.”

And I step off.

Not fall. Not leap.

Just… let go.

The moment my foot leaves the rooftop, the wind swallows me whole.

For a heartbeat, it’s quiet—weightless. The world slows, my stomach lurching with that brief drop that feels like dying, or flying.

I close my eyes.

And then—

FWSSHHT.

The suit bursts from my skin like a wave, wrapping around me in red and black tendrils, hugging every limb with perfect, terrifying precision.

My eyes snap open—now behind the mask—as I reach out instinctively.

Thwip—KRAK!

A thick webline rockets from my palm and anchors hard to the nearest building, yanking me sideways with all the momentum I’ve built in that freefall.

My body swings.

Hard.

Fast.

Wild.

My breath catches in my throat—not in fear, but in thrill.

The city lights blur past me, windows glowing like fireflies. I arc upward, flipping once, then again, the suit shifting with every movement like it wants this—like it’s built for this.

“YES,” the voice roars inside me, not violent, not dark—just pure, unfiltered exhilaration.
“THIS is what we’re meant to do!”

And for the first time—

I don’t disagree.

The fear isn’t gone. The grief still lingers.

But flying like this?

It’s freedom.

It’s mine.

And maybe—just maybe—this body, this life, this thing I never asked for…

Can be more than just something I survived.

It can be something I own.

The elevator doors slammed shut before any of them could catch Elisa—Claire calling her name, Danielle nearly dropping her bag as she lunged after her daughter.

“Where’d she go?” Claire demanded, turning to Reed and Sue.

“The elevator—the roof,” Reed mutters.

“Oh my god.” Danielle’s voice broke as she turned on her heel, eyes wide. “You don’t think—We need to—I need to go to her!”

“She’s okay,” Sue said quietly, though her own expression wasn’t confident.

Danielle spun toward her. “What do you mean okay?! She just found out her life’s been hijacked and now—”

FWSSHHT—THWIP—WHOOSH.

They all froze. A streak of red and black blurred past the high-rise windows, arcing against the golden skyline.

Danielle gasped and stumbled closer to the glass. “Did you see—what was that—oh my god, what the hell is she doing?!”

Claire didn’t answer. Neither did Reed. No one had to. The shape in the air was unmistakable.

The masked figure twisted through the sky with a grace that was still learning itself—arms out, catching air, legs flaring with each wild swing. Every move looked like it could go wrong, and yet didn’t.

Reed’s expression tightened. “It seems… keeping Alchemax from finding her might be harder than expected.”

Sue glanced at him. “Not just Alchemax. There’s always someone watching. Especially when someone flies off a rooftop in full symbiote form.”

Danielle pressed a hand to her mouth. Her daughter—her child—was out there, swinging like a ghost across the skyline.

And the worst part?

Somewhere in her heart, she wasn’t sure if Elisa was running away…

…or finally setting herself free.

End of chapter 8

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 9 Someone like us

I land hard, stumbling a little as the momentum flings me across the gravelly rooftop. I pull the suit back in before the door slams open.

My mom’s voice cuts through the air before I even fully stand up. “What the hell are you doing?!”

I freeze.

Her voice is sharp, breathless, like she sprinted the last few steps.

“I—uh—I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I just… I don’t know.”

She moves closer, and something about the way her arms are crossed feels more like a shield than anger now. “Arin, you can’t do that! We talked about this. You aren’t supposed to—”

“I know! I know, I just…” I shake my head, rub at my arm like it’ll shake the nerves off. “I wanted to. I just… wanted to feel…”

“Feel what?”

“Like I was in control,” I say, quieter now. “Like I still had control of my life.”

Her eyes flash softer for half a second before she catches herself. “That’s not how you do that, Arin. And you—never, ever—do anything like that again. You aren’t—”

“I’m not trying to hurt myself!” I cut in, louder than I mean to. I bite down the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t trying to die or anything, I swear. I just… for one second… I wanted to feel like I chose something. Even if it was just the direction I was falling.”

She takes a breath, slower this time. I can see the tears she’s trying not to let fall, the way her jaw clenches hard to keep everything else inside.

The silence between us stretches thin.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, voice cracking.

“Don’t do that to me,” she says softly. “Not again.”

She steps closer, not yelling now—just looking at me like she’s holding something broken and doesn’t know how to put it back together.

“You could’ve—”

“Died?” I interrupt, but not with defiance. More like I’m already tired of the thought. “I don’t think I really can anymore. At least not that easily.”

She goes quiet. Because she doesn’t know how to argue with that. Her fingers twitch at her sides, like they want to reach for me, but don’t trust me enough to try.

“You don’t know that,” she finally says, quieter now. “And going out like that—swinging through the open air like it’s a damn playground—that’s not brave, Arin. That’s gonna get Alchemax or whoever other lunatic that’s watching find you. People who could kill you.”

I look down at my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, voice small. “I didn’t…”

And then I stop. Because I don’t even know how that sentence ends. I didn’t think? I didn’t care? I didn’t believe it would matter?

I just didn’t want to feel helpless for one more second.

I clench my fists without even realizing it, my voice rising before I can stop it. “I’m already stuck with this! I can’t…”

She steps forward, voice sharp but worried. “What, Arin? You can’t what?”

“I can’t hide forever!” I shout. It echoes across the rooftop, bounces off brick and sky. “I don’t want to! If I’m going to be like this—stuck like this—why can’t I try and actually enjoy it? Is that so wrong?”

Her expression shifts—pain, fear, anger, all twisted together. “Arin, there’s a difference between hiding and being stupid.”

That stings more than it should, and I step back like the words physically hit me. “Don’t do that to me,” I snap, my throat tightening. “Don’t talk to me like I don’t know what I’m doing just because you don’t know how to deal with this.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, it looks like she’s going to say something else—something final—but then she just looks away, jaw clenched, holding it all in like she always does when she’s scared.

And I hate that I made her look like that.

“I’m not a little boy anymore,” I say, softer now, but firmer, trying to hold myself together even as my chest tightens. “I’m not even a guy, not really. And I don’t know if I’m even supposed to be called human anymore with all of… this.” I glance down at my hands, thinking of what’s underneath, of what’s always underneath now. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

But she doesn’t believe me.

“You don’t know that,” she snaps. “Not when you do things like this. Not when you clearly have no intention of stopping. What’s next, Arin? Are you going to try and be a superhero now? Is that it?”

Her voice cracks like a whip. “You’re going to get yourself killed. You’re not a boy—” she swallows that part down like it hurts her throat, “—and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t matter. Because what you’re doing… it’s going to get you killed, or worse.”

Her eyes are wet now, but she’s still standing like a wall, like if she shows weakness she’ll break apart. And I hate it because part of me wants to run again—swing away and not look back—but the other part, the bigger part, knows I can’t.

I made this mess.

I nod, barely. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say—because she’s right, and because it hurts to hear it, even if I need to.

She steps closer, her voice softening but still edged with something sharp. “You don’t need to say anything. Not right now. You just need to not do anything like this again.”

I look away.

“And if it’s that thing making you feel like this,” she continues, “then you fight it. You hear me? You don’t let it take over. You don’t let it make your choices. You’re still you. And you can still have a life.”

Her voice wavers, but only a little.

“Even if it’s not as Arin. Even if it’s as Elisa.”

The wind brushes across the rooftop, catching in my hair that’s still unfamiliar, still strange. I blink fast, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I’m trying really hard.”

I feel her arms wrap around me before I even realize she’s moved. I freeze for a second, then let myself sink into it, into her warmth, into that safety I’ve been pretending I don’t need.

Her voice is right by my ear, trembling just enough to crack the edge of her calm. “Just keep trying. Please. I love you too much to watch you get hurt.”

“I will,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “I promise. I’ll try.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still on my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Her eyes are wet, but steady. I’ve never seen her like this—so fierce, but not angry. Just scared.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she says. “Not to me. Not to anyone. You’re not some… monster, or experiment, or hero. You’re just a kid. My kid. That’s enough.”

I nod, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. Because I’m not sure I believe that. I want to. God, I want to. But everything feels too big now—like I can’t go back, even if I tried.

Still, I mumble, “Okay.” It’s all I’ve got.

She lets out a breath like she’s been holding it since I ran off, then looks over her shoulder, back toward the stairwell. “Come on, let’s get inside before someone with a camera sees you.”

I glance out at the skyline one more time. The wind tugs at my hair. Somewhere below, New York is still alive, unaware. Still moving. Still expecting me to figure out who I am.

“I’m not sure who I am anymore,” I say without really meaning to.

