The bus hummed quietly as it rolled down the dark road, headlights slicing through the fog that had settled over the fields.

  Inside, most of the students were half-asleep or whispering softly to each other, the excitement of the trip long faded. The only sound came from the low rumble of the engine and the occasional creak of the suspension as they hit a bump.

  Ethan sat near the back, pressed against the window, forehead resting lightly on the gss. He watched the blurred streaks of light outside, trying to lose himself in them — anything to avoid the whirlpool inside his chest.

  The neckce was back around his neck, glinting faintly in the dark. Every few minutes, he found himself touching it, as if to make sure it was still there.

  Across the aisle, Alex sat slouched in his seat, one arm propped against the window, eyes flicking toward Ethan every so often. He wanted to ask. He needed to ask. But every time he tried to form the words, he caught the look on Ethan’s face — empty, fragile, exhausted — and swallowed them back down.

  He didn’t know what he’d even say.

  “Hey, remember when you turned into someone else right in front of me?”Yeah. No.

  The bus hit another bump, jolting them both slightly. Ethan blinked, fingers tightening on the edge of the seat in front of him.

  Alex hesitated, then leaned slightly toward him. “Hey.”

  Ethan didn’t look up. “Hey,” he murmured back, voice barely audible.

  “You okay?”

  A pause. A long one.

  Then Ethan gave a tiny nod. “Yeah,” he lied.

  Alex frowned. “You sure? Because what happened back there—”

  Ethan’s hand twitched, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. “Please,” he said softly. “Just… don’t.”

  That single word shut Alex down completely. He leaned back again, staring at the seat in front of him, tension sitting heavy in his chest.

  Outside, the city lights started to appear — soft orange glows against the horizon. But inside the bus, it felt darker somehow.

  Ethan kept his eyes on the gss, watching his reflection shimmer faintly in the passing light. For a moment, in one of those fshes, he thought he saw her again — the same silver hair, the same wide, uncertain eyes staring back.

  He blinked, and it was gone. Just him again.

  He swallowed hard and turned away from the window, curling his hands tightly in his p.

  The rest of the ride passed in silence.

  When the bus finally rolled to a stop outside the school, Ethan stood up quickly, avoiding Alex’s eyes as he slipped into the aisle.

  Alex watched him go — watched the way Ethan’s shoulders were hunched, like he was holding the whole world on his back — and he didn’t follow. Not yet.

  Because for the first time, Alex wasn’t sure if asking questions would make things better…or break whatever fragile thing was still keeping Ethan together.

  The house was quiet when Ethan stepped inside.

  The faint tick of the hallway clock was the only thing that followed him as he shut the door behind him, slipping off his shoes and backpack without even turning on the lights. The moonlight leaking through the window was enough — a pale, silvery glow that seemed to follow him up the stairs like a ghost.

  He didn’t call out for his parents.He didn’t want to.

  Each step felt heavier than the st. His hand shook when he reached for his bedroom doorknob, the faint sound of his heartbeat filling his ears. Once inside, he turned the lock without hesitation — a soft click that sealed him away from the world.

  He stood there for a long time, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the darkened window. His face looked pale, almost hollow under the streetlight glow. The neckce glimmered faintly against his skin, its silver gem pulsing faintly, like it still remembered the chaos of the gardens.

  He reached up and touched it.And flinched.

  The moment his fingers brushed the gem, a flood of memories hit him — the rush of wind, the moonlight on her (his?) skin, the weight of tails swaying behind him, the freedom that came with every breath.And Alex’s face when he’d seen it all.

  Ethan’s knees gave out, and he sank onto the edge of his bed.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, though no one was there to hear. “I didn’t mean for any of it…”

  The words cracked halfway through.

  He pressed his palms against his face, trying to hold it all in, but the tears came anyway — slow, silent, unrelenting. All the fear, confusion, guilt, and exhaustion poured out at once until he was trembling, breath hitching in the dark.

  He wanted to disappear.

  Finally, with shaking hands, he reached for the csp at the back of his neck.The chain came loose.

  The gem fell into his palm, glowing softly for just a moment — then dimmed completely as he set it down on the nightstand.

  Silence.

  Then… warmth.

  It started with the faintest shimmer of light around his body. A whisper of fur. A flicker of silver.And then she was there again — not as a stranger this time, but as a reflection, a truth he couldn’t run from anymore.

  His hair lengthened, soft and pale as moonlight. Fox ears twitched atop his head, and nine silken tails unfurled behind him like the sigh of the night itself.He took one shaky breath, staring down at his hands — smaller, softer, not his but hers.

  Eri’s.

  He didn’t even try to fight it this time.He just… let go.

  With a low, exhausted sound, she curled up on her side, tails wrapping instinctively around her like a cocoon. Their warmth pressed close, soft and safe, muffling the sounds of her quiet sobs.

  Her breathing slowed.

  The room dimmed to stillness — the only sign of life a being the small twitches from her tails, slowly stopping as she drifted into sleep.

  Outside, the moon hung low over the neighborhood, bathing the room in quiet, silver light.And behind the locked door, the truth — her truth — finally slept, wrapped in her own fur, hidden away from the world once more.