Content Warnings:

  SpoilerPhysical assault in the context of a transphobic hate crime; Verbal manipution and gaslighting; Intense feelings of self-loathing and gender dysphoria.

  [colpse] AnnouncementSurprise? Early chapter!

  It's been a rubbish week for trans people in the UK and I've been doing what I can to distract myself - which means I'm further ahead on writing than I pnned on being. So, enjoy this extra chapter - the next one will still be coming on Thursday. Maybe this can help distract you, too.

  Enjoy!

  VIII. Lexi's Second DateI’ve missed The Drowned Duck more than I thought I would. With it being closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, and Sunday being hijacked by a mess of Trowkin nonsense, it feels like I’ve been exiled from the one pce where I get to breathe. The Duck is freedom. It’s the only space where I’m just... me.

  But the comfort doesn’t st long. As soon as I remember what tonight is, it twists into dread. Tommy Garrick is going to be there. He doesn’t know about Cassie, which means he won’t recognise me - probably. But if he does, and if he says even a single word to Lexi that makes the wrong pieces click into pce, I don’t know what I’ll do. She’s everything. My anchor. My light. If I lose her, I’m not sure there’s anything left of me worth keeping.

  I groan, turning over in bed, pulling my pillow around my face like it might drown the spiralling what-ifs. My body feels like lead, heavy with exhaustion I haven’t had time to name. Physical, emotional - both, probably. It’s getting hard to tell.

  When a knock rattles the front door, I jolt upright, disoriented. My bare feet hit the cold minate floor as I shuffle toward the entrance, still tangled in pastel-pink pyjamas and bed hair that definitely adds to the "feral cryptid" vibe. But honestly, who cares? Anyone knocking on my door already knows the kind of life I’m living. The Coalition keeps me in a basement like a science experiment - there’s not much shame left to feel.

  To my relief, it’s Jordan. She’s wrapped in her usual vender coat, but her expression is different - subtle tension around her mouth, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She’s nervous. Not because of me, but because she knows she’s stepping into something dark. She knows exactly how fucked up my situation is.

  "How’s our yappy friend?" I ask, as she leans against my desk, a familiar shape in an unfamiliar morning.

  She doesn’t need to answer. The look in her eyes, the sheer weight under them, says everything.

  "I’ve made a terrible mistake," she mutters, slouching so low against the desk she’s practically folded in half, showing off absurd core strength in the process. "Maisie, he does not shut up. Ever."

  I can’t help but ugh - genuinely ugh - but her gre cuts through it quickly. She’s joking, but the tired edge in her voice is real. I can believe it. Wayfarer is chaos wrapped in a trench coat, and I get the feeling she hasn’t slept since letting him through her door.

  "You should get one of those spray bottles that people use on cats," I say, fshing my grinning teeth. It’s an exciting visual.

  "I should get a tranquilliser gun," she says, her face falling into her palm. A pause. "But I think he even talks in his sleep. I’m going insane!"

  I chuckle, the sound light but real. It’s not lost on me how much things have changed - how this version of Jordan, exasperated and sprawled against my desk, is somebody I’ve come to trust. A few weeks ago, I might’ve found her unbearable. Not in a Sadie way, but in a "please stop talking" way. Now, we’re quietly conspiring together. The enemy of my enemy and all that.

  "Did you get blood from him in the end?" I ask.

  She nods, though pulls a face which confirms it wasn’t easy. Reaching into her pocket, she reveals a small vial of red blood. It glints under my overhead mp, just enough to catch my breath in my throat. It looks so ordinary - thick, red, human - but there’s something in the way it swirls in the tube that catches my attention.

  "I’ll ask Margaret to run it when she gets the chance," Jordan says, spinning it in her hands. "She’ll be able to confirm whether he’s truly one of us or not."

  The moment she says it, her face falters. I watch it happen in real time - the casual phrasing leaving her mouth, the regret blooming across her cheeks a beat ter. She flinches like she’s just said a slur. And it hits me harder than the words themselves.

  Because when she says one of us, she means human. And I’m not human. Nor am I from this world. But I really wish she hadn’t acknowledged it.

  "Don’t worry about it," I say, waving it off like it’s nothing, deciding not to burden her further with cis guilt.

  For the first time in a while, my day at The Coalition is uneventful. Margaret says the pill won’t arrive until tomorrow, which is fine by me. George questioned me about the smiley-faced message in yesterday’s data - I spun some nonsense about running a test on the system. He doesn’t understand RED enough to argue. Then, in a strictly work-based exchange with Sadie, where we both pretended neither of us had emotions, I managed to sneak in the words Lego House - my third Sheeran point of the week.

  Any other day, a quiet shift would have dragged. But today, every tick of the clock only sharpens my nerves. Because tonight, I’ll see Tommy Garrick. I mean, I’m already seeing him at work. But this will be different. And no matter how many times I remind myself that he’s never seen Cassie, never could recognise her, the fear doesn’t go away. If he does... if he does, Lexi will be gone. And I’ll go straight after her.

  The thought chokes me all the way through my walk to The Duck. I’m dressed as Cassie. Headphones in. Listening to Hits Different to pretend that I’m not on the edge of a breakdown.

  And then something does, indeed, hit me different-

  Crack.

  A jagged impact explodes against the side of my head. The sound is impossibly loud - like a bone splitting open inside my skull - and the ground races up to meet me. My vision whites out, static screaming through the music as one earbud rips free and dangles from the cord.

  My hands fly to my head - wet, hot, and sticky. Blood coats my fingers. Something’s wrong with my eye, too - everything to the right of me is shadow and blur. The world is distorted, colpsing into noise and pressure.

