Rory slipped the front door shut on a whisper. The house was dark and still; only the faint slosh of the dishwasher drifted from the kitchen, a slow rhythm threading through the silence.

  The faint drone of the television carried down the hallway, making Rory freeze mid-step. Pete must've fallen asleep in the living room. He waited a few agonising seconds before moving again, careful to keep his steps light. When he reached the stairs, he climbed them slowly, his body aching with every step.

  His skin burned, clothes clinging damp against him. The closer he got to his room, the more unbearable it felt, like his entire body was su?ocating under the weight of his own sweat.

  He eased his bedroom door shut behind him and let out a shaky breath. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but the familiar sight of his bed made him feel a small sliver of relief. He quickly peeled o? his school shirt tossing it on the floor, eager to escape its uncomfortable confines. He kicked his shoes and socks o? followed by his jeans.

  Down to boxers, a chill skittered over him even as sweat slid down his spine.

  He crawled under the sheets. Shivers chased heat, heat bled back to shivers. Every brush of fabric stung like it was scraping raw skin. Exhaustion dragged him down, and despite the discomfort, he drifted into a heavy, fitful sleep.

  Hours later the nausea hit like a ripcord. He lurched upright, throat already burning, and stumbled for the bathroom. He made the toilet by a second, bile scalding his mouth. When it passed, he clung to the sink, his hands shaking as he gripped the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain.

  His breath came shallow and uneven. He splashed cold water onto his face, but it barely cut through the fever burning beneath his skin. His head throbbed, vision blurring at the edges as he leaned heavily on the counter, trying to stay upright.

  Lightheaded, desperate for anything to stop the spinning, he turned and sat on the edge of the bathtub. The porcelain was cool under his legs, a small mercy. Without thinking, he swung his legs over and lay down, pressing his cheek to the chilled surface. The shock of cold bit at him first, then eased, soaking into his skin until it dulled the fever's grip.

  He curled onto his side, one arm tucked under his head, the ache in his body fading to a distant pulse. His stomach still twisted, his temples still pounded, but the cold was the first thing all night that didn't hurt. His eyes fluttered shut, breath slowing.

  Within minutes, the house was silent again, and Rory slept, curled in the bathtub, feverish and still, the porcelain holding what little peace his body would allow.

  ***

  Rory stirred, his body stiff and aching. For a moment, he couldn't place where he was, his cheek was pressed against something smooth and cool. Then it came back in fragments, the fever, the nausea, the cold porcelain against his skin when nothing else would stop the heat.

  A sharp poke to his cheek made him flinch.

  "Morning," Abbey said, her voice cutting through the quiet, half amused, half worried.

  Rory blinked blearily up at her, disoriented. She was leaning over the bathtub, hair tied up, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  "Jesus, Abbey," he rasped, his throat dry and raw. "What are you doing?"

  "I could ask you the same thing," she shot back, folding her arms and leaning against the edge of the tub. "Why are you asleep in the tub? Were you sick or something?"

  "No," Rory muttered, heat rising to his cheeks. "Just... needed to cool down."

  Abbey tilted her head, eyeing him more closely. "Were you out drinking or something? You look gross. Are you hungover?"

  Rory scowled, shifting upright, every movement slow and deliberate. "No," he muttered, bracing his palms on the tub's edge as he pushed himself up. His muscles protested the effort, stiff and shaky.

  Abbey frowned. "Then what happened? Was it a fit?"

  That earned her a sharper glare. "No," he, then forced his tone down. "I just..." he hesitated, searching for something that sounded halfway normal, "...fell asleep. That's all."

  Abbey blinked at him, unconvinced. "In the tub?"

  Rory exhaled through his nose, dragging himself over the side of the tub. The tile was cold beneath his bare feet. He leaned against the counter for balance, head bowed until the dizziness passed. "It was cooler in here," he muttered.

  Abbey stayed where she was, arms crossed, not quite ready to drop it. "Where were you last night, anyway?"

  He hesitated, his voice quiet. "Out." The word came out soft, frayed around the edges.

  Abbey's brow creased, but before she could ask more, he looked up at her quickly. "Did Pete notice I wasn't here?"

  She shook her head. "No. He was working late. Thought you were in your room."

  Rory let out a shaky breath, shoulders easing just slightly. "Good," he said, almost to himself.

  Abbey shrugged. "You better get dressed before he wakes up. You look kinda dead."

  Rory gave her a sideways glance, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. "Thanks for the concern."

  Abbey lingered in the doorway, chewing on her sleeve. "You sure you're okay?" she asked quietly. "You don't look it."

  Rory sighed, leaning heavier on the counter. "I'm fine, Abs."

  She frowned. "You sure it wasn't a fit?"

  That made him look up, sharper than before. "No," he said, voice firmer. "It wasn't a fit. I told you, I just fell asleep."

  Abbey didn't seem convinced, but she nodded anyway, eyes still watching him. Her small hands twisted in the hem of her jumper. "Okay."

  Rory rubbed his face tiredly "Mind if I take the first shower?"

  Abbey wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, go ahead. You look, and smell, like you need it."

  A faint smile ghosted across his face despite everything. "Thanks."

  She lingered a beat longer, her brow creasing before she finally disappeared down the hall.

  Exhaling, Rory turned toward the shower. His hands fumbled with the taps until warm water spilled from the nozzle, steam curling up around him. He stepped in, letting the heat hit his fevered skin.

