I woke up first thing Friday morning, head resting on a wad of blankets and pillows from the makeshift bed I’d made last night. The blankets were warm under me, and the hard floor really wasn’t as uncomfortable as I would have expected. I think that where my body was cradled by my armor plating made it naturally very supportive and ergonomic. I was feeling pretty refreshed, and with the assistance of my oddly-placed alarm clock, I was up at the early hour I wanted to be.

  It was the first day of April, and I had a whole lot of things I wanted to get done today. Provided my power was going to be cooperative, and allow me to do what I wanted to do. But, first things first: I needed to do a temperature check of the ocean in my head, which was the sensation of my power. I entered the water fully, and it was warm and calm. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind. I wanted an accurate assessment based on my growing understanding of things. A fuck up here could be pretty bad.

  The mental fatigue sensation from late yesterday afternoon was gone as far as I could tell. My power was responsive to my poking and prodding. I was gambling a little bit here, but I decided to go for it. I took a few deep breaths and pushed to return to normal Morgan.

  My power responded, and I had the same sensation as yesterday morning: a steady internal pull, shifting dimensions, things merging and retracting. The process took a few minutes and wasn’t uncomfortable and noisy like it had been yesterday afternoon. I wonder what might be causing the difference between the two experiences. Opening my eyes, I flipped my hair back with one hand, then clapped once, loudly.

  “Let’s get going, back to my busy schedule!”

  I whipped up a big protein shake with the assistance of the commercial blender I now owned, and was working on drinking it while getting dressed and packing a gym bag. I didn’t know with the whole shape-shifting thing if training was going to help develop my body at all. However, it was a routine that I desperately wanted and needed back in my life, and I enjoyed it.

  I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and took my shaker bottle and gym bag out the door with me. Jogging to the gym at the boardwalk was a nice little warm-up, and the sun was just starting to rise over the bay. The warmth and life it brought was invigorating. My breath fogged in the cool air, and I was in high spirits once again with this return to normalcy.

  Walking into the gym, I wasn’t surprised to see that it was virtually empty inside, with maybe less than half a dozen people scattered throughout. Hitting the gym regularly took dedication; hitting it regularly and at the crack of dawn took an entirely different kind of commitment.

  I’d gotten a decent warm-up on my way over, so I peeled off my light jacket, stuffed it into my bag, and headed for the weight racks. One of my loud, aggressive playlists went on as I shoved in my earbuds and slipped into the zone. My numbers were pretty consistent with what I’d been using before: high-end weight, but enough to raise eyebrows or get anyone thinking I was cheating the natural order.

  I worked through my sets with a tight focus on form, keeping the reps slow to eliminate momentum and really activate my stabilizers. It felt good. By the time I finished, my veins were popping. I took a few minutes to cool off, stretch, and rehydrate before moving on.

  This gym catered to a lot of niches, and I appreciated that. I made my way to the fighter training area: padded mats, a regulation ring, rows of bags. Every surface that could hurt you was taped or cushioned: walls, support columns, benches, and even some of the machines.

  Liability insurance must be a real bitch in places like this.

  I pulled out my hand wraps, tightening them with practiced motions. Once my fists were secure, I slipped on my fingerless MMA gloves, stretched a little more, and got to work on the heavy bag.

  I had energy to burn, and more than a little frustration to vent. Wailing on a heavy bag? Exactly what I needed.

  About five minutes in, someone circled around behind the bag at a safe distance and waved to catch my attention. I stepped back and pulled out my earbuds, tossing them over my shoulders.

  “Hey, are you new here? Coming here often, or planning on it?”

  He was tall, dark-skinned, and had a frame that showed that he wasn’t just here for the music and casual cardio. He wore his hair braided in cornrows and was fairly attractive in a conventional sense. I felt a flicker of irritation at being interrupted during what amounted to a faux therapy session. Especially if this was about to turn into him making a pass.

  I kept my tone neutral. No reason to be rude, even if I was annoyed. “Just moved to this part of town. Switched gyms. Still settling into the new place, so I haven’t nailed down a schedule yet, but I try to hit it five or six times a week.”

  He gave me a quick once-over, not in a creepy way, just taking stock. “Yeah, it shows. This gym’s solid. Good rates, and it’s quiet in the mornings.”

  Ironic, since part of the reason I come early is because I want to work out and not get chatted up.

  Then he added, “I couldn’t help but notice…” Here it comes.

  “...You’ve got tight form…” He gestured at the heavy bag.

  Oh?

  “Looks like you know your stuff. Would you ever want to spar sometime? I could probably pick up a few techniques from you.” He pointed over to a bag nearby with his pair of MMA gloves resting on top.

  I feel like an asshole now.

  Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all. A spar sounded kind of nice. I was going to need new partners anyway.

  I smiled at him and knocked my gloved fists together. “We can do that! I’ll let you know that I’m the firm but fair sort, but I don’t pull punches, either. And no wacky stuff, yeah? I’m here to work out and train.”

  He bobbed his head and asked, “Want to do a short feeler session? You can make up your mind if there’s any wackiness.”

  I nodded and he moved to turn towards his bag, then thought twice, and turned back to me, extending a hand: “I’m Brian, by the way.”

  I took it with a firm grip. He matched it. “Morgan. And… sorry if I came off a little short earlier. I was in the zone. Letting off steam when you got my attention.”

  He just nodded, unfazed, and grabbed his gloves. I followed him over to the mats and not the ring.

  Interesting choice.

  He tightened the gloves and threw a few warm-up punches. Clean, traditional boxing form. I hoped he had more than just that in his toolkit, or the choice of mats over the ring was a weird one.

  “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “You were hitting that bag hard enough that two other people moved to get away from the noise.”

  He laughed. I blinked. I hadn’t even noticed.

  Sorry for the noise, I guess. This is a gym, not a yoga retreat.

  We squared up on the mats. I saluted and bowed. He followed suit.

  Good. Dojo experience.

  I raised one gloved hand and flicked my fingers in a bring it motion, grinning. “No headshots, gloves or not. No dirty tricks. Grapples and mat work are fine, but I really wouldn’t recommend it.”

  My grin widened. “And if you pull your punches on some chivalry crap, I’ll make you regret it.”

  He returned the grin. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  He advanced, and we got into it.

  The first punches were light, testing. I blocked and deflected them easily.

  “Quit holding back,” I said, keeping my hands high. “If you want me to get a real read, fight like you mean it.” He rolled his neck and shoulders and nodded. “Alright, alright. I’m coming at you fully, then.”

  He came again, this time with real intention. A trio of punches: clean, classic boxing. Then a snap kick and a spinning one. Taekwondo. A quick leg sweep followed, which was textbook Karate.

  Mixed bag.

  He had strength, reach, and clearly knew how to fight, but his form was inconsistent. Probably had some formal training, maybe tournaments, but nothing cohesive. He wasn’t bad. Just needed structure.

  He came in again with a flurry of jabs. I deflected the first, ducked the second, slipped sideways on the third, and pivoted into him. My elbow caught him square in the abdomen. He braced well, and I heard the breath whoosh out of him.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  That wasn’t the attack. That was the set-up.

  I grabbed his arm with one hand, his thigh with the other, and hauled him up and over my hip. He hit the mat with a solid wham. I followed him down, locking him up with practiced ease into a jiu-jitsu pretzel. He looked stunned for a second, then wriggled, testing for an escape.

  Nope.

  He barked a deep laugh and slapped the mat.

  I let go, popped to my feet, and held a hand out.

  He took it, and I hauled him up in one firm yank. He rubbed the back of his head, looking a little sheepish.

  “Holy shit, Morgan, you weren’t kidding about the ‘not suggesting’ grapples part, were you?” Brian laughed, brushing off his back. “Also, good god, girl—what do you lift?”

  I clasped my hands and bowed. He returned it.

  “Often and a lot,” I said, snickering.

  “I mean, I could tell you knew your stuff, and I’d love to spar more. I figured we were in different weight classes, but not that different. I’m… pleasantly surprised?” He said it like he meant it.

  My phone buzzed in my bag. I glanced at the clock.

  Time flies. I needed to book it to school.

  I started unwrapping my hands. “Yeah, gotta go. Got class, and it’s a bit of a hike. But cardio, you know? Two birds.”

  He followed at a casual pace as I packed up. “You gonna be around more?”

  I stuffed my gloves and wraps into my bag and guzzled down some water from my bottle. “That’s the plan,” I said, slinging my bag over one shoulder. “Usually in by six-thirty most mornings. Catch you around?”

  “Bet on it. Already looking forward to it. You need to show me that throw.”

  I winked at him, turned, and headed out. On my way past the mirrors, I caught a glimpse of myself.

  Still me. For now.

  I looked… good. Healthy. Strong.

  But I knew how fragile it all was. Just under the surface: something blue, wild, and wrong.

  I forced the thought down.

  No time for that train of thought right now.

  I got to Arcadia, changed, and was out front of my first-period door before class started. I had my headphones in, bobbing my head along to a bass-laden track, when Melody rounded the corner.

  Her eyes widened, and then she was sprinting toward me, pulling me into a fierce hug. I froze, stunned, and choked up a little.

  She pulled back. I tugged my earbuds free.

  “Where have you been!?” she demanded.