  I don’t think - I just react. Repair. Bone pulls itself back together. Tissue re-knits. I reroute the nerves. I can’t think about being seen. I just have to do enough to live.

  By the time I’m stable enough to breathe, there are people around me. Voices, too distant to parse. Blurs of colour, moving shadows. I’m crouched, eyes darting - but everything’s too loud, too bright.

  Then I catch movement. A blur of red, a small figure, sprinting away. Feminine. Masked. And running.

  Another shape crashes after her - a broad-shouldered man with a massive head, barking out a shout I can’t make out. But he’s slow, heavy. He gives up quickly, turning and rushing back to me.

  I can feel the concern in his movements, even though my vision’s too fucked to see his face. He drops down beside me, blocking some of the light from the mps above, and says something I don’t quite catch.

  "Oh my gosh!" Lexi’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears like a fre in a dark sky. Her arms wrap around me tightly, and for a moment, the warmth of her skin sends a rush of safety through my veins. I nearly died - I nearly died, and I wouldn’t have felt this again. That realisation hits harder than the rock did.

  "Cass, are you okay?"

  I nod, though every inch of me aches from the lie. My head is spinning, the world tilting on its axis. I’ve already knitted the worst of the damage back together - my skull is no longer fractured, the shattered fragments carefully pulled into pce - but I haven’t been able to fix everything. Because that would give myself away. My pulse won’t steady. My hands are sticky with blood, and I can feel it trailing down the side of my neck.

  I should be dead.

  The street around me is eerily silent, the kind of hush that follows gunfire. A single curtain twitches in an upstairs window, a passive face peeking through, then disappearing. Nobody else moves. Nobody else helps.

  A cracked, bloodied rock sits a few feet away. The thing that tore into my head is bigger than it looked in my peripheral - jagged, dirty, and still warm from impact. My vision is blurred, but I can just about make out where the attacker’s footsteps veered off - the red fsh of their coat vanishing down a side street.

  I didn’t see their face, but the list of potential suspects doesn’t feel particurly high. The number of deranged psychopaths who've been given a reason to have a personal vendetta against Cassie is a list of one, and it's a list that only exists because of my own stupidity.

  And then the voice. A man’s voice. Stupidly familiar.

  "Some crazy little bitch threw that," he says, his hand gesturing to the stone.

  I look up.

  Tommy Garrick.

  No, not just Tommy. Tommy in a suit. His shoulders broad and stiff under a fitted bck jacket, white shirt open at the colr, trousers pressed and perfect.

  Lexi is beside me in her usual work attire - polo and skirt - but Tommy? He’s polished. Put together. Unrecognisable from the grunting gymbro I’ve watched all week. The surrealness of it makes my stomach twist. My thoughts skid sideways. This is the man Lexi's calling the one. This man who, despite everything, might’ve just saved me. Or at least tried to.

  I hate that I feel grateful. I hate that I feel indebted.

  "Cass, do you need an ambunce?" Lexi says, and I turn toward her.

  I still can’t see her clearly, but she’s close enough that I can feel her breath catch. Her eyes are wide and gssy. She looks as if she might cry - Lexi Fontaine, always so composed to the public, reduced to trembling panic. I can’t do that to her. Not tonight.

  "I’m good, honestly," I lie, forcing my weight under me, the pain lighting up down my neck and behind my eyes. "I think it just brushed me."

  Her look says she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me either. But she’s so relieved that I’m upright, I don’t think she knows what to say next. Her arms hover like she wants to touch me again but is scared I’ll fall apart in her hands.

  And then my eyes flick back to Tommy.

  For a second, we lock eyes. No sign of recognition. His expression is unreadable - but his brow is furrowed in concern, and he hasn’t moved away. Was it genuine? Or just a performance for Lexi? I can’t tell. I’m too biased to tell.

  "Well, Cassie - this is Thomas," she says, waving her hands at Tommy as if he is an exciting museum exhibit.

  He gives a little nod of recognition. "Nice to meet you, Cassie."

  His hand extends. I shake it, cautiously, eyes locked on his for any flicker of recognition - any sliver of Maisie reflected back at me. But there’s nothing. No tension in his grip. No flinch. I’m just Lexi’s friend. A stranger. And yet, there's a power in that - being a gatekeeper now, someone he feels he has to impress.

  He turns to look at her, and for a moment, it’s like watching the world fall out from under him. For all his size, he looks small next to her - like he’s shrinking into something tender, disarmed by how effortlessly radiant she is. And, God help me, it’s... sweet. There’s awe in the way he watches her speak, as if she’s rewritten his understanding of beauty.

  "Nice to meet you too, Thomas."

  "Should we not call the police?" he says, more speaking to Lexi than me.

  Lexi gnces toward me - a quiet exchange that says everything. He means well, her look says. He’s not there yet, but he’s trying.

  And I want to scream back, He argued against investigating murders st week, Lexi. He doesn’t care about us. He didn’t care when it mattered. But I can’t. I can only stand here, pying the role of the concerned friend, feeling like a prop in their second date.

  "She’s gone," Lexi says. "And the police aren’t going to chase her."

  "But-"

  "Thomas, trust me. This is one of those things," she says, resting a hand gently on his arm.

  That tiny contact sparks something - an ache I can’t suppress. I should be used to this by now. Watching Lexi light up for someone who doesn’t deserve her. Watching her reach for safety, for warmth, in people who can't give her either.

  Tommy’s face softens at her touch, understanding dawning. His silence earns the tiniest glimmer of respect from me, even if it’s ced with bitterness.

