Willow sat on the hallway floor, knees drawn up, staring at the faint azure flow pulsing under the skin of his wrist. It looked normal now, just a thread of life beneath tan flesh, but he could swear it shimmered earlier, like heat haze over tarmac on a summer day. The house ticked around him, the old radiator in the living room groaning softly, the fridge humming its eternal low note from the kitchen. Ordinary sounds. Safe sounds. Yet they felt laced with something else, a whisper at the edge of hearing, as if the walls themselves held their breath.

  Twenty minutes. Kimona had said twenty. He checked his phone again. Nineteen gone. He pushed himself up, legs unsteady, and paced to the front window. Pulled the curtain aside just enough to peek out. The street lay quiet under sodium lamps, cars parked in neat rows, a cat slinking along a garden wall with eyes that caught the light too brightly. Was that normal? Or had the world always hidden such gleams, and he simply never noticed?

  A figure turned the corner, tall and purposeful, braids swinging like dark ropes against a denim jacket. Kimona. Relief washed through him, cool and fleeting. He moved to the door, pressed his eye to the peephole. Distorted through the fishbowl lens, she looked larger than life, one hand raised to knock, the other clutching a plastic bag that swung gently. No shadows clung to her unnaturally. No extra limbs or hollow mouths. Just Kimona, solid and real.

  He twisted the deadbolt, yanked the door open a crack. “Come in. Quick.”

  She slipped through without a word, and he shut it behind her, the latch clicking twice as he locked it again. The sound echoed too loud in the narrow hall.

  Kimona turned, one eyebrow arched, her dark eyes scanning him from messy hair to scuffed trainers now placed by the door. She smelled of something herbal, like the teas her grandmother always brewed. “What’s going on, Willow? Haven’t seen you this messed up in a while.”

  Willow shook his head, the motion jerky. He leaned against the door, feeling the wood press into his back like a reminder to stay grounded. “I.., I don’t know.” He gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Come sit. I need to.., explain. Or try.”

  She followed him in, dropping the plastic bag on the coffee table with a soft thunk. It held what looked like snacks, crisps and chocolate peeking through the translucent sides. Kimona flopped onto the sofa, legs crossed, arms draped over the backrest. The cushions sighed under her weight. “Alright. Spill it, then. From the top. You sound like you’re about to drop dead any second.”

  He perched on the arm of the chair opposite, hands clasped between his knees to stop them shaking. Where to start? The alley? The shadows? The chains that burst from nowhere like forgotten dreams made solid? Words tangled in his throat, thick as syrup. “Okay. So, walking home. Normal, right? But then.., things weren’t normal. Shadows moved wrong. People had eyes like cats. And this.., thing. In the alley. It came out of the dark, all limbs and claws, no face, just a hole where a mouth should be. It called me a sorcerer. Some DnD shit. Said I was delicious.”

  Kimona’s expression didn’t change at first. She watched him, steady, the way she always did when he rambled about bad dates or family stuff. But then her gaze sharpened, tracing over his face, his neck, the way he held himself. Silence stretched, filled only by the distant honk of a car outside.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Something’s different about you,” she said finally, voice low, thoughtful. “Like there’s a glow. Faint,” she squinted, her eyes meeting his, focusing on her ocean colored spheres above his nose.

  Willow blinked, caught off guard. “That’s it? I tell you about a monster trying to eat me, and you say I look different?”

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees, peering closer. Her braids fell forward, framing her face like curtains drawn around a secret. “The thing called you sorcerer, yeah? That specific word?”

  “Yeah. Sorcerer. And then.., chains. Blue chains from my hands. They pinned it down. I ran. Got home. Called you.”

  Kimona stood then, slow and deliberate. She circled him, eyes narrowing as she inspected his arms, his shoulders, even lifting his chin gently with one finger to study him further. Willow held still, confusion bubbling up like fizz in a shaken bottle. Her touch was warm, real, grounding.

  “I believe you,” she said at last, stepping back. “For real.”

  He raised a brow, skepticism sharp in his chest. “Really?”

  She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Show me the magic. Those chains. Do it.”

  Willow stood, feeling foolish. He held out his hands, palms up, willing that blue light to return. Focused on the memory of it, the cool rush through his veins, the way it snapped into being like lightning bottled. Nothing. No glow, no chains. Just empty air and his own ragged breathing.

  He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Nothing. Great. Now I look even crazier.” He turned toward the kitchen. “I need a Coke. Brain’s fried.”

  The kitchen light buzzed on, harsh and yellow, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. Willow pulled open the fridge, the cool air washing over him like a brief mercy. He grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap with a hiss, and took a long swig. The fizz burned pleasantly down his throat, grounding him in the mundane.

  Kimona appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Gimme’ that.” She motioned for the bottle.

  He handed it over without a word. She took a pull, the liquid sloshing, then handed it back. Her eyes gleamed with something he couldn’t quite place, a mix of curiosity and calculation. “Alright. We need to make that power show up again. Can’t just sit here and guess.”

  Willow set the bottle on the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “How? It just happened. When I was scared. Adrenaline or something.”

  She pondered, tapping her chin. “Maybe we just recreate that? Scare you shitless?”

  Before he could respond, she snatched an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and hurled it at him, hard and fast, aiming for his chest. No warning, just the red blur slicing through the air.

  Instinct kicked in. Willow’s hands jerked up. Sapphire light flared, bright as a captured star, and chains materialized from thin air, spectral and shimmering. They whipped out, snagging the apple mid-flight, wrapping around it in a tight coil. The fruit hung suspended, crushed slightly where the links bit in, juice dripping to the floor in slow, sticky drops.

  Willow’s eyes widened, staring at the impossible. The chains pulsed once, then dissolved into wisps of blue smoke, the apple thumping to the tiles. Forgotten, and left as if a pebble amid a supernatural storm.

  Kimona grinned, wide and triumphant, her teeth flashing white. “Trust but confirm, yeah?”

  He lowered his hands, heart pounding again, but not from fear this time. From wonder, sharp and unwelcome. “Why are you taking this so well? What are you?”

  She picked up the Coke from the counter, took another swig, her eyes meeting his over the rim. Then she set it down, slow and deliberate, and winked.

  The kitchen light flickered once, as if the house itself approved.