Max's eyes fluttered open to a sterile white ceiling, the distant hum of fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead.
He blinked, the dull ache in his muscles reminding him where he was—the school nurse's office.
Hazel sat nearby, scrolling through her phone but instantly looking up the moment Max stirred.
A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.
"So," she said, crossing her arms, "I hear rumors that I'm Bulkout's girlfriend now."
Max blinked, still fuzzy, then smirked.
"Yeah, well… someone has to keep the city's biggest wrecking ball in check."
Hazel rolled her eyes but her grin widened.
"Don't get used to it," she warned, leaning closer. "You owe me a ton of explanations."
Max chuckled, the tension from the fight finally easing.
"Deal," he said softly. "Starting with how I'm supposed to get out of this without anyone else finding out."
Hazel's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Well, that's why I'm here."
Max let out a long, shaky breath.
The glowing cracks across his grey skin flickered weakly—like dying embers. His massive frame shuddered, shrinking, muscle mass folding inward like a collapsing wave.
With one final surge of exhaustion, the stormy grey faded entirely.
And there he was.
Just Max Presley again.
Sixteen. Bruised. Shirtless. Sitting awkwardly on a cheap cot in the school nurse's office wearing what was left of his pants and dignity.
"Ugh…" He rubbed his temples. "I hate this part."
Hazel didn't say anything at first. She just watched—eyes full of something between worry and… pride.
"You're back," she said quietly. "For a minute there… I wasn't sure."
Max looked at her, throat dry.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Me neither."
Hazel handed him her oversized hoodie, smirking. "Here. Before someone starts a second rumor about Bulkout's fashion sense."
Max chuckled and pulled it on, drowning in the fabric.
"I owe you one," he said, voice softer now, real.
Hazel gave him a sideways glance. "You owe me, like… twenty."
Outside, the faint hum of chatter and the distant sound of sirens told them school wasn't going to stay normal for much longer.
But for now—it was just the two of them.
By the time Max finally got home, the sun was already low on the horizon, casting New Cedar Falls in that hazy, orange glow that made everything feel quieter than it really was.
His front door creaked open, the familiar scent of cheap detergent and microwaved leftovers hitting him like a wave of normal.
Normal.
Right.
Max dropped his backpack just inside the door and slumped onto the beat-up couch, Hazel's hoodie still hanging loose around his shoulders.
The adrenaline was gone. The pain was catching up now—bruises forming, his body sore like he'd been hit by a freight train. Because, honestly, that wasn't far from the truth.
His phone buzzed weakly in his pocket.
Hazel: U alive? 👀
Max huffed out a tired smile.
Max: Barely. Thanks for the hoodie.
Hazel: Told you. You owe me. Like. A lot.
He dropped the phone onto his chest and stared at the ceiling, the events of the day rolling over him in slow motion—the transformation, the fight, the darts, the glowing cracks, Hazel getting hit—
The rage flared just thinking about it.
But the exhaustion won.
For now, it was just Max. Just home. Just breathing.
But deep down, he knew something was coming.
That fight at school?
It was only the start.