The drive home was unbearable. Every turn of the car, every bump in the road, every sound from outside the windows felt like it was pressed into Ethan’s chest, pressing, poking, reminding him of how wrong everything felt.

  He sat slumped in the backseat between Yui and Mira, though Mira had subtly shifted closer, keeping a protective presence. Yui babbled on about the ducks they’d seen at the gardens, but the words barely reached him. Ethan’s fingers tapped nervously against the fabric of his hoodie. His leg bounced. His hands twitched. Every second, he felt Eri inside him, pressing and stretching, growing more insistent, demanding relief.

  He wanted nothing more than to pull the neckce off, to curl into himself, to finally become her again. But the car was full. His family was here. People were watching. He clenched his fists in his p, pressed his face into the sleeve of his hoodie, and counted each heartbeat, trying to anchor himself.

  Mira gnced at him sideways. “Ethan… breathe. You’re—”

  “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “I just… can’t wait to get home.”

  The statement was half-truth. He did need to get home—but not for the reasons anyone else but Mira would think. Every muscle in him screamed to run, to escape the confines of his human form and become Eri.

  By the time the car pulled into the driveway, he felt as though he was vibrating from the inside out. His chest was tight, his fingers felt like pins and needles, and every nerve ending burned with tension.

  “Almost there,” Mom said cheerfully, opening the car door. “Let’s stretch a little before going inside!”

  Ethan forced a stiff nod, his movements jerky and unnatural. The second the car door closed behind him, he was off bance. His legs felt weak, like rubber, and his arms twitched involuntarily. Mira noticed, but said nothing. She just followed him closely.

  Inside the house, the smell of evening dinner and home felt almost suffocating. Ethan didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t speak. He could feel Eri pressing from the inside, twisting, curling, moving with a life of her own. His steps were quick, deliberate, almost frantic.

  “I… goodnight,” he blurted, surprising everyone.

  “Ethan?” Mom asked, confused. “It’s only seven-thirty—”

  “I said goodnight,” he repeated, his voice clipped. Without another word, he bolted for the stairs.

  Yui called after him, “Ethan, where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t slow. He didn’t care.

  Upstairs, he reached his bedroom door in record time. Fumbling quickly, he slid the key into the lock—both the main one and the spare—and turned them with shaky hands. The sound of the bolt clicking home was the first relief he’d felt all day.

  Inside, he didn’t even take a second to breathe. He closed the door behind him, leaned against it for a moment, and allowed himself a single, shaky exhale. The moment the door was shut and locked, the world outside ceased to exist.

  Ethan reached up and grasped the neckce around his neck, tugging it off in a swift motion. The instant the gem was removed, he felt it — warmth flooding him, stretching him, reshaping him.

  Silver eyes opened in the dim light of his room, catching the soft shadows and the faint glow of evening through the curtains. Long, white ears twitched, picking up the faintest sounds of the house. Ten long, fluffy tails curled and swayed behind him, each one stretching, brushing against the floor and each other.

  Eri exhaled softly, a tiny purr escaping her as she sank onto the carpeted floor. Her tails curled around her in a comforting cocoon. Her body, delicate yet warm, felt right in a way Ethan’s never had. The sensation of her own curves, of soft fur brushing her skin, of her ears flicking at the smallest noises—everything was intoxicating.

  For the first time all day, she didn’t have to pretend. She didn’t have to suppress the pressing presence inside her. She could breathe, she could stretch, she could feel.

  Her hands trailed along her tails, fingers brushing the soft fur, eliciting soft purring vibrations from deep in her chest. The sensation alone was enough to ground her, to remind her that she existed. She was Eri. She was here. She was real.

  For a moment, everything outside — the botanical gardens, her family, the car ride — vanished completely. There was only her room, the soft carpet beneath her paws, the warmth of her own body, and the subtle, constant motion of her ten tails curling and uncurling.

  She pressed herself further into the cocoon of her tails, ears twitching with every distant sound from the hallway. Even though she was technically alone, she couldn’t help but feel the pull of the outside world — of her family just a few rooms away.

  But it didn’t matter. Not now. Not for the next few minutes.

  She nuzzled one of her tails to her cheek and let herself rex completely for the first time all day. Her silver eyes closed as she exhaled a long, trembling breath, and a soft, melodic purr rumbled through her chest.

  The day had been overwhelming. Terrifying. Exhausting. But here, in the safety of her room, with the door locked and the neckce off, she could finally exist.

  She curled fully, tail-tip brushing the wall, ears flicking at every tiny sound, and let sleep wash over her.

  And as her body rexed, as her tails swirled gently around her, and as the soft evening light bathed her fur, Eri finally allowed herself to let go.

  For now, there was peace.

  For now, she was free.