POV: Luca
The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m.
I groaned and rolled over. Blindly, reaching for my phone as it shrieked like a banshee. Missed the first swipe. The second. Third time's the charm. I cracked one eye open long enough to hit snooze.
"Another day in paradise," I mumbled into the mattress.
"Or at least the discount version."
My room looked like it belonged to someone caught between growing up and letting go.
Skateboard in the corner, battle-scarred and loyal. Books everywhere—some classics, some fantasy sagas I swore I'd reread, and a few dense physics texts I used to pretend were light reading. Next to the bed: dumbbells. On the desk: a hoodie I hadn't washed since last week and a half-eaten granola bar I didn't remember starting. The guitar near the window was more of a decorative relic than an instrument now—strings rusted, long out of tune. I kept telling myself I'd fix it.
Someday.
I dragged myself upright and shoved on the hoodie from the desk chair.
The sleeves covered my hands, just the way I liked them—comfort over fashion, any day.
Music spilled softly from my phone, something mellow and forgettable—background noise to my habitual workout. Push-ups. Planks. Crunches.
I didn't push myself too hard—just enough to feel like I'd actually moved.
Once I started to sweat, I peeled off my hoodie and draped it over the back of my chair. The cool air inside didn't faze me.
Lately, I'd been feeling this weird kind of restlessness, like I was charged up with nowhere to go. As I moved around, I caught my reflection in the mirror across from the bed.
Shirtless, lean—strong in a wiry, understated way.
I flexed, mostly for my own amusement, and muttered, "Let's not get cocky now, champ."
Shower. Teeth. Towel-dry. My curls were damp and uncooperative. I didn't even try to fight them.
Jeans. Hoodie. Sneakers. Same armour, different day.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like toast and budget coffee.
Mom was by the counter in her rumpled scrubs, juggling a thermos, her bag, and a set of keys in one hand.
"Morning, handsome," she said, not even glancing up. "Don't set anything on fire today."
"No promises," I replied, grabbing a slice of toast as it popped. "I like to keep things spicy."
She shot me a look over her shoulder. "You live on cereal and sarcasm. Sit down before you combust."
I leaned on the counter, munching on a piece of toast. "School's fine. Thriving. Might get scouted for a Netflix teen drama."
She snorted. "Make sure they cast someone pretty."
Before she left, she stepped close and kissed my forehead. "Be kind today," she said softly. "You never know who's having a bad one."
"Right back at you, doc. Don't let the sick people bite."
She grinned, flipped me off with fondness, and disappeared out the door.
The walk to school was cold and quiet.
Headphones in, though I wasn't really listening. The sky bled from pale gold into morning blue, and the trees whispered in a language only they understood. My breath fogged in the air
I took the long way, past the old mural wall and the fence that bordered the woods.
There was a tear in the chain link that had never been fixed.
Some kid swore he saw a deer with glowing eyes slip through it last spring. I didn't believe him. But I kept watching anyway.
Frost clung to the grass like it didn't know spring had started.
A blackbird darted overhead and landed on the wire above me, still and watching. The kind of bird you only noticed once it was already there.
The breeze shifted, bringing with it a trace of honeysuckle—and something older, harder to name. Wet moss. Ash. A strange metallic tang. It stirred something in the back of my mind, like a word I almost remembered.
Just before I reached the front gates, the hairs on my arms rose. Static, maybe. The kind that makes your breath catch for no reason. I paused, glanced behind me—nothing there. But the feeling stayed like a ghost trailing a step behind.
By the time I hit campus, the day had exploded into full volume—shouts, laughter, sneakers slapping pavement, and music leaking from someone's busted Bluetooth speaker.
"Luca!"
"Yo, coming to practice?"
"Hey, save me a seat in chem—swear I'll actually take notes this time!"
I returned the greetings. High-fives, nods, a wink or two. People liked me. Teachers knew me by name. Girls waved. A kid tossed a stress ball across the hall, and I caught it without missing a step.
But my smile never quite made it to my eyes.
"Yo, Luca!"
A slap on the back from someone on the soccer team. I grinned automatically and bumped fists. More laughter. More noise.
But between the conversations and casual charisma, my eyes drifted—up, out, far. To the sky. The trees. The woods just beyond the fences. Like I was waiting for something. Or someone.
Sometimes I played the part so well I forgot it wasn't me. Smile, nod, flirt a little, ace the quiz. It wasn't fake. Just… thin. Like everything had a filter over it. Sometimes I wondered if I'd missed the moment when life was supposed to become something more.
Literature was first period. I slipped into my seat as the bell went off, my bag hitting the floor with a heavy thump.
"Cutting it close, Mr. Hart," Ms. said dryly. "Try staying grounded today?"
"No promises," I said, flashing a crooked grin.
A few girls giggled. Ms. Brower rolled her eyes.
Class passed easily. I half-listened, half-doodled—little suns, stars, a face with sharp eyes and wing-shaped shadows curling around it. I answered questions without effort, passed my notes to the guy next to me who'd forgotten his, and spent the rest of the period sketching galaxies in the margins of my notebook.
Second period was science. Then mythology. That's when something… changed.
I wasn't really paying attention. The teacher was talking about ancient cultures, how myths were born from fear and stars and the unknown. I was half-listening when she said it.
"Some scholars believe the myths were based on early celestial worship," she said. "Gods that didn't just rule—they descended. Walked among people."
My pencil stopped tapping.
For a second, I wasn't in the classroom.
A flash—something not mine.
Black wings cutting through fog. Crimson eyes. Blood across porcelain skin.
A girl.
No… a being.
Watching me like she knew me.
My mouth went dry. My chest tightened, like I'd just sprinted a mile. I didn't know her—whoever she was—but missing her felt like forgetting something that used to matter.
Something ancient.
Then it was gone.
"Hart?" the teacher said.
I looked up. "Sorry." blinking myself back to the present. "Just wondering if Zeus would've passed a psych eval."
The class laughed. The teacher moved on. I didn't hear the rest of the lecture.
Lunch was a blur. The usual chaos—noise, movement, the thick air of cafeteria smells.
I sat out in the courtyard, sipping a smoothie that tasted like melted candy mixed with something artificial.
Tamara from art club was across from me, quietly drawing little moons on her arm with a Sharpie.
"You ever get the feeling something big's about to change," I asked, "but nobody else seems to notice?"
She didn't look up. "Only when I forget my meds."
I let out a quiet laugh, though it didn't really feel like anything was funny.
The wind moved over us, light and tense, like the world was holding its breath. A bird shot into the sky in a flurry of wings.
Somewhere far off, a car backfired—or maybe I imagined it.
After class, I wandered the hallways, weaving through the crowd, trying to remember where my locker was in the crush of bodies.
I exhaled when I finally spotted it.
Inside: a photo of me and Mom at the beach—sunburned, laughing.
Next to it, a notebook filled with lyrics and half-formed thoughts.
Putting it back I ran a hand through my hair and slung my bag over one shoulder.