The week started with a crushing heaviness Andres just couldn't shake. Miami High just kept moving at its usual crazy break neck pace. kids shouting across hallways, lockers slamming, loud music with breakdance battles erupting in the courtyard. Everything felt sharper, louder, more dangerous. To everyone else, Andres was still the quiet kid with sharp green eyes who slipped through the noise unnoticed.

  But Chad wasn't fooled. Chad watched him now—eyes tracking him like a predator sizing up prey.

  Every hallway felt like a trap. Every corner felt like a place Chad might be waiting. Andres kept his head down, but inside, he was unraveling.

  After school, he locked himself in his room and practiced with the shadows. They curled around his fingers like smoke, responding to his thoughts. Even the slightest movement left him sweating and shaking.

  And the more he pushed, the more he realized how volatile his powers were. One wrong move and someone could get hurt.

  That night, after his abuela fell asleep, he shut his door, pulled the curtains tight, and flicked on his desk lamp. A single shadow stretched across the floor like spilled ink.

  He reached out. The shadow thickened, rising like syrup into a trembling spike before collapsing as a sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes.

  He scribbled in his notebook: Small movements = manageable. Big shapes = headache + nausea = max duration: 10 seconds.

  He collapsed into bed around 3 a.m., sleep dragging him under like a riptide.

  Tuesday brought the first close call.

  Chad cornered him by the stairwell, slamming a hand against the wall inches from Andres's face.

  "Where you runnin' off to, Vega?" Chad growled. "You been actin' weird."

  Andres forced a shrug. "Just trying to get home."

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  Chad leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. "You think you're slick, don't you?"

  For a terrifying second, the shadows at Andres's feet twitched—ready to move, ready to defend. He swallowed hard and forced them still.

  Chad smirked, like he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to, then walked away.

  Shaken, Andres rushed home and practiced again—starting small, shaping a simple hook from the shadow. It still left him trembling, but it was progress.

  Wednesday was worse.

  Chad's crew split up between hallways, trying to box him in. Twice, Andres escaped only because a crowd of students got in the way. He felt hunted.

  During lunch, he nearly slipped. A shove from behind—one of Chad's boys—sent him stumbling. Instinctively, the shadows under the cafeteria table surged upward, ready to lash out.

  He froze them just in time. If anyone had seen…

  That night, he tried shadow jumping.

  He set up his desk lamp, placed an old soccer trophy in front of it, and let the room sink into dim, uneven light. Shadows stretched long across the walls.

  He closed his eyes and pictured the darkest corner.

  The world compressed around him—cold, crushing—then released. He stumbled into the corner, gasping.

  He scribbled in his notebook: Shadow jumping = massive energy drain. Distance matters.

  If he could master this, maybe he wouldn't have to run anymore.

  By Thursday, Andres was barely functioning. Andres's eyes were ringed with dark circles, and every movement felt sluggish.

  During 3rd period, he nodded off for half a second and woke to Chad staring at him from across the room, studying him like a puzzle he intended to break.

  "You alright, Vega?" Mr. Rivera asked, frowning.

  "Yeah," Andres muttered. "Just tired."

  Mr. Rivera didn't buy it. Neither did Chad, whose smirk said he'd noticed every twitch, every flinch, every strange moment Andres thought he'd hidden.

  Later, in the crowded hallway, Chad shoulder?checked him hard enough to send him stumbling. For a split second, the shadows at Andres's feet surged upward— and he had to choke them back before anyone saw.

  Friday brought the worst near?miss yet.

  After school, Chad and his boys followed him out to the courtyard. Andres felt their footsteps behind him, closing in. He cut through a group of seniors, heart pounding.

  Chad's hand brushed the back of his shirt—just barely missing a grab.

  The shadows around Andres rippled, reacting to his panic. He forced them down, jaw clenched.

  He made it home shaking.

  That night, he pushed himself harder than ever. He tested how far he could stretch a shadow before it snapped back, how long he could hold a shape, how many jumps he could manage before collapsing.

  He pushed until his legs gave out and he hit the floor, chest heaving. A cold ache spread through him.

  How far can I push this before it pushes back? And what happens when Chad finally corners me with no one around?

  The thought chilled him more than the shadows ever could.