  For a while, he just stood there. The water beat down over his shoulders, rinsing away the sweat and the ache, dulling the edge of the night that still clung to him. It wasn't comfort exactly, but it was close.

  The mirror was fogged when he finally turned the water off and stepped out, and his body felt heavier but cleaner, almost human again. He wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way back to his room, grateful the house was still quiet.

  He closed his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it, catching his breath. His bed sat waiting, soft and close and safe, but he didn't let himself sink into it.

  He couldn't, not yet.

  Not until he knew Pete wouldn't find out.

  Rory stood in the middle of his room, towel still hanging low on his hips, staring at the clothes he'd thrown haphazardly onto the bed. His head was thick with exhaustion, every motion dragging ache through sore muscles. He dressed like a machine running low on power, each movement heavy and imprecise.

  When he turned toward the chair by the window, he stopped short. His school hoodie was gone.

  He frowned, glancing around. It wasn't on the floor, or the desk, or shoved under the bed.

  Pete's gonna kill me.

  The thought came fast, dry and familiar. Pete wouldn't fork out for another one, he'd call it carelessness, a waste of money, another "lesson" Rory needed to learn.

  The kind of lesson that left a mark.

  Rory's stomach tightened. He bit at his thumbnail, forcing the thought away and trying to remember. He'd been wearing it when he met Nick.

  The memory pulled something taut inside him. What the hell had happened yesterday? He remembered the café, the car, then nothing until the hospital. How had he ended up there? Was Nick okay?

  He grabbed his phone from the bedside table. The screen flared weakly, 2% battery. He scrolled to Nick's contact and pressed call. It rang once before cutting off.

  "This number has been disconnected."

  Rory blinked at the screen, confusion prickling through the haze in his mind. Disconnected? He frowned, thumb hovering over the screen, trying to make sense of it.

  Maybe Nick had changed his number. Maybe the phone died. Maybe-

  "Rory! Get down here now!"

  Pete's voice cut up from downstairs, sharp and impatient.

  Rory flinched, the phone slipping slightly in his grip. The thought scattered as quickly as it had formed. He shoved the phone into his pocket, the low battery warning flashing once before the screen went dark.

  "Coming!" he called back, forcing his voice steady.

  Whatever had happened yesterday, whatever that call meant, would have to wait.

  Rory shoved his phone into his pocket and took one last steadying breath before heading downstairs. The faint clatter of plates carried up from the kitchen, Pete's voice low and clipped, the sound of a cupboard door shutting harder than it needed to.

  By the time Rory stepped into the doorway, the scene looked ordinary enough, Liz at the bench with her coffee, Abbey perched on a stool buttering toast, Pete by the fridge pouring juice. But Rory could feel it, that thin tension sitting just under the surface, the way mornings always felt before anyone said the wrong thing.

  He kept his gaze low as he sank into the chair, every movement reminding him how drained he still was.

  Liz looked up, her expression softening. "How are you feeling, Rory?"

  Rory blinked, caught off guard. "Uh...fine, I guess?"

  "Abbey said you weren't feeling well," she said gently. "Said you went to bed early."

  Rory's gaze drifted to Abbey. She placed the toast in front of him with a small, purposeful motion, not looking up, like she knew saying too much might get him in trouble.

  "Right," he muttered. "Yeah. I'm fine now."

  Liz nodded slowly, not convinced but unwilling to push. "You still look pale. Maybe take it easy today, hmm?"

  Rory managed a faint nod, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the table. Pete hadn't looked at him yet, but Rory could feel his presence, the quiet weight of him, the way he always filled a room even without saying much.

  Pete finally turned, setting his glass on the counter. "You're up late," he said evenly.

  "Didn't sleep well," Rory murmured.

  Pete's eyes flicked over him once, sharp and assessing, before he reached for the paper and sat down across from him. "You look rough. Don't make a habit of it."

  Rory forced a small nod, keeping his tone neutral. "Yes, sir."

  The table went quiet again. Liz gave him a faint smile, trying to ease the air, but Rory's stomach was already twisting. The toast sat untouched in front of him, butter glistening under the light.

  "You should eat," Abbey said softly, her voice small but steady.

  Rory's throat was dry. "I'm not hungry."

  Abbey frowned. "You'll feel worse if you don't."

  "I said I'm fine," he replied, sharper than he meant to.

  Pete's newspaper lowered just enough for Rory to see his eyes. One look was enough to pull the air out of the room. Rory dropped his gaze at once, the apology already forming.

  "Eat it," Pete said. The words weren't loud, but they didn't need to be.

  Rory's chest tightened. He hesitated, then reached for the toast, his hand unsteady. The butter had gone cold, congealed at the edges. He took a small bite anyway, forcing it down, his stomach turning with every chew.

  Pete watched for a beat longer, then went back to his paper as if nothing had happened.

  Liz took a sip of her coffee, her gaze fixed on the window. Abbey kept her eyes on her plate.

  Rory swallowed hard, the taste sitting heavy in his mouth. All he could think about was leaving, getting out before the silence broke again. He pushed his plate back slightly, hoping that one bite would be enough. But Pete's eyes lifted again, sharp over the edge of the paper.

  "Finish it," he said.

  Rory hesitated, the protest caught in his throat. The silence stretched, thick and expectant.

  He forced himself to pick the toast back up. Each bite was harder than the last, the butter heavy and sour on his tongue. He swallowed it down anyway, because stopping wasn't an option.

  Pete waited until the plate was empty before dropping his gaze back to the paper.

  "Good," he muttered.

