The Boy Who Sees

LUNA

I know something's wrong the second I wake up.

It's not anything obvious. No pain. No nightmare hanging around after I open my eyes.

Just this weird hum under my skin.

It's quiet, but I can't ignore it. Almost like I've had too much coffee, except I haven't had any coffee at all. My skin feels too tight. My head feels too full. Even the sound of my alarm makes me want to throw my phone across the room.

By the time I get to Mountain Ridge, I'm already irritated.

I slam my locker shut harder than I mean to.

"Somebody's grumpy."

Katie is leaning against the locker beside mine, eyebrows raised over the top of her phone.

"You didn't even say bye to me yesterday. You just took off the second the bell rang."

"I had somewhere to be."

I hear the sharpness in my own voice the second it leaves my mouth.

Katie lowers her phone.

"Okay."

She raises both hands.

"Didn't realize I needed a permission slip to talk to you."

"Katie, I'm sorry. I just..." I press my fingers against my temple. My skull feels too tight, as if somebody has wrapped a band around it overnight and keeps pulling. "I didn't sleep well. I'm not trying to bite your head off."

"Could've fooled me."

I want to apologize again.

I really do.

Instead, my hand stays on the locker door.

The metal suddenly gives beneath my fingers.

There's a low groan.

Then a soft crunch.

I jerk my hand back.

The handle is bent.

Not a little bent, either. It's warped sideways, as if somebody grabbed it with a pair of pliers.

Katie's eyes widen.

"Whoa. Did you just break that?"

"No."

I stare at my hand.

"I mean... it was already like that."

It absolutely was not already like that.

I shove my books into my bag before she can ask another question.

My heart is pounding.

I don't know why.

I don't know what just happened.

And I really don't want to find out in the middle of a hallway full of people.

I walk away.

The rest of the day feels wrong.

Not dramatically wrong. Just off.

Like I'm wearing clothes that don't belong to me. My skin feels too sensitive. Sounds seem louder than they should. Every few minutes, that strange hum rolls through me again, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted.

Jace finds me outside the gym.

He's leaning against the wall like he's been waiting there for a while, hands shoved into his pockets.

"Hey."

He falls into step beside me as soon as I pass.

"You've been weird all day."

"I have not."

"Luna."

He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine.

"You told Mr. Danvers his lecture on the Civil War was, and I quote, 'boring as dirt,' in front of the entire class."

"It was boring as dirt."

"It was."

He grins.

"Doesn't mean you usually say it out loud."

I roll my eyes, but I can't quite smile.

Jace notices.

Of course he does.

He reaches out and catches my arm, gentle enough that I could pull away if I wanted to.

I don't.

When I turn toward him, his blue eyes are already on my face.

"Talk to me," he says quietly. "What's going on?"

I want to tell him.

About the locker.

About the way my body feels wrong.

About the humming under my skin that hasn't stopped since I woke up.

But even thinking about it makes me feel ridiculous.

So I give him the easy answer.

"Bad night. Didn't sleep much."

"Yeah?"

Something changes in his expression.

He looks away for a second, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Me either, actually."

I stare at him.

"Bad dreams?"

"Yeah."

He lets out a small laugh, but there's no real humor in it.

"A lot of them lately."

He hesitates.

"Since we started dating, if I'm being honest."

My stomach tightens.

"Wolves," he continues. "Silver forests. There's always this girl at a crossroads, but I can never see her face."

He gives me an awkward little shrug.

"I know. Sounds crazy."

I can't breathe for half a second.

He doesn't notice.

Or maybe he does and pretends not to.

I don't tell him I've seen the forest.

I don't tell him about the wolf.

I definitely don't tell him that the details sound too familiar.

Saying it out loud would make it real.

At least that's what I tell myself.

"Probably just stress," I say. "College applications. Finals coming up."

"Probably."

He doesn't sound convinced.

But he doesn't push.

That's Jace.

He never forces his way through a door I close. He just waits outside until I'm ready to open it.

I wish I knew how to tell him that sometimes I don't even know what's behind the door myself.

I make it through the rest of the day by keeping my hands in my pockets and my mouth shut.

By lunch the next day, the hum is still there.

So is Jace's distraction.

We're sitting outside at our usual table beneath the big oak tree. Jace claimed it back in ninth grade because he said the shade made his fries taste better.

I still don't understand that logic.

He has his notebook open in front of him.

He's sketching without really looking at the page.

His pencil moves quickly, confidently, almost automatically.

I lean over.

My chest tightens.

Wolves.

A whole pack of them.

They're running through a forest where the trees look silver beneath the moonlight.

My stomach drops.

"You okay?"

Jace blinks.

For a second, he looks lost, as if he's been somewhere else entirely.

Then he looks down at his drawing.

"Yeah."

He frowns.

"Sorry. Bad dreams again."

He taps the pencil against the paper.

"Wolves. Silver forests."

His eyes flick up to mine.

"Probably just stress, like you said."

I don't tell him I had the exact same dream two nights ago.

I don't tell him about the locker handle.

Or the way my hands don't feel entirely like my own.

Or the strange hum that keeps moving beneath my skin.

Instead, I steal one of his fries.

Because I need something normal.

Because normal is what I want.

Jace gives me a look.

"You have your own."

"Yours taste better."

"They're literally the same fries."

"I don't make the rules."

He shakes his head, but there's a small smile pulling at his mouth.

For a few seconds, it almost works.

Then he closes his notebook.

"So..."

I look at him.

"University of Tennessee. You still thinking about it?"

The question should be easy.

Two days ago, it would've been.

Now it lands strangely.

The future I pictured so clearly suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else.

"If I get the track scholarship," I say, forcing a smile. "Three seconds, Jace. I'm three seconds away."

