Tick, tock, tick, tock – the sound of the clock above the blackboard seemed to drill into her skull, as though collecting something personal from her. The girl didn't blink; she was sitting perfectly still at her desk with her eyes fixed on the second hand as it moved forward, ticking. She was no longer paying attention to the class; she hadn't been for a while.

She knew exactly how many minutes were left in the period, she always knew. And yet, when people started putting their things away, it caught her by surprise. The buzzing of backpacks being zipped began to sound, chairs being dragged back, and laughter spilling into the hallways as the real world returned to normal.

She got up slowly, putting her notebook in her backpack and sliding her pen into its usual loop. As she did it, she felt it again: that familiar and sharp sensation of being watched.

She glanced sideways to confirm her suspicions. From the other side of the classroom, a boy was staring at her fixedly. When their gazes met for barely a second, he smiled sarcastically and looked away.

"Did you see the way she looked at us?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice, he even seemed to be speaking loudly on purpose.

"She always does," replied the girl half-distracted checking her phone.

“Maybe she should just stay home if she’s gonna drop dead any second.”

“That’s dark,” the girl said, not even looking up.

“No, I'm being honest. It's weird, nobody knows what's wrong with her. She just looks... bad.”

She didn't flinch or speak; she just kept walking towards the classroom door, gripping the strap of her backpack tighter with each step.

They always talked as if she weren't there. As if her illness had stripped her of her humanity, reducing her to a rumour, a warning or a curiosity to be whispered about behind cupped hands.

Of course, they would never say it to her face.

She kept her gaze fixed ahead as she walked through the corridors. She noticed her heart beating harder, not from fear, but from something else gnawing at her from within. It was a bitterness that she had always carried with her like a second skin.

She remembered hospitals, white walls and the scent of disinfectant in the air. She remembered machines that hummed, blinked and beeped as if doing something important; rooms full of soft-voiced doctors who avoided eye contact more and more each year.

No diagnosis or name ever appeared. Only vague suggestions and scribbled theories that changed with inconclusive test results. They talked as if they were close; as if they were trying. But she knew the look in their eyes when hope dried up, leaving only polite persistence.

Years passed, and she gave up before they did.

She had learned that whatever lived inside her, whatever gnawed at the edges of her strength, didn't want a name. It wasn't something they could cut out or cure, it was something else, and it wasn't going anywhere.

So she adapted. She didn't trust her body, and it didn't trust her. She stopped trying to be normal, stopped pretending she had time. There was no room for friends, no reason to let people get close, of course not when everything slipped through her fingers.

She shifted the weight of her backpack against her sore shoulder. Her chest contracted as she took a deep breath, but she didn't stop.

Suddenly, she was shaken to one side by an unexpected impact, startling her.

Her backpack slipped off her shoulder. Papers flew like feathers. She looked back, but the man who had hit her didn't stop; he just muttered, “Watch it” over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Her gaze fixed on the mess, she didn't get angry, she didn't care what happened to her anymore. She crouched down slowly to pick up the pages, her hands moving before her mind could process anything.

A sheet fluttered near the edge of the hallway. She reached out, but someone else got there first. A pale hand with long fingers was now holding her notes like they were something delicate. She looked up and froze.

It was him.

Yves Desaulniers. Everyone knew him. That stupidly perfect face, and his blonde layered hair that fell in waves. His eyes were dark blue and sharp, but somehow kind of soft, directed at her now.

“Seriously?” he said, shaking his head. “Some people are just born without manners, huh?”

His smile was wide when he said it, showing teeth that were slightly too large for his mouth.

He kept picking up her papers, his rings clinking softly as he moved. For someone who looked like he had never touched anything dirty in his life, he handled the mess surprisingly well.

She narrowed her eyes as she watched him. She knew exactly who he was; a popular guy, the kind everyone liked without question, and now for some reason she couldn’t understand, he was here helping her. It didn’t make sense… someone like him didn’t help girls like her unless there was something in it for them, like a joke or a dare. Just another laugh to share with his friends.