She smiles, tired but warm. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Sue looks up as we enter, her expression softening the moment she sees me again. Reed’s eyes flick toward me too, filled with that relentless curiosity I’m starting to associate with this guy. There’s a beat of silence—awkward, thick—before Reed clears his throat and straightens.

“We’re glad you came back,” he says gently, like I’m some kind of skittish animal. “We were worried.”

Sue smiles, stepping forward. “Look… Elisa—can I call you that?” I nod, hesitantly. “You’re dealing with something huge. We’ve faced symbiotes before, but never a bond this deep, this fast. Which is why we don’t just want to help you… we want to train you. Help you learn how to control it. Not just so it doesn’t control you, but so you don’t have to be afraid of it. Of yourself.”

Behind me, I hear Mom shift, arms crossing tight across her chest. I don’t have to turn to know the look on her face.

“I’m sorry, but no,” she says firmly. “That’s not what we came here for.”

Claire opens her mouth, maybe to mediate, but Mom doesn’t let her. “She’s not some superhero-in-training. She’s a teenager who got caught in something she never asked for. The goal is separation—until that’s possible, safety. That’s it.”

Reed frowns slightly. “Mrs. Coleman, I understand your concern. But we’re talking about a bond that is permanent. Ignoring it isn’t the same as controlling it.”

I glance at Sue. She’s not pushing like Reed. She just looks at me.

“Ultimately,” she says quietly, “it’s your choice, Elisa.”

My heart’s pounding again, for what feels like the hundredth time this week.

Permanent. Train. Control.

Or pretend it isn’t there and just hope that somehow, someday… this nightmare ends.

I look between them. Then at Mom. And I can’t help but feel like no matter what I choose, something in me is going to change forever.

I nod, barely. My eyes sting a little, but I blink it back. I already put her through so much. The worry. The fear. The helplessness she must feel watching me—her kid—turn into something unrecognizable. I don’t think I can keep doing that to her. Not more than I already have.

I can’t.

I lower my gaze. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Reed’s mouth tightens, not in anger, just… understanding, maybe tinged with disappointment. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops short. He sighs instead, straightening his coat. “I can’t say I agree with this decision. But if—”

“If you change your mind,” Sue finishes gently, stepping in beside him, “we’ll be here. You’re not alone in this.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

I nod again, tighter this time, and turn away before they see too much in my face. Mom touches my back lightly, guiding me toward the elevator, as Claire trails behind, quiet.

I glance back once as the doors begin to close. Sue’s watching me still.

I don’t say anything else.

I just ride the elevator down, trying not to think about what I just left behind… or what I might still become.

I kinda zone out after that.

The voices around me feel muffled, like I’m hearing them underwater. Claire and my mom are talking—something soft and serious. I catch pieces of it, little splinters of meaning that don’t quite settle.

“We’re going to go home… but I thank you for trying, Claire.”

“Of course. I know you’d do the same after—”

“We’ve gotta go,” Mom cuts in, sharper than she probably means to.

Claire doesn’t argue. She just nods, gives me a look I can’t quite meet, and steps back.

Then it’s a cab ride. Quiet. Uncomfortable. I stare out the window, watching buildings pass by in a blur of steel and light. I want to say something. Maybe ask if she’s okay. Maybe tell her I’m sorry again. But I don’t.

She doesn’t, either.

The weight of everything just hangs there between us, thick and silent.

The cab pulls up outside the building.

Home. Whatever that means anymore.

I stare up at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster looking like faded constellations. The weight of the day presses down on me like another blanket, heavier than anything physical. The sheets feel too tight. My skin too unfamiliar. My breath too loud in the silence.

“So back to hiding,” the symbiote says.

“Yep.”

A beat of quiet.

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “You don’t want to end up in a lab again, right? Being tortured? Because that’s what will happen!”

Silence.

“…Didn’t think so.”

I sigh and roll onto my side, facing the wall. The familiar wall. The only part of my room that still feels like mine.

“Listen,” I murmur, “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. It’s just been a lot.”

“I don’t want to be hidden either.”

There’s something fragile in its tone.

“I know,” I whisper. “But we’re not ready yet. Not for what comes with being seen.”

“…When will we be ready?”

I close my eyes.

“I don’t know.”

I pull the blanket tighter around me, curling inward as if I could make myself smaller, easier to carry. The room hums with the soft breath of the city beyond the window, but all I can hear is its voice, sitting right there in my head like a second heartbeat.

“Maybe when Alchemax slips up and they’re arrested, we can try something,” I whisper.

There’s a pause before it answers.

“There will always be another ‘Alchemax.’”

“…Yeah.”

“The world will never be completely safe.”

“I know,” I murmur. “But—”

“It’s because of her.”

My breath catches. “You mean… my mom?”

“Yes.”

I turn to face the ceiling again, the darkness pressing down harder than before.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

A strange gentleness creeps into the space between us.

“We wouldn’t.”

I shake my head. “Not like that. I mean emotionally. Every time I take a risk, every time I even think about stepping into something he’ll even just trying to fix this… she’s already grieving it. Like I’m not her kid anymore.”

It doesn’t respond right away.

“She’s afraid of losing you.”

That quiets everything.

I blink, once, then again—because of the tears I didn’t know were there.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Then maybe we change what ‘this’ is.”

I exhale slow, letting the tension slide out of my shoulders as I whisper back, “…We will. But for now, at least, let’s take it easy. Just till things settle, okay?”

There’s a pause—longer than usual.

“Fine.”

It doesn’t sound thrilled, but it’s not pushing either. That’s as much of a win as I’m gonna get.

I close my eyes, the last flickers of city light tracing the inside of my eyelids like memories.

“You know you don’t have to speak aloud for us to talk,” it says.

“I know that,” I think back. “But it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s a little weird.”

“…Goodnight.”

I smile a little, despite myself. Goodnight.

I rub my eyes as I wander into the living room, still in the oversized hoodie I crashed in. My hair’s a mess, and I probably look as tired as I feel.

That’s when I see her—Mom—sitting on the couch with a small box in her lap. She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at it like it might explode.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice scratchy.

“Oh, I… I don’t know. It’s—” she hesitates, “—it’s for you.”

Her voice sounds off. Soft. Tired. Like she’s been thinking all night.

She holds the box out and I reach for it, fingers brushing against the smooth cardboard. My eyes catch a small, barely noticeable stamp in the corner—a stylized number 4.

I move into the kitchen, trying not to look too curious, and to grab a pair of scissors.

“Ahem,” the voice rumbles, half teasing.

Right. I don’t need scissors. I glance toward the living room to make sure she’s not looking, then shift my hand. A quiet liquid like sound and a small blade forms at my fingertip. I slice the tape clean and retract it before she can see anything.

Inside—chocolate.

I blink. Chocolate?

Then I see the note tucked along the side, written in Reed’s? impossibly neat handwriting.

“Symbiotes require a special enzyme found in chocolate. Make sure to eat some regularly… or it might begin to seek out other sources.”

I feel the color drain from my face a little.

“Delightful,” the symbiote murmurs, “But also… disappointing. I was kind of hoping for something more dramatic.”

“You really weren’t joking about the brain thing, were you…”

“No,” it answers plainly, almost cheerfully. “But if the great Richards says this will do, I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“Great…” I mutter, biting into the chocolate like I’m chewing through my problems. “I guess I’m supposed to eat chocolate for the symbiote.”

Mom raises an eyebrow, still on the couch, arms folded across her chest. “Why?”

I freeze. Internally screaming. Don’t mention the brains don’t mention the brains don’t mention the—

“It just, uh… needs a certain enzyme to stay balanced,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Says it’s found in chocolate. Pretty harmless, all things considered.”

“Harmless and delicious.”

I almost choke on the bite I was taking. “Yup. Just a little… alien nutrition management. Totally fine.”

Mom doesn’t look convinced. But she doesn’t press further.

I glance over at her, still chewing the last bit of chocolate, and ask, “So… do you have a night shift, day shift, or are you fully off today?”

She leans back on the couch, running a hand through her hair. “Fully off. Finally. Which means I get to spend the whole day worrying about you in person instead of just from the nurses’ station.”

I wince a little. “Right. Fair.”

She gives me a tired smile, then nods toward the chocolate box. “Though I gotta admit, ‘alien requires chocolate’ was not on my list of reasons to call in.”

“She’ll come around,” the symbiote offers, as if it’s trying to be helpful. “Eventually.”

I slide onto the couch next to her, pulling my legs up under me, the box of chocolate still in hand. She doesn’t say anything at first—just glances over, then back toward the muted TV, which isn’t even playing anything. Just some news ticker crawling endlessly at the bottom of a frozen anchor’s face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday,” I say quietly, after a minute.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath since last night.

