*Rory's Point of View*
The morning after my birthday felt like a hangover, even though I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol.
I moved through the house like a shadow, quiet enough not to wake anyone. My mom's bedroom door was shut. My sisters' room too. I didn't want to see their faces. Not after last night.
They'd acted like nothing had happened. Like we hadn't shared breakfast that morning planning my birthday dinner, like they hadn't vanished during the time I'd nearly… *shifted.*
Like I wasn't falling apart inside.
I chewed half a piece of toast, barely tasting it, and slipped out the front door before anyone could pretend to care again.
The morning air was cold against my skin, but it felt better than the warmth inside. Realer.
The walk to school was quiet. The streets were still damp with dew, and my boots made soft scuffs against the sidewalk. Every window I passed threw back my reflection, and I flinched each time.
Would I see her again?
*Him.*
*It.*
Aerie hadn't spoken since yesterday. But the feeling of being watched from inside hadn't left me.
---
By the time I reached the school gates, students were already pouring in, laughing, shoving, alive in ways I didn't feel anymore.
I walked slower.
When I turned the corner into the courtyard, I froze.
My shadow, stretched long by the rising sun, wasn't mine.
It moved when I moved, but it wasn't shaped like a girl.
It had pointed ears. A long snout. A tail that flicked once before vanishing like mist.
I gasped and stumbled backward.
No one else saw it. Or maybe no one else was looking.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned, head down, and darted into the school building, pushing past the early crowd until I reached the girls' bathroom.
---
The mirror greeted me with pale skin and wide, frightened eyes.
I locked myself into the last stall, gripping the sink edge until my knuckles turned white. My hands were shaking.
And then the tingling started.
Like pins and needles, but deeper. Not on the surface—underneath. Inside the bones.
I looked down.
My nails were lengthening. Darkening. Curving into points.
Claws.
Thin and sharp.
I sucked in a breath so fast it hurt, stumbling back and hitting the stall door.
My heart was racing. My vision blurred with panic.
*This isn't real. It can't be real. I'm not—*
Not what?
I didn't even know what I was anymore.
A soft whisper brushed through my mind. Aerie. Faint. Distant. *You're not broken. You're waking up.*
I didn't want to wake up. I wanted this to stop.
The claws slowly retracted, melting back into human nails. I collapsed onto the toilet lid, burying my face in my hands. I stayed there until the second bell rang.
---
When I finally made it to class, I kept my head down, sliding into my seat by the window.
I felt like a walking fever dream. No one looked at me. No one asked questions. The world had moved on from whatever storm I was trapped in.
Except—
A voice broke through the fog. "Hey."
I didn't look up right away. That voice wasn't for me. It never was.
But when I did—there he was.
**Caleb.**
Golden-skinned, dark curls just messy enough to look like he didn't try. He was leaning on the desk next to mine, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Casual. Effortless.
Beautiful.
And looking *right at me.*
My throat tightened. "H-hey?"
He shifted his weight, eyes flicking toward the chair beside me. "Anyone sitting here?"
I blinked. "No. I mean—no, it's free."
He slid into the seat like it was no big deal. Like he hadn't spent the last two years walking past me without a second glance.
My heart was a confused, chaotic thing.
"Happy birthday, by the way," he said, scribbling something in his notebook without looking at me.
What?
"You… knew it was my birthday?" I asked, trying to sound casual and probably failing.
He glanced at me, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in his expression. Curiosity. Maybe concern. "Yeah. Luna mentioned it yesterday. Said you were acting weird."
Of course. *Luna.*
I looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry, I just… wasn't feeling great."
He nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Well, whatever it was—you look better today."
I didn't know what to say to that.
He was being nice.
*Too* nice.
It felt like a trap my heart had set for itself.
But then the teacher walked in, and he turned back to the front, just like that. Like we were two normal people on a normal day in a normal school.
And maybe I could pretend for a little while longer.
Even if I still wasn't sure what I was.
A week passed.
Seven days of pretending. Smiling when I needed to. Nodding when teachers called on me. Laughing when Luna and River made their usual jabs like nothing had changed. Like my shadow didn't stretch the wrong way when the light hit it just right. Like I didn't sometimes wake up in a cold sweat hearing a voice I couldn't explain whisper my name from somewhere deep inside.
Seven days of keeping the claws at bay.
I didn't talk to Caleb again—not really. But he nodded at me once in the hall. Like we had a quiet agreement. Like he hadn't imagined it, and neither had I.
I clung to that moment more than I wanted to admit.
---
It was Friday afternoon when the invitation came.
I was stuffing books into my locker, mind already drifting toward the weekend—toward the freedom of being alone in my room with no mirrors, no voices—when a sharp tap landed on my shoulder.
I turned to see Isla.
Pretty. Popular. Loud in the way I could never be.
She smiled with glossed lips and too-perfect lashes. "Hey Rory. You free next Saturday?"
I blinked, confused. Isla never spoke to me.
"Um. I think so?"
"Awesome," she said, sliding a glossy pink envelope into my hand like it was perfectly normal. "It's Maya's birthday. Huge party at her place. We're going all out. You should totally come."
Maya.
Queen bee. Social royalty. The kind of girl who didn't know my name three weeks ago.
I stared at the envelope, unsure if this was some kind of mistake.
"Thanks," I managed to say.
Isla winked. "Bring something sparkly."
Then she was gone.
---
I stood there for a while, the hallway emptying around me.
I should've been excited. Curious, even. Girls like me didn't get invited to things like that—not unless it was for a joke. But something about the envelope in my hand felt heavier than it should.
Like it meant more than just drinks and music and glitter.
Like I was being pulled toward something.
Or maybe *watched.*