During the lecture, my attention never landed where it was supposed to.
It wasn't on the equations Mr. Topaz carefully built on the board, and it wasn't on Mae and John sitting a few rows ahead either. My eyes followed the chalk, my ears caught fragments of explanation, but my thoughts kept folding inward—toward the thing that now shared space inside my chest.
Cerberus.
The hunger was gone, at least for now. My body felt normal, almost deceptively so. But his voice lingered, threading itself through my thoughts like smoke that refused to clear.
Pathetic loser, he murmured. You have the power, yet all you do is whine.
My fingers tightened around my pen until my knuckles whitened.
Kill them.
Kill the man in front. He's boring.
I stared at the back of Mr. Topaz's head. At the slight stoop in his shoulders. At the way he paused between sentences, letting the class catch up. I forced myself to breathe evenly, slow enough to drown Cerberus out.
I ignored him.
Then his tone changed—no longer mocking, no longer playful.
Find my other heads before it starts.
The words landed heavier than the others.
"Starts what? How can I find them?" I asked.
The moment the sound left my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake.
The room stilled—not completely, but enough that I felt it. Chairs stopped creaking. Someone near the window glanced back. Jerry shifted beside me.
Mr. Topaz turned, eyebrow lifting slightly. "Can you repeat your question, Mr. Xevoz?"
My heart lurched. Heat crawled up my neck. I swallowed and scrambled for something—anything—that sounded normal.
"I meant—uh—about the example, sir," I said quickly. "How did you calculate the tensile stress of the two strings?"
A beat passed. Then Mr. Topaz smiled, the tension dissolving as easily as it had formed. "That's a good question."
He tapped the board with his chalk. "The strings are inclined in opposite directions. Their horizontal components cancel out, which means the net force acting on the load is zero…"
He continued explaining, chalk squeaking softly as symbols bloomed across the board.
I didn't hear a word.
I slipped my phone from my pocket under the desk, shielding it with my arm. The glow of the screen felt too bright. I scrolled through the trending page, desperate for something concrete.
Unlike yesterday, the feed had mostly returned to normal. Entertainment headlines dominated again. Celebrity scandals. Movie trailers. Sports debates.
But the cracks were still there.
#MissingScientist
#PresidentResign
#EndOfTheWorld
#943MurderCaseInADay
I opened one article, then another, skimming fast. The name surfaced again.
Robert Heaton.
Ex-convict. Multiple assault charges. A gang member.
A breath eased out of me before I could stop it.
At least he had been a criminal. At least I hadn't killed someone innocent—someone dragged into monstrosity by the same voice now whispering in my head. Like Manuel Venduro.
Another tag caught my eye.
#Nihilkin
That was what they were calling people who turned into monsters now. The comments were divided—fear on one side, fascination on the other. Monsters. Victims. Weapons. Warnings.
Some comments made my stomach tighten.
@UrbanMyth: They're calling them monsters now? Like that makes it easier to sleep.
@TruthSeeker: Monsters don't just appear. Something is triggering this. The Planetary alignment.
@BurnItDown: Most of the murder cases linked on those freaks. Yet, government tried to censored it, thinking that we're fool to notice.
@BlueHollow: Nihilkin? So they gave them name. Look to the person on your left and on your right. Either or both are monsters in disguise.
I wanted to read more, but the bell rang, sharp and final.
Lunch break.
The room burst into motion. I stood immediately, ready to go on cafeteria.
"Nick."
Mae's voice came from behind me, cautious and thin.
"Can we talk alone?"
I didn't answer. I walked. After a moment, her footsteps followed.
We stopped near our usual spot by the soccer field. The grass was trampled thin there, the metal bleachers casting long, crooked shadows. Distant laughter drifted from the cafeteria, sounding wrong somehow—like it belonged to another world.
I turned to face her. "What do you want?"
She flinched. Her hands twisted together, fingers rubbing anxiously. "Why?" she asked. "Why did you suddenly want to break up with me?"
Her voice wavered. She tried to steady it, but her eyes were already wet.
I held her gaze. "Lavender Hotel. Six-thirty yesterday evening."
Her eyes widened.
She knew I caught her.
Silence stretched between us. Her mouth opened, then closed. She searched my face, searching for an opening.
"You don't need to explain," I said quietly. "We're done."
I turned away.
Her hand shot out and grabbed my arm. It trembled against my sleeve. "Nothing happened," she said quickly. "I swear. He just wanted to talk—about you."
A short laugh slipped out of me, bitter and hollow. "Really? Because the way you two acted told a different story."
"It was a mistake," she said, voice breaking. "Just once. I promise it won't happen again. I'll never talk to John again."
I looked down at her hand, then back at her face. "Did you ever love me?"
"Yes," she said instantly. Too fast. "I love you more than my life."
The words hit something brittle inside me.
"Then kill yourself," I said.
Her face went blank, shock draining the color from her cheeks.
I exhaled. "Just kidding." My voice stayed flat. "It wouldn't change anything even if you did. Just be with him from now on."
I pulled her hand off my arm.
"I knew from the start," I continued, quieter now, "that you agreed to date me because of my father. Because you wanted a secure college recommendation. I know you're doing this for your future—so don't worry. Our breakup won't affect it."
I turned and walked away.
Her sobbing followed me faintly, thin and distant. I didn't look back.
Back in the classroom, I shoved my books into my bag. Jerry glanced up at me. "Where are you going?"
"Skipping class," I said. "Want to join?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, thanks."
I nodded, already halfway out the door.
Outside, I texted my father that I was heading to the address he'd given me.
His reply came quickly.
Take care. I'll handle the rest.
I pocketed my phone and kept walking, not slowing down.
Unbeknownst to me, my father was watching me leave the campus from his office.