The light vanished as fast as it came.

  Eri was gone.

  And in her pce stood Ethan — shaking, pale, the neckce glinting faintly around his neck as the st shimmer of energy faded into the air.

  His mother blinked rapidly, her hand still frozen on the door handle. “E-Ethan?” she stammered, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief. “What—what was that? I saw—”

  Ethan’s mind raced. His heart thundered in his chest. He could still feel Eri’s tails, the ghost of their motion echoing across his nerves. His breathing hitched, but he forced a shaky smile.

  “M-Mom…” His voice came out cracked, weak, but at least it was his. “I—I’m sorry. You scared me, that’s all. I was… I was just getting changed.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, confusion etched across her face. “Changed? Ethan, I swear I just saw—”

  He cut her off too quickly. “It was probably the light! You know how weird it gets through those curtains.” He motioned vaguely toward the window, praying she wouldn’t notice his trembling hands.

  Her gaze flicked between him and the corner of the room where the light had fshed moments ago. “I… I suppose,” she said slowly, though her voice was still uncertain. “But why was the door locked? I’ve been knocking for twenty minutes, Ethan.”

  “I just—needed to sleep,” he said quickly, brushing his hair from his eyes to avoid meeting hers. “Didn’t feel good.”

  Her concern softened immediately. She took a hesitant step forward, the suspicion giving way to worry again. “You look exhausted,” she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. First the hospital, now this—”

  Her words blurred in his ears. All he could think about was the fading warmth that had surrounded him seconds ago — the warmth of being Eri.

  The space between his ribs ached. He swallowed hard and forced himself to nod. “Yeah… I’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I just need rest.”

  She sighed softly, pressing her lips together, clearly still shaken but unwilling to push. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll make you some tea. But please, don’t lock the door again, okay? You had me terrified.”

  Ethan nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

  When she finally left, closing the door behind her, the silence in the room felt deafening.

  Ethan sank to the floor, his back against the wall, breathing uneven. His hands shook as he looked down at the neckce — at the faint shimmer that still pulsed within it, soft and inviting.

  He pressed his palm over it, closing his eyes.

  For a heartbeat, he swore he felt the whisper of tails wrapping around him.

  “…I’m still here,” he whispered to himself — unsure if it was him speaking or her.

  The room felt too small.Too human.Too wrong.

  Ethan stayed on the floor, knees drawn tight to his chest, the neckce heavy against his skin. Every second that passed without fur, without tails, without that gentle thrum of life that was Eri, made the air around him feel thinner.

  He tried to breathe normally. In. Out.But each breath only reminded him of how hollow he felt.

  “How long can I keep doing this?”

  The thought came like a whisper he didn’t want to admit.He rubbed his thumb over the gem, the same way someone might trace a scar. It pulsed faintly, as if waiting.

  If he took it off, he’d be her again. Ten tails, soft and warm. A voice that felt like his real one. The comfort of belonging to a body that finally fit.

  But that also meant risking everything—his family walking in, his friends noticing, Alex remembering the impossible thing he’d seen in the gardens.

  He let his head drop against his knees.

  “I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

  The neckce was cold, but underneath that coldness was a heartbeat—a reminder that Eri was still there, waiting, silent, patient.

  He wanted to believe he could just… be Ethan again, like nothing happened.Get through school. Smile. Pretend.But the thought of locking himself away inside this body again tomorrow, and the next day after that—it made something in his chest splinter.

  He whispered to the quiet room, “It’s not that I hate him… It’s that I don’t feel like him.”

  The words hung there, barely audible, but true.

  He stared at the gem again, watching its faint glow reflect in his tired eyes.The tiniest smile ghosted on his lips—sad, uncertain, but real.

  “Maybe… just for a while longer,” he murmured, fingers curling over the neckce as if to hold himself together. “I’ll wait. I’ll figure something out.”