  But the words I really want to say - He’s not who he says he is, Lexi. He won’t protect you. You don’t know what he’s capable of - those words stay buried. Just like everything else.

  Lexi chose a good night to have her second date, because The Duck is empty. Wednesday nights are always dead. The only people who drink on Wednesdays are sporty students - and they aren’t frequent patrons of ours. So Lexi and Tommy found a table in the corner, where they’ve perched themselves, guzzling soft drinks while Lexi collects a cheque for the privilege. Elias, Rico and I watch from behind the bar.

  Okay, I say watch - but I’m not just watching. It’s been a while, but we’re entering another no-judgement zone. I’ve enhanced my hearing, okay? Changed my left ear to pick out the frequencies of their voices with near-perfect precision, filtering them out from the rest of the bar’s ambient noise. It’s overstimuting - I can hear every drop of drink in a gss, every shuffling footstep outside - but it also makes me feel powerful. Addictive, really. Call it nosy, call it invasive. I don’t care. I need to make sure Tommy isn’t putting my identity at risk. Or Lexi. Or saying anything too stupid.

  So far, though, it’s been banal and obnoxious.

  "That was so hot how you went chasing after that bitch," Lexi says, brushing her hair behind her ear as she looks at Tommy with hungry eyes.

  "It was nothing," he says, shrugging. "She was tiny, lucky that she got away. Do you think your friend’s gonna be okay? That was pretty nasty."

  "She’ll be fine," Lexi says, gncing over toward me - and I quickly avert my gaze back to the boys. "She’s a tough cookie. Toughest one I know."

  Pride blooms somewhere inside my chest, but it’s strangled quickly by guilt. If she knew who I really was, would she still say that? If she knew how much I’ve lied?

  "Well, if she’s anywhere near as brave as you -"

  I stop listening without hesitation. I physically cannot stomach hearing Tommy stumble through calling trans women "brave." It’s such typical cis patronising bullshit, the kind of thing that’s meant to sound supportive but just reinforces how other we are to him. How unknowable.

  I shudder, catching a knowing grin from Rico - who had hugged me the second I walked in, menting how it had been "too god damn long."

  "Not a fan, huh?" he says, leaning against the bar and winking.

  I sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

  "He seems sweet," Elias says, getting involved. "He looks like a stereotypical rugby d, but from what I’ve actually heard from him - he’s quite considerate. I don’t think Lexi would put up with him otherwise."

  Rico scoffs but doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure I agree, either. I love Lexi, and I do believe she has something resembling standards - but she’s been on so many disastrous dates that I worry she’ll rationalise any red fg, as long as he’s nice to her on the surface.

  And this? A second date in your girlfriend’s quiet gay bar? Was that his idea? A way to avoid running into his boys?

  I gnce over, and Lexi’s smiling. Her eyes are full of light, trained on Tommy with the same awe-struck reverence he used earlier. He worships her, and - God - it looks like she might actually worship him back. A tight pang pulses in my chest. I want someone to look at me like that. I want Lexi to look at me like that.

  Maybe I’m being too harsh. Or maybe I’m just the only one in this room who knows what Tommy looks like when nobody’s watching.

  "You’re nervous," she says, and I can see that he is. He’s twitchy - rubbing the back of his neck, fiddling with his sleeves. This is a big deal to him.

  "I’m not!" he says, snorting, before quickly withdrawing. "Okay, maybe a little. I’m just worried that your friends won’t like me."

  "Why?" she asks, tilting her head as her eyes sparkle. "You literally just saved Cassie’s life. I don’t think you could make a better first impression."

  He shrugs, a bashful puff of a ugh slipping out. "I don’t think she likes me, especially."

  "She’s my best friend, she’s not supposed to like you," Lexi says, teasing. "Listen, you’re a cis guy... I’ve told you what cis means, yeah?" He nods. "She’s worried, because I’ve been burned before. But once she realises how kind you are, she’ll come around."

  I gnce down at the bar, hyper-aware of how still I’m sitting - too still. I don’t trust my face not to give something away. I can feel my jaw tightening.

  Everyone in the room thinks I’m just being protective. Overbearing, maybe. They don’t know what I saw on Sunday - how close he came to pulling the trigger on an innocent child. They don’t know what he’s capable of when he isn’t busy impressing Lexi.

  "Cass, do you wanna step outside for a sec?" Elias says, turning to me and receiving an approving nod from Rico.

  I gnce back at the couple in the corner - Lexi glowing under the kind of look I’ve never been given. My ears twitch, my hearing dulls as I lower the sensitivity. I’ll miss whatever Tommy says next, but maybe that’s for the best. I nod, following Elias out into the evening.

  The air outside is crisp, not quite cold enough to bite, but it makes me wish I’d brought a jacket. It’s that awkward hour where the sun has just dipped but hasn’t quite committed to darkness. The sky is still too blue to show stars. Elias leans against the brick wall of The Duck and sighs, tilting his head up like he's waiting for some answer to fall from the sky.

  "Level with me, kid," he says, wearing a grin that softens the blow of his words. I roll my eyes - annoyed, as always, with his insistence on making himself seem older than he actually is.

  "Do you like her?"

  My stomach folds in on itself. The question hits so hard, I forget how to breathe. Not what I expected.

  "What?"

  "Lexi," he says, hands on his hips now, like he’s settled in for the long haul. "Do you like her?"

  "As a friend," I say, fast, desperate. The words leave my mouth too sharp, like spitting something sour. As if saying anything else would be disgusting.

