Diary Entry: The change

Edward hadn't moved in hours.

The TV was on but silent. A bleary-eyed news anchor mouthed something about area blackouts, strange CDC activity, and a sudden surge of emergency military mobilization. None of it. Not yet. Not when balanced against the feeling that crawled under Edward's skin.

The Shadow Man had been quiet all day, letting the quiet amass. Letting Edward feel it—really feel it—for the very first time.

The ache had turned into something else. Not pain. Not quite. More like hunger. But not in the stomach. It was deeper than that—buried somewhere beneath the ribs, threading through muscle, curling around nerve endings. A dry-burning tension, as if every cell was being pulled tight by invisible wires.

"It's time," the Shadow Man said at last.

Edward didn't flinch. "For what?"

"Food."

"I've eaten."

No. That was for your stomach. This is for your blood. For your tissue. You're shifting, Edward—whether you've admitted it or not. And next time will hurt unless you hunger the fire first."

Edward rubbed the nape of his neck, eyes closed. "You told me there'd be pain."

"Indeed. But there are gradations of pain. You can walk of your own accord through this—or I can drag you.".

"You make it sound like I'm turning into some kind of… animal."

"Not an animal. Something built for survival. Right now, your systems are operating in parallel—human resilience mixed with my design. But that harmony won't last if the energy required outpaces your body's reserves."

Edward stood up, creaking slowly. His bones did not creak, but they hurt as if they would. There was a spectral weight now, as if he was dragging something behind him that no one could see.

"What do you mean. feed the fire?"

"Protein. Salt. Iron. Calories. Real food—not nonsense in a package. Muscle, blood, organs. You don't have to eat people, Edward. But you do have to eat like an animal that's going to rebuild itself from the ground up."

Edward's face whitened.

"You want me to eat raw meat."

"I want you to live through what's coming."

He opened the refrigerator. Some leftovers, some water in bottles, stale eggs. It all looked pitifully human now.

"I'll carry you where you have to go. You'll sense the pull."

"You're not listening to me," Edward said clenched. "What is coming?"

A pause that seemed to go on forever.

"The rewiring. The downwork. The reorganizing of nerves, organs, tissue—silent processes, not yet apparent. But needed. If we don't ignite it, the body will start to dismantle things from the inside out to make up for it."

"You mean I'll starve," Edward said gently.

"Mean your muscles will devour each other. Your immune system will lose it. You'll start forgetting your name before you forget how to breathe."

Edward swallowed hard. "So that's it? I am at your mercy just to stay ahead of the damage?"

No. You yield because you're already changing. You want to stay you? Then you feed the part of you that's going to be breathing when the rest of the world is burning."

Later, in the city

It was a hot, too-silent night. The streets had emptied earlier than usual. There was something in the air tonight that warned people to get inside. To lock their doors.

Edward moved through the edge of the city like a shadow himself. The Shadow Man kept his voice low now, more instinct than conversation, nudging him toward specific scents, signs, places where he might find what he needed.

A butcher shop, closed for the night. Old locks. Cold cases still humming.

Edward hesitated outside.

"You're not stealing," the Shadow Man whispered. "You're collecting what your body needs to survive."

"I'm stealing," said Edward, growling. "Doesn't mean I won't. Just means I'm not lying to myself about it."

Beyond the doors, cold welcomed him like water. Meats of all types. Clean cuts. Fresh stock. Blood still dried on the surface of a cutting board. His stomach rebelled—but some other part of him leaned forward.

He took what he needed. Heart, liver, tongue. Bones with marrow. Fibrous, iron-rich tissue that his body craved in ways he couldn't yet describe.

At the apartment, he didn't touch the food right away. He stared at it.

Cold. Raw. Pulsing with smell.

His hand hovered over a piece of meat before he pulled it back.

He went to the stove and switched on the burner.

"What are you doing?" the Shadow Man asked, tone low but intent.

"I'm not consuming this raw," Edward replied, pulling a skillet from the cupboard. "I don't care how hungry my cells are. I'm not an animal."

Silence.

"You think flame will sanitize it?"

"I think it'll make it palatable."

"It will still help. Cooked protein, cooked fat — it won't go to waste. But raw is faster. Easier for your body to absorb right now."

Edward didn't look up. "I'm still me. And me cooks his food."

The Shadow Man didn't argue.

Not immediately.

You're burning away some of what your body needs. The enzymes, the cells, the iron the way it was. But… good. Cook it. So long as you eat. That's what matters most now."

Edward slapped a slice of liver onto the hot pan. It spat back, filling the air with a weighty metallic smell. He winced but didn't relent. He added a sprinkle of salt. A pinch of oil.

"Don't go on acting like you're granting permission," he snarled. "You said I had a choice, didn't you?"

"I did. And I meant it." The voice shifted, softened. "But that choice becomes harder if your body starts breaking down in on itself. I'm trying to let you walk through this fire with your mind intact."

Edward flipped the meat, the clang a loud angry sound.

"Then maybe stop treating me like some half-finished vessel and a bit more like a human being. I still feel things. I still recall the last occasion a person said something was 'for my own good.' It resulted in syringes and locked doors."

".I remember."

That froze Edward.

He looked up toward the edge of the kitchen, as if the Shadow Man could be seen hanging on the edge of the dark light.

"You remember?"

"I was with you then too. Smaller. Sleeping. But awake enough to feel it. You've endured worse than this. You lived. That's why you're alive now."

Edward didn't have a clue what to say to this.

He presented the cooked meat, the stench of blood only slightly hidden by the heat. He sat silently at the small kitchen table. It was not nice. It was not easy. But it succeeded. The throb, deep within his bones and muscles, began to recede. Not eliminated, but suppressed.

The Shadow Man seemed to move closer now, not in body, but in spirit, pressing against Edward's awareness.

"Your own fire," he breathed. "You stoked the fire. Now it can begin. Quietly. Slowly. No celebration. But you'll know this night."

Edward forced himself up from the table to wash the plate, jaw locked.

"I don't require fanfare. I require answers."

"Then sleep. And listen to what your body says to you again. It will tell you before I tell you."

Edward dried his hands and looked out the window.

The city was still. The darkness, blacker than it had any right to be.