Steven’s POV

  I barely slept.

  Not because I couldn’t close my eyes—

  Because every time I did, I felt it again.

  That rush.

  That sick, perfect clarity in my blood.

  The way Aqua’s smile had faltered for half a second, like I’d tugged on something inside her without permission.

  I kept replaying it like my brain was trying to punish me properly.

  But my body—

  My body didn’t feel punished.

  My chest stayed too steady.

  Too awake.

  Like guilt was something my mind understood, but my Beast Core didn’t recognize as a reason to stop.

  I sat up on the couch slowly and dragged a hand down my face.

  I’m not doing that again.

  The promise felt thin the second I made it.

  Because part of me didn’t just remember—

  Part of me wanted it back.

  My phone buzzed on the coffee table.

  The vibration was loud in the quiet, sharp enough to make my heart jump.

  I grabbed it too fast.

  Unknown Number.

  A cold line slid down my spine before I even opened it.

  I tapped the message.

  Unknown Number: Steven Salvatore—this is Kevin Newman. I’m your mother’s attorney.

  Frank from the fire department confirmed you and your sister are safe.

  I have documents and personal effects your mother instructed me to deliver to you only in person.

  Meet me at Worthington Federal Bank—downtown branch—10:00 AM. This is time-sensitive.

  My stomach dropped so hard it felt like the room tilted.

  Your mother’s attorney.

  I read it again.

  And again.

  Because the words refused to fit inside my head.

  Mom had an attorney?

  Mom had documents prepared?

  Mom had… a plan?

  My throat tightened as the realization settled like wet ash.

  Which meant she’d been preparing for a day she didn’t want to come.

  A soft shuffle came from the hallway.

  Aqua appeared in the doorway, hair down, wearing her pajama shirt dress—soft fabric that made her look almost normal—except she’d thrown a light cardigan over it, sleeves slightly too long, like she was trying to feel cozy in a world that kept turning sharp.

  One look at my face and she went still.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  I held up my phone like it weighed more than it should.

  “My mom’s… attorney,” I rasped.

  Aqua blinked. “Attorney?”

  Right.

  Of course she wouldn’t know that word.

  I swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts into something that made sense outside my head.

  “It’s like…” I started, then tried again. “A legal helper. Someone you hire for paperwork, money stuff, court stuff—if something happens and you need someone to represent you.”

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  Aqua’s brows drew together. “Represent?”

  “Speak for you,” I said, voice rough. “Handle things you can’t. Or things you shouldn’t handle alone.”

  Aqua’s gaze flicked back to the screen.

  Her voice lowered. “Why would your mother need that?”

  That question hit me right in the ribs.

  Because it was the same one spiraling in my head.

  I stared at the text again.

  Time-sensitive.

  In person.

  Only you.

  And a colder thought slid in—slow, unwanted.

  Not blame.

  Just… possibility.

  “Do you think my dad knew?” I whispered.

  Aqua blinked. “Knew what?”

  I swallowed hard. “That she was preparing.”

  “That she thought something like… this could happen someday.”

  The words tasted wrong in my mouth.

  Aqua’s eyes softened. “Steven…”

  I exhaled shakily.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I don’t know anything.”

  Aqua stepped closer, careful—like she could feel I was one wrong breath away from snapping.

  “Then go,” she said gently. “Get answers.”

  I nodded once, sharp and decisive like that would keep me from breaking.

  “I have to,” I said. “He wants to meet at ten.”

  Aqua glanced toward the hallway, toward Katie’s door.

  “I’ll tell Katie where you went,” she said. “And I’ll stay with her.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  My throat tightened again—because I didn’t deserve how steady she was being for us.

  I stood, rubbed my palms against my sweatpants like I could scrub the guilt off, and forced myself into something normal.

  “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I said, voice hoarse. “Freshen up.”

  Aqua nodded. “Okay.”

  “And later,” I added, because the thought of staying stuck in borrowed clothes made my skin crawl, “we’re going to town. We need clothes. Basics. Stuff for you, me, Katie… everything.”

  Aqua’s mouth twitched—faint, hopeful.

  “I can do that,” she said quietly, almost like she was grateful for the chance to take care of something tangible. “I’ll make a list.”

  I nodded and turned toward the bathroom before my face could fall apart.

  ---

  The bathroom was small, clean, and too bright—like it belonged to someone who still believed in routines.

  I shut the door, twisted the knob, and let the water run until steam started to fog the mirror.

  When I finally stepped under the spray, I flinched at first—like my body expected the heat to hurt.

  It didn’t.

  It just… wrapped around me.

