I watched Syrin’s glow brighten under the shade of the bus stop. My stomach dropped. The sun. I had to get him back in the sunlight.

  I ran toward him, trying not to drop the two breakfast sandwiches. Before I could reach him, a girl with a backpack wandered by, AirPods in, half-distracted. Then she saw Syrin. She slowed, did a full double take, and grinned.

  “Whoa, that’s an amazing costume! Are you filming something? How’d you get that glow effect? Is that, like, a product or something?”

  Syrin froze, eyes wide. He looked at her like she’d just short-circuited his brain. The glow jumped brighter, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  I stepped in fast. “Yeah! Uh—yeah, it’s a film project. We rigged his clothes up with lights. Media class thing. We just needed to do an early morning lighting test!”

  The girl laughed. “Oh my god, that’s so cool.” She gave Syrin a last look. “You look awesome. Good luck!” She waved and kept walking.

  I waited until she was safely gone before grabbing Syrin’s sleeve and yanking him out from under the awning. The second the sunlight hit his skin, the glow was barely noticeable. Not dulled, just harder to see.

  Syrin blinked at me, breath shaky. “What… what did she say?”

  “She thought you were doing an art project,” I muttered. “And we’re never standing in the shade again.”

  He bit his lip, staring down at his hand. “I didn’t mean to—” He stopped, jaw tight. “I’m trying, I promise. I’ve just never had to control it before. Back home, it never mattered if I glowed. You learn early not to let it flare too bright, but the glow itself? People like it. They say it makes the streets feel warmer. And now…”

  I blinked at him. That was the most I’d ever heard him say at once. For someone who wasn’t exactly chatty, he suddenly sounded… homesick. “Hey, it’s okay. I know you’re trying. You basically seem like the definition of trying. That was sort of my fault. I should’ve realized being alone would be stressful. Just take a couple deep breaths, okay?”

  The sound of an approaching bus cut through the quiet, a deep, mechanical rumble that made Syrin’s eyes widen. Right. There hadn’t really been any passing cars at the end of the trail, just parked ones.

  I sighed. “Welcome to your first Earth monster.”

  Syrin stiffened, every muscle locking up and the light under his skin flared, bright enough to glare off of a nearby car.

  Oh heavens, why did I say that?

  I grabbed his arm, juggling the sandwiches to my other hand. “Hey, hey! It’s not dangerous. Sorry. It’s just loud. Big, noisy, metal, but not alive. I promise.”

  Syrin’s gaze flicked from me to the approaching bus. The thing groaned to a stop, brakes hissing like a dragon taking a breath. He flinched so hard I almost dropped breakfast.

  “Totally fine,” I said quickly. “Public transit, not a beast. Promise.”

  The bus doors folded open with a pneumatic whoosh. A couple of people got off. One of them gave Syrin a glance, paused on his cloak, and then hurried away like they’d just walked past a street magician.

  “See?” I said. “Completely normal.”

  Syrin looked deeply unconvinced. “Are there animals trapped underneath?”

  “No. It just moves by itself.”

  Syrin looked even more alarmed. “By itself?”

  “Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’ll explain, but we’ve got to get on, like… right now,” I said, glancing at the driver, who was giving me the classic are you getting on or not? look.

  I stepped forward to assure him I was. Syrin eyed the bus like it might bite. “We have to go inside it?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to sound patient and not at all like someone was about to argue with a medieval lighthouse in human form. “It’ll take us home. Safely. Just get on, okay?”

  He didn’t move. I sighed and stepped on, hoping he’d take the hint and follow. The bus driver eyed the wrapped sandwiches in my hand. “They’ll stay in my backpack. Promise.”

  He nodded.

  I flashed my bus pass. “You take tap-to-pay?” I asked the driver.

  Another nod.

  I scanned my card. “For him,” I said with a nod toward Syrin.

  I glanced back. Syrin was still on the curb. “Syrin,” I said under my breath. “Come on. You faced assassins; you can handle a bus.”

  He swallowed hard and stepped up, light flickering faintly from his hands. Dang. This was going to be a nightmare. I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

  “See? Not so bad.”

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  The doors closed behind us with another whoosh. We were about halfway back when the bus lurched forward. Syrin nearly fell into the nearest seat, clutching the rail like his life depended on it.

  “Okay,” I said, sliding into the seat next to him. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” I was suddenly really glad no one understood what I was saying.

  I tucked the sandwiches into my backpack. We could eat them when we switched buses at Old Town.

  The bus gave another lurch as it turned out of the lot, and Syrin’s knuckles went white on the seat rail. His eyes darted everywhere—the windows, the ceiling, the floor—like he was waiting for the whole thing to explode.

  “It’s moving too fast,” he said, his voice tight. His hands were shaking. “How do you control it? What makes it stop?”

  I winced. I should have prepped him. I should have explained before. What was I thinking? I should have realized it would be terrifying to him, but it had always just been… normal.

  “It stops. It has brakes, which are—” I stopped. That was not helping. “It’s fine. Completely normal. You’re safe, I promise.”

  The glow under his skin flared brighter. A couple of people across the aisle looked up, confused at where the light was coming from, and I shifted quickly, blocking him with my body.

  I glanced back. They were looking at the windows. Not at Syrin. I released a breath and looked back at him.

