The sky outside the hospital was painted in bruised shades of purple and blue, the kind of twilight that made the world feel half-asleep.

  Ethan stood by the automatic doors with his small duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, the discharge papers folded in his hand. The nurse at the front desk gave him a sympathetic smile as he passed, but he didn’t return it. He didn’t have the energy to fake one anymore.

  Alex had offered to stay, but Ethan had refused. He didn’t want company. Didn’t want questions. He just wanted to go home — wherever home even meant anymore.

  The air outside was cold, biting at his face as he walked toward the curb where his dad’s car waited. The headlights cut through the dim streetlight glow.His father stepped out, worry etched deep into his tired expression.“Hey, bud,” he said quietly. “You ready to go?”

  Ethan just nodded. His voice didn’t want to work.

  The car ride was silent. No radio, no conversation. Only the sound of tires humming over asphalt and the occasional sigh from the driver’s seat.

  He leaned his head against the window, watching the city slide past — the blurred lights, the endless stream of people who all seemed to know where they were going. He felt disconnected from it all. Like he was watching someone else’s life go by.

  When they reached home, the porch light was already on. His mom opened the door before they even reached the steps, her face pale with worry.“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, pulling him into a hug before he could react.

  He stood there, stiff and unresponsive at first, then slowly returned the embrace. It didn’t help. It didn’t make him feel better. He wished it did.

  “You’re okay now,” she murmured, brushing his hair from his forehead. “You just need rest, alright?”

  Rest.That word again. Everyone kept saying it like it could fix him.

  He mumbled something that sounded like “okay,” then went upstairs before they could say anything else.

  His room was exactly how he’d left it — neat, quiet, suffocating. The faint glow of his phone charger lit the desk. His neckce glinted faintly in the dark as he set his bag down and sat on the edge of the bed.

  He stared at it again. That simple, ordinary thing that had turned his life inside out.

  His fingers hovered over it, trembling slightly.

  He didn’t take it off. Not yet. But the urge cwed at him harder than ever.

  He y back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The clock ticked. The world kept moving. But inside, Ethan felt frozen — half of him trapped in a body that didn’t feel like his, and the other half screaming to get out.

  He turned onto his side, clutching the neckce close to his chest.

  Just one more night, he told himself.Just one more night pretending to be okay.

  away.

  Later that night,

  The house slept.But Ethan didn’t.

  He y in bed, the moonlight crawling across his ceiling, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. His heart wouldn’t calm down — it beat fast, anxious, wanting something he could almost feel but couldn’t touch.

  The neckce rested against his chest. The cool metal burned with meaning.

  He knew what would happen if he took it off. He knew who he’d become.Eri.

  The name alone brought a wave of warmth through him. The memory of soft fur brushing against his skin, the way her tails swayed, how light her body felt — how right it all had felt.

  He swallowed hard. His hands twitched at his sides.He could just… do it.

  No one would know.It was te, too te for anyone to notice.

  The thought made his throat tighten. “Just once,” he whispered to himself, voice barely audible. “Just to feel okay again.”

  His fingers crept up to the chain. It was small, smooth, familiar — and unbearable. Every second it stayed around his neck, it felt heavier, like it was pressing down on who he really was.

  He shut his eyes. His chest hurt. His breathing hitched.He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

  He remembered the st time — her reflection in the mirror, silver eyes glowing softly, her expression filled with awe. For once, he had looked at himself and felt peace.And now that peace was locked behind a csp of metal.

  “Please…” he breathed, voice trembling. “I just want to be me again.”

  The chain was cool under his fingertips. One pull — that was all it would take. Just slide it off, let the magic take over, let the light fill the room, let her return.

  But he hesitated.What if someone saw?What if he couldn’t turn back next time?

  His mind warred with itself, thoughts twisting and turning like his own pulse was mocking him.

  He squeezed the neckce tight. “Not now,” he whispered. “Not yet…”

  But the ache didn’t stop. It pulsed under his skin, raw and desperate, like part of him was screaming to break free.

  Minutes dragged into hours. Ethan stayed awake through every one of them, staring at the ceiling with wide, tired eyes. His hand never left the neckce.

  He wanted to take it off so badly it hurt.But he didn’t.And that restraint — that tiny act of resistance — felt like it was tearing him apart.

  By the time the first weak light of dawn crept through the curtains, he was still awake.Still human.Still Ethan.

  And for the first time, he hated that.