  Water slid over my hair, my shoulders, my chest, and for the first time since the fire, I felt something loosen inside me that wasn’t my muscles.

  The smoke smell that had been clinging to me—real or imagined—started to fade.

  The soot under my nails softened.

  My skin stopped feeling like it belonged to a night that refused to end.

  I tilted my head back and let the water hit my face, eyes closed.

  For a few seconds, I let myself pretend I could wash grief off like ash.

  That I could rinse out the image of flames.

  That I could rinse out the taste of guilt.

  My chest stayed steady—too steady—but the water made it easier to breathe around it.

  And I hated how good it felt.

  Because it meant I’d needed it.

  Because it meant I’d been living like an animal for two days—running, reacting, surviving—without once stopping long enough to be a person.

  I shut the water off before I could stay there too long.

  Before relief turned into collapse.

  I dried off fast, pulled on the cleanest clothes I could find, and stared at myself in the fogged mirror.

  My eyes looked too sharp.

  My face looked older.

  I wiped the mirror with my palm and muttered, “Get it together.”

  My gaze dropped to my left hand.

  The burn.

  The one that had blistered and screamed yesterday—raw enough that even the air should have hurt it.

  I turned my palm slowly under the bathroom light.

  No blister.

  No angry red.

  No sting.

  Just smooth skin—faintly pink like something that had healed weeks ago, not a day.

  My throat went dry.

  “That’s… not possible,” I whispered.

  Unless—

  My chest pulsed low, steady, like it agreed with the thought my mind didn’t want to finish.

  Unless I’m not what I thought I was.

  I lifted my eyes to the mirror.

  Steam fogged the edges, but the center stayed clear—my face, damp and too sharp, blond hair darker with water and pushed back off my forehead.

  My eyes looked back at me.

  Blue.

  Bright.

  Familiar.

  Human.

  I swallowed and told myself to stop.

  But my body didn’t listen the way it used to.

  I thought about the café—about the pink glow, about the way my chest had hummed like it recognized food.

  About how good it had felt.

  About how wrong it had felt.

  My pulse picked up.

  And with it, that pressure under my ribs stirred—quiet, awake, patient.

  I didn’t force anything.

  I just… let myself remember.

  For a second, nothing changed.

  Then warmth spread behind my eyes like someone had lit a match in my skull.

  My breath caught.

  The blue in my irises darkened—then bled into something deeper, richer—

  And suddenly my eyes weren’t blue anymore.

  They were red.

  Not bloodshot.

  Not irritated.

  Not a trick of lighting.

  Glowing red.

  A steady, unnatural shine that made my reflection look like it belonged to a different species wearing my skin.

  I froze.

  Staring.

  Waiting for it to stop.

  It didn’t.

  The glow held—silent, merciless proof.

  My stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling.

  I leaned closer, searching for anything that could make this less real.

  There were no slits.

  No animal shape.

  Just those red, lit-from-within eyes staring back at me like they’d been there all along, waiting for the moment I finally noticed.

  A thought landed in my mind with the weight of a verdict:

  I’m not human.

  And the scarier one right behind it—

  Maybe I never was.

  My hands trembled.

  I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went pale and forced myself to breathe out slow.

  “Okay,” I muttered to my reflection. “Okay. Not now.”

  Because if I let myself break in a bathroom, I’d never make it to the bank.

  And whatever Mom left behind—

  Whatever she knew—

  was waiting.

  I dragged my wet hands through my blond hair again, shoved it back like I could push the panic away too, then stepped away from the mirror before I could stare long enough to forget what “normal” had ever felt like.

  I pocketed my phone, took one last breath, and left the apartment before my reflection could follow me.

  ---

  When I stepped back into the living room, Aqua was in the kitchen, already talking to Katie in a low voice. Katie’s door was open now, and I heard the soft thump of her moving around—restless, bracing.

  Aqua looked up at me.

  “I told her,” she said. “She’s… not happy you’re going alone.”

  “She doesn’t have to be happy,” I said quietly. “She just has to be safe.”

  Aqua held my gaze for a beat.

  Then she nodded.

  “Go,” she said, softer. “I’ll be here.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my house keys, shoved my phone into my pocket, and left before I could overthink it.

  The hallway air felt colder than it should’ve.

  I didn’t look back.

  My phone screen lit when I checked the time.

  9:41 a.m.

  Nineteen minutes until I sat across from a stranger holding pieces of my mother’s life like paperwork.

  And somehow, that felt more terrifying than the fire.

  Next Part: Steven meets someone his mom trusted… and leaves with more than paperwork.