As the clock struck 5:00 AM, Ethan powered down his computer, the screen's glow fading to black. The dream of the fiery wolf lingered, its blazing eyes etched in his mind, but he pushed it aside. He shuffled to the bathroom, the cold tiles biting his bare feet, and turned on the shower. Hot water cascaded over him, steam curling in the air, but the warmth couldn't fully dispel the unease. His senses, sharpening daily, caught the faint drip of the faucet and the soapy scent stinging his nose. After scrubbing clean, he dressed in jeans and a faded band tee, his movements sluggish but deliberate. By 6:30 AM, he grabbed his backpack.
Ethan decided to leave early, craving the open road to clear his head. He stepped outside, the morning air damp with Bellingham's thick fog, and going back inside he paused by the new oak door leaning against the wall. It needed installing before his mother returned, and he knew the right person for the job. He glanced at the neighbor's house—Mr. Hargrove, a middle-aged woodworker with a grizzled beard and a knack for fixing things. Ethan crossed the dew-slick grass and knocked on Hargrove's door. The man answered, wiping sawdust from his hands, his flannel shirt smelling faintly of pine.
"Morning, Ethan," Hargrove said, his voice gruff but kind. "What's up?"
"Hey, Mr. Hargrove," Ethan replied, shifting his weight. "I got a new door for the house, but I need someone who is going to install it. Can you do it today? I can pay you."
Hargrove raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Sure thing, kid. I'll be done before you are back from school. Fifty bucks sound fair?"
"Deal, here is the keys to the front door" Ethan said, pulling out his wallet. He handed over the cash, a mix of crumpled bills from his savings. "Thanks a lot."
"No problem," Hargrove said, pocketing the money. "Now get to school. Don't be late."
Ethan nodded, jogging back to his Yamaha V-Star. He fired up the bike, the engine's growl vibrating through him as he took the long route to school. The wind whipped past, carrying the sharp tang of pine and wet asphalt, and for a moment, the world felt simpler—just him, the bike, and the curving roads.
He pulled into the school parking lot, still half-empty under the gray dawn. As he cut the engine, he spotted Mia near the entrance, her chestnut braid catching the light as she adjusted her backpack. She seemed to be waiting for Harper and Jasmine, but when she turned and saw Ethan, her eyes brightened. She hesitated, then walked toward him, a curious tilt to her head. Ethan's heart thudded, but a flicker of confidence stirred. Her curiosity in P.E. had been unmistakable, and it sparked a hope he hadn't dared entertain before.
"Hey, Ethan," Mia said, her voice warm with a playful edge. "Early bird today, huh?"
"Yeah," he replied, leaning against his bike, his voice steadier than expected. "Needed a long ride to clear my head. You're here early too."
She shrugged, her smile tugging at her lips. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd beat the rush." Her gaze flicked over him, lingering on his broader shoulders. "You've been… different lately. Like, you're actually keeping up in P.E. now. What's your secret?"
Ethan's cheeks warmed, but her curiosity emboldened him. She's noticing me. "Just trying to stay active, I guess," he said, flashing a grin. "You're killing it on the track, though. I'm just trying to catch up."
Mia laughed, a bright sound that made his chest flutter. "Catch up? You're practically lapping half the class." She stepped closer, her hazel eyes narrowing, teasing but intrigued. "Seriously—what's changed? You seem… I don't know, more confident."
He rubbed the back of his neck, his confidence growing under her gaze. "Maybe I'm figuring some stuff out. Growing into myself." He took a chance, his voice light but bold. "You're pretty curious about me lately. Should I be flattered?"
Mia held his gaze, her smile turning coy. "Maybe you should. I'm just trying to keep up with you." Before he could reply, Harper's voice called from across the lot. Mia glanced over, then back at Ethan. "Gotta go, but… see you in class?"
"Definitely," Ethan said, his grin lingering as she walked away. Is she's interested? , he thought, a spark of possibility igniting. For the first time in days, something felt right.
The school day unfolded in a blur. In History, Mr. Callahan lectured about the Industrial Revolution, but Ethan's mind drifted to the fiery wolf, its eyes searing his memory. He doodled flames in his notebook, the pencil's scratch loud in his ears, a sign of his sharpening senses. Spanish class followed, Señora Lopez's rapid-fire conjugations fading as Ethan caught Mia's glance across the room. Her quick, secret smile sent his pulse racing. Focus, he chided himself, but her attention was a warm distraction.
Lunch was quieter than usual, the cafeteria abuzz with gossip about Jaxson and Carter's deaths. Ethan and Jamie sat at their usual table, picking at their food.
Computer Science offered a brief reprieve. Ethan typed code, the keyboards clatter grounding him, though the screen's glow stung his eyes. Jamie nudged him, whispering, "You gonna spill about last night or what?" Ethan shot him a look—not here—and Jamie smirked, turning back to his screen. Trigonometry closed the day, the teacher's voice a distant hum as Ethan wrestled with sine and cosine.
After school, Ethan lingered by his bike, the fog thicker now, curling around the streetlights. He'd planned to meet Jamie later to discuss the blood bag, but his thoughts kept circling back to Mia. Her curiosity, her smile—it was a bright spot in the chaos, a reason to keep going. Maybe I can ask her to hang out, he thought, the idea thrilling yet terrifying. But the dream of the wolf loomed, its fiery eyes a warning. Whatever I am, I need to know before I drag anyone else into this.
He rode home, taking the long route again, the engine's growl drowning his doubts. When he reached his house, the new door was already installed, thanks to Mr. Hargrove's work. Inside, he dropped his backpack and grabbed a soda, the fizz sharp on his tongue. His phone buzzed—Jamie, texting about not being able to come and some random gaming things. Ethan replied, then sank onto the couch, the musty fabric rough against his skin. His senses flared: the fridge's hum, the house's faint creaks, the lingering scent of paint from the door. It was overwhelming, a reminder of how much he'd changed.
As night fell, Ethan paced his room, the floorboards creaking under his steps. The dream's flames felt closer, like a memory just out of reach. I'm not a vampire, he thought, clinging to that truth. But I'm not human either. The realization settled over him, heavy but resolute. Whatever he was becoming, he'd face it head-on—because the alternative was letting it consume him.