  Rory sat there for a moment, hands tight in his lap, until Liz's quiet voice broke the tension.

  "You can go get ready now, Rory."

  He nodded, pushing back from the table and trying to move casually even though his pulse was still racing.

  As he reached the doorway, Abbey spoke up. "You're still taking me to dance after school, right?"

  Rory paused mid-step. "Yeah," he said, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, of course."

  "Okay," she said, brightening a little. "Just checking."

  He gave her a quick nod before stepping into the hall.

  The moment he was out of sight, he exhaled hard, rubbing his hands over his face. The air was cooler here, quieter, but tension still crawled beneath his skin. He crouched to grab his school bag... only it wasn't there.

  He checked behind the bench, under the coats, nothing. Panic stirred, sharp and fast. He'd had it yesterday, could still picture it slung over his shoulder in Nick's car.

  Shit.

  He swallowed hard, glancing toward the kitchen where the sound of Pete's paper rustled. He couldn't let anyone notice. Not this morning.

  His gaze darted to the corner, where his old PE bag sat slumped against the wall. He grabbed it, heavy with forgotten sports gear, and slung it over his shoulder. It wasn't right, but at a glance, it'd pass.

  He stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.

  The chill hit him like a slap, cutting through the lingering fever that hadn't fully burned off. The heat under his clothes wouldn't fade, his stomach twisting as the world tilted with each deep breath.

  He steadied himself against the railing, waiting for the nausea to settle. The cold morning air should've helped, but it didn't. The sick feeling sat deep, pulsing beneath his ribs, the same heat he'd felt since the hospital, since the serum.

  He pushed it down, one step at a time, until he reached the footpath.

  ***

  The school grounds looked the same as always, cracked pavement, faded murals, kids crowded along the fences. Rory slipped through the gate, keeping his head down. His stomach was still unsettled, the air thick with the smell of asphalt warming under the morning sun. Every few steps, his vision wavered, the world swimming for a heartbeat before it steadied again.

  He joined the stream of students heading toward homeroom. Most didn't notice him, but one voice cut through the noise.

  "Oi, where the hell were you yesterday?"

  Rory turned to see Dan jogging up beside him, a half-eaten meat pie in hand. His tone was light, but there was real curiosity behind it.

  Rory shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "Wasn't feeling great."

  Dan frowned. "You look like you're still not. Thought you ghosted me or something. You didn't answer any of my messages."

  "Yeah," Rory said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Phone was dead. Sorry."

  Dan's gaze flicked down, brow furrowing. "It's freezing, where's your jumper?"

  Rory glanced at his own bare sleeves, forcing a shrug. "Dunno. Must've left it somewhere."

  Dan tsked and shook his head. "You're dead. Pete's gonna lose it."

  "Yeah," Rory said quietly, eyes dropping. He could already hear the lecture in his head.

  "Yeah," Rory said quietly, eyes dropping. He could already hear the lecture in his head. Careless. Wasteful. Another lesson you'll learn the hard way.

  He cleared his throat and tried to shift the topic. "You got a pen I can borrow? And maybe a note book? Think I lost mine somewhere."

  Dan blinked. "You lost your whole bag?"

  Rory hesitated. "Guess so. I'll find it later."

  Dan let out a long sigh, digging through his own backpack before tossing Rory a pen. "You're a mess, Atwood"

  "Tell me something new." Rory caught the pen, managing a faint grin.

  Dan smirked, shaking his head. "You sure you're okay? You look like you might puke."

  "I'm fine," Rory lied. His voice came out hoarse, his throat still raw.

  Dan studied him for another beat, then shrugged. "Whatever, just don't hurl in English. Ms. D'll have you mopping it up yourself."

  "Noted." Rory forced another small grin.

  They stepped inside, the flicker of tired fluorescent lights stuttering against the walls. The hallway was a blur of noise and motion, shoes squeaking, doors slamming, laughter bouncing off the concrete. Rory kept his head down, weaving through the chaos. Every step made his muscles tighten, every breath reminding him how much he just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep until the fever, the nausea, the ache in his bones, all of it, finally stopped.

  ***

  The rest of the morning crawled by like a fever dream. Rory drifted from class to class, never really landing in any of them. His head felt too heavy for his neck, his eyes gritty, his throat raw. The noise of the room, scraping chairs, pens clicking, someone's cough, pressed in on him like static. Every time he tried to focus, the words on the board blurred, bleeding into white light.

  By second period, he stopped pretending to take notes. His pen rolled off the edge of the desk and clattered to the floor, but he didn't bother picking it up. He pressed the heel of his palm to his eye, trying to stop the room from spinning. The fluorescent light above flickered again, stuttering in and out like it was mocking him.

  At break, he leaned against the wall outside, the rough brick cool against the back of his skull. He closed his eyes, counting breaths, trying to ignore the way the world seemed to sway when he opened them. A couple of kids were shouting across the yard; someone's speaker blared muffled bass from a pocket. The sound felt too close, too sharp, too much. He moved away, finding a new patch of wall near the stairwell, slid down until he was sitting, knees drawn up, trying to get his breathing under control. But his stomach kept twisting.

  A sour rush hit the back of his throat, and before he could stop it, he lurched forward and vomited onto the cracked tile beside the drain. His hands shook as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. For a moment, he just sat there, chest heaving, eyes stinging.

