“Are you guys seriously okay with what happened?” Sophie asked from the back seat. It was about the tenth time she’d asked, and while Nick kept pretending to be chill, my patience was wearing razor-thin. We were almost at the destination too, despite Nick’s best efforts to be, once again, the safest and most boring driver on the planet.

  “Soph, please stop asking or I will teleport you away, you mood-destroyer,” I snapped. “We are not okay. Our rescue attempt was the direct reason that Malik's dead." Nick visibly shivered after those words. He wasn't ready for that conversation. "But we’re trying to be. So if you could shut your pretty mouth about it for the rest of the evening, I’d appreciate it.”

  Sophie’s eyes went wide for a moment, then she exhaled in defeat.

  “Sure, Lex. I get it. Everyone copes in their own way—right, babe?” she asked Nick.

  “Yes,” he muttered, keeping eyes on the road the whole time.

  “Guys, seriously. Do I need to, like, reinstall your personalities through my Identity Authority?” I groaned. “I can’t handle this tragic, rainy-Sunday-sadness energy. At least we got it out early. Imagine this blowing up during the party, that would’ve been a disaster.”

  “You could do that?” Sophie asked, leaning forward and ignoring the comment directed at her.

  “Identity thing? Most likely not,” I admitted. “I can do it with my own makeups because they’re tied to personas I’ve designed. But I don’t have one for your makeup or clothes tonight. It doesn’t scream ‘Sophie’ to me, if you get what I mean. And big guy up front doesn’t have much of a personality to begin with.”

  “Thank you, Alexa. Always a pleasure,” Nick mumbled with a faint smile. I counted that as a win.

  “Good to know,” Sophie said. “Still, this is going to be an awkward night, right? With Jason not being Jason but some… creature. And you two being traumatized.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” She blinked at me like I’d lost it.

  “Because this is actually one of the most normal nights I’m going to have for a long, long while.”

  “That’s kind of sad. Is it sad, Nick? It feels sad.” She looked between us with genuine confusion.

  “That should be her catchphrase. Or her title. Kind of Sad Alexa,” Nick said.

  All three of us laughed then.

  “Good one,” I said, turning toward the window to watch the world slide past in streaks of streetlights and cold December dark. The last minutes dissolved into a quiet blur, and soon enough we were stepping out of the car, just in time to see Evan walking up the sidewalk toward us. We greeted him and fell into step together.

  “I’m Evan Sikorski,” he said to Nick, offering a firm, deliberate handshake, while completely skipping over greeting me and Sophie in similar manner. Sophie shot me a sideways glance that said Did you see that? Oh, I saw it. Evan was always a curious case. Despite being part of the boys’ tight-knit friend group, he was the quiet one, the brooding one, yet somehow still fit perfectly among them.

  He was just barely taller than me, a well-built blond man with the beginnings of a receding hairline, though he dressed well enough that it didn’t matter. And from what I’d heard, he was brilliant at what they were studying.

  “Nick. Nick Leben,” Nick replied. He towered over Evan, but made no effort to shrink himself and none to puff himself up either. Just a simple, sincere smile that reached his eyes. It seemed to work: Evan eased almost instantly.

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Evan said, “but Elena is going to force us to watch some Demon Hunter movie for kids.”

  “The one with the music and the songs?” Sophie asked.

  “It has songs too!?” Evan exclaimed with theatrical despair. I was ninety percent certain he already knew every detail. Maybe already watched the damn thing.

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I said as we reached the door.

  This was Hannah’s and Elena’s place, a decent neighborhood, not as high-end as ours. And now, apparently, it housed Tyler too, sharing Elena’s room. They didn’t have the combined financial power of a professional thief, a scholarship athlete, and the daughter of a business tycoon or… whatever exactly Sophie’s dad did. I still wasn’t sure.

  We came upstairs quickly scaling old flight of stairs, until we reached the doors to the apartment at the forth floor. There was already a substantial noise coming from behind them, but it intensified even more when Tyler Onawa opened the door. Black hair, a mixed skin showing his heritage. His ancestors were native Americans and it showed both in his complexity and the surname that I adored. I checked the meaning once. It meant wide awake.

