The keys on the nightstand glinted faintly in the moonlight.Ethan y there, staring at the ceiling, the room silent except for the muffled ticking of the clock on his desk.

  He couldn’t sleep. Not really. Not after everything.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her — that glimpse in the mirror, the shimmer of silver hair, the brush of tails curling softly around her. Her. The version of himself that finally felt alive. The one he wasn’t allowed to be.

  He turned his head toward the neckce on his neck. The neckce sat there, catching the dim light, the crystal at its center glowing ever so faintly. Almost like it was breathing. Calling.

  Ethan sat up. His heart thudded once, hard.He swung his legs off the bed, the floor cold beneath his feet, and crossed to the window.

  For a moment, he just stood there — staring at its reflection in the window.He reached to touch it, hesitated. His hand shook.

  He whispered, “I just… want to be me again.”

  The second he took off the neckce A pulse — soft but deep — spread through the room like a heartbeat. The air shimmered.

  He stumbled back, clutching the gem tight as warmth flooded through him. His breath hitched, caught halfway between a gasp and a sigh as his body began to change.

  White strands of hair fell into his eyes, spreading like ripples across his head. His ears elongated, sharpening into delicate fox ears, fur blooming along their edges. His hands trembled as cws pushed through his fingertips — faint, harmless-looking, but undeniably not human.

  His spine tingled, then Tails burst forth, one after another, fanning behind him in a shimmer of silver and white. Ten in total — soft, luminescent, shifting gently as if stirred by a breeze only they could feel.

  Ethan—no, Eri—sank to her knees, breath trembling, fingers clutching the neckce still glowing faintly at her throat.

  She exhaled shakily.The tension melted away, repced by that deep, quiet sense of rightness that she hadn’t felt since the gardens.

  Her reflection in the darkened window met her gaze — golden eyes instead of brown, framed by white hair and soft fox ears. The sight made her chest ache and flutter all at once.

  Eri crawled back to her bed, tails curling protectively around her as she sat there. The light from the neckce faded to a gentle pulse.

  “…I’m back,” she whispered, barely audible.

  Her voice — soft, melodic — didn’t sound like Ethan’s at all.And that made her smile.

  She curled into her tails, exhaustion finally taking over, and drifted off beneath their warmth.

  And she slept peacefully in her tails comfort.

  Next morning,

  The house was quiet.Too quiet.

  Eri’s mom set her mug down on the kitchen counter, listening to the stillness that filled the hallway. Usually by now she’d hear something — the creak of the floorboards, a sleepy yawn, even Ethan’s reluctant shuffle toward breakfast.

  But today… nothing.

  She frowned, gncing at the clock. Nearly noon.She wiped her hands on a dish towel and started down the hall.

  “Ethan?” she called softly, stopping outside his room.No answer.

  Her brow furrowed. She tried again, knocking gently this time.“Sweetie? You’ve been quiet all morning. Are you feeling okay?”

  Still silence.

  Her hand tightened around the doorknob. She gave it a little twist — and found it locked.

  That familiar flicker of unease rose in her chest.“…Ethan, open the door for me, okay?”

  No reply. Not even the rustle of sheets.

  She pressed her ear against the wood, listening. She could swear she heard something faint — a whisper of movement, soft, rhythmic, almost like… breathing. But no voice.

  Her heartbeat picked up.

  “All right,” she murmured under her breath, forcing calm. “You’re probably asleep again. I’ll just grab the spare key.”

  She headed down the hall to the small drawer near the kitchen — the one that held all the extras. She opened it, rummaging past loose pens and half-dead batteries until her hand froze.

  The hook where the spare room keys should’ve been was empty.

  Her stomach sank.

  “What…?” she whispered, checking the drawer again. Then again, faster. No keys. Not one.

  Her hands trembled slightly as she stood there, realization creeping in.

  He’d locked himself in again.And this time, he’d taken every key.

  “Oh, Ethan…” Her voice cracked, barely audible. She pressed a hand to her mouth, forcing herself not to panic.

  She turned toward the hallway, eyes darting to his closed door at the far end. The faintest light — maybe the reflection of the window inside — slipped through the crack at the bottom.

  “Please,” she whispered, voice trembling now. “Please just answer me this time…”

  Still nothing.

  She backed up, gripping the counter to steady herself. A swirl of worry and helplessness filled her chest — that awful, gnawing fear that something was deeply wrong with her child, and she didn’t even know what.

  The silence pressed down heavier than ever.

  And behind that locked door, Eri stirred faintly beneath her tails.