“I know you didn’t,” she finally says. “But you did.”

I nod. “Yeah. I know.”

We sit there in silence for a while. Not angry, not cold. Just tired. Like two people trying to figure out how to keep existing in a world that changed without asking them first.

“Tell her we appreciate her.”

“Why?”

“Because she stayed.”

That thought settles somewhere deeper than I expect. I glance at her—my mom—and then quietly slide the box toward her.

“Want one?”

She smirks just a little, then picks one out. “Only because it’s alien-prescribed.”

I laugh, and for a second… the world feels okay again. Just for a second.

We both sit there for a while, the faint sound of traffic outside filtering in through the windows, mixing with the occasional crinkle of the chocolate wrapper. It’s peaceful in that weird, brittle way—like glass that hasn’t cracked yet.

I’m just starting to settle—just starting to believe I might actually get one normal, boring day—when Mom’s phone buzzes on the coffee table.

She glances at the screen and frowns. “Claire.”

My stomach twists immediately.

She picks up, voice cautious. “Hey, everything okay?”

I can’t hear Claire’s voice, but I watch as Mom’s expression shifts—subtle, but I know her too well. Her mouth tightens slightly. Her eyes flick toward me, then away. Whatever she’s hearing, it’s not nothing.

She nods slowly frowning. “Yeah… yeah, she’s here.”

My chest tightens. Here we go.

She holds the phone out to me. “It’s… for you.”

I press the phone to my ear, trying not to sound tense, but my voice still comes out tight. “Hello?”

Claire’s voice crackles through the speaker, calm but clipped. “Hey, kid. So—one of the people I talked to before? They want to meet you.”

My stomach sinks, but I try to keep it steady. “I thought it was already too late. Reed and Sue said…”

“Maybe it is,” she says, not unkindly. “Maybe you are stuck with it. But this person’s been bonded with a symbiote before.”

“They want to give you some pointers. Help you learn how to keep control—or at least what they did.”

I glance over at Mom. She’s trying not to hover, but she’s listening—her worry practically vibrating off her.

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

Claire hesitates. “You’ll need to meet them alone. They can be trusted so you shouldn’t worry. But you need to be alone.”

Great. Because that doesn’t sound ominous.

“You can say no,” Claire adds quickly. “But this might be your one shot to talk to someone who actually knows what you’re going through. Reed’s a genius, sure, but he’s never had a voice in his head with fangs.”

I bite my lip, thinking.

“We’re curious. What do they know? Are they like us?”

“I don’t know,” I think back. “But I guess we’re about to find out.”

I lower the phone just a little, covering the mic. “Did you tell her?” I ask quietly, trying not to let it carry—but of course, Mom hears.

Her jaw tenses. She grimaces slightly, already bracing for whatever conversation this is about to turn into.

On the other end, Claire answers before I can say more. “Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about it too. I wouldn’t have agreed to anything without checking in.”

I glance over at Mom, the weight of yesterday still sitting heavy in the air between us. She’s not looking at me directly, just down at her hands, clasped too tightly in her lap.

“Are you okay with this?” I ask her, softer now. “I mean… after everything yesterday…”

She breathes out slowly. Doesn’t speak right away.

Then she finally looks at me—really looks. Her eyes are tired. Scared. But steady.

“No,” she says, honestly. “I’m not okay with it.”

My heart sinks.

“But,” she adds, “I know I can’t stop you from doing what you think you have to do. And if someone out there actually understands what you’re going through… I’d rather you go hear them out than try to figure it all out alone.”

I stare at her for a moment, unsure what to say.

“It’s not like whoever this is is gonna be training me or something,” I add quickly, trying to make it sound casual, like that’ll make it easier to swallow. “It’s just a conversation. That’s all.”

Mom doesn’t say anything right away.

Just that long pause.

The one that feels heavier than most people’s shouting.

“…You promise,” I ask, quieter now, “you won’t be mad at me?”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, but not in anger—more like she’s looking through me, like she’s trying to figure out what’s really going on underneath everything I’m not saying.

Finally, she sighs.

“I won’t be mad,” she says. “I’ll be worried. I’ll be pacing the living room and staring at my phone every five seconds. But I won’t be mad.”

I give a small, nervous laugh. “That’s fair.”

She leans in a little, lowering her voice. “But if you come home with a cape and a name, we’re gonna have a different conversation.”

I smile—genuinely, this time.

“No capes. Promise.”

I lift the phone back to my ear. “Okay.”

Claire doesn’t miss a beat. “Just head to the roof. They’ll meet you there.”

I blink. “The roof?”

“Yeah. Look, I told them it wasn’t exactly subtle, but they’re not big on front doors. Or hallways.” She sighs on the other end. “Don’t worry—they’re not here to start anything. Just talk.”

I glance toward the ceiling like I’ll be able to feel whoever’s waiting up there.

The roof. Of course. Because nothing in my life is allowed to be normal anymore.

“Okay,” I say again, slower this time.

“Be careful,” Claire adds. “You’ve got good instincts. Trust them.”

I hang up.

My mom’s already watching me.

“The roof?” she asks.

I nod once. “Yeah. I’ll be back soon.”

She doesn’t try to stop me.

But I see her hand drift to her phone.

Just in case.

I push open the roof door and step out into the late morning light. The city stretches out around me—loud, restless, uncaring—but up here it’s quiet, like I’m balanced between two worlds.

I close the door behind me and exhale slow.

They said talk, I remind myself. Just talk.

But my heart’s already racing.

I start pacing. Slow at first, then faster. Each step echoing across the rooftop. Back and forth, arms crossed tight over my chest, hoodie sleeves too long again. I don’t even notice how tense my jaw is until it starts to ache.

“Who do you think it is?” I think toward the voice inside.

“Someone like us. That’s what she said.”

“Helpful.”

“Maybe we should have brought snacks.”

I groan softly and keep pacing.

Every creak of a vent, every gust of wind, every flutter of a pigeon’s wings makes my head snap around.

I hate this.

I hate not knowing.

“Who do you think it is?” the symbiote asks.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, eyes scanning the skyline again. “Could be anyone.”

“Venom?”

I shake my head. “No. Claire said bonded with—past tense. That’s not Venom. He still wears his.”

“How many heroes do you think have bonded with symbiotes?”

I stop pacing, biting my lip. “…I don’t know.”

Because I don’t. Not really. There are rumors online, stories. Times where a symbiote bonded briefly with someone and the person didn’t talk about it ever. How many of them were public?

I stand still now, staring at the ground like it’s about to explode open any second.

And I whisper, more to myself than to the symbiote.

“I hope it’s someone who gets it.”

“If it’s a hero,” the voice says, with a little too much enthusiasm, “that means it’s probably someone cool.”

“Maybe,” I say, folding my arms tighter. My pacing slows, but my nerves don’t.

“Think it’s an Avenger? Or an X-Men?”

I sigh. “Like I said—I don’t know.”

But the thought sticks anyway. An Avenger. Someone big. Someone who could look at me—at us—and not flinch. Or worse… someone who does flinch.

Because what if it’s not about helping me?

What if it’s about checking the box—assessing the threat?

I rub my fingers together, still feeling the lingering static from when the suit formed this morning. That itch under my skin. That tension coiled tight in my spine.

I pull my phone from my pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. Ten minutes? It feels like an hour. Maybe two. I groan and shove it back in my hoodie.

“This is taking forever,” I mutter, more to the sky than the symbiote.

“Told you we should have brought snacks.”

“Maybe they bailed.”

“Maybe they’re watching us right now.”

I freeze, eyes darting to the ledge. “Please don’t say creepy things like that.”

“You’re welcome.”

I sigh and tilt my head back, staring at the clouds like they’ll drop an answer on my face.

Thwip.

A sharp sound slices through the air above me, like a cord whipping tight.

I spin around just in time to see a streak of red and blue arc through the sky.

My breath catches.

They land in a low crouch on the opposite side of the rooftop, red and blue suit shifting in the breeze, eyes narrowed behind the white lenses of the mask.

Spider-Man.

“Whoa,” I breathe, heart skipping a beat.

“Now this is interesting.”

He straightens slowly, casual but measured, like someone used to being watched—judged. His head tilts slightly as he looks me over. Not threatening. Just… curious.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice light but steady. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

I blink. “Uh—no. I mean, yeah. I mean, kind of. Not really?”

Great start.

He takes a step closer, hands raised slightly, palms open. “Relax. I’m not here to fight. Claire filled me in—well, most of it. Enough to know you didn’t exactly sign up for this.”

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “That’s one way to put it.”