  By the next class, he'd rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face, but it didn't help. His reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror looked like someone halfway between sick and scared. He forced himself back into the classroom anyway, sinking into the back row, trying not to draw attention. He didn't hear a word of the actual lesson. His stomach knotted every time he swallowed, a bitter taste creeping up the back of his throat. He rubbed at the base of his wrist, where the IV bruise still ached faintly under the skin. The motion was meant to calm him, but it didn't.

  By lunch, he was outside again, slouched on the steps near the courtyard, his PE bag propped against his leg. The wind blew trough the trees gently, but that and the sunlight felt like knives on his face. Dan showed up a minute later, unwrapping a chocolate bar with the kind of lazy energy that always made Rory feel like he was moving in slow motion.

  "You look worse than you did this morning," Dan said around a mouthful, eyebrows up.

  Rory let out a faint groan. "Feel worse." He rubbed his eyes. "I can't do this. I'm gonna bail."

  "Bail?" Dan leaned beside him, chocolate still in hand. "You mean ditch?"

  "Yeah. I can't-" Rory broke off, pressing his hand against his stomach. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out."

  Dan took another bite of his chocolate bar, chewing slowly as his eyes flicked over Rory. "Alright," he said finally, "I'm coming with you."

  Rory frowned. "What? No, you don't have to do that."

  Dan shrugged, grin lazy. "Yeah, I do. You're my guy. Besides, what am I supposed to do, sit through another hour of Parker's history lecture without you there to make faces at me? Not a chance."

  Rory let out a tired huff of a laugh. "You're such a bad influence."

  "Look who's talking." Dan grinned wider, clapping Rory's shoulder hard enough to make him sway. "C'mon. I know a side gate no one ever checks."

  They slipped out the back near the gym, the door groaning on its hinges. Outside, the air was marginally better on Rory's feverish skin. Dan kept up a steady stream of chatter, something about skipping detention and the canteen running out of meat pies, but Rory barely heard him. Each step made his vision pulse at the edges.

  "You wanna hit anywhere first?" Dan asked as they crossed the car park. "Park, servo, Maccas?"

  "Home," Rory said quickly. "Just... need to crash."

  Dan studied him for a beat but didn't push. "Alright. I'll walk you. Can't have you passing out in a ditch."

  Rory managed half a smile, too worn out to argue. The two walked in silence for a while, the pavement shimmering in the midday heat. Every few steps, Rory's balance faltered, and he had to steady himself with a hand against the fence line. The dull pulse in his head hadn't eased since morning, and now it was spreading, down his neck, across his chest, a faint electric crawl just under his skin.

  By the time they reached the end of the street, the world seemed a little off-centre. His stomach twisted again, sharp and sudden, but he swallowed it back. All he wanted was to get home, close his door, and lie down before anyone noticed just how wrong everything felt.

  ***

  Ethan leaned against the hood of the car, squinting toward the school in the distance. Sunlight bounced off the windows, sharp and cold, cutting through the haze that hung over the late morning. The faint noise of students carried down the street, voices, laughter, the occasional shout, just enough to remind him why he hated waiting.

  Will stood beside him, hands deep in his jacket pockets, one boot scuffing the curb. "Remind me why we're staking out a high school instead of doing literally anything else?" he muttered.

  "I didn't ask you to come," Ethan said, eyes still fixed on the gates.

  "Yeah, but you knew I would," Will shot back. "You really think this kid needs our help? Maybe he went to that clinic on purpose. Maybe he's in deeper than you think."

  Ethan didn't look away from the school. "Doesn't matter. He's a kid. That's enough."

  Will huffed, folding his arms. "Still doesn't add up. He ran from a hospital...who does that? Unless you've got something to hide."

  Ethan's jaw tightened. "Or unless you're scared out of your mind and don't know who to trust."

  Will let out a low breath through his nose, unconvinced but not arguing. A few beats passed in silence, filled only by the steady tick of the car cooling in the sun.

  He glanced over, breaking the quiet. "How's your head, by the way? After the surgery?"

  Ethan reached up absently, fingertips brushing the small ridge at the base of his skull where the implant sat. "Still tender," he said. "But fine."

  "Fine," Will echoed, smirking. "Right. Try a full enhancement sometime. The surgery's the easy part. The rest feels like you're being rewired with barbed wire."

  Ethan shot him a look. "You're not selling it."

  "Wasn't trying to." Will leaned against the car beside him. "You thinking about it? Going full?"

  Ethan hesitated, gaze still locked on the distant schoolyard. "Haven't decided."

  Will grinned. "So yes, then."

  Ethan didn't answer, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth said enough. Will was about to push further when something down the street caught his eye.

  He straightened. "Hey...there."

  Ethan followed his gaze. Two figures had just slipped out the side gate near the gym, moving along the footpath. The first was lean and a little too pale under the midday light, messy brown waves falling into his eyes. The second, shorter, with dark hair shaved into an undercut, walked beside him, talking with his hands, every step more confident than his friend's.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Will squinted. "That him?"

  Ethan nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's Rory."

  Will studied him. "Kid looks like he's about to pass out."

  "Exactly why we're here," Ethan said quietly, already moving.

  Will groaned, but fell in beside him as they crossed the street, keeping a careful distance behind. The air shimmered against the asphalt, heat rippling upward as they followed the boys down the block, one stumbling, the other trying to pretend everything was fine.

  "Tell me we're not about to spook him," Will muttered.

  "Not if we can help it," Ethan replied, eyes locked on Rory.

  ***

  Dan glanced at Rory as they walked, frowning when he noticed how pale he looked. "You good? You're looking kind of rough."

