The school was a fog. I let Mrs. Lim’s holographic equations float through my head in trigonometry. Ignored the six unread messages from Tessa glowing in my sight. I even pretended to care about homecoming decorations when the student council cornered me by my locker.

  “Nikki, we need someone tall for the balloon arch,” Maddie said, smiling with her synthetic bright grin. “Can you help us?”

  “Can’t. Family thing.” I was already moving before she could argue.

  The cafeteria reeked of grease, artificial cheese, and the burnt-plastic tang of the food printers. I stabbed at what the automated server insisted was lasagna. Red sauce oozed across the tray. My appetite evaporated.

  Cody dropped his tray across from me, his usual grin fading when he got a good view of my face.

  “You planning to murder your lunch, or…?”

  “It’s already dead.”

  “Nikki.” Tessa slid in next to him, her perfume a cloud of jasmine and vanilla. “You’ve been MIA for weeks. What’s going on?”

  I shrugged, and the fork in my hand bent. Freaking cheap cafeteria metal, nothing like the factory steel I’d crushed. My pulse spiked. I forced my fingers to uncurl and set the mangled fork down. “It’s family stuff.”

  Cody and Tessa exchanged glances. The one they’d perfected over eight years, the one that clearly meant she’s lying and what now? They thought I couldn’t see it. I saw everything.

  “Nikki.” Cody leaned forward, elbows on the table. His voice dropped low. “We’re worried about you. You’re…acting different. You barely talk anymore. You skip lunch half the time. And yesterday you practically ran away from me in the hallway.”

  Different. The word echoed. The cafeteria noise faded, replaced by the crack of a plasma rifle. Red sauce on the floor became a different red. My reflection stared back from the polished tabletop, but for a second, it was his face—eyes wide, empty. The way they looked right before…

  “I’m fine. Seriously. Just stressed about college apps and stuff.”

  Tessa’s eyebrows climbed. “You? Stressed about college? You’ve had your essay done since sophomore year.”

  Damn. She was right.

  “Rewrites,” I said. “You can always improve, right?”

  Tessa and Cody chuckled.

  A locker slammed. The crash was a gunshot in my skull. I wasn’t in the cafeteria. I was in the factory. Crusher in the doorway. The plasma rifle whining, a sound like grinding teeth. Ozone and heat. The shove—

  “Nikki!” Tessa’s hand was on my wrist, her skin hot against my own clammy flesh. I was on my feet, chair screeching. Twenty faces staring. My tray on the floor. Red sauce spreading like…

  No. Not blood. Just sauce. Cheap cafeteria marinara.

  “Sorry.” My voice came out strangled. “Headache. I’m gonna… bathroom.”

  I didn’t wait for their response. Didn’t grab my bag. Didn’t care that I’d left my half-eaten lunch congealing on the floor.

  The hallway was empty, white lights buzzing overhead. Their hum crawled under my skin. My hands shook. I shoved them in my pockets and kept walking, past the bathrooms with their flickering “Girls” sign, past the gym where someone was bouncing a basketball—each thump making my shoulders tense—until I hit the back doors and stumbled into October air.

  The parking lot stretched out, asphalt shimmering with yesterday’s rain. Puddles reflected gray sky.

  I collapsed on the curb and dropped my head between my knees, trying to force air into lungs that felt like they were shrinking. The buzzing of the school’s ventilation unit was a drill boring into my skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. Crusher’s face swam up—the plasma bolt, the smell of ozone and burning meat. The way his body crumpled. The wet thud. The silence. My fault. I pushed him. I chose my life.

  And I’d do it again.

  What did that make me?

  Footsteps crunched on gravel. I didn’t turn around.

  “Go away, Tessa.”

  “I’m not Tessa.”

  Cody sat next to me. He said nothing, or pushed. We sat there while the October wind picked up candy wrappers and dead leaves, scattering them across the lot. Somewhere in the distance, a hover-bus groaned past, its engines whining.

  I calmed my breathing. My gaze sharpened, and the parking lot snapped back into clarity. There was the cracked asphalt, the faded yellow lines, and Cody’s beat-up sneakers right beside my own.

  “Whatever it is,” he said finally, “you don’t have to do it alone.”

  Yes, I do.

  I wanted to tell him. God, I wanted to unload everything—the bite, the factory, the corporate nightmare hunting me. But what came out was:

  “I’m handling it.”

  Cody was quiet for a long moment. A leaf skittered past us, caught in the wind. “That’s funny. You remember sixth grade? When my dad left?”

  I turned to him. “Yeah.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I said I was handling too. Total bullshit.” He picked up a pebble, tossed it toward a puddle. It landed with a soft plunk. “Took me six months to admit I was drowning. You and Tessa basically saved my life.”

  “That was different.”

  “Was it?”

  I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t tell him that my problems came with claws and fangs and men who’d kill a sixteen-year-old girl for corporate profit.

  He stood up, brushing off his jeans. “I know you’re not handling it, Nikki. But when you’re ready to stop pretending, we’ll be here.”

  He left. I stayed on that curb until the bell rang; the sound muffled through the building’s walls. Let the next period start without me. Mrs. Mendez’s Spanish class could survive one day minus Nikki Nova.

  When I finally dragged myself back inside, the hall monitor gave me a look. I waved my phone at him.

  “Bathroom emergency.”

  He grimaced and waved me through.

  *****

  Home was supposed to be safe.

  Our apartment sat on the ninetieth floor, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Chicago’s sprawl. The city stretched out in chrome and glass, advertisements flickering across building faces—insurance, dating apps, fake fast food, brain implants. Air traffic weaved between skyscrapers, delivery drones and private vehicles forming streams of light against the darkening sky.