He pauses a few feet away, keeping his distance like he knows exactly how weird this must feel. Like maybe he’s been here before.

“I’ve… dealt with symbiotes,” he says after a moment. “More than once.”

“I know.” My voice is quieter now. “You were bonded once, right? With… it.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just nods.

“Yeah. I was.“

I cross my arms, half defensive, half just trying to keep my hands from shaking. “You’re not here to like… see if I’m gonna be some super villain, right?”

Spider-Man’s head tilts, and even though I can’t see his expression, I can feel the look.

“Nah,” he says, stepping a little closer. “If I came to shut you down, I wouldn’t have landed that gently.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

He shrugs. “Look, when I first got my powers, I made… some really bad choices. So did a few others I’ve met who wore these before you. I’m not here to judge. I’m here because I know what it feels like. You’re not the first,” he says gently. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

I shift a little, the breeze cutting across the rooftop but not doing much for the weight in my chest.

“So you had a symbiote… and now you, well, don’t. How did that… happen?”

Spider-Man’s lenses squint a bit—the plastic? over his eyes tightening into a kind of thoughtful expression. Or maybe regret.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly. “I just—”

“No,” he says gently. “It’s okay. I think you deserve to hear it from someone who’s been there.”

He walks a slow circle toward the edge of the rooftop, like he’s organizing his thoughts as much as watching the skyline.

“When I first got the symbiote, I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was just… some super advanced alien tech. A smart suit that gave me some nice perks—faster reflexes, no need to hide a suit under every outfit, unlimited webbing. Honestly, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.”

He pauses.

“It took a while before I realized it was affecting me.”

“Affecting you how?”

He turns back to me, voice a little lower now. “It started trying to… fix my problems. I’d wake up after sleeping and find out that ‘Spider-Man’ had done things. Patrolled the city. Broken up robberies. Chased down muggers. I had no memory of it… but I had the injuries.”

My stomach turns a little at that.

“I didn’t understand. Not until I talked to a friend—Reed. That’s when I found out it was alive.”

He goes quiet for a second, the wind picking up his words like it’s trying to scatter them.

“I didn’t know what to think. I mean, it had saved my life more than once. It felt like… part of me. But then the anger started. The aggression. It didn’t make me do things, not exactly—but it amplified me. Made every little frustration feel like rage. Every punch hit harder than it needed to.”

“And you… got it off,” I say softly.

He nods. “Eventually. Barely. But when I did…”

He hesitates.

“That symbiote it never talked to me. Not once. I don’t know why. Maybe it couldn’t. Maybe it didn’t want to. Maybe something had already happened to it before me that left it… broken.”

He folds his arms, the mask turning away.

“But when I rejected it, when I finally pulled free… it was angry. Not just hurt. Betrayed. It didn’t want to let go.”

I swallow hard, suddenly way more aware of the quiet presence in my head.

“…We would never do that to you.”

I don’t respond.

Not yet.

He leans on the edge of the rooftop, arms braced against the ledge, the wind tugging gently at his suit. His voice is steady, but there’s something behind it—like he’s carrying a weight he’s gotten used to, but never really put down.

“Then it bonded with someone who already hated me. For a whole different set of reasons,” he says. “And it became Venom.”

The name hits differently when he says it. I’ve read articles. Seen videos. Heard the stories. But hearing it from him—this version of it—it makes the whole thing feel more real. More human.

“It tried to make my life a living hell,” he continues. “Used everything it learned from me against me. He was smart. Fast. And he knew how I fought. For a long time… it was personal.”

I swallow hard, gripping my sleeve.

“But,” he says, glancing back at me, “after a lot of… encounters—some good, some really not—it worked out. Mostly. Venom doesn’t completely want to eat me anymore, which is nice. And it’s actually doing good things now. A bit misguided, yeah, but not evil.”

I blink. “So… you’re friends now?”

He chuckles. “That’s a strong word. We’re… uneasy occasional coworkers in the big weird job that is protecting people. But a lot of that came down to us being forced to work together. Villains. Crazier things. Times when we didn’t have a choice but to trust each other.”

He grows quiet again.

“I still don’t know how much of what happened was my fault, or its. Or if it really matters.”

My mouth is dry. I want to say something—anything—but nothing comes out right away.

I shuffle a bit closer to the ledge, arms folded, voice low. “So… why did you want to meet me?”

He turns slightly, not facing me fully—just enough that I can see the way his posture shifts. Not defensive. Not aloof. Just honest.

“Because it’s my responsibility.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

He gestures slightly, like he’s trying to find the right balance between explanation and warning. “Because I’ve been in a similar spot. I’ve felt the power, the confusion, the way it changes you before you even realize it. And I’ve seen what happens when people don’t get help—when they don’t get a choice.”

I look down, my foot nudging a pebble across the roof.

“I don’t want to be someone’s cautionary tale,” I murmur.

He nods, quietly. “And I don’t want you to be, either.”

He finally faces me fully. “If I can do anything to make sure you don’t make the same mistakes I did… both when I first got my powers and got the symbiote then that’s what I’m here for.”

“We like him,” the symbiote says. “He feels… familiar.”

“Yeah. He kind of does…”

I let the silence sit for a second before I ask, “Okay, so… what now?”

Spider-Man’s shoulders rise in a shrug, relaxed but thoughtful. “Well, Claire said you’re not trying to do the whole superhero thing.”

“Yeah…” I say, glancing off to the side. “That’s not really… me.”

He chuckles under the mask. “It wasn’t me either, at first.”

“But you don’t have to wear a mask to be in control,” he continues. “Right now, what matters is you keeping yourself safe. The powers, the suit, the voice in your head? That’s a lot. You don’t owe anyone some big moment. No crime-fighting. No press conference.”

I nod slowly, looking down at my hands again.

“So,” he adds, tapping the rooftop lightly with his fingers, “I figure… if you want, I can check in sometimes. Help you learn the ropes—if you want. No tights. No superhero names. Just making sure you’re okay.”

I look up at him, surprised.

“You’d do that?”

“Hey,” he says, holding up a hand, “I’ve been carried through worse by people who believed in me when I really didn’t deserve it. This is me… paying it forward.”

He takes a step back toward the edge, the wind already tugging at his suit.

“No pressure,” he adds. “You’ve got people who care. Claire. Your mom. Me, a little bit now, I guess.”

I breathe out, something tight in my chest unwinding just a little.

“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He nods once—short, certain. “Alright then. Step one: you’ve gotta make sure the symbiote knows what’s okay and what’s definitely not.”

I glance down for a second. “You hear that?”

“We have rules now? This is so formal.”

“Okay,” I say aloud, trying not to sound too awkward. “Got it.”

“Step two,” he continues, pacing a slow circle around the rooftop now, “if you ever do want to do anything power-related, you need to learn how. So you don’t, you know, crash into a car or a bus or fall off a building. Trust me—that hurts.”

I laugh—short, but real—and he glances back, and I swear I see his shoulders lift a bit, like he’s relieved.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say.

He stops, standing in the sunlight, the breeze pulling at the edges of his suit. “And hey, even if you never want to wear a mask or jump off a rooftop again, learning how to stay in control isn’t about being a superhero.”

He points a thumb at his chest.

“It’s about not accidentally putting your head through a wall because of a window washer.”

I snort. “That’s a very specific example.”

“Painfully specific.”

“He is very… likeable,” the symbiote muses.

“Yeah. I know.”

“And last,” he says, lifting a finger for emphasis, “and most important—you’re bonded. Which means it’s not just about controlling your actions, it’s about your emotions, too.”

He takes a step closer, not threatening—just making sure the words land.

“You get scared? It feels that. You get angry, anxious, excited—it’ll pick up on all of it. And it’ll react with you, not just to you. So it’s not just about keeping it calm…” He taps two fingers to his temple. “You gotta stay calm, too.”

He pauses, then adds with a quick wink, “And that includes all emotions, to be clear.”

I feel my face flush instantly, and I glance away. “Right,” I mumble. “Got it.”

“Also fire and sound are a big no for symbiotes it hurts and drives them crazy.” He says more seriously.

“Good to know…”

“Now,” he says, voice light again, “you text Claire if anything feels off. If things change. If you wake up and the fridge is stuck to the ceiling, or if you just need to scream into the sky and punch something really big—I know a few people that won’t complain.”

I laugh, this time a little longer, a little brighter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He starts walking backward toward the ledge like he’s done it a thousand times, which… yeah. He probably has. So casual. So normal, in this totally messed up, impossible way.

Then he pauses.

Turns just slightly.