  It was as if the world had started to lean, everything sliding sideways beneath him. Every step made his vision pulse, his skin hot and prickling. His stomach wouldn't settle, but he managed a shrug, trying to look casual. "I'm fine. Just...really thirsty."

  Dan didn't buy it but didn't push. "Alright. Let's get you something, then." He scanned the block and nodded toward a vending machine across the street. "There. C'mon."

  They crossed the road, Rory lagged half a step behind, legs heavy, head swimming. By the time they reached the vending machine, his throat felt sandpaper-dry.

  He tapped his phone against the scanner, selected a Gatorade, and watched the bottle drop, only for it to jam halfway down.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Rory muttered. He hit the glass lightly with the heel of his hand. Nothing. He hit it again, harder. Still nothing.

  "Dude, chill," Dan said, laughing. "I'll just buy another one. Don't break your hand over it."

  Dan tapped his phone, selecting the same drink. The second bottle dropped, then wedged itself beside the first. He stared at the machine, incredulous, before flicking his gaze back at Rory and grinning. "Alright. Now you can hit it."

  Rory didn't hesitate. He slammed his palm into the metal side panel, frustration and fever bubbling over. The impact rang out, deep, metallic, and louder than it should have been. The whole frame shuddered.

  Inside, something clanked, then popped. The machine's lights flickered once and died, followed by a low mechanical groan. With a squeal of warped hinges, the door sagged open a few inches.

  Dan's eyes went wide. "Holy shit."

  Rory stared at the dent in the metal where his hand had hit it. His skin wasn't even red.

  Dan crouched, scooping a few bottles out from the half-open machine. "Might as well take the win before it changes its mind," he said with a crooked grin.

  Rory bent down beside him, twisted a cap, and drank fast. The Gatorade was icy, sweet, and sharp on his dry throat—a small mercy against the fever still crawling through him. But the unease didn't fade. That punch...whatever it was...hadn't felt normal.

  He went to grab another bottle, but something in his periphery caught his eye. Two men were walking toward them from down the block, their pace steady, their eyes locked straight on him and Dan.

  Rory's grip tightened around the bottle. A cold prickle ran down his spine.

  "Shit," he muttered, voice low and tense.

  Dan followed his gaze. "Who the hell are they?"

  Rory didn't answer. Every instinct in his body screamed the same thing, run.

  Dan shoved a few bottles into his bag. "Bail."

  They took off.

  "Hey!" one of the men shouted behind them, the word cutting through the stillness.

  The street was nearly empty, no cars, no pedestrians, just the echo of their footsteps pounding against the pavement. Rory's heart thrashed in his chest as he sprinted, the world narrowing to the sound of his own breath and the thud of his shoes.

  He didn't think, just ran. His legs moved with a speed that didn't make sense, his body surging forward like something inside him had broken loose. The fever and dizziness were still there, but they didn't slow him. If anything, they burned through him like fuel.

  "Split!" Dan shouted, darting down a side alley.

  Rory hesitated for half a heartbeat, then bolted the other way. His legs moved faster than they ever had, his body surging forward with unnatural strength and speed. He didn't question it—he couldn't afford to. All that mattered was distance.

  Behind him, Ethan and Will were already in pursuit.

  Will's breath came steady despite the pace, his eyes fixed on the fleeing kid. "Still think he's innocent?" he called, voice edged with dry amusement.

  Ethan ignored him, eyes narrowed on Rory's silhouette.

  Rory's heart slammed against his ribs, pounding in time with his footsteps. Both men were still on him. He risked a glance back, they were too close and gaining.

  "Will!" Ethan barked, his voice sharp through the cold air.

  "I can't drop one now!" Will called back. "He's moving too fast, he'll break his neck!"

  Ethan swore under his breath, jaw tight. The kid was too quick, too unpredictable. They'd lose him if he didn't act now. Without warning, Ethan veered off course and vanished mid-stride, slipping clean into the dark realm.

  Rory tore down the street, lungs burning, vision tunnelling. When he risked another look back, only one man was still chasing, slowing now, appearing to be giving up. The other had vanished completely.

  A flicker of relief cut through the panic. He'd lost them.

  He turned a corner sharply, sneakers scraping asphalt, and stumbled onto a quieter stretch of road. His pace faltered, the adrenaline ebbing as the nausea came roaring back.

  He pressed a hand to his stomach, slowing to a half-jog, then a stagger. The world tilted. Heat prickled at his neck, sweat cold on his skin. His breath came fast, uneven.

  "Okay," he muttered under his breath, trying to steady himself. "Okay, just-"

  The air beside him shifted.Ethan stepped out of the shadows mid-stride, hand lifting instinctively to steady the boy. "Hey-"Rory didn't even think. His body reacted before his brain caught up, pure panic and momentum. He collided with Ethan hard, their shoulders slamming together, the impact sending both stumbling. Ethan caught his balance first and reached out, grabbing Rory's arm.

  "Stop! Hey...easy, easy-"

  But Rory's fight response was already lit. He wrenched backward, twisting violently, trying to tear free. Ethan held fast, trying to keep his grip without hurting him.

  "Let go!" Rory gasped, thrashing, his voice raw with fear. He shoved hard against Ethan's chest, staggering them both back a step.

  "Listen to me!" Ethan barked, voice raised now but still controlled. "I'm not here to hurt you!"

  Rory didn't hear him, or couldn't. His vision was swimming, breaths shallow and uneven, muscles trembling as the fever and fear tangled together. He ripped free and stumbled back, wild-eyed, ready to bolt again. Turning and sprinting he slammed into something invisible. The impact threw him back a step, his palms striking an unseen surface that was cold and solid as glass. He pushed, breath ragged. It didn't give.