  He shrugs, and it makes me want to punch something. "I don’t believe you, Cass. Sorry. But the way you look at her... it looks like jealousy to me."

  I scoff, ughing without humour. "You’re wrong, Elias. I just don’t like him. She deserves better than some low-life cis man."

  "Because she deserves you?"

  "Elias, stop," I snap, turning to him with a red face and grit teeth. My voice is shaking. "This isn’t funny. Stop trying to py matchmaker because I’m worried about my friend’s dating life."

  And I believe that. I do. I do, I do, I do.

  I love Lexi. God, I love her. She’s everything to me. But not like that - not in the way Elias means. Right?

  ...Right?

  I think about the fantasy. About the alternate universe where I met Lexi as me. Where there were no lies, no Maisie, just... Cassie. Just me. Where we could’ve talked about hormones and girlhood and stupid boys and ughed and cried and made it through this thing together. And it would’ve all been honest. I think about the way I felt in that alleyway after we first met - Lexi’s hand on my shoulder, her words keeping me alive without even realising it. And I realise it again: I’ll never know what we could’ve been. Not fully. Because I’ll never let her see me. Not really.

  So yes. I’m jealous. But not because I want what Tommy has.

  Because I can’t ever have what he has.

  I feel the tears without realising they’ve started. Elias reaches out and pulls me into a hug before I can think, and for a second, I let him. I let myself drown in it. The warmth, the quiet. The suffocating tenderness. And then I push him away, hard. Not because I’m angry at him - but because letting him hold me means admitting he’s right.

  He blinks, caught off guard. I can see the hurt creep into his face, and I don’t have the energy to apologise, not when I’m this exposed. Before he can say anything, the door swings open, and Rico pokes his head out.

  "Hey, we’ve got a customer asking if we’ve seen someone tonight," he says, eyes flicking between us, confused by the tension. And then he says words that cut straight through me. "Apparently he’s lost a friend. Does anyone know a Maisie?"

  I nearly had a heart attack when Rico dropped that name - and when I re-entered the bar and saw who was standing there, I had ten of them. Wayfarer. Tapping his stupid metal fingers against the wood of the bar, still dressed like a knock-off sci-fi cospyer. That oversized trench coat. Those neon green gsses. That smug little smile.

  He doesn’t know what I look like as Cassie. But if he’s found this bar - if he’s saying that name - then something is unravelling, and fast.

  My heart pounds in my ears as I storm towards him, past Lexi, whose confused expression reads like bnk paper - no trace of recognition, no arm. Frozen uncertainty directed towards my certainty. Everyone’s frozen. Elias, Rico. Like the entire bar is holding its breath.

  "You need to leave, now," I say, forcing the words out low and firm. I can feel Lexi’s eyes burning into my back, trying to decode why I'm so animated.

  But Wayfarer doesn’t flinch. His forehead creases, his hands nd on his hips, and for the first time since I met him, he doesn’t look like a disaster. He looks like someone on a mission.

  "I’m not going anywhere without Maisie. What have you done to her?"

  A full-body shiver ripples down my spine. This absolute idiot. Every waking second of my life is spent terrified that someone might link Cassie to Maisie - and now here he is, yelling her name in the middle of The Drowned Duck like it’s a fucking pub quiz answer.

  And the worst part is: he knows. He knows "Maisie" is here. I have no clue how. That’s what terrifies me most - not just the exposure, but the fact that he’s tracking me in a way I don’t understand. I don’t emit residual energy, I’ve checked countless times. There’s no logical expnation. Something is wrong. Something is new.

  "There’s nobody called Maisie here," I say, dropping my voice and locking eyes with him, praying he’ll see something familiar beneath the panic on my face. But he doesn’t. He sees a stranger.

  Wayfarer wags a finger like I’m a toddler who’s spilt juice on the carpet. "Nuh-uh, doll!" he says, spinning the tablet embedded in his arm towards me. On the screen: a blinking white pulse. "I’m getting her energy signature, sweetheart. I know she’s around here somewhere."

  Seeing his arm brings a new worry - Tommy. Whatever his personal intentions, he’s still a soldier for The Coalition. If he starts sensing anything strange, he’s going to follow the thread, and the whole messy jumper will unravel. And if it does, it’s not just my life on the line - Jordan’s will crumble too. I can't be the reason we both go down.

  It’s a small miracle he hasn’t clocked the name Maisie yet. Though, come to think of it - maybe he doesn’t even know it. Maybe being deadnamed constantly is finally doing me a favour.

  "That’s some great cospy, wafer man," I grit out, proud of the subtle emphasis, hoping he’ll recognise the nickname. It backfires.

  "So you do know Maisie!" he says, snapping his fingers, triumphant. I resist the sudden, overwhelming urge to sp myself into oblivion.

  Before I can suicide-by-facepalm, Elias steps in. Guardian angel.

  "There’s nobody here by that name, pal," he says, firm and level. "So either buy a drink or get lost. Preferably the tter."

  But I already know that won’t work. Not on him. Wayfarer believes he’s on some heroic rescue mission - and in his story, we’re the ones hiding Maisie away. Torturing her in the back room. Heroics would be charming if they weren’t lighting a match under the only life I have left.

  He blinks once at Elias, then nods. "Okay. I’ll have one drink, please, barkeep."

  "What drink?"

  "Any drink!" He fshes a too-wide grin, all teeth and nerve.

  And somehow he pulls out a five-pound note. Where did he get that? He lifts it up proudly, twirling it in his fingers for the crowd to see. "Got my pal J-dog to thank for this one!"