  I wish I could tell you even half of it, Mel. I really do. But right now, I’m keeping my hands tight to my chest until I figure out what I’m even holding.

  “I’ve been a wreck,” I said. “Everything that happened with the PRT just… broke something in me, Mel. I didn’t want you to see me falling apart. I took some time. I’ve been doing classes remotely, so I could cry in peace without disrupting a lecture.”

  She clenched her jaw. I saw her lower lip tremble. I gave her a small, apologetic smile.

  Then she poked me in the upper boob. Hard. With one finger.

  “Melody—ow!” I protested. “I’m still furious at you,” she growled, jabbing again. “You’re lying. Or hiding something. Because the Morgan I know wouldn’t just vanish. She wouldn’t dump her sister in the trash like she’s afraid she might get tailed home one night. She’d know if someone was following her. She’d kick their asses.”

  “God, quit it, Mel!” I rubbed my chest, glancing down the hall. “You know I can’t—” She waved that off with a sharp shake of her head. “I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I’m just glad you’re okay, and here, and…better. Sort of.” She stepped back. “But you’re still on the shit list until you get your head out of your ass.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. You deserve to be mad. But if you were that worried, you could’ve called or texted.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I could’ve called? You didn’t say a peep all week! That’s- Morgan, that’s fucked up!”

  Her fists clenched tight enough to shake. For a second, I thought she might actually hit me.

  Then her shoulders slumped.

  “Come on. Let’s get to class. I don’t want to spend all day angry. This isn’t over. You’re not off the hook.”

  I held up my hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. I love you. I do. Just… let me keep my head in my ass a little longer while I figure myself out?”

  She pursed her lips, then nodded. “Fine.”

  We stood there for a second. Not talking. Just breathing in the same air again.

  Our teacher came along and unlocked the classroom, and we filed in.

  One class turned into two. I passed Dennis in the hall, and we shared a wave. He looked happy to see me.

  Come lunchtime, I felt a little twang of anxiety that I normally would have never felt. I got a nice sub and a bottled smoothie from a vending machine, then walked up to my old table.

  The Wards table, although nobody else knew that it was what it was, but us. The secret in plain sight.

  They were already all sitting there and chatting, along with Amy, Victoria, and Melody. My seat across from Melody was empty. I looked at it, then at my tray, then at the seat again. Do I belong here anymore?

  I’m dubiously still Morgan Rivera, but I’m not Phoenix Strike. I’m not a member of the Wards; I’m not good enough to be a Protectorate hero with my ‘limited capabilities.’

  Would sitting there just make it weird for them? Remind them I’m not part of the team anymore?

  I stood there, caught in the tangle of it all. Staring at an empty chair. I didn’t notice Carlos until he stepped up beside me.

  He leaned in and said, just loud enough for me to hear: “Quit being weird. You belong there more than anyone in this school. You’re still our friend. That doesn’t change. We’ve been holding your spot all week.”

  My heart flopped in my chest, and I thought I was going to tear up.

  I gripped my tray and nodded rapidly. He moved to his seat, and I pulled mine out and sat in it before doubt could creep back into my mind.

  Across from me, Victoria and Amy shared a brief, unreadable look. Then Victoria turned toward me with a bright smile. “Morgan! You’re looking… really good! Are you uh… feeling better?”

  Amy’s eyes stayed on me. She smiled, warm in a way she rarely was. Amy said, “You look great, Morgan! I love what you’ve done with your hair.” My stomach tightened slightly, but we were interrupted by the rest of the gang saying hello. Dennis spoke up first, saying, “Look who finally left the bunker. You know we actually take attendance here, right?”

  Chris lightly smacked him on the arm and said, “Glad you’re back, Morgan. Let me know if you need help catching up on any assignments.”

  Pretty sure that was code for ‘that offer’s still on the table.’ I gave him a small nod

  Dean wasn’t at the table today, and Carlos caught me looking at his empty spot and explained: “He had a doctor’s appointment that got rescheduled and moved up to this afternoon, so had to take off. You know how it goes. I’m super happy you’re back, though. Hasn’t been the same without you talking trash.” I rolled my eyes and made a mental note of the double-speak. Dean was off doing Wards or PRT-related business. Unless he actually did have a dentist’s appointment get moved or something. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was a smokescreen and what was actually real. We started to tuck into our meals. “How’s the new place treating you? Did you manage to get that spill in the kitchen all cleaned up? No staining?” Victoria asked me. I bobbed my head and wiped my lips with a napkin before responding: “Yeah, it’s coming along. No staining issues at all, I really appreciate the help there. Still picking up random odds and ends that I forget I need, like a blender.”

