We didn't go home.

  Home was a penthouse with white carpets and parents who thought "danger" meant a dip in the stock market. Home was a lie I couldn't afford to tell tonight. Not with the claws still throbbing in my fingertips and the scent of ozone clinging to my skin.

  “This isn’t your building,” Danny noted.

  He stopped the bike at the edge of Sector 6, where the city’s manicured steel met the Old District. The streetlights here were broken, their bulbs shattered by kids or time, leaving the road bathed in the silver-blue wash of the moon and the distant, throbbing glow of the downtown skyline.

  “No,” I said, sliding off the back of the bike. My legs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand. “It’s not.”

  I handed him his helmet. He took it, his eyes scanning the rusted fence line and the jagged structure behind it.

  “A greenhouse?” he asked.

  “It used to be,” I said, looking up at the shattered glass dome. Vines—thick, black, and bio-engineered—choked the metal frame, holding the glass shards in place. The city stopped. The weeds took over. The glass dome was a jagged grin of broken teeth. “My uncle used to bring me and Jackie here. Before… everything. We played hide and seek in the fern room. It was the only place in Chicago that smelled like dirt instead of diesel.”

  “Why are we here, Nikki?”

  His voice was quiet, steady. Gravity again.

  “Because,” I said, walking toward the gap in the fence. “You saw something back there. In the arcade. You saw the glitch.”

  “I saw you in pain.”

  “You saw a monster trying to claw its way out of a girl,” I corrected, stopping to look back at him. “And if you’re going to stick around—if we’re going to be partners—you need to know what you’re signing up for.”

  He parked the bike, kicking the stand down with a metallic clack. He didn't hesitate. He just walked toward me, his boots crunching on the gravel.

  “Lead the way.”

  We slipped through the fence and into the greenhouse.

  Inside, the air was humid and heavy. It smelled like wet dirt and things that had died in the dark. The air didn't move. It just hung there, heavy with spores and wet dirt. The drip of water sounded like a clock ticking.

  I walked to the center of the main atrium, where an old stone fountain lay dry and cracked.

  “Handy,” I whispered. “Perimeter.”

  “Sector is clear,” the AI replied, his voice subdued. “Though I am detecting a localized spike in your heart rate that suggests we are about to do something incredibly dramatic.”

  Protocol hasn’t saved me yet, I thought. Maybe the truth will.

  “Go silent, Handy.”

  “Going dark. Good luck, Nikki.”

  I turned to face Danny. The dark jacket swallowed him. He was standing a few feet away, watching me with that intense, unreadable gaze.

  “I lied to you,” I said. The words tasted like copper. “About the epilepsy. About the sun allergy. About… me.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  “You don’t know,” I snapped, my voice shaking. “You think you know. You think I’m just… complicated. Or sick.”

  I sat down on the edge of the stone fountain. My hands were trembling, but not from the cold. I reached down and unlaced my heavy combat boots, kicking them aside. Then, I peeled off my socks, setting my bare feet against the cool, damp earth.

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  “You wanted to know why I ran,” I said, standing up. The moonlight hit my skin, pale and waiting. “Why did I push people away? Why do I have reflexes that don’t make sense?”

  “Nikki, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”

  I looked up at the moon. It was full tonight, a heavy silver coin hanging in the smog. Usually, I fought it. Tonight, I let the walls down.

  I reached out with my mind and unlocked the cage.

  The bones snapped. It wasn't magic; it was biology rearranging itself with a wet crunch. It was a surge, a rush of heat that started in my chest and flooded my limbs. It hurt—a sharp burn like a muscle cramp that wouldn't release—but it wasn't unbearable.

  I gasped, bracing my hands on my knees.

  “Nikki?” Danny took a step forward, his eyes widening.

  My breath hitched, turning into a short, wet snort.

  The change washed over me. My skin rippled, and thick, white fur erupted along my arms and neck. My ears stretched, pointing upward, twitching as they caught the sound of a moth beating its wings across the room. I felt my tail bone extend, pushing against the back of my leather pants until a bushy white tail swept the air behind me.

  I stood up straight. I wasn't a giant. I hadn't hulked out into some seven-foot brute. I was still me, just… lethal. My leather outfit felt tight, straining against the new, lean muscles that coiled beneath the fabric. My feet, now enlarged and bare, added a slight increase to my height.

  My face felt different—longer, sharper. I shook my head, my new ears flicking.

  I turned to Danny.

  He looked surprised, his mouth opening slightly, but he didn't back away. He stared at the soft white fur covering my face, at the short, lupine snout that had replaced my nose and mouth.

  I opened my jaws. It felt strange to speak, my tongue heavy and different, but I forced the word out.

  “Run,” I growled. A low rumble that shook my ribs.

  I watched his eyes. I looked for the fear.

  Danny didn't run.

  He took a slow breath, his eyes adjusting to the sight of me. The surprise on his face melted away, replaced by that same calm focus he always had.

  “I’m not afraid,” he whispered.

  He approached me. He didn't hesitate. He walked right up to the predator standing in the moonlight.

  He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he laid it gently on my arm. He ran his fingers through the thick white fur, tracing the muscles underneath my leather jacket.

  My heart slowed. The itch under my skin died. He stepped closer, closing the gap, and cupped my furry face in his hands.

  I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. The tension, the fear, the instinct to hunt—it all evaporated.

  The shift reversed instantly. There was no pain this time, just a fluid wash of relief. The fur receded, the snout shortened, the ears rounded. The tail vanished.

  I was just Nikki again.

  I didn't wait. As soon as my lips were my own, I surged forward.

  I grabbed him. I needed to know I was human again.

  I kissed him.

  His lips were cool, tasting of the wintergreen mints he always chewed. He froze for a microsecond, surprised by the sudden shift, and then he melted.

  He kissed me back.

  It wasn't a tentative, high school movie kiss. It was desperate. It was the collision of two people who had spent their whole lives holding their breath and were finally, finally inhaling.

  His mouth tasted like mint and shock. His hands tangled in my short white hair, pulling me closer.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, the leather of my jacket creaking against his.

  For a moment, there was no city. No neon lights. No looming tower of Pandora Corp watching us from the skyline.

  There was just the greenhouse, the smell of wet earth, and the boy who kissed monsters.

  We broke apart, breathless.

  Danny rested his forehead against mine. His eyes were dark, blown wide, reflecting the moonlight streaming through the shattered glass above.

  “Okay,” he whispered, his voice rough. “That… that was better than air hockey.”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. A little.”

  I looked up through the glass. The full moon hung there, bright and imposing. Usually, looking at it made me feel sick. It was a reminder of the curse.

  But tonight, with Danny’s arm around me and my bare feet grounded in the dirt, the moon just looked like a spotlight.

  “So,” I said, tracing the line of his jaw. “You know. The cheerleader is a werewolf. Run while you can.”

  Danny shook his head. He took my hand and laced his fingers through mine.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Nikki Nova,” he said. “We have a physics project to finish.”

  “We’re definitely failing that project,” I murmured, leaning my head on his shoulder.

  “Probably,” he agreed, pulling me closer as we watched the moon climb higher into the smog. “But at least the field work is interesting.”

  I closed my eyes, listening to the steady, slow beat of his heart.

  His heart beat against my ear. Slow. Steady. Human.