  I do a quick sweep of the bar as Elias pours a lemonade. Rico’s at the far end, lounging like he’s watching a soap opera. The grin on his face slices right through me. Amusement, disbelief, something softer underneath. Tommy, thank God, is still glued to his phone - either unaware or pretending to be. But it’s Lexi I feel before I even see her.

  She’s watching me. And not just watching - studying. Her eyes are tight, brow furrowed. Confused, but also... suspicious. She knows I’m not surprised by any of this. She knows I know something.

  And she’s waiting for me to expin it.

  I look away, heart aching, pounding. It’s all happening in my chest now.

  I want to scream at Wayfarer. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his stupid neon goggles fall off. You’re ruining my life, you idiot. You’re going to get me locked up or erased or worse. You need to leave. Now.

  But I can’t.

  The window for me to get rid of Wayfarer and pass him off as a crazy walk-in from the street has passed. And it’s my fault. If I’d stayed calm I could’ve pyed this off. I could’ve let Rico deal with it, through his fits of giggles. No, I couldn’t have. Because that would’ve meant Wayfarer saying shit that gets Tommy interested. And that’s when I realise the impossible dilemma in front of me. Intervene and risk ruining Cassie’s life, or let things happen and risk ruining Jordan’s.

  "I know where Maisie is," I say, stepping forward and causing Wayfarer’s eyes to double in size. "Come with me!"

  I can feel Lexi watching me again, her stare a bde against the back of my neck. I try to ignore the stabby eyes of my three co-workers as I step forward. I can expin this away ter. I don’t know how - but I can. I’ve always been able to. I can do it again. They might not believe whatever I say, but they probably won’t leap to the truth: wait, this whole time Cassie was a shapeshifter deceiving us?

  I grab him by the shoulder and drag him into the back room. It’s cramped, half-lit by a flickering bulb overhead, and smells like stale beer, moulded cardboard, and whatever chemicals are used to clean the floors. The thick scent tethers me to the present, anchoring me in my body just enough to stop my brain from spiralling. Maybe ninety seconds until Elias comes checking. Maybe less.

  "I don’t see Mai-Mai back-"

  "Shut up, dickhead," I hiss, not yelling, but packing enough venom into the words to peel paint. "It’s me."

  He just stands there, grinning. That same unflinching grin he always has. As if I’ve just solved his favourite riddle.

  To illustrate my words, I shift - snapping into Maisie’s body like muscle memory. I’ve done it a thousand times, probably more. I could do it in my sleep. He watches without flinching, no gasp, no recoil. Just that grin, widening.

  His mouth opens, about to spit something smug and unbearable, so I raise my hand and shove it against his lips before the sound can escape. Warm breath. Damp. Spit coating my palm.

  "Yes! I can change my body!" I bark, shifting back into Cassie. "Surely this isn’t that weird for you!"

  I feel his teeth cmp down on my hand and let out a hushed yelp, yanking it away. The pain is sharp, absurd - like someone snapping me out of a dream with a sp - and for a second, I’m no longer falling. I’m just stunned, and slightly grossed out.

  "Don’t ever try to shut me up again, Mai-Mai," he says, pouting like a kicked puppy and pnting his hands on his hips.

  "It’s Cassie right now," I snap, breathless. "Nobody out there can hear you call me Maisie."

  His grin splits across his face like it’s some grand reveal. "Oh, I’ve really fucked things up for you, haven’t I, Cassio?"

  And just like that, I have a new fucking nickname to deal with.

  "Yes, you have," I say, through gritted teeth. "But if you leave now, without another word to my friends, then I can fix it."

  He pauses, like he’s about to debate it - then shrugs. "Sounds good to me, Cassio. I kind of ran off on J-dog anyway, she’s probably worried sick about little old me."

  We push back into the bar. The tension that had just started to lift sms back into the room like a dropped pint gss. Conversations halt mid-sentence. All eyes flick to us.

  Lexi’s eyes are locked onto me. She looks worried, unsure. I don’t know what she thinks is happening, but she knows something is. I feel the walls creeping back in. I feel the lies trembling beneath the surface.

  "Cass, what the fuck’s happening?" she asks, and her voice isn’t angry - it’s scared.

  "It’s fine," I say quickly, too quickly. "This guy’s just leaving."

  But just as Wayfarer and I near the front door, it swings open - brisk, too fast, too loud.

  "There you are, you snake!" Jordan Bke’s voice hits like a gunshot. Her eyes are locked on Wayfarer, her jaw set with fury. She marches into the pub with the energy of a thundercp.

  Wayfarer flinches. The grin vanishes.

  But the real chaos is still two steps behind.

  "Jordan?" Tommy says, blinking in disbelief, his drink halfway to his mouth.

  "Tommy?" she echoes, freezing in pce.

  The silence is total - like the bar itself is holding its breath. For a second, I feel every molecule of attention sm toward the doorway, toward me, toward us.

  "Fuck," I say only to myself, heart in my throat.

  Okay, so here’s the situation.

  I - Cassie Vale - am stood in a room with people from my life and people from Maisie’s life. The only person who knows the truth, that I am two people, is Wayfarer - who, unfortunately for me, has the least predictable mouth out of everyone here. It is absolutely imperative that I do not let anybody make the connection that Cassie is Maisie.

  Jordan has just walked into the bar, all authority and fury, and she’s spotted Wayfarer instantly. She doesn’t recognise anyone else - but I see her clocking the set-up. She’s realised this is now a clean-up job. A tightrope walk. She has to get him out of here without Tommy realising anything weird is going on. If he identifies that Wayfarer is an anomaly, then she'll be in a world of trouble.