  Melody observed the exchange and gave me the flattest of flat looks afterward. I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know exactly what that was about. She was pissed that Victoria got to see my new place before she did. Amy, the traitor, found her drink suddenly extremely interesting.

  Fuck. I can’t get a win or catch a break with her lately. I really need to think of a way to make it up, and soon.

  Amy asked me if she could have one of my napkins, and I handed her one. Her fingers touched the back of my hand momentarily and I saw her eyes dilate ever-so-slightly. She took the napkin and thanked me with a shy smile.

  God, Amy. You could have just asked. Not that I really mind.

  We chatted for a while. I ended up being the center of attention more than I wanted, but I took it in stride. Everyone had questions: why I’d been out of school for four days, what I’d been up to. We avoided the obvious topic of the PRT, keeping the conversation focused on home and personal stuff.

  I told them I’d decided to move out, using some of the money I’d earned from my “internship,” and that most of my time lately had been spent settling into the new place and adjusting to living on my own.

  There were a few questions about where it was, and I admitted it was near the north end of the Boardwalk District, edging toward the rail yards and dockside neighborhoods. Rougher, sure, but not a bad spot. And cheaper than anything near the boardwalk proper.

  Someone floated the idea of throwing a party to celebrate my new independence, and I told them I’d think about it. I meant it. I did want people to visit—especially Melody—but the apartment represented something new. A different part of me. A different me, entirely.

  I told them, truthfully, that I didn’t have much furniture yet, or things to do, but I’d give it some real thought.

  Even so, one thing was becoming clear: I was going to have to make some very big, and possibly painful, decisions soon—about how much of myself I was willing to show to the people I cared about. I was worried about the danger to my family, deeply so… but Melody had been right to call me out.

  On some level, it wasn’t just about them.

  It was about me. It wasn’t just about protecting them from danger. It was about protecting myself from what they’d see.

  The real heart of the issue was that I didn’t look or feel human when I wasn’t shapeshifted like this. Because, as Amy and Dragon had both made painfully clear, I wasn’t.

  Had I died and been reborn? Replaced piece by piece, like a Ship of Theseus, until nothing original remained? I felt different—but also the same—and it was hard to distill that contradiction into words I could share with anyone else.

  It was complicated in ways I struggled to explain, even to myself.

  I thought about Jessica Yamada. She could probably help me make sense of this, if anyone could. I trusted her implicitly. She took patient confidentiality as seriously as death and taxes. But the PRT? Not so much. I didn’t know how deep they went. Were they reading her files? Were they watching everything I did?

  My gut said no. Don’t show them this version of me.

  Not yet.

  The PRT didn’t exactly have a sparkling record when it came to monstrous capes or Case Fifty-Threes. Maybe there were a few on the payroll, hiding behind the curtain, but I’d asked myself that before. I’d seen how Piggot phrased things—how she’d rather have me in a back office than on the front lines. I didn’t want a custom-built creature-sized cubicle. I wanted to fight. I wanted to matter.

  I looked down at my tray: just crumbs and napkins. No answers there.

  Call it pride, vanity, or whatever you want. I had a vision of what I wanted my life to be. That vision took a seismic hit when I woke up twice my old size with three times the limbs… and that’s not even counting the tentacles.

  But I’m not giving up.

  I’ll find a way to make it work.

  God damn it, I will.

  “Earth to Morgan.” Victoria snapped me out of the reverie I’d been eating while munching the last of my sandwich.

  I wiped some dressing off the corner of my mouth and gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. Lot on my mind. Like… a lot-lot.”

  “I get that. Just checking in.” She smiled, easy and warm.

  “Hey, Victoria?” I ventured.

  “Yeah?” “I was thinking… maybe this weekend, we could try out some new techniques? Exercises, training stuff. Somewhere quiet, away from everything for a while?” I kept my tone casual, but I hoped she’d pick up on what I was really asking.

  Victoria was smarter than most people gave her credit for. People saw the busty blonde in a skirt and made assumptions. But she got it. She saw people.

  “Hmm.” She tapped her fingernail against the tabletop, eyes flicking to the ceiling in thought. “I’ve got a few things on the docket this weekend, but I think I can carve out a couple of hours. Yeah.”

  I nodded, encouraged. “If it’s later in the day, and your folks are chill with it, you could even stay over at my place. Only if it makes things easier.”

  And maybe just a little bit because I want you there.

  I could feel Melody’s disapproval from across the table. Still, this was about cape stuff. She had to know that. Training. Control. That had to count for something, right?

  “I’ll talk it over with them, and get back to you after school?” Victoria asked. “You bet, I said," with a smile. “Not going to lock in plans, but keep me posted. I could use a bit of cutting-loose time.”