  "What the hell?" he gasped, eyes darting across empty space before landing on Will who was now walking calmly towards him. Rory backed away as the man approached and stepped through the invisible wall like it wasn't even there.

  "Easy, kid," he said, palms raised, his tone calm but firm. "We're not here to hurt you."

  Rory staggered back a step, trying to steady his breathing. The heat under his skin hadn't faded, it crawled through him, feverish and wrong. His gut twisted, his vision swam.

  "I'm sorry about the machine!" he blurted, words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn't mean to break it, okay? I paid for my drink, I can pay for the rest too, I swear!"

  Ethan stepped forward slowly, hands raised in the same patient gesture. "Whoa, hey. We don't care about the vending machine."

  Rory froze, chest heaving. His eyes darted between them, searching for some kind of explanation. "Then...then why were you chasing me?"

  Will reached behind him, untying something from his waist. He held it up, a dark, worn hoodie. Rory's hoodie.

  The sight hit him like a punch to the chest. His stomach dropped, his thoughts scattering. Images flashed, white walls, hospital lights, the sharp smell of antiseptic. Waking up confused, afraid. Running.

  "Oh," he breathed, his voice small. "This is about... yesterday?"

  The panic surged again, hot and dizzying. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have left...I know that. And if I did something wrong, I'll fix it. I can pay, or... or whatever you need."

  Ethan shook his head, stepping in just enough to stop Rory's spiral. "You're not in trouble, kid."

  Rory swallowed hard, his throat dry. He still felt awful but confusion gnawed harder than the sickness.

  "We just wanted to talk," Ethan said, his voice softer now. "And to make sure you're okay."

  Rory hesitated. His legs were unsteady beneath him, but there was something in Ethan's tone, steady, calm, sincere, that made him pause. His instincts still screamed run, but his body was too tired to listen. Curiosity crept in where fear had been.

  Will gave him a once-over and raised an eyebrow. "You feeling alright, kid? You look like you're about to hurl."

  Rory glared weakly, but before he could respond, his stomach lurched violently. He turned away, staggering a step before doubling over and vomiting onto the pavement. His whole body shook with the effort, breath ragged.

  "Called it," Will muttered, more amused than sympathetic.

  Ethan moved in, one hand out to steady him. "Hey...easy-"

  Rory flinched back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes darting up, sharp and defensive despite how drained he looked.

  Ethan stopped where he was, hands raised in surrender. "You're sick. We can help...get you somewhere safe. Somewhere you can rest."

  "I'm fine," Rory rasped, voice hoarse and unconvincing. He took a shaky step back, keeping the distance between them.

  Will huffed a short laugh. "Yeah. Totally fine. Just puked your guts out for fun."

  Rory shot him a glare that didn't quite have its usual edge. Ethan caught the exhaustion behind it and backed off a little, lowering his voice.

  "Alright," he said gently. "Then can we at least talk for a minute?"

  Rory didn't answer. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, shifting his weight like he couldn't decide whether to listen or run.

  Ethan took it as permission to continue. "It's Rory, right?"

  The question made Rory freeze. His eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring through the fatigue. "How do you know my name?"

  Ethan hesitated, choosing his words with care. "We talked... briefly. Last night. Do you remember?"

  Rory frowned, searching his fogged memory. Everything about yesterday felt fractured, like trying to piece together a dream already fading. After a long moment, he shook his head.

  "I'm Ethan," the man said quietly. "This is Will. We were the ones who found you...and took you to the hospital."

  Rory's expression tightened. His gaze flicked between them. "Found me? Found me where?"

  Ethan met his eyes. "A clinic. Beneath an old industrial lot."

  Rory blinked. "A clinic?" The word came out slow, uncertain, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

  Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Do you remember being there?"

  Rory's brow furrowed. He stared past Ethan, trying to pull something solid from the blur in his head. But the harder he reached for it, the more it slipped away.

  "I..." He frowned, shaking his head slightly. "No. Not really."

  Ethan studied him quietly, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

  Rory's eyes flicked up again, searching Ethan's face. "Was my brother there?"

  The question landed like a weight. Ethan hesitated, careful with his answer. "I don't think so," he said finally. "But I can't say for sure. Things were... chaotic."

  Rory's stomach twisted, not just from the sickness this time. He looked down, jaw tight, processing that.

  His arms dropped, wrapping loosely around his middle like he was holding himself together. He tried to think through the fog, but every thread of memory led back to the same empty space.

  "Right," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Okay."

  Ethan hesitated, weighing how much to say. His gaze flicked to Will, then back to Rory. "Do you know anything about neuroserum augmentation?"

  Rory frowned. "What?"

  Ethan sighed quietly. He'd expected that. "Human enhancement," he clarified, watching Rory's reaction.

  Something flickered across the kid's face, a flash of recognition, quickly buried. Ethan caught it anyway.

  "So you've heard of it," he said carefully.

  Rory hesitated. "Yeah, I mean...I've heard rumours, all that Cold War myth stuff" He gave a weak shrug, but the uncertainty in his voice gave him away.

  Ethan exhaled, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck before glancing at Will. "He doesn't know."

  Will snorted softly, arms folded. "No kidding." He shifted his weight, eyeing Rory. "Then what the hell were you doing in an enhancement clinic, kid?"