“And hey,” he says, the wind tugging at his suit, the city wide and loud behind him. “You’re doing better than a lot of people who get superpowers. Most just decide they wanna scam people and blow up a bank.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

He gives a little two-fingered salute.

Thwip.

The line shoots out, and he vanishes over the edge, swinging off into the city like he’s part of it—like it breathes with him.

I exhale slowly, still watching the skyline where he vanished, my heart finally starting to settle into a normal rhythm.

“Wow,” I whisper, because there’s really no other word for it.

“You did good,” the symbiote says, with what I swear is a smug little edge. “Didn’t geek out. Didn’t faint. Didn’t embarrass us. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” I think back, narrowing my eyes.

“The blushing was… noticeable.”

I groan and drop into a crouch near the ledge, burying my face in my hands. “It wasn’t like that!”

“It looked like that.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. Just a little.

I lean back on my hands, letting the wind brush through my hair as I stare up at the sky. It’s still a little gray, still full of noise and chaos and a thousand things I can’t control—but for once, I don’t feel like it’s pressing down on me.

“Okay,” I say under my breath, half to myself, half to the very vocal presence in my head. “Things are… actually turning up.”

“We agree. Statistically improbable.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still stuck as a girl with a goo squatter living under my skin—”

“We prefer co-tenant.”

“—but people are actually looking into Alchemax. At least more now.”

I swing my legs a little over the ledge.

“And I got to meet three superheroes in two days. Three. Without almost dying. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“That’s beginner’s luck.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

The wind picks up a little, brushing the city’s noise back into my ears. But I don’t mind. Not today.

Because somehow, even with everything upside down…

I’m still here.

Still standing.

Still me.

End of chapter 9.

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 10 Normal Teenager

I push myself up from the roof ledge, dusting my hands off on my hoodie. The wind tugs at my hair like it doesn’t want me to go, but I’ve already lingered up here long enough.

“I should probably go talk to Mom,” I mutter. “Y’know… inform her that I still haven’t jumped off the roof or anything.”

“That seems important. Mothers tend to dislike their offspring hurling themselves from tall structures.”

“Thanks for the insight.”

I head for the door, shoes echoing softly on the rooftop. My chest feels lighter. Not normal—whatever that even means anymore—but lighter.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

I step back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. The warmth of the place is immediate—dim lighting, the faint smell of coffee, and Mom sitting on the couch with her phone still clutched in her hand like she’d never put it down.

She looks up the second I enter, eyes scanning me for bruises, panic, or… goo. I give her a tiny, sheepish wave.

“I’m okay,” I say before she can even ask.

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath since I left. “So?”

I plop down into the chair across from her, hoodie sleeves swallowed around my hands. “So… it was Spider-Man.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Spider-Man?”

“Yup. Full suit, rooftop entrance, cool voice and everything.” I pause. “He even did the swing when he left.”

She blinks at me, somewhere between concern and disbelief. “You’re saying Spider-Man came to talk to you?”

I nod. “He’s been bonded with a symbiote before—Venom.”

Her expression shifts immediately. “That one?”

“Not anymore,” I say quickly. “He got it off, but he knows how dangerous it can be. That’s why he wanted to talk. He… he gave me some advice. About how to keep it under control. How to stay in control.”

She softens slightly at that, but I can still see the tension clinging to her shoulders.

“He also offered to check in now and then,” I add. “Not training. Just… helping. If I want.”

She nods slowly, quiet for a moment.

“And do you?”

I look at her.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I think it’d be stupid not to take the help.”

She exhales again and finally leans back against the couch. “You didn’t jump off anything this time?”

“Not even once,” I say, holding up a hand like I’m taking an oath.

She stares a second longer… then finally lets a small smile pull at the corner of her mouth.

“Well,” she says, “that’s progress.”

I let out a little breath of relief when she says it—“that’s progress.” It’s not a full-on green light, not her saying everything’s okay, but it’s something. A crack in the tension we’ve both been carrying like armor.

I lean forward a bit, resting my elbows on my knees. “He talked a lot about how much control matters. Like… not just punching walls, but how I feel. Emotions. Fear. Anger. Even the, uh—”

She raises an eyebrow.

“—other stuff.”

She smirks. “Sounds like a very uncomfortable puberty metaphor.”

“Oh, extremely.” I groan. “Except mine talks back.”

“We do not appreciate being compared to hormonal confusion.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then looks at me seriously. “And you trust him? Spider-Man?”

“I think I do.” I look down at my hands. “He didn’t tell me what to do. He didn’t try to scare me or treat me like a problem to solve.”

She nods again, slower this time. Thoughtful. Then she reaches out and places her hand over mine, warm and grounding.

“I still don’t like any of this,” she says softly. “But… like I said before if you’re making good choices I can live with that.”

Buzz.

I flinch a little at the sound and glance down at my phone. Harper. Just her name showing up on my screen sends a low ripple of panic through my chest.

Mom notices, of course. “Who’s that?” she asks, casually—but with mom levels of laser focus.

I lock the screen quickly and shrug, playing it as smooth as I can. “A friend. From school.”

Her eyes light up immediately, and she smiles with way too much enthusiasm. “Glad you made a friend already? I’m so proud of you. It’s Harper right?”

I roll my eyes and groan, trying not to smile. “Don’t act so shocked. I’m likeable.”

She raises a brow, all playfully skeptical. “Mmm. Debatable.”

I shake my head, holding in a laugh. “Rude.”

Inside though, I’m scrambling. Harper knows. Luca too. If Mom ever finds out I’ve told someone—two someones—after everything that happened yesterday… she’ll freak. She already thinks I’m one wrong step from disaster.

The screen buzzes again in my hand. I keep it turned away from her.

“I’m gonna go… message her back,” I say, already starting to get up. “Before she thinks I ghosted her or something.”

She waves me off, amused and oblivious. “Fine. But if you’re sneaking off to fight crime, I will ground you.”

“No capes, remember?” I call over my shoulder, slipping down the hall before she can see the panic rising behind my grin.

Alright, Harper, I think, opening the message. What now?

Harper:
Hey meet at warehouse?

Ugh.

Of course she wants to meet at the warehouse. Like we’re in a secret superhero clubhouse or something. Never mind the very serious life-altering information I just got less than 24 hours ago.

Me:
Do you ever text like a normal person?

Dot dot dot.

Harper:
Normal is boring. You coming or what?

I sigh and sink onto my bed, rubbing a hand down my face. I don’t even know what she wants—I haven’t seen her since before the Fantastic Four practically declared me permanently fused with an alien organism.

“We like her a lot,” the symbiote chimes in, unhelpfully.

“Of course you do,” I mutter. “She’s chaos.”

“She is entertaining.”

“She’s a problem.”

“So are we.”

I groan, flop backwards onto the bed, then glance at the door. Mom’s still out there, probably happily basking in the illusion that I’m just texting a perfectly normal school friend and not coordinating secret symbiote check-ins.

Me:
Give me 20 minutes.

“Hey, I’m gonna just go for a quick walk…” I say as casually as I can, already halfway to the door, hoping to avoid—

“Elisa…”

I freeze, sighing under my breath. “Yes???”

Mom leans over the back of the couch, not mad—just giving me that look. The one that says I know you’re up to something but I’m choosing to be generous.

“You can see your friend,” she says gently. “I’m not keeping you captive.”

I blink. “Oh. I—sorry.”

She smiles a little, soft but tired. “I’m glad you have a friend. Or friends, maybe?” she adds, just a little too hopeful.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Then her expression shifts. Serious, but not unkind. “As long as you don’t mention any of this stuff,” she says, voice lowering. “It’s not safe to. Not until something gets done about Alchemax.”

“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, nodding. “I’d never.”

I step out the door, closing it gently behind me.

God, I’m such a liar.

A subway ride later, I’m crammed between a guy listening to music way too loud through his headphones and a woman who keeps side-eyeing my boots like they personally offended her. It’s the usual chaos—grime, flickering lights, the gentle hum of too many lives jammed into one tunnel of barely contained patience.

I lean against the cold metal pole, hoodie up, trying to disappear.

“You lied to your mother,” the symbiote says, not accusatory. Just… observing.

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I think back, shutting my eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell her they know?”

“Because she’d freak. She’d lock the door. And then she’d really start thinking I can’t handle this.”

“Can you?”

I open my eyes and glance at my reflection in the window. The faint outline of a girl I’m still not used to seeing stares back.

“Ask me later.”

The subway slows, jerks, then lurches to a stop.

Red Hook.

I step out onto the platform, the world outside cooler than expected. The kind of breeze that carries bad ideas and old graffiti.

I head up the stairs, toward the warehouse.