"You'll make it."

He says it without hesitation.

Like there's no possibility of anything else.

"And I'll be wherever you are," he adds. "Studying art. Stealing your fries. Arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes."

I laugh softly.

"That sounds like the rest of our lives."

"Sounds good to me."

Then he kisses me.

Slow and warm, right there beneath the oak tree while students move around us and the cafeteria crowd carries on like we're not even there.

His hand settles lightly against my cheek.

I close my eyes.

For a minute, everything else disappears.

The hum.

The dreams.

The strange feeling in my body.

All of it.

There's only Jace.

Just him.

Just this.

Just the future we've been talking about for so long that it feels almost real already.

His lips taste like stolen fries and summer.

And for one small moment, the life I thought I wanted feels close enough to touch.

I don't know yet how badly I'll want to hold on to this exact moment later.

After school, Jace walks me to my car.

We're talking about something I barely remember when I see him.

Across the street.

Half-hidden beneath the hardware store awning.

A man is standing completely still.

Not waiting in the normal way.

He's not checking his phone.

Not shifting his weight.

Not looking around.

Just standing there.

Watching.

He's tall, with dark hair streaked with premature silver. He doesn't look old enough to have that much gray.

I stare.

Then his eyes catch the light.

Gold.

For half a second, they almost seem to glow.

Then it's gone.

My entire body reacts before my brain catches up.

Cold.

Then heat.

A sharp pull catches beneath my ribs.

I suck in a breath.

It's almost as if something inside me is trying to drag me toward him.

"Luna?"

Jace's voice sounds far away.

I don't look at him.

"Are you good?"

I blink.

The man is gone.

I stare across the street.

Nothing.

Just an empty stretch of sidewalk beneath the awning.

He didn't walk away.

He isn't standing farther down the block.

He's simply gone.

"Yeah."

My voice comes out thinner than I want.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just gotta get home."

I don't wait for Jace to answer.

I get into my car.

My hands grip the steering wheel too tightly.

My heart is racing.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with track.

Nana Mae is waiting for me on the porch when I pull into the driveway.

A mug of tea is already steaming on the little table beside her chair.

She looks up.

"Sit."

Not a suggestion.

I sit.

She hands me the mug, and I wrap both hands around it, grateful for the warmth.

For a few seconds, neither of us speaks.

Then I take a breath.

"Nana, I saw a man today."

Her expression doesn't change.

"Across from school. He was tall. Dark hair with silver in it, like he'd gone gray too young."

I swallow.

"His eyes..."

I stop.

Saying it aloud makes it sound impossible.

"His eyes were gold. Glowing gold, just for a second. Then he was gone."

The mug slips in Nana Mae's hands.

Tea spills over the rim and onto her wrist.

She doesn't react.

Her face has gone pale.

Not normal pale.

Old-paper pale.

"Nana?"

I sit forward.

"Do you know him?"

She looks at me.

For a moment, she doesn't look like my grandmother.

She looks frightened.

Really frightened.

"Baby."

Her hand closes around mine.

Her fingers are trembling.

"I need you to listen to me."

I nod.

"Whatever you saw today, whatever you think you saw, stay away from it."

"What?"

"Don't look for him."

Her grip tightens.

"Don't go near that hardware store. Don't walk on that side of the street. Don't even—"

She stops.

Her jaw clenches.

"Don't even think his..."

She cuts herself off.

"His what?"

My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"His name?"

She doesn't answer.

"Nana, you know who he is."

"There are things I've promised not to say."

Her eyes shine, but she doesn't cry.

"Things that aren't mine to tell. Even if I think telling you might keep you safe."

My stomach twists.

"But I am telling you this."

She leans closer.

"If that man is back, then time has run out for pretending we don't know what you are."

I stare at her.

"What I am?"

The words barely leave my mouth.

"Nana, what does that mean?"

She looks away.

"Does this have something to do with Mom?"

Silence.

I see it on her face before she can hide it.

Something raw.

Guilt, maybe.

Grief.

Something older than either.

Then her expression closes again.

She's my grandmother.

Tired.

Scared.

Holding a cup of spilled tea like she forgot it was there.

"Drink what's left of that," she says.

She stands, and there's a stiffness in her movements I didn't notice before.

"Then come inside."

I don't move.

"Now."

I follow her.

My legs feel unsteady.

Nana Mae goes straight to the front door.

Checks the lock.

Then the back door.

Then the kitchen windows.

One by one, she latches them.

Her hands move quickly, even though they're still trembling.

She pulls the curtains closed over every window facing the street.

The house immediately feels darker.

Smaller.

"Nana, you're scaring me."

"Good."

She doesn't turn around.

"Scared means careful."

She checks the front door again.

"Careful means alive."

I don't know what to say to that.

She finally sits across from me at the kitchen table.

Her hands are folded so tightly together that her knuckles have turned white.

She doesn't explain.

She doesn't say his name.

But watching her, I understand one thing.

Whoever that man is, he isn't a stranger to her.

And whatever she knows about him has something to do with my mother.

Maybe even with why she's gone.

Nana Mae has been waiting years for him to come back.

That night, I go to bed early.

My whole body aches, but not from running.

I pull the blankets up and close my eyes.

I don't remember falling asleep.

Sometime around midnight, I wake up drenched in sweat.

My skin is burning.

Not warm.

Burning.

I throw the blankets off, but it doesn't help.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

My head feels heavy.

I try to sit up.

The room spins.

I press a hand against my forehead.

Too hot.

Way too hot.

My breath catches.

Somewhere deep inside me, that strange hum rises again.

Only now it isn't quiet.

It's everywhere.

Under my skin.

In my bones.

In my blood.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

And the fever begins.