  Rico, Elias, and Lexi just look confused. Trying to read a situation that makes absolutely no sense.

  And Tommy - oh, Tommy.

  Tommy stands. His chair scrapes loud against the floor, cutting through the stunned silence of the bar like a bde. He’s pcing himself between Lexi and Jordan, one big protective brick wall of a man. He’s flushed red and burning with some performance of moral righteousness.

  "What are you doing here?" Jordan says, her voice sharp as a knife. She’s trying to sound accusatory - despite being the one with something to hide.

  "Nothing!" Tommy says, both hands up, palms out. "I’m just here for a drink."

  "Tommy Garrick goes for drinks in a gay bar?"

  The line hits like a sp. And the room holds its breath.

  Even Rico’s quiet now. The air is thick and sour, and I feel the rhythm of my breath in my throat. Jordan’s words ripple through the air - and I see it happening in Tommy’s body. A twitch. A shifting of his jaw. He’s deciding what to become.

  He looks to Lexi - and that look... God, that look. He softens like putty. His edges melt. And then he turns back to Jordan with a breath that sounds almost mournful.

  "Do you have a problem with gay people, Jordan?"

  That voice - calm, self-possessed, wounded. Like he’s been accused of something beneath him. Like he’s defending some personal honour I’m pretty sure he only discovered five seconds ago.

  Holy shit. Woke Tommy?

  Jordan reels, caught totally off-guard. She opens her mouth, closes it, tries again - but her eyes are flitting, looking to me, to Rico, to Lexi. Trying to gauge whether anyone in the room is buying this new version of him. And trying to assess if we believe his accusation that she is a homophobe. Because she'll burn the world down before letting people believe that, apparently.

  "You know fine well that I do not!" she snaps, crossing her arms. "You’re the one who-"

  She cuts herself off, but the damage is already done. I want to yell. I want to cry. I want to run. And I want everyone to stop fucking talking.

  Lexi’s face is frozen in some silent processing loop. She hasn’t moved in minutes. Elias is shifting his weight like he’s about to jump in and referee - but he doesn't know the rules. From where I’m standing, this is already a losing game.

  Wayfarer’s still beside me. Hands in his pockets. Watching. Amused.

  "Thomas, who is this?"

  Lexi’s voice cuts through the air, soft and smiling - the kind of smile she uses when she’s holding herself together by the thinnest thread. I recognise that tone. It’s the sound of a woman trying not to detonate.

  Tommy hesitates. Barely. But it’s long enough. Her smile fractures at the corners.

  Jordan steps in. "We go to the same gym," she says, arms folded, trying to force her voice steady while still watching Tommy like she’s sizing up the moment to bite.

  I see Lexi’s mind start stitching puzzle pieces together - all the wrong ones, but somehow still forming the same catastrophe. She’s building a version of events where her meathead boyfriend is cheating on her with Jordan. I see it hit her like a car, and she somehow keeps smiling through the windscreen.

  "Nice to meet you," Lexi says to Jordan, her voice like gssware on the edge of a shelf. "I’m Lexi. And we’re on a date."

  Tommy winces.

  It’s small, but it’s shame. Shame that Jordan now knows he’s seeing a trans woman. That he’s seeing Lexi. And even though I’m still hiding behind Cassie’s perfect disguise, I want to scream at him for it. You should feel fucking lucky, not ashamed.

  Jordan doesn’t miss the flinch. Her face shifts - confusion, then disbelief, then disgust.

  "This is rich, Tommy," she says, her voice sharpening. "After everything you’ve said about Maisie behind her back?"

  Wayfarer and I lock eyes. The two of us who know that Maisie is standing in this room, right now. My pulse is screaming in my ears.

  Rico raises a hand. "Excuse me, y’all," he says, almost comically calm. "Who is this Maisie you all keep mentioning?"

  "She’s someone we work with," Jordan says. Snaps it, like the name alone tastes like blood. "Not important."

  "I thought you went to the gym together," Lexi says.

  It’s not a question. It’s a loaded bullet with Tommy’s name on it. He stammers. Just noise. Just sylbles. He looks to Jordan. Then to Lexi. Then to the floor.

  And Lexi? She’s not confused anymore. She’s not suspicious. She’s not amused. She’s broken. Tommy just lied about a cis woman. I can see it in her eyes. The light’s gone - it's over. All that effort - the smile, the poise - it’s all slipped, leaving behind the face of a woman who just realised she’s a joke in someone else’s story.

  I want to move. I want to speak. I want to beg everyone to shut up - to stop digging, to stop twisting knives, to just stop.

  "Oh, snap!" Wayfarer says, sipping his lemonade - and the noise he makes cuts straight through me. Everyone turns. Their gres are daggers. Even now, he grins like a cartoon vilin, drunk on the chaos he’s caused.

  I have to do something. This can’t keep spiralling. My entire life is crumbling here - not just mine - and the one thing I can still control is removing the powder keg in the trench coat.

  I step forward, flinging my arms up like a flustered referee calling time. "Okay," I say, pointing at Jordan and Wayfarer. "You two should get going. Shit’s already kicked off enough here tonight."

  The headache spikes again. A slow throb pounding against my temples - a reminder that I nearly died tonight, and I’ve had no time to actually process that. I’ve fixed the bones, mostly. But not the adrenaline. Not the fear.

  Wayfarer looks ready to argue, to say something smug and stupid, but Jordan grabs him by the arm. She wants to get out of here too, and that's her excuse found. Her death gre is enough to silence him. He folds, and they start moving.

  Then Lexi’s voice cuts through the air like a cracked whip.

  "Wait!"