  Rory blinked at Will, the words barely registering. Enhancement clinic. It sounded ridiculous—like something from the news, not his life.

  "I wasn't-" he started, then stopped. His brows knit together as he tried to think, to remember.

  Ethan watched the confusion take hold, saw the moment Rory's bravado cracked.

  "I don't... I don't even know what you're talking about," Rory said finally, shaking his head. "I wasn't in any clinic. I-" His voice faltered. "The last thing I remember was getting in my brother's car. We got coffee. I was talking to him, and then-"

  He broke off, eyes darting as he tried to piece it together. The air between them turned heavy, charged with something unspoken.

  "Then what?" Ethan asked carefully.

  Rory swallowed hard. "Nothing. I don't remember anything after that."

  For a second, no one said anything. Will and Ethan exchanged a look, one part concern, one part confirmation of something they hadn't wanted to say aloud.

  Rory's jaw worked, but no words came. He shook his head again. "I don't remember. I just woke up in the hospital."

  Will glanced at Ethan, then back at Rory. "Your brother," he said slowly, careful not to sound accusing. "You trust him?"

  Rory's eyes flicked up, defensive. "Yeah, of course. Why?"

  Ethan's tone stayed calm, measured. "He was the last person you were with before you blacked out. We're just trying to understand what happened. Anything strange? Off?"

  Rory hesitated, his mind racing. The memory of the coffee cup flashed in his head, the way Nick had watched him drink it, the bitter taste he'd written off as cheap grounds. He swallowed hard. "No," he said finally, too quickly.

  Ethan nodded, but the flicker of doubt on his face didn't go unnoticed.

  Rory looked away, his pulse quickening, a cold unease threading through the sickness still lingering in his gut.

  Rory swayed where he stood, the nausea creeping back up from somewhere deep in his gut. His vision blurred for a moment, and he reached out instinctively, steadying himself against the wall. "Can I..." his voice cracked. "Can I sit down for a minute?"

  Before either of them could respond, he backed up until his shoulders hit the brick and slid down it, knees bending until he was sitting on the cold pavement. The rough wall pressed against the back of his head, its chill helping him just enough to stay upright.

  "You okay?" Ethan asked, stepping forward a half-step, concern edging his tone.

  Rory swallowed thickly and nodded, though his face was pale and clammy.

  Will crouched down beside him, unfazed but watching him closely. "You sure you don't need a medic? You look like you're about to pass out."

  Rory gave a small shake of his head, one hand braced over his stomach. "I just need a minute," he muttered.

  Rory stayed slumped against the wall, breathing through his nose, trying to keep the world from spinning. The air felt too thick, every sound too sharp.

  Ethan crouched down beside him, careful to keep his voice even. "Alright," he said quietly. "Take your time."

  For a moment, they just sat there, the older man watching the kid steady himself, the kid trying not to unravel completely.

  When Rory's breathing evened out, Ethan tilted his head slightly. "You said you remember being in your brother's car," he began, his tone gentle but probing. "That's the last thing? Nothing after that?"

  Rory's brow furrowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "That's it. I got in, we talked, he gave me a coffee... then nothing. Just...blank."

  Will straightened, glancing down the street, eyes scanning the quiet stretch of pavement like he didn't trust it to stay that way. "So he was the last one with you," he said, not accusing, just confirming.

  Rory nodded faintly. "Yeah." He swallowed, his throat tight. "Why?"

  Will's gaze narrowed slightly. "And you haven't seen or heard from your brother since?"

  Rory shook his head. "No. But that's not unusual. We're not exactly close."

  That answer didn't seem to sit well with either of them. Ethan's jaw tightened; Will's brow furrowed as he glanced sideways at him.

  Rory caught the exchange and hesitated. "Is this about something he's done?"

  "Why would you think that?" Will asked, his tone deceptively casual but his eyebrow arched.

  Rory shifted, his exhaustion making it harder to hide the flickers of unease crossing his face. "Because it's Nick," he muttered. "He's always pulling shit. And he was acting shady as hell when we caught up."

  Ethan and Will traded another look, brief, sharp, full of unspoken conclusions. Ethan sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Give us a second, kid."

  Will pushed up from his crouch and, before turning away, tossed Rory the hoodie he'd been holding. Rory caught it on reflex, too drained and cold to question it. He pulled it over his head as the two men stepped a few paces off, their voices dropping low.

  Ethan ran a hand over his face. "What the hell is going on?"

  "Looks like his brother screwed him," Will muttered.

  "Yeah, sure as hell seems that way," Ethan said, glancing back at Rory. The kid sat slumped against the wall, knees drawn up, his eyes distant. The confusion, the exhaustion, it all painted the same picture. "He doesn't have a clue."

  "Not even close," Will agreed grimly.

  Ethan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why would his brother do that to him?"

  "Good question," Will said. "But let's not forget...he already had an implant. And with his mixed DNA..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "There's a lot more here we don't understand."

  Ethan's eyes flicked back to Rory, thoughtful. "So what do we do?"

  Will shot him a look. "This was your charity case, remember?"

  Ethan's frustration spiked. "I didn't plan on telling him his own brother probably drugged him and dumped him in a black clinic."

  "Yeah, well," Will folded his arms. "You planning on leaving him here now?"

  Ethan didn't answer. He just looked at Rory again, still sitting quietly, fingers absently pulling at the edge of his sleeve. There was something in that stillness that pulled at him.With a low sigh, Ethan walked back and lowered himself beside him on the pavement.