And it wasn't the first time he'd tried. She'd noticed him before, he has made attempts to talk to her in the hallways, in class, little moments that went nowhere because she shut them down. Every single time. And he pissed her off.

“I didn’t need help,” she muttered.

“Well, I needed to help you,” he responded, showing her another of those too-sincere smiles. “Keeps my hero stats up.”

She stared at him and frowned. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your name,” he said, like it was obvious. “Juno. You're in one of my classes, you sit in the back, always reading ahead.”

That surprised her.

He held out the last of her papers with a little flourish. “All rescued. No need to thank me, but I will accept compliments.”

She had to tilt her head back to look at him, since he was tall, and used that without seeming to think about it.

She realized then, he was brave enough to get this close to her. It wasn't common for anyone to help or even less to try and make the minimal physical contact with her. And just as she was about to take the papers, Yves pulled them back, making her lean forward slightly to follow the movement, suddenly much closer to him than she'd intended.

He looked down at her, that maddening smile on his face, clearly pleased with himself. His eyes traced over her features in a way that made her uncomfortable, like he was memorizing every detail.

Her face twisted involuntarily, her nose scrunching, lips pulling back slightly. What is he even doing?

She pulled back immediately, putting distance between them.

His smile somehow got wider, like her obvious disgust was amusing rather than discouraging. His eyes practically sparkled.

“So,” he said casually, “do you believe in fate?”

Juno blinked up at him, frowning. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, pretending to think, and she noticed his hair was longer in the back, the ends darker where they'd been dyed. “Or maybe it's more like... cosmic timing. Your things fall, I appear. Clearly there's a higher force working here, don't you think?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

Yves placed a hand over his heart. “Like what?”

“Annoying.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled, unfazed. “Nah, I’m just in a good mood.”

She crossed her arms. “And why's that?”

Yves leaned in a little. “Because I’m about to make your day much more interesting.”

Juno arched a brow. “Can you just get to the point?”

He grinned wider. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She didn't respond, just waited with her arms still crossed.. She really just wanted her papers so she could leave, but he was still holding them like some kind of bargaining chip.

Yves rocked back on his heels, clearly in no hurry to give them back. “Okay, fine, fine. If you must know…”

He made a dramatic pause.

“There’s a party tonight,” he said, like it had just occurred to him. “Birthday thing. Low-key. You should come."

An internal alarm went off in Juno, as if something unpredictable had just slipped into her carefully managed world. She simply stared back at him, tense under the stillness.

What did he actually want?

She blinked. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “Good question. Why am I telling you this…”

He left the sentence hanging in the air, enjoying her withering look a little too much before finally shrugging. “Maybe I just thought you could use a night out. Or maybe I like inviting pretty girls to fun things. Hard to say, really.”

Her face didn’t change.

“You’re joking,” she said expressionlessly.

“No, totally serious. You could take a break, right?” Yves's voice was light, too bright. But there was no harshness in it, no sarcasm. “Come on,” Yves persisted, giving her encouraging pats on the shoulder, “I'm sure you'll have a great time.”

His hand was warm through her shirt, and she had to fight the instinct to shrug it off. She glanced down at her papers, still clutched in his other hand. He was really not going to give them back until she gave him an answer, was he?

She felt irritated, but wasn't sure which of all the suspicious things about him was the one that made her feel that way. But one thing she was sure of, he thinks she's stupid.

Juno narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Yves froze, blinking. “Wait– what?”

“I said no.” Juno snatched her papers from his hand, slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned around, walking away.

He stood frozen for a second, then hurried after her, his long legs catching up to her easily. “Hold on, what do you mean no?”

“I mean no, Yves,” she said without looking at him. “I’m not going to your party.”

His voice rose slightly. “You didn’t even think about it!”

Now he was walking beside her, stumbling a little to keep up with her pace. “Do you… not like parties?”

“I don't like being a joke,” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her voice colder than ever. “You must think I'm stupid. Is it a bet? A dare? Do you pick the sick girl and see if she actually shows up?”

“What?” His voice cracked slightly. “No– what? Are you serious?”

She just kept walking avoiding his gaze.

“I’m not like that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t ask you as a joke.”

