A faint gray light filtered through the curtains. The storm had finally passed, leaving the world outside washed and still — the kind of calm that only comes after everything has broken and settled again.
Aaron stirred beneath the blanket, the weight of sleep heavy in his limbs. His fur still felt slightly damp, and his body ached from the cold night outside, but the steady hum of the house soothed him. For a moment, he just listened — to the faint ticking of the kitchen clock, the quiet drip of water from the eaves, and his mother's soft movements nearby.
Catherine sat at the dining table, her hands wrapped around a half-finished cup of coffee. The dark circles beneath her eyes told their own story, but when she saw Aaron shift, a small smile tugged at her lips.
"Morning, sweetheart," she said quietly. "Didn't mean to wake you."
Aaron rubbed at his eyes, blinking against the light. "You didn't." His voice was hoarse. "...What time is it?"
"Just after five. You've only been asleep for a few hours."
He nodded, stretching slightly before sitting up. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, and the chill of the room nipped at his skin. Catherine stood and tucked it back around him without a word. It was such a simple gesture — one he hadn't realized he'd missed until now.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward; it was soft, filled with everything that didn't need to be said out loud.
Finally, Catherine broke it. "When I saw you at the door…" Her voice trembled faintly. "I thought I'd lost you for good this time."
Aaron looked down at his hands, his claws tracing faint patterns in the blanket. "I didn't know where else to go. I just… needed to think. To breathe."
She nodded slowly, sitting beside him. "You don't have to run to do that, Aaron."
"I know." He hesitated, his glowing eyes dimming. "I thought I was protecting you — from me."
Catherine's chest tightened. "Oh, honey…" She reached out, resting her palm against his cheek. "You are not something I need protection from. You're my son."
His throat tightened. "Even after everything I've done?"
"Especially after everything you've done," she said. "Because you came back. Because you still care."
Aaron swallowed hard, the warmth in his chest pushing against the guilt that had settled there.
In the back of his mind, the voice stirred again — gentle, almost proud.
See? She never stopped believing in you.
Aaron blinked away the tears that threatened to rise, leaning into his mother's hand. "I'm sorry, Mom."
"I know." She smiled faintly, brushing a damp lock of fur from his face. "Just promise me you'll talk to us next time… before you disappear into the rain."
He managed a weak laugh. "I promise."
From down the hall came the sound of quiet footsteps — David, already up, maybe unable to sleep. The morning would bring questions, plans, and hard truths… but for now, the world could wait a little longer.
For now, it was enough that they were together.
When Catherine quietly excused herself to rest, the house fell still again. Only the faint hum of the fridge filled the silence. David lingered near the window, arms folded, staring out at the water streaks on the glass. The light outside had shifted from gray to pale gold, the kind of early morning brightness that made everything feel fragile — new, but uncertain.
Aaron watched him for a while, tail flicking once against the floor. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words tangled every time he tried to start. Finally, he just said the simplest thing that came to mind.
"…You didn't sleep either, did you?"
David gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Not really. Too much in my head."
Aaron looked down. "Same."
A long pause.
Then, almost cautiously, David spoke. "I'm glad you came back."
Aaron's eyes flicked up to meet his. "I didn't plan to. Not at first."
"I know." David's voice was even — too even. "But you did. That's what matters."
Aaron hesitated, his claws fidgeting with the blanket edge. "There's something I've been wanting to talk about… everything that happened. The lab. The accident."
David turned toward him, and for a moment, the weight in his eyes softened — the guardedness slipping away. "All right," he said quietly. "Let's talk."
Aaron took a shaky breath. "When it happened — when I lost control — I remember everything. The sounds, the lights, the smell of blood. I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't even know what was happening until it was too late." His voice cracked, the guilt finally bubbling through. "I can still hear it sometimes. The scream. The alarms. I keep thinking if I'd just—"
David stopped him with a slow shake of his head. "Aaron, stop. You don't have to relive it."
"I do," Aaron said, sharper than he meant. "Because you were there. You saw what I became. And I saw how you looked at me afterward — like you didn't know what I was anymore."
David froze. The words hit deep, and for a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sat across from Aaron, his expression unreadable.
"You're right," he said finally. "I didn't know what to think. I'd spent years studying the impossible — and then my own son became the proof of it. I wasn't ready. I should've been."
Aaron blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.
David went on, his voice low. "I was terrified. Not of you — but of what the world would do if they found out. What it would do to you. That's why the tests happened, the containment, the interviews… I told myself it was for your safety, but maybe I just wanted to keep control of something I didn't understand."
Aaron's fins dimmed faintly. "You mean me."
David didn't deny it. "Yes. You."
The admission hung between them, raw and quiet.
Aaron looked away, the glow of his eyes reflecting faintly off the window. "Well, now everyone knows anyway. The news, the pictures — they're everywhere."
David nodded grimly. "I know. We can't stop it now. Every agency, every network… they want answers. Some are calling you a miracle. Others, a threat."
Aaron swallowed hard. "And what do you think I am?"
David's jaw tightened — not from anger, but emotion. He leaned forward slightly. "You're my son. That's the only answer I care about."
Aaron's breath hitched. For a moment, neither moved. Then the voice in his mind — quiet as rain — whispered, He means it this time.
Aaron blinked away the sting in his eyes and looked down. "…I wish you'd said that sooner."
"I know," David murmured. "I should've."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was the kind that meant something had finally broken open — and begun to heal.
Outside, the first light of dawn crept across the windowsill. The storm was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of salt and soil.
Aaron leaned back, exhausted but lighter than before. "So… what now?"
David exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Now? We figure out how to protect you — together this time. No more labs. No more secrets."