  I wished more people actually embodied that kind of simple, effortless warmth. Maybe the world would be a better place if they did.

  “Come in, guys! We were waiting just for you,” Tyler called out. “It’s great to have you here. Oh—and it’s… okay-ish to have you here, Evan.”

  “Haha,” Evan deadpanned, high-fiving Tyler on his way in. I always admired the way men greeted each other—loud, ridiculous, a little violent in that affectionate way. Women had warmth; men had this rough camaraderie that somehow built bonds just as well.

  “Were we the last to arrive?” Sophie asked, though she already knew the answer.

  I knew it too. While my hand gripped my handbag, I let the tiny painted eyes on my nails sweep the room, each one flicking through a different angle.

  Elena and Hannah were still arranging the space. Sliding salads, bowls, trays of food into place on a table they’d dragged closer to the window. It was already piled with cold snacks, and that’s where Peaches and Peter stood, eating with the dedication of people who hadn’t had a proper lunch. Peter was laughing at something Pam had just said, which warmed me more than I expected.

  Zoe emerged from the kitchen with bottles of water and soda balanced in her arms, and the faux-Jason followed behind with clinking beers.

  The whole room glowed with the small, beautiful chaos of people preparing for a good night. Everyone moving in practiced, overlapping patterns, like a tribe that had choreographed itself without meaning to.

  We hung our coats, slipped out of our shoes, and stepped fully inside to mingle before the séance of a movie night finally began.

  While Sophie went on her little tour to introduce Nick to anyone who didn’t know him yet, I drifted toward the girls.

  “Do you need any help setting things up?” I asked.

  “Nah, thanks, Lex. We’re almost done,” Elena said, just as Hannah snatched a cheese cube off a tray and devoured it instantly. “Make yourself at home.”

  Yeah… easier said than done. My “home” was currently split between two worlds, and neither of them usually held this many people at once. I decided to steer clear of Joan for now and headed toward Peter, Peaches, and Zoe—laughing around the table—while the eyes painted on my nails kept watching the Shattered from different angles.

  “…and he told me it was supposed to be ready yesterday,” Zoe finished telling some story of hers.

  “What an asshole,” Peaches said immediately. Peter nodded in grave agreement, still busy demolishing a pile of tortillas. He was glowing with happiness; I guessed the Island retreat had gone well for them.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Alexa!” Zoe’s voice rang out just before she appeared for a fast, tight hug. I hugged Peaches, fist-bumped Pete. “I was just telling them about work. My supervisor is a dickhead who thinks I can bend time while he can’t even operate a microwave.” She smirked, and the group laughed; clearly I’d walked in on the end of an earlier story.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked suddenly, concern sliding into her voice like a blade. A small spike of panic hit me. Had I made some sad face? Lost control of my expression? That wasn’t common for me.

  “Are you concerned about me?” I asked with a smile.

  “No, I was looking at the guys behind you doing handstands by the wall.”

  Oh. That. I’d seen them too but somehow hadn’t connected the two things. I was becoming too paranoid.

  “What’s up with me? The usual—painting, running, juggling a job with my life.” I answered vaguely, the sort of answer that politely signals we are not discussing this in public.

  “Nothing too… straining, I hope?” she asked, fishing for the right word.

  “You two talk like you’re living secret double lives,” Peaches cut in, tossing a grape into her mouth with casual precision. “Relax a bit. I get you being stressed, Zee, but Alexa? As far as I know she’s living the high life. Studying what she loves, working as an art appraiser at a young age. A dream, right girl?”

  “She broke up with Jason, who is also here, Peach,” Zoe said, coming to my defense.

  …Was it defense?

  “Oh, come on. She broke up with him because he’s insufferable. No one is that nice to everyone without ulterior motives.”

  Oh my Reality. A woman after my own heart. I laughed.

  “You’re being insensitive,” Zoe scolded her.

  “No, she’s actually right,” I said. “Jason and I were like oil and water. It was pleasant to float on top of each other for a while, but we were never going to mix.”

