I didn’t want to kill the creature, no matter what Lily suggested.

  Even after all the weird shit it had done to my pantry—the trail of glittery slime across the cereal boxes, the way it rearranged my spices alphabetically but wrong somehow, and especially the way it kept eating everything in sight—there was still something... pitiful about it. Something that screamed I’m just trying to survive.

  Maybe it was the way it looked at me with those oversized, bug-eyed optics—multi-faceted and glassy, like two disco balls that had seen too much. Or maybe it was the way it pressed its flat face against the border of its crystal cage, long, spindly limbs tucked close like a nervous spider, watching me with an odd kind of hope. A hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d bring it food. Or freedom. Or both.

  The thing was undeniably grotesque, sure. But it didn’t feel malicious. Not anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt it.

  Lately, though… it had been getting smarter.

  Its resonance—its aura, frequency, magical… vibe?—had shifted. Not a lot, but enough. It wasn’t just reacting anymore. It was adapting. I could feel it—a faint ripple in the air every time I got close, like static brushing along the back of my neck. The crystal cage I’d cobbled together from whatever containment tricks I could beg, borrow, or imitate from watching the girls had worked, mostly. Until it started vibrating.

  Which it was doing now.

  “Damn it, dude…” I muttered, dropping to one knee. The humming was subtle, but constant, like a mosquito just outside the range of swatting. I reached for the circle of crystal shards I’d so carefully arranged—thin rods and fractured points set in a pattern around the old mixing bowl I was using as a containment ring. Not exactly textbook arcane geometry, but it had kept the thing in place. Barely.

  I nudged one shard into place, aligning it with the lines I’d sketched in permanent marker on a cracked tile.

  The resonance didn’t stop.

  It should have been stable. I'd checked it three times. But the little guy—this weird, pantry-dwelling, sparkly-furred cryptid—had been on a steady diet of Pop-Tarts, and now it was mutating like a gremlin in a radioactive bakery.

  The glitter on its legs had spread. Not just a dusting now—its carapace shimmered with faint, sugary opalescence. It looked like a tiny cryptid version of a Lisa Frank sticker that had been left in a haunted microwave.

  I crouched lower, peering through the crystal lattice.

  It was huddled in the far corner of the mixing bowl, long arms wrapped around its knees—or what I thought were knees. Its flat face was pressed against the inner curve of the bowl, fogging up the surface slightly with each breath. Its body trembled—not in fear exactly, but with that same nervous twitch of something that wanted to run but didn’t have anywhere to go.

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  Its eyes caught mine.

  Something passed between us. Not a message, not really. But a feeling. Hunger. Longing. Loneliness.

  “Goddamn it,” I muttered, hauling myself up and reaching for the pantry shelf. I grabbed the half-full box of Pop-Tarts. Frosted cherry. It had taken a liking to those. Might have been the red dye. Or the sugar. Or the nostalgia of a breakfast item no living thing should enjoy as much as it did.

  I slid one tart through the narrow gap between two containment shards, pushing it far enough that it wouldn’t dislodge the structure.

  The creature turned.

  Slowly.

  Deliberately.

  It crawled forward, antennae quivering, claws tapping delicately against the glassy edge of the bowl. Its body was slower now—deliberate, almost reverent. It pressed its face against the Pop-Tart like it was something sacred. Then, carefully, it took a nibble. A tiny, precise bite. Like it was afraid the whole thing might vanish if it moved too fast.

  Its eyes softened. Or maybe my perception of them did. The usual manic jitter was gone, replaced with something eerily serene.

  I watched it chew.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, slumping against the opposite wall. “At least someone’s having a good time.”

  The hum in the air dulled a little. Not gone—but subdued.

  The thing didn’t look at me like a predator. It didn’t watch me like prey.

  It just... watched. Like it was waiting.

  I let myself slide down the wall until I was seated on the floor, knees pulled up, watching it right back. There was something going on inside that glittery little brain. Something learning. Something calculating.

  The smell of toasted sugar clung to the air, weirdly cozy for a moment that should’ve been terrifying. The apartment lights flickered once—just enough to make the shadows move wrong. For half a second, the spider’s reflection shimmered twice in the crystal’s surface, like it was standing next to itself.

  I blinked, and it was gone. Just one again. But the hum had changed pitch—lower, almost thoughtful.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Not creepy at all.”

  If Elly saw this, she’d freak. Eury would torch the bowl. Lily would insist on “neutralizing” it, which was her delicate term for murder. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. It wasn’t evil. It was curious. Hungry. And, apparently, addicted to cherry frosting.

  “You’re like a raccoon crossed with a cryptographer,” I told it quietly. “All you need now is a little top hat.”

  I absently tapped my hand on the floor three times, wondering what I should do next. The creature tilted its head, as if considering that. Then it clicked—three short sounds, rhythmic, almost patterned.

  That sent a chill right through me.

  I stared, heart thudding. “No,” I said. “No way you just did that on purpose.” To be certain, I did three taps again, with a pause between the last two.

  The spider blinked—if that’s what that little shimmer was—and clicked again. Two beats. Pause. Then one more.

  Exactly like punctuation.

  I rubbed my temples. “You’re not supposed to be learning syntax. You’re supposed to be... I don’t know. A magical Roomba.”

  But it wasn’t. It was something else now. The crystal ring pulsed faintly with each of its movements, syncing like a heartbeat.

  Maybe it wasn’t just a spy anymore. Maybe it was starting to become something else.

  The hum began again—faint, not hostile, but insistent. Like it was trying to communicate. Like it was tuning into me.

  I closed my eyes, the headache behind them blooming like a bruise. I could still hear it nibbling. Still feel the slight tremor of magic in the floor.

  And I had no idea what it meant. But I knew one thing for sure.

  If this creature was evolving… it was evolving because of me… and Red 40, Yellow 6, Blue 1.