Harper better not be throwing things again.

I spot them as soon as I round the corner near the old warehouse—Harper, sitting cross-legged on the hood of a long-abandoned van like she owns the city, and Luca leaning against the side, half-eaten protein bar in one hand and that easy, clueless smile on his face.

“There she is,” Harper says, like she’s announcing a royal entrance. “You took long enough. We were about to assume you got grounded or kidnapped.”

“Could’ve texted,” Luca adds, peeling another bite.

I stop a few feet away, hands in my hoodie pockets, heart tapping a little too quick. Not from nerves, exactly—just… weight. The past twenty-four hours feel like a whole other lifetime.

They look so normal. Like this is still just some secret club.

And maybe for them, it is.

“You should tell them,” the symbiote murmurs, curious. “They are our pack.”

They don’t need to know all of it, I think back. Not yet.

But still… the words sit heavy in my mouth.

Should I tell them?

About Reed. Sue. The scan.

About the fact I can’t ever go back to being Arin.

About how I’m not just stuck with this voice in my head temporarily?

Would they even understand?

“Hey,” Harper says, peering at me. “You good?”

I hesitate.

Yeah.

I could tell them.

Or I could lie.

Again.

Just like I did to my mom.

I shift my weight, kicking a loose rock near my boot as Harper and Luca both watch me. I open my mouth, close it, then finally just exhale.

“I mean…” I start, voice lower than I intend. “You two reacted so well when I told you about the whole symbiote thing. And the whole… body change thing.” I motion vaguely to myself. “So after that… how could I lie to you now?”

They exchange a glance, but neither of them interrupts.

I take a breath. “So, uh—my mom’s friend? Claire? She had us meet a ‘specialist’ yesterday.”

Harper leans forward slightly, curious. “Like a doctor?”

“Not exactly.” I shift uncomfortably. “We went to the Baxter Building.”

Luca nearly chokes on his protein bar. “Wait, wait—what?”

Harper blinks. “You’re kidding. That’s, like, Fantastic Four turf, right?”

“Yup.” I nod. “Met Reed Richards. Sue Storm too.”

Harper whistles low. “Damn. Go big or go home, huh?”

I give a weak smile. “Yeah… well, they scanned me. Ran tests. Talked a lot of science at me.”

Luca’s grin fades just a little. “So… what’d they say?”

I glance away, jaw tight.

“That it’s permanent. The bond. The body. All of it.”

The silence hits hard.

And then—Harper hops off the van, crossing the distance in a few quick steps and punching me lightly in the arm.

“Ow—what the hell?”

“You’re still you, genius,” she says, matter-of-fact. “So unless the symbiote rewired your brain to be a complete jerk, I think we’re good. You don’t need to worry what we think.”

Luca nods, stepping in beside her. “Yeah. Permanent’s a big word, but… doesn’t really change how we see you.”

“Thanks,” I say, my voice catching a little despite myself. “I mean, I’m not really happy about it. Who would be? But…”

I shrug, arms crossing, eyes fixed on a rusted-out window frame. “If I’m stuck like this, I’m stuck like this. Nothing I can really do, right?”

Harper doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her watching me. Not judging. Just… there.

“And today,” I continue, rubbing the back of my neck, “well… I met someone else.”

Luca leans in, interest piqued. “What, like another superhero?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. The superhero.”

“Spider-Man.”

Luca’s jaw drops. “No way.”

“Yup. Dropped onto my roof like it was totally normal. Had a little heart-to-heart.”

Harper crosses her arms. “Did he give you a big speech on responsibility?”

“Basically. But… it helped. Weirdly. He gets it probably more than anyone else. He’s been through it.”

“Nice,” Harper says, clearly trying not to sound too impressed. “So what, he’s your alien monster mentor now?”

I snort. “Not officially. But maybe.”

Luca grins. “That’s… actually pretty awesome.”

“There’s just one hiccup,” I say, the good feeling still lingering—but reality already creeping back in around the edges.

Harper raises a brow. “What.”

I hesitate, then sigh. “Well… my mom? She’s really not into the whole superhero thing. Or Alchemax. Or, like, danger in general. Which, you know… fair.”

Luca gives me a duh face. “She’s your mom. Of course she doesn’t want you anywhere near that stuff.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just concern. She straight-up begged me not to do anything. Just… stay hidden. Live a normal life. Like I can just ignore this.” I gesture to myself, then vaguely up at the sky.

Harper folds her arms. “But you have the chance to be trained by superheroes. The Fantastic Four. Spider-Man, for god’s sake. People literally dream about that kind of thing.”

“I know,” I say, dragging my hand through my hair. “Believe me, I know. And part of me wants that. Wants to do something with all this.”

I glance at them. “But if I screw up, it’s not just on me. It’s on my mom. And Claire. And anyone who knows what I am now.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Harper says, “That’s a lot of pressure for one goo girl.”

I snort.

“At least for now,” I say, toeing a cracked line in the pavement with the tip of my boot, “I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to. Lay low. Be normal—whatever that means now.”

I glance up at both of them, Harper smirking already, Luca pretending not to smirk. “But… I don’t know. Maybe later. I might try. Something.”

Harper grins like she’s been waiting for me to say that. “I mean, you kinda have to try it out a little, Maple Leaf.”

I groan. “You really gonna keep calling me that even though you know I’m not actually from Canada?”

Harper gasps, one hand over her chest in mock horror. “Excuse me—are you telling lies now, Elisa? To your dear friends? Your loving, supportive friends?”

Luca snorts. “You did have the accent for like… half a lunch period. Or a accent that was really weird and I don’t think it was Canadian.”

“I panicked!” I say, shoving Harper’s arm playfully. “I didn’t even know I was doing one.”

Harper smiles laughing a bit then starts to frown. “Sooo,” she says, dragging the word out like she’s been dying to get to this part, “there’s a reason I asked you guys to come here.”

“Oh—yeah, didn’t even think about that.” I rub the back of my neck. “I kind of got… distracted, I guess.”

She grimaces a little, pulling her phone from her jacket. “Just look what I found.”

The moment I see her holding it out, my gut twists. A little voice in the back of my head starts yelling.

Oh shit.

It’s me. Symbiote out. Mid-swing. Clear as day, captured from below with just enough blur to scream real, but just enough focus to make out the red and black suit and faint tendrils. The arc of movement.

It’s from that night—when I swung back home ahead of Harper and Luca. Which means someone saw me and took this…

I stare at it.

Harper, to her credit, doesn’t tease this time. She’s serious now. “It’s making the rounds. Mostly just Twitter Insta and TikTok, but… it’s spreading.”

Luca leans over to look. “They’re calling you ‘Shadow Spider’ or ‘Crimson Wraith’—that one’s my favorite, by the way.”

My heart is in my throat. “How bad is it?”

Harper looks at me, and for once, she doesn’t smile.

“Bad enough that if Alchemax is at all online—and I’m sure they are—they probably know what they’re looking for now.”

Great.

“So far I’ve seen three different pictures,” Harper continues, scrolling with practiced fingers. “Oh wait—four. Yeah, this one’s broad daylight, sooo…”

I groan and cover my face with both hands. “Oh great, people saw me yesterday too. God, I’m such an idiot.”

Luca raises both hands like he’s trying to calm a skittish animal. “Hey—hold up. It’s not that bad.”

I peek through my fingers. “Luca. There are four pictures. One of which is apparently in high definition broad daylight. I have the world’s most well known alien attached to me, I’ve swung through the city, and I’m supposed to be in hiding.”

“To be fair,” the symbiote murmurs, “we were hiding. Just… poorly.”

“You don’t get to talk right now,” I hiss, earning a confused look from Harper.

She pockets her phone. “Look, I brought you here so you’d know. Not to freak you out. But yeah—we gotta be smarter.”

I nod slowly, the guilt wrapping tight around my ribs. “I know. No more swinging. No more showing off. No more suit.”

“We could camouflage.”

“Can you camouflage my common sense, too?”

Harper nudges me lightly with her elbow. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just new at this.”

Luca adds, “Yeah, and on the bright side… at least they didn’t name you something really dumb.”

Harper grins. “Like ‘Goo Girl.’”

I let out a groan that turns into a reluctant laugh.

Still, in the back of my head, one thought sits like a cold stone.

If Alchemax is watching… they’re not guessing anymore. They’ve know what I look like exactly.

“Not that this isn’t important,” Luca says, already slipping into that tone he uses when he’s trying to be charming and annoying at the same time, “but while we’re here… Elisa, could you, you know, do some cool stuff again?”

I blink at him. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs, grinning. “C’mon. Just a little. Swing around a lamppost or punch a hole in something?”