Aaron nodded slowly, the faintest flicker of relief tugging at his chest. "Together sounds good."
For the first time in a long while, David smiled — small, tired, but real.
Aaron stayed downstairs for a little while after David left, the quiet of the house sinking into him. Everything felt fragile — his thoughts, his body, even the air itself. When he finally slipped away to his room, it was more out of instinct than intention.
The storm had passed, but its scent lingered. Damp air drifted through the cracked window, cool and heavy with salt. The faint hum of the city beyond the hills was the only sound left, distant and soft.
He sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his fur. For the first time since he'd come home, he wasn't being watched, or questioned, or comforted. Just… alone.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced down. Kane. One of his best friends — someone blissfully unaware of everything that had happened these past weeks.
Kane: "Bro, you seeing this? Leaked security footage from some secret lab. Everyone online's losing it."
Attached was a video file.
Aaron hesitated before pressing play. The screen flickered — grainy security footage, tinted green. A corridor lined with shattered glass and overturned equipment. Shadows moved fast, alarms flashing red. Then came the creature — a shape of fury and motion, glowing eyes, fins cutting through the light as scientists fled in terror.
Aaron's heart stopped. He knew that place. He knew that moment.
He was that moment.
The video cut abruptly after the lights went out. The comment overlay flashed across the bottom — conspiracy tags, wild theories, some claiming it was an animal mutation project, others insisting it was AI-generated.
Another message popped up.
Kane: "Looks fake, right? Still creepy though. They're saying it's from some underground facility off the coast. Makes me glad we live nowhere near that mess 😅"
Aaron just stared at the screen. His pulse thundered in his ears, every muscle frozen.
He doesn't know, the voice whispered from the back of his mind. No one does.
His claws hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to reply — to say yeah, that's crazy or totally fake — but the words refused to come. His reflection in the screen looked back at him, eyes faintly glowing in the dim light.
Kane: "You good, man? You went quiet."
Aaron exhaled shakily and typed back just two words.
Aaron: "Yeah. Fine."
Then he locked the phone and set it face-down on the desk.
The silence that followed was louder than the storm had ever been.
You can't hide forever, the voice murmured again, fading into the quiet hum of the rain-soaked morning.
Aaron stared at the window — the gray dawn beyond it, the faint reflection of his fins against the glass — and wondered how long "fine" could possibly last.
Aaron didn't know how long he sat there staring at the window. The world outside had gone pale — the first thin light of dawn brushing across the clouds. The storm had left everything still and muted, the kind of quiet that pressed in until it hurt to breathe.
He finally pushed himself up, grabbed his blanket, and stepped out of the room. His footsteps were soft on the hallway floorboards, the only sound in a house that was still half-asleep.
Downstairs, David sat at the table again, a half-empty mug of coffee beside him. Catherine stood by the stove, absently stirring something in a pot though it had long since stopped simmering. They both looked up when Aaron appeared — tired, unsure, his fur still slightly damp.
Catherine's voice broke the silence first. "Can't sleep?"
Aaron shook his head. "Not really." He hesitated, then added quietly, "There's something I need to talk about."
David straightened a little. "Of course."
Aaron sat down across from them, the blanket still draped over his shoulders. He stared at the wood grain on the table for a moment before speaking.
"I got a message from Kane. He sent me a video — the footage from the lab."
Both Catherine and David froze.
"He doesn't know it's me," Aaron went on, voice tight. "No one does. Everyone online thinks it's fake or some kind of animal experiment gone wrong." He swallowed. "But they're talking about it like I'm some kind of monster. Like I'm not even real."
Catherine's hand covered her mouth. David's expression darkened, a storm behind his eyes.
Aaron's claws traced small lines into the edge of the blanket. "I'm tired of hiding," he said quietly. "I can't talk to my friends. I can't tell them anything. I can't even exist without pretending I'm someone else. It's like the world's already decided what I am."
Catherine crossed over and knelt beside him, resting a gentle hand on his arm. "Aaron, sweetheart—"
"No, Mom," he said, his voice breaking. "I just… I hate it. I hate that they're scared of me, that they twist everything to make it sound like I'm dangerous. I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't want to hurt anyone."
Catherine's eyes welled with tears, her thumb brushing against the wet fur of his cheek. "We know you didn't. And you're not dangerous, honey. You're still you."
"But that doesn't matter to them," Aaron said. "To them, I'm just the thing in that video."
David leaned forward, his tone soft but measured. "Listen to me, Aaron. The world reacts to what it doesn't understand with fear. It's not fair, but it's how people work. We can't control how they see you—but we can control how we handle it."
Aaron looked up at him, eyes glinting faintly in the low light. "By hiding?"
David hesitated before answering. "…For now, yes. Until we can figure out something safer. If people find out the creature from that video is a living person—"
"—They'll come for me," Aaron finished.
David's silence was all the confirmation he needed.
Catherine's voice trembled. "We'll find a way through this, okay? I promise. But for now, I need you to stay safe. That's all that matters to me."
Aaron looked between them — his mother's fear barely held behind her love, his father's logic trying to mask the same thing. He wanted to argue, to say he didn't want to live in the shadows anymore. But the exhaustion pressed down too heavily, the truth too big to fight.
He sighed, his fins drooping slightly. "I just wish people could see me for who I actually am."
Catherine smiled faintly through her tears. "They will, sweetheart. One day. When the world's ready."
Aaron wasn't sure he believed her, but the words still helped. Just a little.
From the corner of his mind, the voice whispered again — quiet:
They're trying, Aaron. Don't lose that.
He didn't respond. He just leaned against his mother, closing his eyes as the first full light of morning crept through the window.
For the first time in days, he let himself rest.