I ran. Hard. Barely managed to avoid the creature's grip around my throat.

  I didn't even plan my escape route. My feet just moved, carrying me down the ridge in frantic, stumbling steps. The creature—that glass-skinned aberration—didn't pursue. It simply watched, its molten eyes tracking me with a recognition that froze my insides more than any chase could have.

  My ankle twisted as I crashed through underbrush, sending white-hot pain up my leg. I bit back a cry, the storm in my chest fluttering wildly against my ribs—not just from fear, but from something deeper. Recognition.

  Like calls to like.

  The thought wedged itself into my mind as I crouched behind a boulder, clutching my injured ankle. I rubbed at my wrist—a habit I thought I'd outgrown years ago—feeling the pulse hammer beneath my skin. The storm inside me wasn't retreating. If anything, it was circling, agitated, as if it had been waiting for this encounter.

  Lior's face flashed before me—his golden hair catching sunlight, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he looked at me. And then the bolt that took him, while I stood frozen, unable to control what lived inside me.

  "Not again," I whispered, my voice scratchy with disuse. Thirty-four days of barely speaking had left my throat raw. "I won't freeze again."

  But my body betrayed me, trembling violently as the memory engulfed me—Lior's final smile, fingers reaching for mine. His voice: "Kaela, it'll be alright." Then light, terrible and beautiful, consumed him in an instant. I'd held his cooling body for hours afterwards, rocking back and forth, begging him to come back, to forgive me, to wake up. The silence that answered still haunted my dreams.

  The weight of his absence crushed against my chest, competing with the storm for space inside me. Sometimes I couldn't tell where my grief ended and the storm began—both wild, both hungry, both beyond my control.

  I pushed myself up, wincing at the pain in my ankle. Running hadn't worked. It never would. Whatever this thing was, it had found me for a reason.

  So I turned around.

  The creature waited at the top of the ridge, its form rippling like heat above flame. It tilted its head—a gesture so human it sent chills down my spine. Through its translucent skin, I could see lightning coursing, branching outward like veins. The storm inside me responded, echoing that pattern beneath my skin.

  "What are you?" I called out, my voice stronger than I expected. "What do you want from me?"

  It didn't answer. Instead, it tensed, its body shifting from smoke to something more solid. More dangerous.

  In the heartbeat before it moved, I felt time slow. The pressure in my chest expanded, the storm unfurling, pressing against my bones. This wasn't like before—not the helpless surge that had taken Lior. This was... purposeful.

  The creature lunged, faster than anything natural. Its arm—no longer smoke but glass and lightning—slashed across my shoulder, searing pain following in its wake. I cried out, staggering backwards, feeling warm blood soak through my tunic.

  And then the storm broke free.

  It wasn't gentle. It wasn't controlled. It was everything I'd feared since the Harvest Festival, but worse—because now I could feel every part of it. The wild surge of power grew from a pinprick in my centre to an unbearable pressure against my ribs, my lungs, my throat. My veins felt like they were carrying fire instead of blood, pain and pleasure twisting together until I couldn't separate them.

  "Please," I gasped, though I didn't know who I was begging—the creature, the storm, or myself. All I knew was that I couldn't hold it back, couldn't stop what was coming.

  My skin hummed, vibrating with energy that sought escape. The air around me crackled, charged particles dancing across my vision. I could taste metal on my tongue, smell the sharp tang of ozone surrounding me in a whirlwind of gathering power.

  When it finally erupted, the storm poured from my fingertips in jagged branches of blue-white light. My scream matched its thunder—raw and primal and full of everything I'd kept locked inside for thirty-four days. Grief for Lior. Rage at my helplessness. Terror of what lived inside me.

  Lightning—my lightning—connected my outstretched hands to the creature's chest. For one suspended moment, we were joined by pure, destructive energy. I felt its essence through that connection—ancient, searching, knowing me somehow. The shock of that recognition nearly broke my concentration.

  Then everything exploded.

  The blast sent me backwards, slamming into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The smell of ozone and smoke filled the air. Where the creature had stood, only smoking glass shards remained, scattered across scorched earth.

  I lay there, hollow and trembling. The aftermath of power left me sick and dizzy, my limbs too heavy to move. I'd felt this emptiness before—after Lior died. Like something vital had been carved out of me, leaving only echoes. But the storm didn't go quiet as it had then. I could feel it crouching inside me, watchful, awake. Waiting. Perhaps even... satisfied?

  The thought terrified me more than the creature had.

  Voices in the distance. People coming. I tried to stand but couldn't. My legs refused to hold me. Dark spots danced across my vision, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. Was this what dying felt like? Or was it just the price of wielding something never meant for human hands?

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The first villagers arrived minutes later, stopping short at the edge of destruction. Their eyes moved from the smoking remains to me, kneeling in the center of a perfect circle of charred ground. I saw the horror dawn on their faces—the same horror I'd seen thirty-four days ago.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came. What could I possibly say? It wasn't me, it was the storm inside me? That would only make it worse. They would never understand. How could they, when I didn't understand it myself?

  "Kaela!" Mira's voice cut through the murmurs. She pushed through the gathering crowd, her face pale but determined, her light green eyes wide with concern.

  She rushed toward me, reaching for my injured shoulder, and I jerked away with such violence that she stumbled.

  "Don't," I gasped, the word tearing from my throat. "Don't touch me. Please."

