When he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure whether he was awake or still trapped inside something that had already ended.
The ceiling was white. Too white. Spotless, as if it had been installed that very morning.
Beside him, Sunny was reading aloud:
—"There comes a moment in a species' history when it stops being what it was. It is not destruction. It is transformation."
She closed Childhood's End and frowned. The bookmark wasn't where she had left it.
"What kind of stuff are you reading, Thomas?" she asked, not quite looking at him.
He smiled faintly. There was something comforting about her being there, reading his book.
—Sunny… are you okay?
—Of course, dummy. You're the one who almost died.
She stood up and walked to the window. She looked out at the city as if the sight could calm her.
—You're alive because of me. I ran into some explorers. And one of them was Dylan Clarck. The Impossible. He saved you.
Thomas blinked.
—Who?
Sunny turned around with a smile that didn't quite fit her face.
—Whatever. He saved you. Now I have to go to work. My dad sends his regards.
She reached the door and stopped.
—I'm going to regret saying this… but you're a pretty cool nerd.
—What made you change your mind?
Sunny pointed vaguely at him.
—That tattoo you've got on your back.
And she left.
Thomas realized he was naked. He walked to the bathroom. Nothing hurt. Not a single scratch. Yet he remembered the teeth, the claws, the weight.
He touched his arm where he remembered the bite. The skin was smooth. No mark, no scab, nothing. As if the pain had been an overly detailed dream.
But his body disagreed: his hands were trembling, and his throat tightened every time he tried to swallow. He leaned on the sink and looked himself in the eyes in the mirror. There were new shadows under them. Not fully visible, but there.
"Why me?" he thought without wanting to. The question landed like a stone in his stomach because it came with an automatic image: his father, young in a photograph, focused, and then… nothing.
He breathed in and his nose burned as if it were still full of sand and blood. He didn't feel alive. He felt returned, like an object someone had decided not to lose just yet.
He looked at himself in the mirror. He turned his body.
The birthmark on his back had changed. The lines were moving very slowly, as if they were breathing beneath his skin.