It wasn't metallic or foul—it was sharp. Clean. Like frozen air before a storm.
It was just… there.
Thick, syrupy streaks clung to my fingertips. Some fresh. Some dry. Some mine.
Some not.
My breath was shallow, catching on the edge of something inside me I couldn't name. I blinked once. Twice. Then stopped.
It hurt to blink.
I didn't even remember how long I'd been down here.
The room was dim, lit only by flickering candlelight. Shadows danced across the closed curtains. Something dripped near the corner, echoing louder than it should have. My hearing was sharper than usual—too sharp. Which meant...
Right now, I didn't look human.
And then—
Click.
The door opened.
I didn't raise my head.
I knew that sound too well. I knew his steps even more.
Dmitri.
He said nothing at first. Just the creak of boots against the floor, the soft clink of metal being set down.
Then, his voice.
"Still alive. Good."
I didn't answer. My throat was raw—maybe from screaming, maybe from the potion. I couldn't tell anymore.
He crouched beside me, the scent of his cologne cutting through the blood. Rosemary and firewood.
Safe—if you didn't know better.
His fingers brushed my jaw.
"You're trembling," he whispered. "That's new."
I flinched when he touched my neck. Cold fingers. Gentle grip.
He tilted my chin up.
"Look at me."
I didn't want to. But I did.
His eyes were calm. Too calm. Like this was routine. Like I was just another experiment.
This is the last time, I'd told myself. If I drink again, I won't recognize who I become.
Yet here I was.
Bleeding.
Dying.
"How does it feel?" he asked softly. "The burning. The crawling under your skin. Can you feel the changes yet?"
I didn't answer. This was our agreement—to test my limits. But this was too far.
Way too far.
He smiled.
He held out a new vial. Thicker. Darker. It glowed faintly in the candlelight.
"This one's different," he said. "You need to take it. Now."
I grabbed it.
I drank.
It burned worse than the last. My veins lit up like fire. My vision blurred. My knees hit the floor.
Don't pass out. Don't scream. Don't—
I screamed.
Now.
I was still on the bed. Drenched in sweat. Still shaking.
And he was back.
He crouched in front of me again. Hands gloved this time.
"Your body took it well," Dmitri murmured. "Stronger than I expected."
He held out a new vial.
Thicker.
Black.
"Drink this," he said, voice too soft.
Then—
"I'm taking your clothes off. I need to see the aftereffects."
My breath hitched.
He tilted his head, scanning me—searching for the roots of my pain. I couldn't be angry. I was the one who asked for this.
At first, he refused. But for a researcher like him? I knew exactly what to offer.
What would tempt him.
Dmitri had agreed—politely.
"Bear it," he said.
Through the curtain, I saw it.
Daylight—gone.
The sun had set.
How long had I been asleep?
"...You good?"
The voice was distant, muffled. Aidan's body twitched as his eyes cracked open, only to slam shut again from a spike of pain exploding through his spine and skull. Something cold and metallic was pressing against the back of his head. Though fully clothed, a shiver spread through his body, violent and uncontrollable.
He was trembling.
"I...I'm hungry," he rasped, voice hoarse and unfamiliar. He tried lifting his head, only to drop back down onto the damp pillow. His throat ached as if he hadn't spoken in days.
Dmitri stood nearby, pouring water into a glass.
"You've been out for a while," he said, voice calm. Too calm.
The room was dim. The curtain was drawn shut, and only a small candle flickered on the table. Night had fallen, but how many nights had passed?
"What time is it?" Aidan murmured, wincing. "Feels like days."
"It's late. Here," Dmitri offered the water.
Aidan took it with trembling hands, coughing halfway through a sip. "Ugh...what happened? Why does my whole body feel wrong?"
Dmitri didn't answer.
"Did you tell Naina?"
Another long pause. "No. I didn't want to worry her."
Aidan's fingers curled around the glass as something gnawed at him—an unease, like he had been gone too long. His skin looked normal now, no darkened veins or pulsing veins like before. But still...
"I need a mirror."
Dmitri hesitated.
"I said—" Aidan sat up and flung the blanket off, instantly regretting it. His knees buckled, and he leaned against Dmitri's shoulder for support. "How long has it been?"
"One to three days," Dmitri said quickly. "Maybe four."
"You're lying," Aidan muttered, eyes narrowing. "What did you do to me?"
The room was silent.
Then he noticed it—his hair. Once flowing past his hips, it now reached only to his waist.
His voice dropped. "You...cut my hair."
"It was for the medicine," Dmitri said, hurriedly. "You always said—"
"I always said I'd help. I never said to steal my hair while I was unconscious." Aidan stepped back, breathing hard. "This—this is my pride. My father used to comb this hair. It reminded our mother he once loved her. You knew that."