  Rory didn't look up right away. When he finally did, his eyes were dull but wary. "So," he said quietly, "you gonna tell me what he did?"

  Ethan leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "Alright, kid. Here's the deal."

  Rory waited, eyes unfocused, hands resting loosely in his lap.

  "From what we can tell," Ethan said carefully, "you were brought to that clinic for something called neuroserum augmentation."

  Rory frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "I still don't know what that is."

  Ethan exchanged a glance with Will before continuing. "You said you'd heard the rumours," he began evenly. "Turns out they weren't rumours. It's real. A process that pairs a neural implant with a serum to activate it. The chip by itself doesn't do much. But once the serum's introduced, it rewires the system. Strength, speed, reflexes... everything dials up past what's human."

  Rory just stared at him for a beat before a laugh slipped out, short, breathless, disbelieving. "No. No way. That's insane." He shook his head, the sound brittle in his throat. "You're talking about...what? Superpowers? That shit doesn't exist."

  Ethan didn't answer. Neither did Will.

  Rory forced a grin, trying to look amused instead of terrified. "Right. Sure. Okay."

  Ethan exhaled, his expression unreadable, and then he was gone.

  The air rippled where he'd been. One heartbeat, he was there; the next, gone.

  Rory's body jolted, slamming back against the wall. His breath caught. "What the fuck!"

  Ethan reappeared out of the shadows like it was nothing. Calm. Controlled.

  Rory's mind reeled. He'd seen it. He knew he'd seen it. His pulse raced as logic scrambled for an explanation that didn't exist. "That's...no. That's a trick. Has to be."

  Will crossed his arms, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. "You tell us. You're the one who punched a vending machine open like it was paper."

  Rory's mouth snapped shut.

  Will tilted his head slightly. "You ever done that before?"

  A cold weight pooled in Rory's gut. He wanted to tell them they were wrong, to laugh, to shrug it off, but the image wouldn't leave his head, the vending machine cracking under his hand like it was made of tin foil. It hadn't even hurt. It had just... given way. Like it had been too easy.

  He shook his head, his voice low. "That doesn't mean anything."

  Will's eyebrow rose. "Doesn't it?"

  "It was just some busted machine," Rory muttered.

  "You ran pretty damn fast, too," Ethan said, his tone mild but cutting. "Is that how fast you normally are?"

  Rory hesitated. "...I was just trying to get away."

  Will sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Kid, believe us or not, but yesterday we found you hooked up to something called SV-11."

  Rory frowned. "SV...what?"

  "The serum," Ethan said quietly.

  Will's tone hardened. "You're in the middle of an enhancement. The weird part is-"

  Rory gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "The weird part? You mean we're not there yet?"

  Will shot him a glare but didn't rise to it. "The weird part," he repeated evenly, "is that you already had an implant before you ever touched that serum. Which means someone put it there years ago."

  Rory's brows lifted. "See, now I know you're full of shit," he said, pushing himself up with one hand against the wall. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, but he forced himself upright.

  Ethan remained seated, watching him carefully. "Feel for yourself," he said quietly, tapping behind his ear. "Right here. Small bump. You'll find it."

  Rory's expression tightened, a shadow crossing his face. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted a hand and pressed his fingers behind his right ear. At first, nothing. Just skin. Then his fingertips grazed something hard beneath the surface, small and unnervingly precise. His stomach dropped.

  His pulse thudded in his ears. He tried the other side, switching hands, hoping, needing, to feel the same shape there, some ordinary bit of bone or muscle. But there was nothing. Just smooth skin and the cold rush of realisation creeping down his spine.

  Rory's brows knitted as a memory flickered, Nick's hand gripping the back of his head in Pete's office, holding him still for just a second too long. At the time, it had seemed strange, almost careless. Now, it clicked into place with a sick kind of clarity.

  Ethan and Will didn't need to ask. The look on Rory's face said everything, he'd found it. He knew.

  Ethan's voice was quiet but certain. "Your brother knew it was there. And from what we can tell... he's the one who gave you the serum."

  Rory felt something cold settle in his stomach, nausea creeping up again. His throat tightened.

  Nick.

  Why would Nick do that?They weren't close, Rory knew that, but they were still family, weren't they? He never thought Nick would do something so... calculated. So cold.

  A strange, hollow feeling pressed in on him, and suddenly, he didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be talking to these strangers. He didn't want to be feeling like this.

  Will sighed. "We're not here to screw with you, kid. We just want to make sure you don't drop dead from whatever's happening to you."

  Rory clenched his hands into fists around his sleeves, his mind spinning. None of this felt real. He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing down the nausea. "So what happens now?" he asked quietly.

  Ethan and Will exchanged another look before Ethan pushed himself o? the ground, brushing dust from his jeans as he turned to face him. "That depends. You want answers? We can help. But you'll have to work with us."

  Rory hesitated, uncertain, sick, angry, but pretending nothing had changed suddenly felt impossible.

  "...Okay," he said finally. "I'll work with you."

  Ethan's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thanks, Rory," he said, his tone genuine. "Now can we take you somewhere safe? Somewhere you can be looked over properly?"

  "I'm fine," Rory said automatically, the words sharp but hollow. He hated how weak they sounded, how much he wanted to believe them.

  Will snorted quietly. "That's part of the deal, kid," he said, his voice rough but not unkind.

  Rory exhaled, too drained to argue. "Fine," he muttered.

  He bent to grab his PE bag, slung it over his shoulder, and followed the two men down the quiet street, each step heavier than the last.