  That’s when faux Jason decided it was the perfect moment to wander over. I saw them approaching through the eyes on my nails and couldn’t help but wonder—could they hear everything everyone said in this room, at all times?

  “Am I interrupting anything?” they asked, wearing Jason’s voice, Jason’s face, Jason’s practiced ease. “I’d love to interrupt something,” they added with a grin that wasn’t his.

  “Just to be clear,” Peaches cut in, squinting at him. “You two aren’t dating anymore, right? Not like… a secret-from-the-public thing?”

  “No, definitely not,” I answered.

  “But we’re always open to rekindling,” faux Jason said smoothly, “whenever Alexa realizes what she’s lost.”

  That sham confidence. It crawled under my skin exactly the way the real Jason’s used to. Except this wasn’t him. It was Joan wearing him like a coat, and that made it even worse.

  “Are you open to starting a new fire with me? I don’t mind insufferable, when they are good looking.” Pam asked immediately. “Nothing romantic—god no—but I’m itching for some action later tonight.”

  For a heartbeat, all of us—me, Peter, Zoe—just stared at her, caught completely off guard by the invitation. Joan, of course, didn’t miss a beat.

  “Why not?” fraud Jason replied. “Though I was under the impression you preferred girls more. Was I wrong?”

  “I don’t mind the occasional dick,” Pam shrugged. “And you’re feminine enough for me.”

  Peter burst out laughing. I couldn’t tell if it was because he knew who was behind Jason’s face… or because the idea of Jason being called feminine was too absurd… or simply because the whole scene had spiraled straight into surreal.

  “I think you should discuss it further in private, guys. Although, if I may—” I said, turning to Pam. “I know we’re not dating anymore, but I do feel a bit uncomfortable, Peaches, about this.” Not because I actually felt that way, but because the last thing I wanted was her sleeping with a Shattered. “And you, Jason, are being a dick, accepting this so casually with me still standing here.”

  Peaches’ eyes went wide. “I retract what I asked for. No sex. Look, I really thought it’d be okay. That’s why I checked first. I’m not great at reading people. But I didn’t want to hurt anyone, okay Alexa? That’s why I ask here, not behind your back. Was it wrong?” She was spiraling.

  “I’m not mad you asked, Pam. But him accepting? That’s a different matter.”

  “Oh, so it’s always Jason who’s the bad guy, right?” Joan mimicked perfectly: hands thrown up, exasperation in every line of the borrowed face. “You can’t do this, Alexa. You can’t refuse something and simultaneously forbid the other party from moving on.”

  “I’m not forbidding anything. You two can go right ahead. I just said I’m uncomfortable and that you’re a dick, which you are.”

  “Pete, aren’t you going to defend your bro?” faux Jason tossed out.

  And that’s when I felt it, a subtle tug. A one thread of thought splitting off into a direction that didn’t align with the other one, just wasn’t mine. A growing desire to just let it all happen, to drop the whole mess, to walk away and not care.

  Manipulation.

  They were influencing me, and probably everyone else too. I needed to redirect this before they pushed things further.

  “You know what?” I said suddenly. “I think I do need to have a conversation with Jason. One on one. Right now. Okay?”

  Before they could protest, I grabbed counterfeit Jason by the shoulder and pulled them aside.

  Around us, people pretended not to stare, but they were watching, waiting and praying this wouldn’t explode.

  As we stepped away, I caught Zoe out of the corner of my eye, moving closer toward Peaches, talking animatedly.

  I just hoped she wouldn’t scold her for anything. If this had been the real Jason I was dragging out of the room, I wouldn’t have cared one bit if Pam wanted to hook up with him.

  But this wasn’t him. And that changed everything.

  When we reached the kitchen, I shut the door behind us and pointed toward the window.

  “Look. I’m uncomfortable with what you’re doing. Stop this. Honestly, the best thing would be for you to leave the party entirely.”

  “Alexa,” they whispered, lowering Jason’s voice into something conspiratorial, “all I’m doing is playing Jason exactly the way he behaves in these situations. He’d accept the invitation, show up, pretend he’s the top dog. And he’d accept that girl’s offer. Especially if he thought it’d make you jealous. Am I wrong?”