"I trimmed it—"
"You humiliated me."
Aidan stared at the mirror and ran his hand through the uneven strands. They shimmered faintly under the candlelight. A magical sheen. No wonder Dmitri couldn't resist.
He turned, locking eyes with his uncle.
"You didn't just cut my hair. You drained something else. Didn't you?"
Dmitri stiffened.
"You didn't take blood... did you?"
"What kind of question is that?" Dmitri gave a half-laugh, too forced to be real. "You're delirious. You told me to use your hair, Addy. For your family."
"You mean your business."
The silence that followed confirmed it. Aidan's breath slowed. "I didn't give you permission to touch me like that. How would I know if you didn't slit my neck after?"
Dmitri paled. "Don't be ridiculous—"
But Aidan wasn't listening. His eyes were glassy now, focused on his reflection. His hair had golden streaks. That only happened when he was half-transformed.
"You used me while I was shifting."
Dmitri backed away. "It was for the medicine. You're still alive. Be grateful—"
"Grateful?" Aidan whispered. "You cut me mid-transformation. You don't even know what could've gone wrong..."
'He's scared of me,' Aidan realized.
And maybe he should be.
Because Aidan wasn't just a boy anymore. He was something else. Something no one had taught him to control. Not even his dead father.
Dmitri sat down, gripping the couch arm, his hand inching toward something—metal glinting beneath a cloth.
A knife.
'He's thinking of killing me.'
"I'm sorry," Dmitri muttered, eyes flicking toward the blade. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Aidan interrupted, soft but sharp. "My father could read minds. Did you know that?"
Dmitri froze.
Aidan stepped forward and threw on a coat, shoving his hacked hair under the collar. "I didn't inherit that gift. But I don't need it."
He paused at the door.
"You should look in the mirror, uncle. That smile's finally gone."
Then he slammed the door.
—
The wind cut sharp as Aidan ran from the clinic, boots thudding against the earth. His heart thundered. Not from weakness anymore, but fear. The real kind.
'If I hadn't woken up, he would've cut me. I saw it. I saw it in his eyes.'
His hands trembled. Was it anger or magic building under his skin?
'I knew it. Mother warned me. She always knew Dmitri would betray us.'
But he couldn't leave Gloria. Not yet.
Half this land would be his one day. It was freedom, fruit on every tree, untouched by city rot and noble lies. He would fight for it.
Ahead, a branch rustled. Aidan raised his hand. A twist of wind slashed through the air, shaking apples into his open scarf.
He grinned weakly. "Can't hear thoughts... but I can bend wind. Just like father."
**
I stumbled home
The house smelled like cloves and candlewax. Familiar. Safe.
I barely stepped into my room before I saw it: unsealed envelope.
And Adeena.
She stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed. She hadn't heard me enter. She looked different. Paler. Like something was eating at her from the inside.
"Where were you?" she asked, not turning around. Her voice was low. Sharp.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
"Dmitri," she said, answering her own question. "You were with him again."
I swallowed. "It wasn't like that."
"No?" She spun on her heel. Her eyes were bloodshot. "Because last time you nearly died."
"I had to."
"No, Aidan. You chose to. Again. You chose him over me. Over Mama."
"That's not fair."
"What's not fair is watching you rot in a basement, swallowing poison like it's medicine."
I stepped closer. "You don't understand. I need this. If I don't learn control now—"
"You'll what? Explode? Burn the village down?"
I didn't answer.
Her jaw clenched. "You're becoming like him."
"Don't say that."
"You are," she whispered. "You think pain makes you stronger. That suffering is some kind of cure."
"I'm trying to protect us."
"By killing yourself?"
Silence fell between us, tense as a bowstring.
Then she thrust an envelope into my chest.
"Here."
I looked down. Black wax seal. Gold trim. Too ornate for anyone from Gloria.
"What is it?"
"An invitation," she said coldly. "To a ball."
"A ball?"
"In the capital. From a noble woman named Lady M." She spat the name like it burned. "She wants to meet me."
What?
I felt it immediately—something wrong with the paper. Not just magic. Curiosity. Hunger.
"You can't be thinking of going."
"I'm not thinking," she said. "I'm going."
I stepped in front of her. "No."
"You don't get to decide."
"Yes, I do," I snapped. "If you go, you're walking into a trap. People like her don't invite creatures like us."
She flinched.
"I'm not a creature."
"You know what I mean—"
"No," she said. "I don't."
She grabbed her cloak and brushed past me.
"Adeena—wait—"
"I don't want to wait anymore, Aidan! I'm tired of waiting while you break your body for answers. I'm tired of secrets and potions and your silent screams in the night."
I watched her vanish down the hall, footsteps echoing louder than they should've.
Then I looked at the letter again.
The wax seal shimmered.
And for a moment—I swore it winked.