  I flinch, and I’m not alone. The whole room jolts like a pulled thread.

  Lexi takes a trembling step forward. Her face is unreadable to most people - but not to me. She’s colpsing beneath the surface. The only thing holding her upright is the brittle armour of politeness. She turns toward Jordan, her voice quieter but impossibly sharper:

  "This Maisie... she’s trans, isn't she?"

  Jordan hesitates, just for a second, before nodding. "Yes."

  "And what Thomas has been saying about her..." Lexi’s voice breaks. I see her blink faster, her shes trembling. "It’s bad, isn’t it?"

  "I’m sorry," Jordan says - and it’s the right thing to say, but I feel a flicker of betrayal. Because she’s looking at him when she says it. Not her.

  I move, because I can’t do nothing anymore. I push Jordan gently aside and pull Lexi into a hug - the moment my arms close around her, I want to scream. My heart wants to protect her. My soul wants to vanish. I don’t deserve to hold her. I don’t deserve this closeness. Not when all this is my fault.

  "You two, please go," I say to Jordan and Wayfarer. My voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else. "Now."

  Jordan nods and pulls him through the door. Wayfarer gnces back once, but something in my eyes stops him from speaking.

  And then it’s just us.

  "Babe, I-" Tommy starts.

  "GET OUT!" Lexi screams, shoving me back with more force than I thought she had. The sound rips through the room like a thundercp. Everyone’s frozen. No one breathes. Her face is flushed red with rage, eyes gssy with grief. She’s small and shaking, but there’s a fire in her that could burn the bar down. "I thought I could trust you, but you’re full of shit. I never want to fucking see you again."

  "Babe, please," Tommy says, stepping forward, palms together like prayer. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him - which only makes me hate him more. "You don’t understand. This Maisie... she’s not like you."

  His words hit me like a bullet. I want to hate him, I want to scream at him - but I don’t. Because I know what he means. He's right. And that’s what makes it so much worse.

  "She said it’s time to go," Elias says, stepping between them like he was always meant to. Calm, steady, unshakeable. "Beg for forgiveness in the morning."

  Tommy lets out a long, trembling sigh. His whole body seems to defte. Without another word, he turns and starts to leave.

  And then Lexi speaks again. Her voice is ft, small, ruined.

  "Don’t bother," she says. "We’re done, Thomas."

  The door sms shut behind him, rattling the windows.

  And in the silence that follows, I feel everything sink. The room colpses inward. Not with anger. Not with tension. With grief.

  The remaining hours of the shift bleed by, slow and heavy. Conversation is scarce, tension filling the space between every gss served. Nobody wants to talk about what happened, least of all Lexi - who wears a brittle smile like a cracked porcein mask. She’s speaking when spoken to, making her usual jokes, but there’s a hollowness beneath it all, as if every word is being funnelled up from somewhere far beneath the floorboards.

  I watch her from the bar, watch the pain swimming just behind her eyes, and I want to tear my skin off. She thought Tommy was different. Thought maybe - just this once - it would be okay to let someone in. And I shattered it.

  My phone vibrates again, buzzing like a wasp against the countertop. Another message from the st person I want to hear from right now.

  Ishani: heyy Holly?Ishani: when do you want to go for that drink you promised me? (-:

  I don’t reply. Not immediately. My fingers hover over the screen while my heart pulses in my throat. I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to py this game.

  Ishani: hollyyyyyyy?Ishani: are you still alive???????Ishani: i miss you!!!!!

  It’s unnerving how fast her messages are flying in. My hands tighten into fists. I gnce toward the others, making sure no one sees. Nobody can know. Especially not her.

  Ishani: holly pls don’t ignore me?Ishani: did something happen to you???Ishani: if that rapist touched you again holly i will flip out

  My teeth grind so hard it feels like they might shatter. That word - thrown around so casually, so maniputively - hits me like another rock to the skull. I want to scream. I want to vomit. She’s talking about me. About Cassie. About the woman that she tried to kill tonight. And in a way, she’s right. I did do something unforgivable.

  My fingers move without thinking.

  Holly: Hi Ishani.?Ishani: omg hii!!?Holly: Sorry for the slow reply.?Holly: I’m busy with work every night this week. How is Monday night for you??Ishani: noooo come on holly pls pls pls?Ishani: call in sick and come with me friday?Ishani: itll be soooo much fun i promise!!!!

  The nausea twists tighter. I gnce again at Lexi - this time she’s wiping down gsses, eyes unfocused, her motions robotic. Every inch of her looks smaller. Like she’s trying to make herself disappear.

  I could skip Friday. They’d forgive me. And it’s not just about the mission anymore - it’s about atonement. About punishment. About letting myself get dragged through the mud, because maybe it’s what I deserve.

  Holly: You’re very convincing, Ishani?Holly: I’ll see what I can do?Ishani: yay!!! thank you holly!!?Ishani: this will be so much fun!!!

  I scrub my face with both hands, suddenly bone-tired. My head is throbbing again. My chest too.

  Lexi’s voice breaks through the noise. "Who are you texting?" I look up. She’s watching me - her eyes soft, but searching.

  "Nobody," I say, the lie sliding from my lips before I even think about it.

  She doesn’t call me on it. Doesn’t accuse. Just lets out a tiny sigh and looks down at the floor, her shoulders sagging like someone defting. And maybe that’s worse. That she doesn’t fight me. That she’s too worn down to try.

  "Since when did we keep secrets from each other, Cass?" she says, her voice weak, confronting the real betrayal of the night. My betrayal of her.

