When we step back into the house, the air inside feels thick, heavier than before, like the walls soaked up everything that just happened outside. The sounds are muted, distant, like even the house knows we're not the same people who walked out.
But Peter's breathing slows.
The color returns to his face.
His eyes stop shaking.
And the second the door shuts behind us, he blurts out:
"Okay, real talk. What abilities do you have? Like seriously. What are you now, Superman? Spiderman? The Predator? I want to be something too, bro. C'mon, show me what you can do."
I actually manage to smile even though my head is still buzzing.
"I don't exactly have an instruction manual, man. No tutorial. No bonus level. No skill tree."
Peter rolls his eyes dramatically.
"Yeah, but you must've figured out something. X-ray vision? Rooftop jumps?"
I breathe in slowly.
"Last night, I tried to grab a chair in my room and... I threw it into the wall. Accidentally. Almost ripped the door off the hinges. Mom slept through it somehow."
Peter's eyes light up.
"Okay, so you've got super strength. Sick. Lift your bed. Right now. One hand."
I stare at him for a second.
"You're insane, but fine. Watch."
I grab the bed frame while he steps back with his arms crossed, looking way too excited for someone who just saw my dead skin in the garden. My fingers press into the wood and suddenly the bed lifts off the floor. One hand. No strain.
Peter's jaw practically hits the carpet.
"Holy SHIT, Vexley-dude-no, no, no, this is illegal. You're lifting the whole ass bed with ONE HAND!"
I lower it gently, heart thumping with leftover adrenaline.
"Maybe I should apply for a job at IKEA."
Peter loses it, laughing into his hand. Then he fist-bumps me.
For the first time all day, we both actually laugh. messy, shaky laughter, but real.
Peter sits on the carpet, still recovering, still staring at me like I grew three heads.
Then he suddenly explodes with energy:
"Alright- so what ARE you? A mutant? X-Men? A lizard? Did you know people can have two different DNA types? That's a real thing! Maybe you're like... half snake. Or a demon. Or possessed.Or..holy shit, maybe you're the first REAL vampire."
I tilt my head back against the wall and sigh.
"Pete, heroes don't crave raw meat. And definitely not... you know."
His excitement dims and his expression gets heavier.
"Yeah. So no superhero arc."
He moves to the computer and sits down.
I sit next to him, our shoulders touching. Because, honestly, I need to feel someone there. He starts typing search terms like he's summoning a demon.
"You can try whatever you want, Pete. I looked it all up yesterday. Hours of it. Transformations, reptile eyes, blood cravings, fangs, super strength...All you find are conspiracy blogs, 2012 YouTube videos, and Reddit threads from people who think they're Batman."
Peter's clicking like a man possessed, opening sketchy websites that look like they were coded by a sleep deprived twelve-year-old conspiracy theorist.
"Okay... transformation... reptile eyes... blood craving... super strength..."
Klik.
"Bro, someone here claims they saw Bigfoot."
"That's not me," I mutter.
"Shame," he says. "That one would've been easy to explain."
He scrolls again.
"Here's a lady saying her cat can teleport. And here..great, some dude claiming he's a werewolf but he's using 2016 Snapchat filters."
He leans closer to the screen like reading pixels harder will make the answers appear.
For a moment there's pure silence.
Then, dead serious, he goes:
"How the hell did Bella Swan do this?"
I choke on my own breath laughing.
He gestures at the monitor like he's arguing with God.
"I'm not kidding. In Twilight she typed 'vampire blood lust' and got a whole encyclopedia on the undead. I've been doing this for ten minutes and all I have is a Viagra ad."
I'm shaking with laughter into his shoulder.
Peter keeps going, offended on a spiritual level:
"Bella must've had, like, Google Premium Pro Max with mystical add-ons. Or Edward hacked the entire internet for her. Meanwhile I'm here fighting for my life. If I see ONE more forum post written entirely in capslock with the words 'LIZARD KING,' I'm quitting."
He slams the Enter key like it personally wronged him.
"So what now?" he finally asks quietly.
"If there's no one like you... what do we do, Vex?"
I shrug.
"What we always do. Survive. Figure out our own rules. And stay myself as long as I can."
He stares at me for a long moment and then asks, softer than before: "What does it feel like?"
No jokes. No mask.
Just the question I hoped he wouldn't ask.
I breathe in, slow and shaky.
"It feels like someone tore me in half," I say. "And the part that survived still talks and laughs and walks around... but the other part? It's somewhere deeper, curled up, starving."
I rub my hands together. My fingers tremble.
"It's in my mind but also everywhere. Under my skin. In my bones. I hear everything, Pete. Every heartbeat. Every breath. And with each one, I feel... smaller. Like something else is taking that space."
I swallow hard.
"It's like having thirst while drowning. The only way to stop it is to drink the whole ocean."
Peter's throat tightens.
"And you think what you need is..."
"Yeah," I whisper.
"Human meat."
Silence swallows the room.
He looks genuinely sick, and I don't blame him.
"Twilight had vampires who drank animal blood," he says suddenly. "They lived. Maybe it could work for you too?"
I shake my head.
"I tried. That steak... tasted like ash. It's not hunger for food, Pete. It's hunger for life. For whatever keeps humans alive."
He covers his face.
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
I move to the window, needing the air. The world outside feels too sharp, too loud. The world feels too loud.
"I'm trying to control it," I say. "But I'm scared. One day... I might not want to."
Peter joins me, leaning on the windowsill.
"Then we'll figure it out together," he says.
"Animals, blood, whatever. I'm not leaving you, okay?"
I look at him and his stubborn loyalty almost breaks me.
"It sounds like a shitty B-movie."
"Yeah," he says, "but you as the main character makes it at least cool."
We both laugh. Tired, shaky, but still laughter.
Then he hesitates and scoots away from me by a few centimeters.
I raise an eyebrow.
"You scared I'm gonna eat you?"
He scans the room like he's looking for an escape route.
"I mean, you never know. Let's clarify something. You don't want to eat me, right?"
I make a disgusted sound.
"Pete, no offense, but I'd rather eat a skunk. You'd ruin my appetite."
He clutches his chest dramatically.
"Wow. Not even my best friend wants to eat me. My self-esteem is destroyed."
I pat him on the back.
"Look on the bright side. You can still sit in the same room as me without pepper spray. Not everyone gets that privilege."
He smirks.
"Alright, but if you ever change your mind, I've got gum and a energy drink. Might make me taste better."
"That would kill me."
"Good. Then we're safe."
The silence falls again, but this time it's lighter. Almost warm.
For a moment, it feels like we're going to be okay.