“No way,” I shoot back. “Clearly, I’m not good at hiding this. Which means no more showing off. Like, at all.”

Luca groans. “Ugh, boring.”

Harper rolls her eyes, sliding her phone back into her jacket pocket. “He’s got goo envy.”

“Do not call it that,” I say flatly.

She smirks. “Anyway, why don’t we just go have lunch? Like normal teenagers.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think any of us qualify as normal?”

“Okay, maybe not normal, but passable in public,” she says, motioning toward the street. “I’m buying. I’ve been craving something greasy and terrible.”

Luca brightens. “Can I get, like, three orders of fries?”

“If you shut up about ‘goo powers,’ sure.”

I sigh, but I can’t help smiling a little. “Alright. No powers. No drama. Just lunch.”

“This is disappointing.”

“You’ll survive,” I mutter under my breath.

“Oh and no, I’m not swinging us there,” I say, cutting Luca off before his mouth even opens.

“Awwwwww,” he groans, slumping like I just canceled Christmas.

Harper smirks and throws an arm around his shoulders. “Let it go, Spider-Boy. We’re walking like the humble civilians we are.”

We cut across a few blocks, wind weaving between the buildings, a little cooler than I expected. For once, I don’t mind the walk.

The city around us hums with the usual energy—cars honking, pigeons scattering, people yelling into phones about things that probably don’t matter in the grand scheme. But somehow, it all feels less overwhelming right now.

We finally reach this little burger place Harper insists is “the best grease trap in Brooklyn.” Neon sign half-flickering, sticky menu, slightly questionable tile floor. Perfect.

We slide into a booth, Luca already eyeing the milkshake machine like he’s about to propose to it.

I lean back against the seat, finally letting the tension slide off my shoulders.

Just fries, friends… and maybe, maybe a few moments of peace.

“…I still think we could’ve swung.”

“Shut up,” I whisper.

“I’ll be right back—I gotta pee,” Luca announces.

Harper doesn’t even look up. “TMI.”

I smirk. “You get used to him. Or… mostly used to him. I don’t think full immunity’s possible.”

She snorts at that, and we both watch him disappear toward the bathrooms, probably humming some superhero theme under his breath.

Then, the moment shifts. Harper leans forward on her elbows, looking at me—not in that teasing way she usually does. It’s quieter. More… intentional.

“So now that you’re officially, permanently a girl…”

I sigh, already feeling my shoulders tighten. “Yeah?”

She hesitates, then shrugs, trying to play it off casual. “I mean… just wondering how you’re doing with that. Like, really doing. Not the ‘hey I can joke about it so it’s fine’ version.”

I stare at the table for a second. The Formica’s chipped in the corner, and it gives me something to focus on besides my own brain.

“I’m…” I trail off. Then start again. “I don’t know. I’m surviving. Which I guess is the baseline goal these days.”

Harper watches me for a beat, then nods slowly.

“That’s fair.”

I fidget with a straw wrapper. “Some moments are fine. Some moments I look in the mirror and… it’s like I don’t recognize the girl staring back. Other times I see her and think—‘Okay, that’s me. I can do this.’ Then ten minutes later, I’m spiraling again.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

She nudges a crumpled napkin toward me with her finger. “Well… if you ever want to talk about girl stuff—or complain about it, or scream into a hoodie about how bras are literal instruments of torment—I’m around.”

And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.

“Thanks,” I say softly. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good.” She leans back. “Also, not to alarm you, but I’m like really good at helping people figure out their aesthetic.”

I groan. “Oh no.”

“Too late. That hoodie’s days are numbered.”

“The hoodies are the only thing keeping me sane,” I say, clutching the sleeves like they’re sacred relics.

Harper grins like a cat spotting a wounded bird. “Yeah, well, remember how you said your luggage was lost?”

I blink, suddenly realizing where this is going.

“Well… obviously it wasn’t,” she continues, smug and deadly. “Which means if I’m gonna judge your wardrobe—”

I groan. “—I have to actually have one.”

She leans across the table, eyes narrowing like she’s issuing a challenge. “So. What are we working with, Miss Hoodie?”

“I don’t know. Pants. Like… jeans. T-shirts. More hoodies. Things I can hide in.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”

“Why is everyone in my life obsessed with fixing me?” I mutter.

Harper raises a brow. “Because you’re a mess with potential. And cute cheekbones.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. “…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Step one, we go through what you’ve got. Step two, I drag you to the mall and open your eyes to a world beyond sweats.”

I sink into the booth, already regretting every choice I’ve made that led to this moment.

From the bathroom, i hear a toilet flush and Luca’s voice echoing something about milkshakes.

Harper grins again. “Step three, we bribe him to carry the bags.”

How do I get out of this, I think, staring at Harper like she’s just declared war on my wardrobe and my sanity at the same time.

“Listen,” I say, holding up both hands, “I’d totally go for this fashion intervention—but I am broke. Like, lost-my-job-because-I-became-a-girl-overnight level broke.”

Harper just waves a hand like I told her the weather forecast. “Don’t worry. My parents are loaded.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

She leans back, arms crossed, looking way too smug. “Yeah. Old money, uptown. Trust funds and wine cellars. I don’t like to talk about it because people assume I’m snobby.”

“…And you’re not?”

She grins. “I am, but I like to earn that reputation on my own.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Still. I can’t just let you buy me clothes.”

“Sure you can,” she says easily. “Call it a starter kit for your post-‘goo’ identity.”

“I’m not some charity case.”

“Nope. You’re a friend who got body-swapped by an alien. Completely different.”

I look away, unsure what to say, the familiar tightness creeping into my chest again.

Harper nudges me lightly. “Hey. Look, if it makes you feel better, consider it a loan. Pay me back someday when you’re a wildly successful… I don’t know. Symbiote-powered vigilante-slash-physicist.”

“Physicist, huh?”

“You’ve got the brain for it. I’ve got the credit card.”

And just like that, the panic softens.

“…Fine,” I say. “But only one store.”

Harper’s eyes light up like she just won the lottery. “Oh—quick,” she says, leaning in over the table like she’s about to share state secrets. “Before Luca gets back—how hot was Spider-Man in person?”

I practically choke on my soda. “Harper!”

“What?” she says, all faux innocence, though her smirk is way too proud. “Superheroes literally run around in spandex, they’re super fit, and Spider-Man? I know that guy’s got a massive gym routine. I mean, his ass is huge.”

I cover my face with both hands. “Please stop talking.”

“You’re not denying it,” she sing-songs.

“I’m not confirming it either!”

“You hesitated.”

“It’s not—okay, maybe—ugh, I hate you.”

She cackles like a witch, triumphant. “You are so into your goo mentor.”

I groan and slouch as low into the booth as I can without vanishing into another dimension.

From across the restaurant, I hear the bathroom door swing open and Luca’s voice call out, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing!” I yell.

Harper just sips her drink with a wink.

This girl’s gonna be the death of me. Or at least my dignity…

I’m not into guys, I think, sitting there as Harper still giggles across the table. Right?

It hits me like a slow wave—how long it’s been since I even let myself think about it. Attraction. Dating. That stuff used to feel far off, something for later, for when the world made more sense. And now?

Now I don’t even know what I am anymore.

Have I really been attracted to anyone since this?

Male?

Female?

Anything?

The thought coils tight in my chest. What if my brain got rewired with the rest of me? What if this changed that too?

My heart thuds.

“I’ll be right back. I gotta… pee,” I mutter, pushing away from the booth.

“TMI!” Harper calls, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I duck into the tiny one-person bathroom, shut the door behind me, and lock it with a quiet click.

My reflection stares back from the smudged mirror. The longer I look, the more the unfamiliar becomes familiar, which is somehow worse.

I close my eyes. Try to imagine someone—anyone—who makes my chest flutter, who gives me that electric pull I used to associate with crushes.

Picture a girl.

It’s slow, hesitant. A soft smile. A hand brushing hair behind an ear. The curve of someone leaning just a little too close. My heart picks up.

Okay.

Now—

Picture a guy.

Broad shoulders. A warm laugh. A look held too long. The memory of Spider-Man leaning just a little toward me on that rooftop, voice calm and understanding.

My heart still picks up.

I blink.

“Curious,” the symbiote murmurs. “This is new to us, too.”

“I’m not… sure,” I whisper to myself.

“We will probably see him again,” the symbiote says casually, almost like it’s nudging me with a smug elbow. “You could ask him out.”

My eyes snap open. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“One—he’s like, an adult. A full-on adult. Possibly thirty! Or forty! Or… infinity! Who knows?”

