The kitchen glowed in warm gold and soft white—light spilling in through the windows and the ceiling fixture humming gently above.

  Hazel moved like a melody, wrist flicking as she stirred the sauté pan, her other hand already reaching for the seasoning beside the stove without looking.

  Stel stood at her side, brow furrowed as she attempted to slice tomatoes with focus that verged on theatrical intensity.

  On the counter, barefoot and cross-legged, Alex sat with her phone in one hand, thumb zily scrolling through whatever caught her interest.

  Every so often, she’d gnce up and grin when Stel muttered something about knife angles or burning garlic.

  It was a comfortable rhythm. The scent of fresh herbs and simmering oil filled the space, mingling with quiet ughter and the low buzz of something almost normal.

  Stel gnced over, her hands stilling for a moment.

  “So,” she began, tone casual, “are you worried Verity won’t figure it out?”

  Hazel raised an eyebrow slightly. “Figure what out?”

  “That you didn’t go all out during the tests,” Stel said. “Like… you held back, right? What if she thinks those numbers are your real limits?”

  Hazel chuckled softly, setting the wooden spoon down and lowering the heat. “That’s the point.”

  Stel blinked. “You wanted her to think that?”

  “I didn’t need to want anything,” Hazel said. “My body already knew what to do.”

  Alex looked up from her phone, lips curling into a slow smirk. “She’s right. We all do it. It’s instinct.”

  Stel frowned, confused. “You mean… you chose to underperform?”

  “Not exactly,” Hazel said, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t conscious. It’s something buried deeper. Something we don’t even question. When Verity tested us, we didn’t need to talk about it—none of us did. We just… moved the way that felt right.”

  Alex set her phone down beside her and leaned forward slightly, voice tinged with amusement. “And ‘what felt right’ just happened to be within the limits of what a human might consider ‘supernatural, but not threatening.’”

  Stel's eyes widened slightly. “You mean… like a performance?”

  Hazel nodded. “No one told us to hold back. No one needed to. It’s baked into what we are now. Every move, every choice we make when people are watching—it’s calcuted. Not logically. Instinctually.”

  Stel looked between them, brow furrowed. “So you’re saying if someone else got infected, they’d do the same thing? They’d just… know not to look dangerous?”

  Hazel offered a soft smile. “Yes.”

  Alex added, “We’re predators. But polished ones. Refined. Everything about us—our charm, our presence, our beauty—it’s all carefully calibrated. Not to intimidate. To ease. To disarm.”

  “And if someone pushes too hard,” Hazel said gently, “we know how to end it before it escates.”

  Stel let out a slow breath, returning to the cutting board. “That’s kind of creepy.”

  “It’s survival,” Hazel replied. “Our bodies protect us by making sure we never appear like a threat—until it’s too te.”

  Stel paused, bde hovering above a tomato. “So when you fought Alex earlier… that wasn’t holding back?”

  Hazel’s expression shifted just slightly. “That was honesty.”

  Alex leaned back with a grin. “That was fun.”

  Stel rolled her eyes. “You’re both too rexed about being able to throw cars.”

  “Would you rather we panic about it?” Hazel asked, turning toward her with a faint smirk.

  Stel opened her mouth, then closed it. “...No. But you could pretend to be normal.”

  “I am pretending,” Hazel said sweetly.

  Alex ughed.

  The sound was light, infectious, and Stel couldn’t help but smile despite herself.

  They moved through the rest of the dinner prep in easy silence. Hazel handled the delicate things—seasoning, sautéing, pting like an artist at work.

  Stel managed the chopping and stirring, her frustration melting away in the rhythm. Alex remained on the counter, offering occasional commentary or taste-testing when prompted.

  By the time the table was set, the sun had slipped low in the sky, casting amber through the blinds and painting the kitchen in dusky light.

  The food was simple but perfect—rosemary chicken, roasted vegetables, fresh bread that Hazel had insisted they buy on the way home.

  As they sat down, Stel gnced between them again. Hazel serene and graceful, Alex rexed and watching with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was.

  And herself, caught somewhere in the middle—still human, still soft in the pces they weren’t.

  But not apart from them.

  Not anymore.

  Dinner passed in comfortable quiet, the clink of cutlery and soft conversation filling the warm kitchen. The food was as perfect as ever, but Stel—halfway through her second helping—paused and tapped her fork against her pte.

  “It’s not as good when Hazel cooks alone.”

  Hazel raised an eyebrow, lips curving in a faint smile. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Barely,” Stel said, sipping from her gss. “I’m just saying… you’re both disgustingly competent together.”

  Alex gave a small, amused shrug, sipping zily from her mug of coffee. “Good looks, deadly grace, domestic charm. We’re a menace.”

  “You’re a menace,” Hazel murmured, but there was warmth in her voice.

  Stel rolled her eyes, grinning despite herself, and reached for a slice of bread. “Seriously though, it was really good.”