She turned around, finally, fixing him with a hard look. “You ask people like me to parties?”

Yves opened his mouth, then stopped. Because the truth was: no. He didn't, he didn't have to. People just... came to him, around him, he smiled and they followed. But not her… and that hit something strange in his chest.

"Seriously," he added, with a small helpless laugh, "you're the first person who has said no to me like that. Straight to my face."

"You'll get over it."

"I'm not sure if I will," he joked, but it lacked his usual smoothness. "Look, I didn't mean to give the impression that I was... playing with you. I just thought maybe you'd like to have some fun."

She stopped, so did he.

They stood in the middle of the hallway, somewhere between irritation and honesty.

She looked at him, and something in his face disarmed her. He didn't look like he was making fun of her. There was a small wrinkle between his eyebrows, and his lips had pressed together slightly, genuinely trying to understand. He looked like a kicked puppy, if she was honest.

It threw her off. She'd been waiting for the moment when he'd laugh and turn away, but it wasn't coming.

She wanted to keep saying no, to walk away and forget this conversation ever happened. But deep down she was tired of being the girl people whispered about, tired of watching life happen around her while she stood on the outside like a ghost. And here was someone asking her to step inside for once.

And he has tried before, multiple times. If this was a joke, wouldn't he have given up by now? Wouldn't he have laughed with his friends and moved on after the first rejection, the second?

Maybe it was a mistake. Probably it was. But something in her chest twisted at the thought of saying no again, of going home to another empty evening, of letting fear win one more time while she waited for the inevitable.

She looked away and sighed. If this was a joke then this would confirm it. "Fine, whatever, I'll go."

Yves froze. "Wait, seriously?"

She crossed her arms, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yeah, you don't have to look so surprised."

He smiled brightly. "No, no, I'm just, great! That's great. I'll, uh, I'll send you the details."

Juno sighed, still waiting for the punchline. "I'll give you my number then."

But he was already taking out his phone, touching it. "Nah, I have it."

She paused. "...Excuse me?"

Yves looked up. “Uhh student directory. From the research group mailing list last semester. Don't look at me like that, it's public information."

She frowned. "And you casually memorized it?"

He froze for half a second, barely, but she saw it, a crack in the charm. Then he recovered with half a shrug, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

"Something like that," he said lightly. "Maybe I just remember you."

Juno stared at him trying to decipher what could be wrong inside his head.

Yves showed that impossible smile again, shining as if he felt every part of her. "I'll see you tonight, Juno."

He turned around, already humming as he walked away as if he had just won the lottery.

"...Whatever," she sighed, and her voice had softened very slightly. Her hand tightened around her backpack strap as she started walking again, faster now.

Deep down, she knew the truth. She didn't belong at a party, that wasn't her life. It was for people with open futures and stable heartbeats. And she had already convinced herself that Yves was trying to make fun of her.

Still, as she walked home, she wondered what it would be like. To go, wear something half decent. Sit in a room full of voices, laughter and not feel like an intruder. What if for once she just pretended to be normal?

A cruel part inside her lit up at the idea. Just once, just to know how it felt, maybe it wouldn't even be that bad. Maybe she would laugh, someone would ask her to dance, and she would be allowed to forget about herself.

Stupid. She stopped at a corner, shaking her head. That was a stupid thought.

As she continued walking, the streets around her became quieter. The houses she passed flickered with blue light, televisions projecting their glow into the night. On every screen, headlines pulsed like silent alarms:

“Five dead in overnight attack, cause unknown”

“Witnesses describe 'demons' at scene of latest incident”

“Police urge public: stay indoors after dark”

The sound was muted, but the fear in the reporters' faces was unmistakable.

Juno stopped, watching a screen a moment too long. Then she looked away, a chill ran down her back. She pulled her coat around her and walked faster. Demons weren't real, supernatural things were just inventions, fake videos on the internet, stories to scare people.

She felt stupid just thinking about it, but she couldn't help thinking about her own body, her own strange condition, the failed diagnoses. What if it wasn't just illness? What if it was something else? Something that moved through her the same way those things supposedly moved through the city.

Character sheets from this chapter!