  The brain in my skull, the one they were tugging on, wanted to nod. To accept the logic, the neat cold reasoning, the emotional detachment they were amplifying inside me.

  But the other mind—the one nested in the hollow of my Domain—did not buy any of it. It remembered Jason not as the caricature they were mimicking, but as the complicated person with soft edges he hid. It reminded me that he could be intimate, uncertain, even gentle. That his arrogance was a shield, not a totality.

  And so the real battle began:

  Pretend to bend under their influence… while steering this exactly where I wanted.

  I frowned and let out a slow, heavy sigh. “You’re right. He would have done it. He would’ve been insufferable, just like Peaches said.”

  I watched their posture shift, ever so slightly. The satisfaction of a manipulator thinking they’d secured your agreement.

  Good. Let them.

  “By the way,” I added casually, “could you hear us talking before you came over?”

  “I couldn’t,” they said. Another lie, thin as tracing paper. “I’ll play Jason the way he would behave. It’s the only way he’ll be able to slip back into his own skin when he’s ready to return.”

  “Will you share these memories with him?” I asked and immediately felt that nudge again, that subtle pressure urging me to stop caring, to drift away, to feed the simpler instincts waiting at the bottom of me.

  “Only the ones that help him fit in.”

  “You know what?” I exhaled, letting the cynicism pour over the words. “I kind of don’t care anymore. I just want out of this mess.”

  I turned toward the door.

  They smiled behind me, thinking I couldn’t see it. Thinking I had folded exactly the way they wanted.

  “You probably want to get back to your usual life too, don’t you?” I added lightly. “And stop pretending to be a person a few hundred years less mature than you.”

  My hand closed around the handle.

  “Stop. Close the door,” they said.

  Another push. Curiosity, blooming like a foreign thought.

  “You worry about what we feel?” they asked quietly. “That isn’t something within your nature.”

  “It is,” I answered, turning back. “You just name it wrong. I don’t worry, not the way you mean. I’m interested in what you are. Really are.”

  I shifted closer, voice softening, but not with sympathy. More like reverence for a truth no one else in the room could see.

  “And you don’t feel like a twenty-something who drinks cheap cocktails and hooks up at parties. Yet you’re wearing that role like it’s glued to your skin. It’s… sad.”

  Their borrowed face twitched.

  “It’s like looking at an ancient statue covered in neon graffiti to make it pass for some TikTok influencer. There’s beauty underneath and there’s beauty on the surface, but they don’t mix. They clash. They should be separate.”

  “You think that’s us? We’re not separate from the things I ‘play.’ All of it is us.”

  “I heard your god wants you to become whole, not pretend to be.” Their shoulder twitched, a movement aborted halfway. A clean hit. Good. “I don’t see how wearing Jason like a costume helps you become yourself.”

  Another tell. Subtle, but there. Time to press.

  “How is your god, anyway? Do they pretend to be others? Anyone besides themselves? Do they show up everywhere at once, or just… appear to you alone?”

  I didn’t bother hiding my curiosity. It was genuine and weaponized.

  “My god is the true self,” they said stiffly. “They don’t split. When they speak to us, it’s only to us. It’s a blessing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  A wave hit me. Strong and wrong. This one wasn’t just a nudge to leave the topic.

  Joan’s eyes flickered. Through the eyes painted on my nails, I saw their real expression: realization, sharp and panicked.

  They had said too much.

  They had left themselves open.

  Then they struck.

  They went for my mind, the human half. Forgetfulness is stitched into our species, and they yanked on that thread viciously, scraping out every memory from the moment my hand touched the doorknob.

  I felt the attack break through.

  My knees hit the tile.

  The main brain—my biological one—reeled in confusion as Joan caught my arm, steadying me with a perfect parody of concern.

  “Are you okay? You stumbled.”

  “Did I?”

  The words came out hollow. The sensation was uncanny, one mind blank, the other burning with memory.

  “Let’s go back. We don’t want to ruin the party.”

  I reached for the door again and as my fingers curled around the handle, the memories from my crafted brain surged upward, flooding into the real one.

  Making me whole again.