Ethan's breath came in sharp gasps as his fingers trembled over his face. His skin felt the same, yet different—tougher, like it wasn't fully human anymore. His golden eyes reflected back at him in the mirror, glowing faintly even in the dim light.
"This has to be a dream," he thought, pressing his fingers against his temples. But the dull ache in his bones, the heightened senses, and the gnawing hunger in his stomach told him otherwise.
Thud.
His heart nearly leaped out of his chest as he heard the soft knock on his door.
"Ethan?" His stepfather's voice was rough, suspicious. "You okay in there?"
Ethan swallowed hard. He could smell the man's breath—whiskey, cigarettes, and the faint scent of dried sweat. The scent was so sharp, so real, it made Ethan's stomach twist with nausea. Or was it... hunger?
"No. No way."
He shook his head violently. He wasn't some kind of monster.
"I-I'm fine," Ethan stammered, trying to steady his voice. "Just... not feeling well."
A long pause. Then, a grunt. "Fine. Keep it down." The footsteps retreated, and Ethan exhaled shakily.
His hands clenched into fists. This wasn't just puberty hitting late. Something inside him had changed. Something ancient. Powerful. And it wanted out.
He turned back to the mirror. His golden eyes stared back at him, unreadable.
"Who—no, what am I?"
Then, like a whisper in the wind, the monstrous voice from his dreams echoed in his head once more:
"You are not human. You are one of us."
A chill ran down Ethan's spine.
He had to find answers. Before it was too late.