  “You helped,” Hazel reminded her.

  “Yeah,” Stel said, biting into her slice, “but mostly in spirit.”

  They finished the meal slowly, with no urgency to leave the table. The light outside dimmed into violet, and the hum of the neighborhood quieted to a distant murmur. After clearing her pte, Stel yawned and stood, stretching her arms overhead.

  “I’m gonna shower,” she said. “If I don’t come back, I’ve drowned.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Hazel said gently.

  “Still—rescue me if you hear spshing.”

  “I’ll bring a towel,” Alex offered, voice teasing.

  Stel rolled her eyes again and padded off toward the hallway, humming something soft as she went.

  Hazel lingered in the dining room a moment longer, silently gathering the ptes. Her motions were fluid, almost automatic.

  She set them in the sink with care, wiped down the counter, then moved through the house like a shadow returning to stillness.

  She slipped into her room and shut the door behind her with barely a sound.

  The light from her window spilled across the pale walls and into the open floor. Hazel stood in front of her mirror for a moment, her hands loose at her sides. Her reflection gazed back—perfect, poised, and quiet. It was a face that never gave anything away.

  A click sounded at the door.

  She didn’t turn. Not right away.

  Alex slipped inside without knocking, her fingers brushing the door shut behind her with a muted thud. She leaned against it, her figure silhouetted softly in the hallway light.

  Hazel turned slightly, watching her through the mirror.

  Alex’s arms crossed loosely. “Is she really dead?”

  Hazel didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to the floor, then back to Alex.

  Alex stepped away from the door, her boots whispering across the carpet. “Lena. The girl Verity told you about.”

  Hazel studied her, gaze still calm but slower now—more guarded. “That’s what Verity believes.”

  “But you don’t,” Alex said quietly.

  Hazel exhaled softly, turning to face her. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is,” Alex said. “Because the thing you’re thinking—the thing we’re both thinking—has nothing to do with her being found. It’s about whether or not she used her real strength.”

  Hazel’s brows lifted just slightly, and a small hum escaped her throat. Not an answer. Not denial.

  Alex took another step forward. “She was bled dry. That’s not easy. Not even with five people. Not unless she allowed herself to be restrained. Not unless she was trying to appear harmless. Trying to be the version of us that humans want to see.”

  Hazel nodded, slowly. “And if that’s true…”

  “Then she didn’t resist,” Alex said. “She didn’t shift.”

  The air between them grew heavier.

  Hazel lifted her hand, fingers extended—delicate, smooth, motionless. Alex raised hers too. For a moment, they mirrored one another in eerie silence.

  Then their hands began to change.

  The shift was slow. Skin rippled over muscle as nails darkened and lengthened, stretching into curved points like onyx bdes.

  Tendons pressed against the backs of their hands. Their fingers extended, joints subtly angling forward as though designed for tearing rather than touch.

  Neither of them flinched.

  Hazel’s golden-amber eyes reflected the dim light with a steady glow. Alex’s gaze was sharp, unwavering.

  “These,” Hazel said softly, flexing the cws, “aren’t for show.”

  Alex turned her hand slightly, the edge of one cw glinting like polished bone. “If she used them, someone would’ve died.”

  Hazel nodded. “There would’ve been blood. Bodies. And not hers.”

  “But there weren’t,” Alex said. “So she didn’t use them.”

  They let their hands shift back, slowly—cws receding, fingers returning to their elegant, human facades. Skin smoothed over what they were. What they could be.

  Hazel stepped back and sank onto the edge of her bed, eyes distant.

  “She didn’t fight.”

  “Which means,” Alex said, crouching nearby, resting her arms on her knees, “she still had blood. Maybe not enough to regenerate fully—but enough to avoid that kind of death.”

  Hazel tilted her head.

  Alex smiled—not cruelly, not carelessly, but with quiet certainty. “So Lena’s not dead.”

  Hazel gave a soft sound—part ugh, part sigh. “You believe that?”

  “I know it,” Alex said. “Because I wouldn’t die like that. You wouldn’t. Not unless we chose to. And if she was like us, she didn’t either.”

  Silence settled over them again. Not empty. Just full of things unsaid.

  Alex stood slowly. “And if she’s not dead, that means she needs help. She needs blood. Not a funeral.”

  Hazel looked up at her.

  “And whoever did that to her,” Alex continued, eyes narrowing, “won’t be hard to find.”

  Hazel leaned back, one leg folding over the other, arms loose in her p. “You sound very certain.”

  Alex smiled again, slower this time. “They touched something they didn’t understand. People like that always leave a trail.”

  Hazel’s lips curved faintly. “We’ll follow it.”

  Alex reached out and brushed a curl from Hazel’s cheek, her touch feather-light. “You always sound so calm when you’re making threats.”

  Hazel looked up through lowered shes. “I wasn’t threatening.”

  “No?”

  “I was making a promise.”