  “Hey, hey,” I whispered, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m right here. We wouldn’t have gotten on if it wasn’t safe. I wouldn’t do that to you, right? Deep breaths: in through your nose, out through your mouth. I know it’s loud, and it’s weird, but this is how people get around here. No magic. Just engineering. Human magic, sort of.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “It feels like falling, but standing still. And there’s no wind, but we’re going so fast…”

  “Yeah,” I murmured.

  He didn’t respond. His breathing was ragged now, and the glow was edging from faint gold to something whiter, harsher. I panicked and grabbed one of the sandwiches from my bag.

  “Okay,” I said, pressing it into his hands. “Here. Focus on this, okay? Smell it. Bread, cheese, eggs. Totally safe. Normal.”

  He stared at me like I was insane, but the light flickered, slightly dimmer.

  “Good,” I said softly. “You’re doing great. Don’t look out the window, just look at me. That’s it. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

  The bus slowed for a stop, brakes hissing again. He flinched, but the light that flared was tiny. At least he wasn’t glowing like a human torch anymore.

  “See?” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “It stops. No monsters. Just a very grumpy driver with a schedule.”

  He blinked a few times, then nodded shakily. “This world is… very loud.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted with a faint laugh. That wouldn’t be the first difference I thought of, but he was right. “You get used to it.”

  He sat rigid for a moment longer, staring down at the wrapped sandwich like it might judge him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have panicked. That was wrong. I didn’t mean to draw attention.”

  “Hey,” I said quietly. “You literally got ambushed by a bus. I think you’re allowed to panic once. Not wrong. Normal. I should have warned you.”

  Syrin gave me a tight nod, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. I bit my lip, watching him. I’d grown up with both pixies and cars since before I could remember. I should know things like buses might scare him. Apparently, understanding both didn’t mean I truly saw their differences.

  After another few stops, things were better. Syrin’s light faded to a low shimmer that just made his skin look faintly luminous, like one of those weirdly airbrushed models in a summer lotion ad.

  He started looking at the windows, and I pointed out things—stores, gas stations, bikes—explaining quietly as we went. Slowly but surely, his expression shifted from panic to awe.

  Finally, the bus veered onto the freeway for the short stretch to Old Town. I saw Syrin’s fingers digging into his leg and reached over, squeezing his hand. “Still good,” I said quietly. “We’re just going faster now, but it’s fine. I’m right here, remember?”

  He swallowed hard and nodded, the faint glow under his skin steadying instead of flaring. The bus hissed to a stop again, the digital sign above the windshield flashing: Old Town Transit Center.

  “This is us,” I said.

  He blinked at me, still pale but willing, and stood when I did. We hopped off the bus. Syrin stuck to me like glue. We got a few odd glances at his clothes, but nothing terrible.

  I led us toward the next line that would take us home and dug the sandwiches out of my bag, unwrapping one and handing it over. “Here,” I said.

  Syrin stared at it like he’d never seen bread shaped that way. To be fair, croissants were kind of a weird concept, flaky and unapologetically buttery.

  “It’s good,” I assured him. “Eggs, cheese, meat, and extremely buttery bread.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he took a cautious bite anyway. His eyes went wide.

  “Like it?”

  He just gave a satisfied hum.

  I smiled. “Good.”

  He glanced at all the people around us. “So, these people are all just waiting for those… buses?”

  I nodded. “Or a train. That part over there.” I pointed to the other platform. “We’ll probably see one. They roll on long metal bar things. We call them rails or tracks.”

  He stared toward the train tracks. “Are they big?”

  I hid my grin behind my hand. “Bigger than a bus.”

  His eyes widened, and sure enough, a few minutes later a train rattled past. It was one of the smaller trolleys, not the huge Amtrak ones.

  “It’s so long,” Syrin said, awe in his voice.

  “Yep. Pretty cool, right? There’s even a museum. A place for learning about old trains and history and stuff. Maybe we can go sometime.”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “A place for learning about history?”

  “Yeah. You can visit different ones about different topics: trains, history, animals, all sorts of stuff.”

  His brow furrowed. “Like… a library?”

  “Sort of, but without any books.”

  He gave me a look that was almost amused. “I think the definition of a library is ‘has books.’”

  I grinned. “Well, the stuff that would normally be in the books is just written on the walls.”

  Syrin pursed his lips, that tiny crease appearing between his brows again. “And that’s better than being in a book?”

  “It’s different,” I said. “Museums have real things too. Like little versions of the trains. Or the bones of animals or rocks or whatever the book is talking about.”

  Syrin nodded slowly. “So some sort of collection.”

  “Exactly.”

  He looked thoughtful, eyes following the rails as another train roared past. For once, he didn’t seem scared, just curious. It felt like progress. Eventually, our bus came, and we loaded on. Syrin’s glow didn’t even flare this time. Though he still gripped the seat in front of him tightly every time we stopped.

  The view shifted to more small houses with the occasional apartment complex. Syrin stared out, fascinated. I just leaned back, finally relaxing for a moment.

  When our stop came, we walked the half block to the apartment complex and cut through the parking lot. Mom’s car was there. She’d had a long shift at the hospital earlier this week, so I knew she was off today. Still, I’d been hoping she might be out doing errands or something, so I could accustom Syrin to the place before Mom got home. Before I had to explain. I guess now I had to do it all at once.

  I let out a quiet sigh. Syrin just glanced at me but didn’t ask. I led him through the entryway and into the long hallway lined with numbered doors and faded welcome mats.

  “What is this place?” he asked softly.

  “Home,” I said, squaring my shoulders. Then I took a deep breath and walked toward our apartment. It was time to let Mom know about Dad’s assignment.