Project Toxin: 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 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.