"You spacing out again, Kael?"
The voice snapped Kael back to reality—or whatever this was. The classroom hummed with the usual monotony: pens scratching, chairs creaking, the teacher droning on about quadratic equations.
Outside the window, the same old oak tree swayed in the breeze, its leaves rustling like they always had. Nothing looked different. Nothing felt different.
But it was.
Kael blinked at his best friend—supposed best friend—Lena, who was now nudging his elbow with a smirk that felt too familiar and yet entirely wrong.
Her dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners the way they always did when she teased him, but something about the angle of her chin, the tilt of her head, made his skin prickle. Like looking at a reflection that wasn't quite her own.
"Seriously," Lena whispered, tapping her pencil against his notebook. "You've been staring out that window like it's gonna tell you the meaning of life or some shit."
Her voice was the same. Her laugh was the same. But when she leaned in, the scent of her shampoo—something floral, something off—hit him like a punch to the gut.
Lena hated florals. She'd sworn by coconut for as long as he could remember.
Kael forced a grin. "Just thinking," he muttered, tearing his gaze away.
The classroom stretched around him, all the same faces, the same posters peeling at the edges, the same dent in the wall where Derek had thrown a textbook two months ago. But the air felt thicker, like he was breathing syrup.
Then the bell rang, sharp and sudden, and Lena slung her bag over her shoulder with a practiced flick of her wrist. "You coming over later? Mom's making lasagna."
Kael nodded before he could stop himself, the promise of lasagna—her lasagna—twisting something low in his stomach.
He'd never been able to resist it, not in any world.
"Yeah," he said, swallowing hard. "Sounds good."
Lena grinned and nudged him again, her touch lingering just a second too long, before she turned and vanished into the stream of students flooding the hallway.
Kael lingered at his desk, running his fingers along the edge of the notebook where Lena's pencil had left tiny, impatient marks. The grooves felt real. The paper smelled like cheap ink and dust, like it always had. But nothing about this was right.
The walk to Lena's house was a blur of familiar streets and wrong details.
The bakery on the corner still sold those sugar-dusted donuts he loved, but the woman behind the counter smiled at him like she knew him—really knew him—and not like he was just another kid who dropped by on Fridays.
The old labrador that usually napped on Mrs. Harlow's porch was missing, replaced by a sleek black cat that watched him with golden, unblinking eyes.
Kael shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, the weight of the unknown pressing against his ribs with every step.
Lena's house looked the same: white shutters, blue door, the hanging basket of petunias that her mom watered every morning without fail.
But when Kael raised his hand to knock, the door swung open before his knuckles could connect.
Lena's mom—Aunt Elise, she'd always insisted he call her—stood there, her lips curved into a smile.
Her smile was warm—too warm. The kind that lingered a beat longer than necessary, her fingers brushing against Kael's wrist as she stepped aside to let him in.
"Kael," she murmured, his name slipping from her lips like a secret. "We've been waiting for you."
The way she said it, soft and deliberate, sent a strange shiver down his spine. It wasn't the usual cheerful welcome he'd come to expect from her over the years. This was something else—something deliberate, something hungry.
The scent of lasagna filled the house, rich and comforting, but beneath it was something sharper: her perfume, something musky and unfamiliar.
She'd never worn perfume like this before.
Kael swallowed hard as she leaned in to take his jacket, her fingers grazing his shoulder, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "You look tense, sweetheart."
The pet name—sweetheart—struck him like a physical touch. She'd never called him that. Ever.
Lena's voice echoed from the kitchen, bright and oblivious. "Mom, did you add extra cheese like I asked?"
Elise didn't flinch by her daughter's sudden call. Instead, she let her hand trail down Kael's arm before pulling away, her smile deepening.
"Of course, darling," she called back, her voice effortlessly normal, as if she hadn't just been pressing herself against him in the hallway.
Kael stood frozen, his skin prickling where her fingers had been. This wasn't the composed, almost regal woman he'd known for years—the one who'd scolded him and Lena for tracking mud into the house, who'd laughed with her husband over Sunday dinners, who'd never so much as ruffled his hair without a reason.
She tilted her head, studying him with a gaze that felt heavy, knowing.
"You're quiet today," she murmured, stepping closer again. Too close. The space between them was charged, thick with something he couldn't name.
"Something on your mind?" Her thumb brushed the inside of his wrist, a fleeting, intimate touch that made his pulse jump.
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