  "It’s nobody important!" I say, holding up my hands, though not showing my phone. "I promise. It’s just some idiot transphobe."

  She shakes her head. "I don’t just mean the text, Cassie. I mean everything that happened here tonight. Sometimes..." she pauses, taking a deep breath, as if having to double-check her next words to make sure she still believes them, "sometimes it looked like you knew what was going on more than anybody in the room. Who were those people?"

  I can't meet her eyes. If I look at her, she’ll know. She always knows. My gaze drops to the floor, tracing the dried smears of sticky beer caught in the grain of the boards. The low hum of the bar fridges behind me fills the silence like a warning. The rest of the room has gone faint and blurry, customers talking quietly in a bubble I can no longer reach.

  "Before I met you," I say, staring hard at a knot in the wood beneath my feet, "I used to date a girl. A trans girl. This... Maisie."

  She frowns, the reaction sharp enough that I feel it without seeing. But I lift a hand before she can speak, my knuckles bone-white from the grip I have on my own arm.

  "She’s a disaster, Lex. Messy and maniputive. I don’t know why that guy thought she was here, but I’m guessing she told him that she was here. Possibly to mess with me. I had to pull him aside to expin gently what was going on."

  "But why wouldn’t you just tell me this?" Lexi says, her voice cracking slightly as she shifts closer. She’s trying to make sense of it, and I hate myself for giving her more to untangle.

  I keep my eyes fixed to the floorboards. It feels like there’s a brick in my stomach, cold and immovable, pressing down on every organ.

  "Because she was awful, Lex, and I didn’t want to drag you into it," I say.

  It’s not a good lie. It’s barely even a lie. But it’s enough.

  And with those words, I feel myself slip past something irreversible - the point of no return. I don’t even remember deciding to lie. It just came out of me like instinct. Like breathing. Maybe if I told her the truth now - everything - she’d cry. She’d scream. She’d hate me. But maybe she’d forgive me. Maybe.

  But I don’t give her the chance. I double down. I remove the possibility of ever earning forgiveness.

  Because I am a monster.

  And then she hugs me.

  Her arms fold around my shoulders like rope, tight and suffocating, and I hate every second of it. I hate how much I need this. I hate how good she is. Her voice is small when she speaks, like she’s somewhere far away.

  She apologises for doubting me.

  And I close my eyes, feeling the lie settle in my bones like rot.

  I don’t go home. I just walk.

  Everything seems to be getting worse, and I don’t know why. I’ve been lying to Lexi since the first word I ever spoke to her - why does the thousandth hurt so much more? Maybe because this time, I’m lying to myself too. I’ve been pretending that Cassie is real. That she’s my truth. My anchor. But she’s not. She’s just another mask. Another trick of the light. Just like Holly. Just like Niamh. Just like Maisie.

  It took a room full of strangers - some who knew me, some who didn’t - all looking at me with bnk, expectant faces... for me to finally see what I am. Sadie’s words echo through my skull like scripture. Metamorphic Humanoid Css 1. That’s all I am. A specimen.

  And still, I hold onto Cassie’s face as I wander.

  The city centre pulses with noise - drunk students in paint-smeared overalls and bin-bag wings dance barefoot in the leaves, smashing bottles and screaming bad lyrics into the night. The air stinks of vodka and cider and te-night chips. I feel like a ghost in it all. I’ve never earned this kind of life - the simple kind. The free kind.

  The crowd thins as I drift further from the centre, somewhere between aimless and escaping. And that’s when I feel it - a second set of footsteps behind me. Close. Careful.

  I don’t look back.

  Four intentional left turns ter, I find myself back where I started. A test. They’re still behind me.

  Any real woman would be scared. Alone, followed, hunted.

  But I’m not a real woman. So I’m not scared.

  I’m thrilled.

  There’s a hot, violent pulse inside me - a rising scream that’s cwing at the walls of my skin, demanding an outlet. My knuckles throb as I bulk the muscles in my arms, hardening the bones beneath like iron rods. I want to hit something. I want something to hit me back.

  I take a sharp turn into an alleyway, away from the light, away from the eyes, away from the rules. My boots scrape the concrete. My fists clench.

  "You should’ve run, Cassandra," the voice behind me says, low and gleeful.

  My name nds like a sp, snapping me back to reality. This isn’t some nameless mugger in the dark. This is personal. My muscles tighten as I turn.

  They’re small - smaller than me - dressed head to toe in bck, a bacva stretched over their face like a cheap threat - covering everything but their eyes and their glowing lips. Toothpick arms folded across their chest, shoulders cocked with performative confidence. Whoever they are, they think they’ve already won.

  "I know everything about you," they say, smug. "I know about your job. Your transition. Lexi."

  That name is a match to dry grass. I feel the spark take. My fists curl tight enough to split skin. Keep talking, it just makes me want to hit you more.

  "If you think that’s everything," I say, voice calm but jagged, "then you don’t know shit."

  If they have even an inch of Lexi in their sights, then this isn’t a fight. It’s a sentence.

  They step closer. A fsh of white as they bare their teeth - long, perfect, and unmistakably fanged. My breath hitches, not in fear but in relief. Finally.

  "I know you’re about to die," they purr.

  No more mystery. No more circling. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  I raise my fists, blood pounding in my ears. I’m swelling with adrenaline, heat blooming behind my eyes, along my spine, up through my jaw. Every inch of my body is ready to break something. My bones thicken. My skin pulls tight. This isn’t Cassie smiling anymore. It’s something deeper, something more dangerous.

  "I’ve been waiting for you," I say, grinning through my teeth. "Let’s fucking go."

  LilAgarwal