  I used to love this view. Used to press my face against the glass when I was Jackie’s age, counting the blinking lights, making wishes on passing ships.

  Now every rooftop was a potential ambush. Every shadow could hide a sniper. Every flicker of light might be Pandora’s next hunter lining up a shot.

  “Nikki!”

  Jackie barreled into me, eight years old and made of pure energy. Her blonde hair was in pigtails, her grin missing two teeth—the top ones she’d lost last month, leaving her with a gap-toothed smile that made my chest ache.

  “You promised we’d watch Monster Space Squad!”

  Right. I had promised. Last week, when I’d been too exhausted to do anything except mumble agreement.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  I dropped my bag by the door—it landed with a thud heavy enough to make Jackie jump—and headed for my room. The door clicked shut behind me. I left my bed unmade, sheets twisted like I’d fought them. Clothes scattered across the floor. Normal teenage mess. Except for the claw marks on my desk.

  Four parallel gouges, deep enough to splinter the composite wood.

  I’d woken up three nights ago mid-transformation, furniture in splinters around me. My alarm clock had been in pieces. My desk chair had claw marks on the armrests. Mom thought a shelf collapsed. I let her think it. Spent two hours cleaning up the evidence before she got home from her shift.

  The wristband sat on my nightstand. Handy’s interface was dark.

  I picked it up. The metal was cool against my skin. “You there?”

  “Your stress levels are elevated. Again.”

  “So.”

  “Sustained cortisol levels at this rate correlate with a 47% increase in cellular degradation. Your attempt at ‘normalcy’ is physiologically unsustainable.”

  “I’m not exactly human anymore. Remember?”

  A beat of silence.

  “Analysis: The emotional attachments to your family and peer group remain your primary motivator. Preserving these connections is tactically sound.”

  The words hit harder than they should’ve. I set the wristband down, fingers trembling.

  “Five minutes,” I whispered.

  I splashed water on my face in the bathroom. The mirror showed dark circles, pale skin, hair that needed washing. I looked like death. Felt like it, too.

  Jackie’s laughter drifted through the apartment. High and bright and perfect.

  I headed for the living room.

  Jackie had the TV ready, her favorite blanket spread across the couch—the purple one with stars, worn soft from years of use. She patted the spot next to her, bouncing with excitement.

  “C’mon! It’s starting!”

  I sat. She curled against my side, warm and trusting. Small. Fragile. The opening credits rolled—terrible ‘80s animation, synth music that sounded like it was played on a dying keyboard, cartoon monsters doing cartoon things.

  Jackie laughed at the werewolf’s antics. The animated creature howled at a digital moon, completely harmless. Friendly, even. Its eyes were enormous and round. Its fur was purple and fluffy. It wore a bandana and skateboarded through space.

  Nothing like what I became.

  Nothing like the thing with yellow eyes and sharp teeth that stared back at me from reflective surfaces when the change took hold.

  “Nikki?” Jackie poked my arm. “You’re not watching.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Are you okay? You’ve been weird lately.”

  Weird. That’s one word for it.

  “I’m good, shrimp. Just tired.”

  She studied me with those big blue eyes—too perceptive for eight. Mom’s eyes. Dad’s eyes, before he left. “Mom says you’ve been having nightmares.”

  “Mom needs to mind her business.”

  “She’s worried. I’m worried.” Jackie’s small hand found mine, squeezed. “You yell sometimes. At night. It wakes me up.”

  The air in my lungs turned to shards of glass. My hands went numb. “I do?”

  “Yeah. Last night you were saying something about running. And someone named Crusher.” Her face scrunched up. “Who’s Crusher? Is he mean to you? Tell me. I can kick him.”

  The laugh that escaped me was half-sob. “No, shrimp. You don’t need to beat anyone up.”

  “But if I did, I could. I’ve been practicing my kicks.”

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  The lie sat heavy between us. On screen, the monsters defeated the big green Martian bad guy. Everyone went home happy. The werewolf got a medal. The vampire got a girlfriend. Credits rolled over images of the crew eating pizza and playing video games.

  Simple. Clean. No moral ambiguity. No dead bodies. No corporations hunting teenagers through Chicago’s underbelly.

  “Can we watch another one?” Jackie asked.

  “School night.”

  “Please? Just one more? I promise I’ll go to bed right after.”

  I should’ve said no. Should’ve sent her to bed, locked my door, and spent another sleepless night staring at the ceiling. Waiting for the nightmares. Waiting for Pandora’s kill squad to crash through the window.

  Instead: “One more.”

  Her grin could’ve powered the city.

  We watched until she fell asleep against my shoulder, breath soft and even. Her weight was solid. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her hand had loosened its grip on the blanket.

  I carried her to bed, her head lolling against my shoulder. She was getting heavier—growing up too fast. Soon I wouldn’t be able to carry her like this anymore.

  I tucked the blanket around her chin. She mumbled something about werewolves and ice cream, then rolled over, hugging her stuffed elephant.

  Safe. Innocent. Everything I was supposed to protect.

  I stood in her doorway, the sight of her small, safe form a stark contrast to the memory flashing in my mind: Crusher’s shocked face. The smell. The sound. I’d killed him to save myself. And as I looked at Jackie, I knew, with a chilling certainty that froze the air in my lungs, I would kill anyone who came for her. A dozen. A hundred. I’d paint the streets red to keep her safe.

  The thought should have terrified me.

  It didn’t.

  And that was the most monstrous thing of all.