  The hurt that flashed across her face was worse than any physical pain. Mira, who had stood by me even after Lior, even after the villagers started whispering. Mira, who still brought food to our door when mother couldn't face the market. Mira, who had woven flowers into my hair at last year's Harvest Festival, before everything changed.

  "You're bleeding," she said softly, staying where she was but not retreating. "Let me help you."

  My hands shook as I pressed them to the ground, feeling the residual energy still humming beneath my skin. "I killed it," I whispered. "I didn't mean to. I just—it happened so fast—"

  A sob broke free, then another, until I was gasping for air between them. Thirty-four days of carefully maintained numbness shattered in an instant. "I didn't want this," I choked out. "Any of this. First Lior, now this... thing. What's happening to me, Mira? What am I becoming?"

  "I know," she said, though she couldn't possibly know. Nobody could. Nobody else lived with a storm bundled beneath their heart, with power that killed what it touched. Nobody else saw lightning beneath their skin when they closed their eyes.

  Elder Tomas arrived, his weathered face grave as he surveyed the scene. He directed two men to escort me back to the village, careful not to touch me themselves. As if I were contagious. Maybe I was. Death followed me now, clung to me like a second skin.

  The whispers started immediately, carried on the wind to my ears.

  "...just like the Festival..."

  "...dangerous..."

  "...should be contained..."

  "...poor Lior's family..."

  Each word was a dagger, precise and merciless. I hunched my shoulders against them, making myself smaller, wishing I could disappear entirely. This was what I'd feared most about leaving the house—not just facing others, but facing what they thought of me now.

  Mira walked beside me the whole way, close enough that I could feel her warmth but never touching, respecting the barrier I'd created. Her braid had come half-undone, golden-brown strands catching the fading light. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn't know what words would help.

  None would.

  By the time we reached my home, the numbness had spread from my fingers to my chest. Mother appeared in the doorway, her face draining of color when she saw me. For one terrible moment, I thought she might turn away—might finally see me as the monster I was becoming and shut the door against me.

  The possibility of her rejection paralysed me. Mother, who had held me through nightmares all my life. Mother, who had combed my hair while humming old tunes after Lior died, even when I was too empty to respond. Mother, who left a light burning every night, as if illuminating the path back to who I'd been before.

  Instead, she rushed forward, gathering me in her arms despite my weak protests.

  "No," I tried to pull away, terrified of what might happen. "You shouldn't—the storm—I could hurt you—"

  But she held on tighter, her familiar scent—herbs and bread and home—enveloping me as completely as her arms. And something in me broke.

  "I'm sorry," I sobbed against her shoulder, the words I'd been holding back for thirty-four days finally breaking loose. "I'm so sorry, Mother. I don't know what's happening to me. I didn't mean for any of this. I didn't want Lior to die. I didn't want to be this—this thing that destroys everything it touches."

  Each word came out between gasping sobs, my body convulsing with grief so profound it threatened to tear me apart. The storm stirred again, responding to my distress, but Mother didn't let go. Even when small sparks flickered across my fingertips, she held on, anchoring me to earth, to humanity, to home.

  Her hands were steady as they stroked my hair, though I could feel her heart racing against mine. "Hush now," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You're home."

  Those two simple words undid me completely. Home. As if such a thing still existed for someone like me. As if I could ever be safe, or make others safe around me.

  Behind us, Mira stood up to the gathering crowd. "It was a monster," she said firmly. "I saw it myself. It was made of glass and lightning. It attacked Kaela. She was defending herself."

  Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. Mira always knew what to say, even when I couldn't find any words at all. But I heard the tremor in her voice, saw how her fingers twisted the end of her braid—a nervous habit from childhood. She was afraid, too. Of me? Of what might happen to me? I couldn't tell which would be worse.

  Mother led me inside, wrapping blankets around my trembling form before tending to my injuries. Her fingers were gentle on my shoulder, cleaning away blood with practised efficiency. I winced, not from pain but from the care in her touch. I didn't deserve such tenderness.

  "Do you hate me?" I whispered the question, escaping before I could stop it. "For what happened to Lior? For what I am?"

  Mother's hands stilled. For a moment, only our breathing filled the silence.

  "Never," she said finally, her voice low and fierce. "Never ask me that again, Kaela. You are my daughter. Nothing will ever change that."

  But I saw the shadows beneath her eyes, deeper than before. The new lines etched around her mouth. The slight tremor in her hands that hadn't been there before the Festival. Loving me was costing her, wearing her down day by day.

  Mira followed, hovering near the door, unwilling to leave despite everything she'd seen. Her loyalty cut deeper than any relief I might have felt. I had taken Lior from her too—her friend since childhood. Yet here she stood, choosing to stay beside the very person who had shattered our trio forever.

  No one left me that night. Not even now, when they should. When any sane person would.

  And beneath it all, beneath the pain and fear and exhaustion, the storm still rattled inside my chest, more awake than it had been in thirty-four days. More powerful. More purposeful. As if it had tasted something it wanted more of.

  I closed my eyes, feeling it circle beneath my skin like a restless animal. Whatever connection I'd felt with that glass creature, whatever recognition had passed between us—it wasn't a coincidence. Nothing about this was random.

  It wasn't over. It was only the beginning. And next time, would it be a stranger who paid the price, or someone else I loved?