“He is in shape.”

I groan. “Two, he’s a guy. And I—don’t even know what I… am yet. Or if I even—just—no.”

The silence that follows isn’t judgmental, just curious.

“…Interesting reaction.”

“I’m allowed to have boundaries.”

“And yet, you pictured him.”

I cover my face. “Oh my god you’re worse than Harper.”

“We are learning from the best.”

I spin toward the sink, splash cold water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror. Still flushed, still me—whoever that is.

“I am not asking Spider-Man out.”

“Not yet.”

“Stop.”

I dry my hands and stare dead-on at my reflection, trying to will the heat out of my face. “I really need to limit time around Harper if you’re gonna start acting like her,” I mutter. “At least she’s not in my head.”

“You could ask her out.”

I blink.

“…Harper?”

“She is amusing. Protective. She sees you clearly. And you blush around her frequently.”

I stare blankly at the mirror. “That doesn’t mean I like her.”

“It doesn’t mean you don’t.”

I open my mouth to argue—but the words don’t come out. Because, annoyingly, I do blush around her. A lot. And she has been there through all of this. Teasing, sure, but kind. Steady. Even when I didn’t know who I was anymore, she acted like she did.

I stare at myself a little longer, brows drawing together.

Do I like Harper?

I mean… I like her. But like-like her?

“I need to get out of this bathroom,” I mumble, unlocking the door.

“Before your thoughts get louder?”

“Before you do.”

“We still exist outside of that bathroom,” it says, tone bordering on smug.

“Yeah,” I think back, sliding into the booth again, “but so do distractions. Like food.”

Luca’s mid-bite into a massive burger, already oblivious. Harper gives me a quick look like she knows something happened in there but, mercifully, doesn’t press.

I grab a fry, tossing it in my mouth, and lean back like I haven’t just had a minor identity crisis in a dingy restroom.

“Everything okay?” Harper asks, casual, but there’s something behind it. Sharp. Watching.

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug and a small, crooked smile. “Just needed a minute. Long week.”

She nods, still watching me. Then tosses a fry in her mouth. “You don’t say.”

I take another bite, more for the comfort than the flavor.

“So, Luca,” Harper says, way too sweetly to be innocent, “we have a stop to make after this. You don’t mind sticking around, right?”

He freezes mid-chew, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Wait… this is a girl thing, isn’t it?”

“Just some clothes shopping,” she replies, all casual-like. Too casual.

Luca groans first. “Noooooo.”

Then I join in. “Ughhh.”

Harper beams, entirely unfazed. “Oh come on, don’t act like I’m dragging you into battle. It’s just a mall.”

“Yeah, but with you,” I mutter. “Which means it’s a mission.”

She winks. “Damn right it is.”

Luca slumps dramatically in his seat. “I should’ve stayed in the bathroom.”

Harper grabs another fry, utterly victorious. “You should’ve. Now you’re both mine.”

I shoot him a look and mouth Run.

He mouths back Too late.

I glance at Harper as she steals the last fry off my plate like it’s nothing. She’s leaning back now, relaxed, totally in her element—probably already mentally picking out half an outfit I didn’t ask for.

And as much as I want to roll my eyes… I don’t.

Because something weird happens. Something I really didn’t expect.

I think back to the bathroom.

To what the symbiote said.

“You blush around her frequently.”

I hate that it’s right. Because now I’m hyper-aware of it. The way she smirks when she knows she’s being annoying. The way she always says my name like it’s a punchline and a promise at the same time. How fast she showed up for me—no questions, just chaos and support in equal measure.

And now I’m wondering… if maybe all that blushing wasn’t just embarrassment.

She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

I blink. “Nothing.”

She squints at me, suspicious. “You’re thinking weird thoughts again, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” I lie, stuffing a napkin in my mouth to avoid saying anything else.

“She sees you clearly,” the symbiote echoes.

I know, I think. And that’s the scary part.

“You do find her attractive, yes?” the symbiote asks, its voice smooth, genuinely curious—like it’s cataloging my thoughts for later analysis.

I glance at Harper again, this time letting my eyes linger a little longer.

She’s leaning forward now, teasing Luca about something, hands moving expressively like they always do when she’s trying to make a point she knows will get under your skin. Her laughter is sharp and unapologetic, drawing attention without even trying.

Her skin’s a warm caramel tone, sun-kissed even in winter. Thick black curls are pulled into a half-ponytail, a few wild strands slipping loose and framing her cheekbones just right. Her eyes—a rich, amber brown—are always narrowed in this confident, calculating way, like she’s already ten moves ahead of everyone in the room.

And yeah, okay… her jeans fit really well.

I swallow, suddenly very aware of the warmth creeping into my face again.

“Yeah,” I think reluctantly. “I guess… so.”

“Noted,” the symbiote replies. “Harper is visually and emotionally stimulating. This could be… interesting.”

“Let’s not talk about Harper anymore, please,” I think firmly, trying to shove the image of her smirk, her curls, and her dangerously tight jeans out of my brain.

“Very well,” the symbiote replies, tone light but prying. “How about Luca?”

I blink and glance across the table.

Luca’s laughing at his own joke—again—which, honestly, happens way more than it should. He’s got this tousled mess of dark brown hair that he always claims isn’t styled, but I’m pretty sure he spends twenty minutes getting it to look like he just rolled out of bed. His skin’s a warm olive tone, dotted with faint freckles across the bridge of his nose that no one mentions but everyone notices.

He’s broad-shouldered, athletic without being obnoxious about it, and always somehow sitting in the most relaxed position humanly possible—like gravity just works differently for him. His eyes are hazel, bright with this kind of easy openness that makes you forget how insanely dumb some of his jokes are.

And the thing is… he’s always been there. Solid. Loyal. Never once treating me different—not when I was Arin, and not now, not as Elisa.

He’s not subtle. He says what’s on his mind. Which means when he says he’s got my back? He means it.

I look down, picking at the edge of my napkin.

“He is… safe,” I think, a little surprised by how true it feels. “Kind.”

“Attractive?”

I pause.

“…Yeah. That too.”

But it feels different than with Harper. Not any less confusing—just… quieter.

Less like a spark.

More like warmth.

Like… maybe I already.

“No no no. He’s—he’s like a brother to me, okay? I’ve known him forever. That’s just… not a thing. It can’t be a thing.”

The symbiote pauses, and I can feel the question coming before it even finishes forming.

“And is Harper like a sister?”

I groan into my soda and practically drown myself in it to avoid answering.

“Just—no more,” I think sharply, “stop it. Stop trying to matchmake or whatever weird emotional experiment you’re running in there. This isn’t your job.”

“We are bonded. Your instincts are now ours. Curiosity is natural.”

“Yeah, well so is privacy. Try it sometime.”

The symbiote quiets—for now—but I can feel it watching, like a cat pretending to nap while its tail flicks.

Harper’s talking to Luca about piercings now, and Luca’s dramatically insisting he’d pass out before a needle ever got near him.

I sit back in the booth, arms crossed, trying to look annoyed instead of emotionally scrambled.

Because I don’t need feelings on top of everything else.

Especially not those kinds of feelings.

Especially not now.

A bit later, after we’ve all devoured more fries than should legally count as a side and Luca’s told exactly three too many stories about almost dying doing something stupid, Harper slaps the table and stands.

“Alright,” she says with the enthusiasm of someone about to drag a friend into battle, “let’s go.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You sound way too excited about this.”

“That’s because I am.” She beams and gestures grandly toward the door. “Come, my fashion project. Destiny awaits.”

Luca groans as he slides out of the booth. “I regret everything.”

“You’re not even the one getting styled!” I shoot back.

“Exactly,” he says. “That means I’m gonna have to watch it…”

Luca gives me this look—half amused, half… something else—and casually eyes me up and down in a way that makes my stomach flip and my brain overheat.

“Maybe it won’t be too bad,” he mutters.

I blink. “What?”

He shrugs with the most nonchalant grin I’ve ever seen. “I mean, Harper’s got decent taste. And you’ve got…” he pauses, looking me up and down again, slower this time. “…potential.”

My face goes bright red in less than a second. “Oh my god, stop talking.”

Harper’s already halfway to the door, cackling. “This is why he’s here.”

“You’re both terrible,” I groan, grabbing my jacket and following like I’m marching to the gallows.

The symbiote hums lightly in the back of my mind, way too smug. “We enjoy being admired.”

“We are never talking about this again,” I hiss.

Luca opens the door for me with a mock bow. “After you, fashion icon in progress.”

I glare at him, but my cheeks won’t cool down.

This is going to be the longest shopping trip of my life.

End of chapter 10