Isla

  The dream lingered, vivid and warm, even as I blinked awake.

  In it, I was happy. Truly happy. Not the fleeting kind that comes from a good cup of tea or a soft breeze, but a bone-deep contentment that wrapped around me like sunlight. I couldn’t remember the details, the location, the time, or even the face of the person beside me, but I felt them there. Someone solid, steady, and kind. Someone who made everything feel easier.

  Then it shifted.

  The warmth gave way to something cold and sharp, slicing through the dream like shattered glass. A presence, dark, ancient, and suffocating. Him.

  I shot up in bed, the last fragments of the dream clinging to my skin like cobwebs. My chest tightened, and I forced myself to take slow, even breaths. The snakes stirred restlessly, brushing against my neck and shoulders. Poppy coiled tighter, her warmth a stark contrast to the icy dread curling in my gut.

  It was just a dream, I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

  Even now, awake and safe in my apartment, the weight of him lingered. It always did.

  I threw off the blankets, the cool air biting at my bare arms as I padded into the kitchen. The routine was automatic: fill the kettle, set it to boil, pick out a tea. Chamomile. Something calming.

  As the kettle hummed, I leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. The city was waking up, oblivious to the knots twisting in my stomach.

  By the time the tea was ready, the snakes had started to settle. Poppy loosened her grip, and even Viper seemed less on edge. I took a long sip, the warmth soothing my throat, though it did little for the rest of me.

  This was no way to start a day.

  I set the mug down and grabbed my phone, scrolling through playlists until I found what I was looking for. The opening chords of an angry chick song filled the room, loud and unapologetic.

  The snakes stirred again, not with unease this time, but with energy and excitement.

  I shoved the coffee table aside, kicking off my slippers as I made space in the middle of the living room. The beat picked up, and I let it take me.

  The movements weren’t graceful, they never were, but they were mine. Arms up, hips shaking, I moved with no pattern or choreography. Just raw, defiant energy.

  “You don’t own me,” I muttered under my breath, my voice growing louder as the words echoed through the room.

  The snakes moved with me, their rhythms matching mine. Poppy slid closer to my jaw, her warmth grounding. Noodle darted forward, flicking her tongue as if she were tasting the rebellion in the air. Even Viper seemed to lose her ever-present tension, her movements looser, more fluid.

  I must’ve looked a sight. Medusa in her angry, powerful glory, her snakes extended in every direction, swaying along as I moved.

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  For those three minutes, I wasn’t afraid.

  When the song ended, I stood there, breathless and defiant, the last notes fading into the quiet hum of the city outside.

  The fear crept back in slowly, like a tide rolling in. But it wasn’t as sharp this time.

  I let out a slow breath, brushing a hand over my face as the snakes settled again. “Okay,” I muttered, “that’s enough of that.”

  I moved to my desk, powering on my computer as I sat in front of the monitors. The tea was still warm as I sipped it, scrolling through lines of code that blurred together after only a few minutes. My mind refused to focus, the remnants of the dream and the weight of the morning pressing down on me.

  I got up and started cleaning instead. Hours passed, yet I still felt uncomfortable, like the walls were closing in.

  Errands. That would help.

  My first instinct was to order my groceries. Easy. Convenient. Safe.

  But I’d spent too much time inside. The walls were starting to feel too close, the air too stale.

  I sighed, grabbing my keys. “We’re going out,” I said, mostly to myself but partly to the snakes. Noodle flicked her tongue in approval.

  I slipped on my jacket, tucking my hair and the snakes carefully beneath the fabric. As I stepped out the door, the faint tendrils of unease curled in my chest. But this time, they weren’t strong enough to stop me. I felt like a ghost moving through the city, unseen, unnoticed. Except by them.

  The cluster of makeshift tents and sleeping bags tucked beneath the overpass was familiar. The city had tried to push them out, to make them disappear, but they always returned. I understood that.

  I adjusted my grip on my bag, stepping closer. A few heads lifted, some wary, some indifferent. But one face cracked into a gap-toothed smile.

  “Well, look who it is,” muttered Eddie, shifting in his worn-out coat. He was older, his beard scruffy, his eyes sharper than most people gave him credit for. “Thought you disappeared on us, Medusa.”

  I snorted, crouching down to dig through my bag. “You know that’s not my name.”

  “Eh.” Eddie waved a hand. “It fits.” His gaze flicked toward my collar, like he could sense the snakes shifting beneath my coat. Maybe he could. Eddie wasn’t a mage. Wasn’t fae, or god-touched, or anything that had a place in the magical world. But he—and others like him—had just enough magic in their blood to notice. To catch glimpses of things they weren’t meant to see.

  I was digging in my bag for supplies when Eddie spoke again, voice lower now. “Saw something weird the other night.”

  I glanced back. “You always see weird things.”

  He huffed, picking at the hem of his coat. “Yeah, but this one? This one saw me back.”

  A slow chill crept down my spine. And sometimes, those things noticed them too.

  I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “What did it look like?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Didn’t get a good look. But the air felt wrong. Like it was watching, waiting. And then—” He hesitated, fingers flexing. “I swear the shadows moved.”

  Something cold curled in my stomach. The city had always been full of things lurking in the dark. But if something was stirring now—if something was watching—I needed to know why.

  I exhaled, forcing the tension from my shoulders. “If you see it again,” I said, my voice even, “don’t engage. Don’t acknowledge it. Just go somewhere crowded. Got it?”

  Eddie snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I ain’t stupid.”

  The unease from this morning hadn’t fully left me and now, it was getting worse.

  I pulled out a wrapped sandwich, a few protein bars, and a fresh pair of socks. Eddie took them without hesitation. “You got a thing for playing patron saint of the unwashed masses, huh?”

  I arched a brow. “You’d rather I leave?”

  “Didn’t say that,” he muttered around a bite of sandwich.

  I stood, glancing at the others—some sleeping, some talking in low voices, some watching the world pass them by with that same detached distance I knew all too well. People walked past them every day, pretending not to see. Because seeing meant acknowledging. And acknowledging meant caring. I knew what it was like to be avoided. To make people uncomfortable just by existing. Maybe that’s why I kept coming back here.

  “I’ll be by later,” I said, adjusting my bag. “Stay warm.”

  Eddie just grunted, already finishing off the sandwich. As I turned back toward the street, my fingers brushed the edge of my coat. The snakes shifted beneath the fabric, quiet but present. I wasn’t sure if I belonged anywhere. But at least here, in the spaces people preferred to ignore, I wasn’t the only one unseen.